The Dark Warden (Book 6) (31 page)

They would have to fight before they reached the Warden. 

Just as well they had come prepared. 

Ridmark wore a cuirass of overlapping plates of blue steel, similar to what Kharlacht had taken from the Tower of Bones all those years ago, and Gavin, Jager, and Mara had equipped themselves with similar armor. Mara and Jager carried short swords and daggers of blue steel, while Caius had helped himself to a massive two-handed hammer. Arandar had feared that the metal was infested with dark magic, but Mara and Morigna confirmed that the weapons and armor bore no enchantments. The superior metallurgic skill of the dark elves meant that the metal was lighter and stronger than normal steel, and more importantly, could wound urvaalgs and other creatures of dark magic. 

“I do not think,” said Caius, “that it will be hard to find the Warden.”

“No,” said Ridmark, looking into the darkness of the Torn Hills.

Or, at least, the hills that should have been dark.

A beam of flame encircled Urd Morlemoch, leaping from stone circle to stone circle. The beams converged upon a large hill several miles to the east. A pillar of bluish-green flame erupted from that hill, covering everything in eerie, sickly light. Ridmark had no arcane ability and no longer carried a soulblade, but even he could feel the waves of tremendous power radiating from the grand circle atop the hill. 

“It’s not open yet,” said Mara, “but soon. Another few hours, I think.” 

“Then we have no time to waste,” said Ridmark. 

“What is the plan?” said Morigna. 

He looked at her. She seemed…different, somehow. Stronger, perhaps. Or simply jittery, as if she had consumed too much tea. Perhaps it was simply the strain of the danger. 

“We confront the Warden,” said Ridmark. “Distract him if at all possible. While he is distracted, I’ll touch the soulstone to Calliande.” He tapped the pouch at his belt that held the rough soulstone from Urd Morlemoch. “If I am killed, take the stone and continue. Calliande has to survive this, has to reach Dragonfall and retrieve her staff. Someone needs to stop the Frostborn and Shadowbearer, even if we are all killed here.” 

“The Warden’s minions?” said Kharlacht.

“We avoid them if possible,” said Ridmark. “If we can sneak up behind him and slap the soulstone against Calliande’s back, well and good. If not,” he shrugged, “if not, then we will have to fight.” 

“Then let us fight, and may God grant us the victory,” said Arandar.

Ridmark strode from the gates, the others following.

He cut a circuitous path through the hills. To his surprise, they encountered no foes, whether Devout orcs, undead, or dark elven war beasts. The Warden’s minions had gathered around the rings of standing stones that encircled Urd Morlemoch, likely to guard the acolytes feeding their magic into the Warden’s great spell. Step by step Ridmark made his way towards the hill crowned with the grand circle and the snarling pillar of blue-green flame, moving as fast as he dared. 

But once the hill came into sight, he realized there was no chance that they could surprise the Warden. 

Devout warriors stood in ranks at the base of the hill, weapons in hand. The glowing veins beneath their skin pulsed and throbbed in time with the fire surrounding Urd Morlemoch. Undead stood among their numbers as well, blue fire burning in their eye sockets. Here and there Ridmark saw the twisted form of an urvaalg, the Devout keeping well away from them.

“So many,” murmured Mara. 

They crouched behind a boulder not far away, looking at the waiting orcs. 

“Aye,” said Ridmark. 

“Any clever plans?” said Arandar. 

“If I am clever,” said Jager, swallowing, “I might be able to sneak past them and touch the Warden with the soulstone before he realizes that I am there.” 

“No,” said Mara. “One mistake and they’ll kill you. I should go.”

“With the soulstone, you won’t be able to travel away if they catch you,” said Jager.

“That would be no different than you sneaking in,” said Mara. 

“No,” said Ridmark. “No more time for cleverness. We hit them as hard and as fast as we can. Break through and make for the grand circle.” He glanced at the menhirs at the top of the hill, outlined in the harsh light of the blue-green flames. “Whatever happens, we have to touch Calliande with the soulstone.” 

“Then let us stop talking,” said Morigna, “and teach these Devout fools that their precious god will not save them.”

“For once,” said Caius, hefting the warhammer, “I am in agreement with you.” 

Ridmark nodded, took a deep breath, and then spun around the boulder and ran at the Devout orcs, his dwarven axe in hand. The others followed him. White light flared as Truthseeker and Heartwarden burned with the fires of their power, reacting to the maelstrom of dark magic around them. 

For a moment the defenders did not notice. The Warden might have ordered them to stand guard, but many of the orcs were gaping at the vortex of magic swirling around Urd Morlemoch. One of the urvaalgs began to snarl, and the light from the drawn soulblades fell over them. 

That got their attention.

The warriors spun, shouting commands. The undead started forward, and the urvaalgs charged, snapping and snarling as their claws raked at the earth. Ridmark raised his axe, both hands around the handle, his eyes tracking the urvaalgs as they advanced. 

Morigna shouted and whipped her staff in a circle over her head, its sigils shining with blue-tinted purple fire. The ground rippled like a banner caught in the breeze, and the spell threw dozens of warriors and undead and urvaalgs from their feet. Her spells had never covered such a large area before. Had she become stronger? Or perhaps fear had simply enhanced her strength.

Regardless of the reason, Ridmark would not let the opportunity pass.

He charged the stunned orcs, burying his axe blade in the skull of the nearest urvaalg. He barely slowed as he ripped the weapon free and beheaded a Devout warrior who started to rise. One of the undead reached for him, and Ridmark spun, taking off its arm and its head in short order. The warriors regained their feet and charged, and Ridmark fell back, blocking and ducking and parrying. A blow skidded off the plates of his armor with enough force to stagger him, and he barely kept his balance. Morigna shouted again, and the ground rippled around Ridmark, throwing the warriors to the ground once more. 

Then his companions struck.

Kharlacht mowed his way through the ranks of the warriors, his greatsword rising and falling, the blade glowing with the spilled blood of the Devout. Caius, as usual, fought near him, crushing skulls with his massive warhammer and stunning the warriors long enough for Kharlacht to land killing blows. An urvaalg lunged at Caius, and he swung the warhammer. It impacted the urvaalg with enough force that its skull collapsed like a pumpkin thrown from a tower. Jager and Mara darted around the melee, Jager cutting throats and tripping orcs, leaving them vulnerable to Caius’s and Kharlacht’s devastating blows. Mara disappeared and reappeared in flashes of blue flame, cutting the throats of Devout warriors and vanishing again before their fellows noticed. It was hardly an honorable way to fight, but it was certainly effective. 

The two Swordbearers were like a storm.

Arandar fought with skill and experience, Heartwarden augmenting his strikes with speed and power. He took the head from a warrior, crushed one of the undead, and ripped open an urvaalg from maw to heart with a single slash. Gavin was less skilled, but fought with no less strength. A blow from his shield shattered a Devout warrior’s skull and sent the orc motionless to the ground. Truthseeker tore through two of the undead, the white fire ripping apart the creatures. The soulblade’s flame seemed almost joyful, as if the weapon was glad to fight the creatures of dark magic after its long imprisonment in Urd Morlemoch. Ridmark saw the training he had given Gavin reflected in the new Swordbearer’s attacks, saw echoes of Kharlacht and Caius as well. 

Ridmark cut down another warrior, and the ground heaved. Massive tangles of roots, thick as a grown man’s legs, erupted from the earth and seized half a dozen Devout orcs. The warriors bellowed, trying to tear themselves free, but the roots bent and flung them to the ground. 

He cut down one more urvaalg, and then he was through. The way was clear to the top of the hill.

Ridmark started running, and blue light flared ahead.

An orc in a long black robe strode towards Ridmark, his right temple bulging and glowing with a tumor. Blue fire burned around his left hand, twining with strands of darkness, and the orcish wizard pointed at Ridmark. He doubted the wizard had anything like the Warden’s power or Valakoth’s. But Calliande was not here to disrupt the wizard’s spells, and Ridmark did not carry a soulblade that would protect him from a killing spell.

He sprinted at the wizard, raising his axe to strike, but he knew it was too late.

The wizard jerked and tried to scream as Mara appeared behind him, raking her dagger across his throat. He fell to his knees, still trying to cast a spell, and Mara drew a second dagger and buried both the blades between his shoulders. 

The wizard’s fire faded to nothingness. 

“Good timing,” said Ridmark, still climbing the hill. The ground trembled beneath his boots. How much longer until the Warden’s gate to Old Earth consumed Calliande’s soul?

“I’ve had practice,” said Mara. She frowned as she did when preparing to travel, but nothing happened. “What? Wait. Ridmark…look out!” 

Blue fire blazed around a dark figure standing just outside the outer boundary of the grand circle. It was an ancient orc draped in a ragged robe of black leather, twin tumors rising from his temples like glowing horns. A staff of bones danced with shadows in his right hand, the tusked skulls atop them clicking as he waved his hands through the gesture of his spell. 

“A fine trick, half-breed,” hissed Valakoth, “but it shall not save you from me. A pity you did not become one of the master’s beasts.”

He leveled the staff at Mara, and a bolt of blue fire erupted towards her. Mara jumped back, but the bolt veered to follow her. Valakoth’s power would prevent her from traveling, and the orcish wizard’s spell might kill her.

Ridmark threw himself forward and slammed into Mara, knocking the diminutive woman out of the way. The spell struck him instead, and he screamed as the cold pain spread through him.

###

Dark magic and earth magic mingled together within Morigna, and spells of a strength she had never been able to cast before tore into her enemies. Her earth magic shook the ground, throwing the orcs so hard that they snapped their necks when they landed. Masses of roots rose from the ground to rip her foes apart, and she conjured columns of acidic mist so potent that they stripped the flesh from the Devout in a matter of seconds, leaving only crumbling bones behind. 

But even with her newfound power, she still faced stronger opponents.

Such as Valakoth. She saw Ridmark rolling down the side of the hill, his limbs limp.

“No!” said Morigna, the fury filling her. She leveled her staff and unleashed her full power at Valakoth. Roots erupted from the ground to wrap around him, the ground beneath his boots rippled, and a blast of blue first burst from her staff, screaming towards him like a bolt from a ballista. 

Yet Valakoth’s wards blocked every one of her attacks. Shadows swirled around him, crumbling them into dust. The ground around him rippled, but blue fire burst from his staff and turned the earth into smoking ash. The shadows drank the flame of her final attack, grounding out its power around him.

The ancient orc’s eyes turned towards her, and he gestured with his staff. 

A lance of darkness leapt towards her, and Morigna drew upon all her power. Shadows of her own swirled around her, dispersing Valakoth’s attack. The sheer force of the wizard’s spell knocked her back, her head ringing with the effort of holding back the orc’s wrath. 

Still Valakoth’s assault continued, and Morigna put all her strength into holding back his power.

###

Truthseeker thrummed like a living thing in Gavin’s hand.

He felt the soulblade’s power flowing through him, filling him with strength and washing away his weariness. It made him feel as if he had the strength of ten men. Yet thanks to his training from Ridmark and Kharlacht and Caius, Gavin was a disciplined enough fighter to hold the euphoria at bay, to prevent it from driving him foolishly to his doom. 

Of course, even if he kept his head, doom might find him anyway.

Through Truthseeker he felt the dark magic around the ancient orc upon the slope. He also felt the dark magic in Morigna’s spells. Morigna had sworn that she did not use dark magic, sneering at and mocking anyone who dared to suggest such a thing. Her spells now burned with it, and he felt the power snapping back and forth between her and Valakoth like a pair of enraged dogs snarling at each other. 

Morigna might have used dark magic, but Valakoth was far stronger, and both were dwarfed by the power radiating from the hilltop. 

They could not stop the Warden if Valakoth killed them first, so Gavin raced at the orcish wizard, Truthseeker’s magic giving his legs speed. He seemed to fly at the wizard, even as the battle slowed around him. Valakoth’s eyes turned towards him and widened, recognizing him as the greater threat. Morigna could pound away at Valakoth all she wanted, but Truthseeker would tear through the orcish wizard’s wards like paper. Valakoth flung another spell at Morigna, turned, and leveled his staff at Gavin. 

Gavin kept running, hoping to close the distance, and Valakoth unleashed his power.

A lance of blue fire and writhing shadow burst from the staff of bones. Gavin skidded to a stop and raised Truthseeker in a parry, calling upon the sword’s power to shield him. The spell struck him and Truthseeker rang like a bell, the sword’s soulstone flaring and pulsing as it struggled to hold back Valakoth’s attack. Gavin gritted his teeth and tried to force himself forward, but Valakoth’s spell held fast.