The Dark Warden (Book 6) (15 page)

Tomorrow Morigna would see it for herself. 

If the Devout or the urvaalgs did not catch them first.

If the Warden simply didn’t unleash his magic and kill them all.

And if Ardrhythain’s warding spell was ineffective and Valakoth returned. 

Morigna shivered with anger. 

How dare the archmage accuse her of contemplating the use of dark magic. Ardrhythain had confirmed everything Coriolus had ever said about the high elves. The Old Man had complained constantly about the Magistri and the Swordbearers, but Coriolus had reserved special vitriol for the high elves. They hoarded magical secrets, Coriolus claimed, guarded their power as jealously as a miser guarded his gold. They had only fed humanity a few pieces of magic, just enough to make mankind into a weapon against the urdmordar but not enough to allow Andomhaim to challenge the high elves. If humanity was ever to advance, it would have to cast off the restrictions of the Pact of the Two Orders and claim more power …

Morigna’s anger increased. 

To claim that power, Coriolus had murdered her mother and father and Nathan Vorinus, and had planned to steal Morigna’s body to extend his own wretched life. She wondered how many other bodies Coriolus had stolen, how many other lives he had blighted and ruined. His influence lay upon her still. 

Perhaps Ardrhythain was right to fear that she might turn to dark magic. 

Still, Ardrhythain’s arrogance only confirmed the central lesson of Coriolus’s teachings. The Old Man had lied about everything else, but he had been right that power was the foundation of everything, that all life was a struggle for power. Those with power did whatever they pleased to those without power. If Morigna was to protect herself and those she cared about, she needed more power. She had met so many creatures that could have destroyed her – the Artificer, Valakoth, Ardrhythain. If they were to respect her, if she was to guard herself from them, she needed more power. 

But where to get it?

Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to find Ridmark and lure him to a quiet place where they could be alone. Though so close to Urd Morlemoch, such a notion was suicidal. It had almost gotten them killed on the edge of the Torn Hills. 

A boot scraped against the ground, and Morigna looked up. 

“You cannot sleep?”

Calliande stepped into the circle of light from the fire, the blue glow from the sky glinting in her eyes. Morigna saw that the others had gone to bed, wrapping themselves in blankets. 

“Where is Ridmark?” said Morigna.

“Talking to Mara,” said Calliande. 

Morigna snorted. “I imagine that Jager’s attempts at wit grow tiresome.” 

“Actually, he wanted to talk to Mara alone,” said Calliande. “He has something in mind for her in Urd Morlemoch. Some plan he doesn’t want to share with the rest of us.”

Morigna frowned. “Why not tell us?” 

“The fewer people who know about it,” said Calliande, “the fewer people from whose minds the Warden can rip the knowledge.”

Morigna opened her mouth to argue, and then realized that Calliande was right. 

“Do you think we can do this?” said Morigna.

“Go into Urd Morlemoch and come out again alive with the knowledge we need, you mean?” said Calliande. 

“No, I mean keep the campfire lit,” said Morigna. “Yes, that is what I meant.”

Calliande’s eyes narrowed at the barb, but her voice was calm. “If anyone can do it, Ridmark can. He did it once before, and he was alone. This time he has help. We are all capable, every one of us. It is a risk, aye, but if we keep our wits about us, we might be able to defeat whatever game the Warden has in mind for us.”

“No thanks to the noble lord archmage,” said Morigna. 

“He has done all he can to help us,” said Calliande.

“Which seems to be precious little,” said Morigna. 

“He unlocked the magic of the Magistri,” said Calliande. “He forged the soulblades and gave them to the High King. Without either of those things, we wouldn’t have lived long enough to make it this far. Our ancestors would have been killed even before we were born.”

“He knows who you are,” said Morigna, “yet refuses to tell you.”

“Apparently, I asked him not to,” said Calliande.

Morigna scoffed. “That is like a promise made to a drunkard or an idiot.”

Calliande’s eyes narrowed a little further. “Which one am I, pray?” 

“I have never seen you drink to excess,” said Morigna, and Calliande frowned. Morigna rebuked herself. The very edge of the Warden’s demesne was a foolish place to bicker. Yet Ardrhythain had set her teeth on edge. “But consider. How often does a drunken man make a foolish boast, or speak some vow? Yet he repents of it once he comes to his senses.”

“So that is what you think I am?” said Calliande. “A drunkard who made a foolish vow?”

“You could have saved yourself much trouble,” said Morigna, “if you had simply left yourself a letter.” Calliande started to protest, but Morigna kept talking. “Do you think you had any idea of the consequences when you cut out your memory and buried yourself alive? Ardrhythain likely knew. Maybe he even helped you to do it. But did he warn you of the consequences?”

“Maybe he did,” said Calliande. “I just don’t remember.” 

“He is using us as weapons,” said Morigna. “He could not fight the urdmordar himself, so he gave magic to the High King and his knights. They can do all the fighting and dying while he waits safe within the walls of Cathair Solas.”

“The urdmordar would have destroyed Andomhaim and enslaved humanity if not for the Magistri and the Swordbearers,” said Calliande. “Whatever you might think of his motives, that is a simple fact. Are you simply aggrieved because he warned you against dark magic? It is nothing different than what I have said to you several…” 

“What right does he have to accuse me of such a thing?” said Morigna. “I have lost more to dark magic than he…”

“Truly?” said Calliande. “The high elves once filled this world. Now they are almost all gone. You might have lost much to dark magic, but so did he.” 

“He reminds me,” said Morigna, “of Coriolus.”

Calliande frowned. “I don’t see how.”

“Two old men,” said Morigna, “both using others as their weapons, as their tools. What right do they have to do that? What right does anyone have?” 

“He doesn’t have the right,” said Calliande. “He has the responsibility. Just as I have the responsibility to stop the return of the Frostborn.” 

“Then perhaps you should have chosen a different approach,” said Morigna. 

“Ridmark is willing to follow his advice,” said Calliande. 

“Ridmark is not always right about everything,” said Morigna.

“Yes,” said Calliande. “I agree completely. He is a brave and valiant man, but he has made some serious mistakes in the past, and may even be making one now.” 

Morigna’s eyes narrowed. “Such as?”

“Given that we are all about to walk into Urd Morlemoch,” said Calliande, “I think we will find out very soon whether or not we are about to make a huge mistake.”

That wasn’t what she had meant, and they both knew it. 

“Enough,” said Morigna. “I do not want to fight you.”

“Indeed?” said Calliande. “That is news to me. You have seemed most interested in starting a fight ever since we met.”

“And you,” said Morigna, getting to her feet, fingers tight around the length of her staff, “have been eager to start a fight ever since Ridmark and I…”

“Since you what?” said Calliande.  “Since you crept off together for urvaalgs to attack? I…” She closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose for a moment. “No, that is not my concern.”

“No, it isn’t,” said Morigna. 

“But consider this,” said Calliande. “Ardrhythain reminds you of Coriolus because they are both men of power. Ardrhythain tried to use his power to defend humanity from the urdmordar and the Frostborn, even if you disagree with how he did it. He treated his power as a responsibility. Coriolus used his power to make himself immortal, or as close to it as he could manage.”

“What is the point you are trying to make?” said Morigna. 

“You told me that you want power to make sure you are safe, that those you love are safe,” said Calliande. “That is exactly what Coriolus did. Save only that he loved himself.”

Morigna opened her mouth to answer, but could not think of a rebuttal, and Calliande walked away from the fire.

###

“You can hear it now, can’t you?” said Ridmark.

Mara smiled. “I’ve been able to hear it since the Iron Tower.”

She stood alone with the Gray Knight at the edge of their camp, the fire crackling in the distance. With the Sight, Mara noted the weave of power flowing around them, the ward Ardrhythain had cast around their camp. It would keep any creatures of dark magic at bay until dawn, and she saw the flows of power touching her and the others. The archmage’s magic was healing and rejuvenating them, allowing them to recover the strength they had expended over the last few days. 

The Warden’s song thundered in her head. 

It was not a song, not really. It was more of an aura that her mind chose to interpret as a song. She had heard it ever since that awful day the Artificer had triggered her transformation in the Iron Tower, and it had grown louder with every step she took toward Urd Morlemoch. An urvaalg or an urshane or an urdhracos that heard the song would have no choice but to heed the Warden’s will. In fact, such a creature would joyfully obey the Warden, would cut its own throat with glee if the Warden commanded it. 

“You feel no compulsion to obey it?” said Ridmark.

“No,” said Mara, “I have my own song.” She hesitated. “But I have seen three dark elves before this day, Gray Knight. The Traveler, the Matriarch, and the Artificer, even if the Artificer had no body. The Warden is more powerful than all of them by far. They are right to fear him.” She considered. “We are right to fear him.”

“About that,” said Ridmark. 

He looked bone-deep tired. Mara had hoped that his relationship with Morigna would ease some of his cares, but instead it had only added to them. She could tell that he feared seeing Morigna die in front of him, just as his wife had, and that he felt he had betrayed Calliande somehow. Perhaps he could finally rest if they stopped the Frostborn, if he fulfilled his promises to Calliande and Arandar. Or Ridmark Arban was the kind of man who would only rest when he was dead.

Mara hoped not. 

“What about it?” said Mara.

“We need an advantage against the Warden,” said Ridmark. “I escaped Urd Morlemoch once before, aye, but only barely. The Warden might condescend to play a game instead of simply obliterating us, but he is still clever and dangerous. So we need something he will not expect, something he will not see coming.”

“Me, you mean,” said Mara. “My ability to travel from place to place.”

Ridmark nodded. 

“How can I use it to help?” said Mara.

“Don’t use it,” said Ridmark.

Mara blinked. “That is a curious strategy.”

“I was thinking upon it before we encountered the Devout,” said Ridmark, “and Ardrhythain’s reaction to you confirmed it. The archmage had never seen anything like you before. You were something new. A dark elven half-breed who had successfully controlled her transformation and had not become a monster.” 

“I had help,” said Mara, thinking of the Watcher.

“Nevertheless,” said Ridmark. “Ardrhythain had never seen anything like you before. And I would wager that the Warden has not either. If he doesn’t know what you truly are, what you have become, he will not be able to plan for you. Or he will lay a plan for you, but his strategy will be flawed. The most dangerous knife…”

“Is the one that the victim never sees coming,” said Mara. “The Red Family was a firm believer in that proverb.”

“In that, at least, they were not wrong,” said Ridmark. “Once we enter the Warden’s influence, do not use your power unless absolutely necessary. The secret will give us an edge against the Warden, an advantage we might be able to use only once.” He shrugged. “I wish it were possible to prepare a better plan, but there is no way to predict what the Warden will do once we enter Urd Morlemoch.”

“Then we shall have to improvise,” said Mara. 

“Aye,” said Ridmark. “One way or another, we will find out the truth tomorrow.”

###

The next morning they broke camp, and Ridmark turned to face the others.

“This is the last chance,” he told them, “to turn back. Once we enter the Warden’s demesne, he will likely know of our presence, and he will not let us go without a challenge. So. If you have any doubts, if you wish to turn back…go in peace. You have come farther with me than I have any right to expect, and neither man nor God could blame you for turning back.”

Calliande frowned. “We have had this discussion before, have we not?”

“We have,” said Ridmark. “But this is the point of no return.” 

“Then let us proceed over it without hesitation,” said Kharlacht. “My kin are all dead, and I have nowhere else to go. If I am to die, I would prefer to do so in the service of a noble cause.”

“I said I would see this through to the end, Gray Knight,” said Caius, “and I shall not turn back now.”

“I, too, have nowhere else to go,” said Gavin. “I cannot go back to Aranaeus. I have seen what happens when an urdmordar runs amok, and I expect the Frostborn would be ten times as worse.” 

“Well, you two may want to die nobly,” said Jager, “but I would rather be home in bed. Granted, if I go home, Tarrabus Carhaine will probably have me killed. So, really, why not stroll into Urd Morlemoch?” He shrugged. “And I do owe you, you know. For Mara and many other things.”

“We are with you,” said Mara.

“Both honor and the sake of my son demand that I press forward,” said Arandar. 

“I told you I would repay my debt to you,” said Morigna, “wherever it might take us.” 

Ridmark nodded. He wanted to kiss her, but this was not the time. The thought of slipping away to the woods of Moraime with her and living as hunters and trappers was a pleasant thought, but he had come this far. He would not waver from his duty now.