The Dark Warden (Book 6) (19 page)

Though by rights Heartwarden belonged to Ridmark. Andomhaim had mighty warriors in its service, but the Enlightened of Incariel were eating the realm from the inside out.

Blue light caught Morigna’s eye. Most of the light down here was red, but blue light shone from an archway in the gallery ahead. She realized that the archway opened to a flight of stairs leading to the surface, that the blue light came from the ribbons of fire dancing around the Warden’s tower. Relief flooded through her, followed by grim alarm. They had finally found their way out of the catacombs, but other dangers awaited them within the walls of Urd Morlemoch. 

“Splendid,” said Jager. “I have had enough of mucking around in underground mazes.”

Caius snorted. “You should have seen some of the places we visited before we met you.”

“The ones I have seen since,” said Jager, “are quite enough.”

Morigna followed as Ridmark crossed the gallery. The archway opened into a stairwell, and at the top of the broad stairs she glimpsed the black nothingness of the sky and the ribbons of coruscating blue flame. No guards stood there, whether Devout orcs or undead corpses or urvaalgs or worse things. Morigna cast a quick spell, seeking for unseen guards, but she felt nothing.

“The way is clear,” said Morigna.

Ridmark nodded. “Be on your guard.” 

“If I see someone named Lancelus, I shall promptly cut his throat,” said Jager.

“I doubt he will use the same ruse twice,” said Ridmark. “So remain watchful.”

He led the way up the stairs, and Morigna followed with the others. The black archway ahead grew wider, and Morigna felt the potent dark magic radiating from the stone around her. The archway opened into a wide courtyard of gleaming white stone, a cold wind blowing around them. Ahead the tiers of the half-ruined city climbed up the sides of the hill, the Warden’s massive tower and the ribbons of blue fire stabbing into the sky. Morigna and Ridmark and the others stood in the courtyard of a half-ruined mansion, its roof collapsed inward. Something about its design, its angles and corners, filled her with unease. A ring of the black standing stones occupied the center of the courtyard, their sides inscribed with ominous sigils. More of the sigils marked the sides of the ruined mansion, and Morigna felt the latent dark magic waiting within the symbols.

“Don’t touch those stones,” said Mara, her voice hoarse. “Bad things will happen.”

“There is quite a lot of power within them,” said Calliande. 

“They look weathered,” said Ridmark. “Not new, then.”

“No,” said Mara. “But the spells within them…I think they’re linked to the ones upon the standing stones we saw in the catacombs.”

“She’s right,” said Calliande. “There is power flowing between them. But to what purpose, I cannot guess.”

“You said the first ring of stones seemed like a valve,” said Ridmark. “Perhaps it is trying to draw down power from something else.”

“Not yet, though,” said Mara. “I see only the power of the channeling spells themselves. Nothing else.” 

“Maybe the Warden is waiting for something,” said Morigna. “Or maybe we have caught him in the middle of a project.” 

“Waiting for something,” murmured Ridmark. “For what?” 

Morigna knew that look. Something was starting to bother Ridmark, some realization scratching at the back of his mind. If something was troubling him more than simply standing within the walls of Urd Morlemoch, that was a bad sign. 

“I think,” said Ridmark, “that we should…”

A roar of rage rang over the courtyard, a voice shouting commands in the orcish tongue.

A dozen Devout orcs burst from the inside of the ruined mansion, swords and axes in hand. 

###

Ridmark spun to face the charging orcs, his staff in both hands. 

The enchanted axe the dwarves of Coldinium had given him was a powerful weapon, but its reach was shorter and it was slow. His staff was a more versatile weapon. He could wield it one-handed or two-handed, could use it to attack from any angle. 

And it was also far quicker. 

The first Devout orc came at him, a broadsword in hand. Ridmark jabbed with the end of his staff, and the butt of the weapon slammed into the wrist of the orc’s sword hand. The warrior bellowed the bones of his wrist shattered, the blue fire in his black eyes burning brighter, and Ridmark whipped his staff around. The heavy length of the weapon slammed into the orc’s skull, splitting bone, and the Devout warrior collapsed to the ground. A second warrior came at Ridmark, with a two-handed axe. Ridmark dodged around the heavy blow, his staff spinning, and knocked the weapon from his foe’s hands. The orc jumped back, reaching for a dagger, but Ridmark was faster. His staff crushed the orc’s windpipe, and the Devout warrior fell to the ground. 

The rest of the orcs charged at him. 

But by then the others reached the fray. Arandar attacked, Heartwarden’s blaze of white fire matching the pain behind Ridmark’s eyes, striking down warriors with every blow. Kharlacht and Caius fought side by side as they often did, leaving dead enemies in their wake. Jager, Mara, and Gavin hung back to guard Morigna and Calliande. Morigna cast her spells, and the white flagstones beneath the orcs’ boots turned mushy, hindering them long enough for Ridmark and the others to land killing blows. 

More Devout warriors emerged from the ruined mansion, but Ridmark and the others drove them back. Without the aid of a powerful wizard like Valakoth, the orcs fell beneath the skill and valor of his companions. Ridmark struck down another warrior, his mind racing. He had not encountered any living orcs within Urd Morlemoch the last time, and he wondered what these ones were doing here. Perhaps they were a burial party, come to inter their dead comrades in their sacred site. Perhaps they were here to bury the orcs that had died in the fighting against Valakoth…

Blue fire and darkness writhed atop the ruined mansion.

Ridmark looked up, fearing that Valakoth himself had returned. An orc in a robe of ragged black leather stood at the edge of the ruined mansion’s crumbled roof, blue fire blazing in his hands, shadow rippling around him. He was younger than Valakoth, and had only one bulbous, glowing tumor bulging from his temple. 

Yet his magic seemed just as deadly.

He pointed at Ridmark, the blue fire brightening. 

###

Calliande felt the spike of dark magic as the orcish wizard cast a spell. The wizard was not nearly as powerful as Valakoth, yet his spell had enough power to kill Ridmark and anyone else caught in its path. 

She acted first. 

White fire burst from her hands and struck the wizard. Her magic could not harm any living mortal, but it could wound creatures of dark magic, and the Devout wizard had voluntarily brought dark magic into his flesh. Her spell burned into him, and the wizard stumbled with a scream of pain. Shadows rose around him, a ward to blunt her attack, and the white fire faded away. Yet she had dealt some injury to him, and more importantly, his attention was turned from Ridmark and the others. 

The wizard screamed a command, and a group of warriors charged at Calliande. Gavin jumped to meet them, catching the blow of an axe on his shield and striking with his orcish sword. Jager and Mara circled around the melee, slashing with their daggers. The wizard atop the ruined mansion began another spell, and Calliande summoned her power, preparing a ward to deflect his next attack. 

Then the stone upon which the wizard stood seemed to ripple and fold, almost like a sponge wrung out over a sink. The orcish wizard toppled over the edge and fell into the courtyard.

His head made a loud cracking noise as it bounced off the flagstones.

Calliande looked at Morigna, who lowered her hand. 

“It seemed simpler,” said Morigna. 

“Truly,” said Calliande. With the wizard dead, she could use her magic to aid the others, and she started another spell. 

###

Ridmark wheeled, ducked the blow of an axe, and lashed out his staff. The heavy weapon bounced off the Devout orc’s knee, and the warrior stumbled with a grunt of pain. That gave him an opening to reverse the weapon and swing again, bringing the staff down upon the crown of the warrior’s head. 

The warrior fell to his knees, and Ridmark finished him off. 

He looked around, seeking a new foe, but the fighting was over. The Devout orcs lay slain across the courtyard. Kharlacht and Arandar and the others lowered their weapons, breathing hard. Ridmark turned towards the mansion, but no other warriors emerged from within. 

“I think we won,” said Gavin.

“This skirmish, anyway,” said Arandar. 

“Aye,” said Ridmark, nudging one of the dead warriors with his staff. “I think these orcs came here to bury their dead. They just had the misfortune to run into us instead.”

“Which way now?” said Arandar. 

“To the street,” said Ridmark, and the others headed for the gate at the other end of the courtyard. “We’re not far from a ramp leading to the upper tiers of the citadel, and then to the plaza below the Warden’s tower itself.”

“Can you guess where we shall find the Warden?” said Calliande. 

“His library, most likely,” said Ridmark. “Or the standing stones at the top of the tower itself.” He thought it more likely that the Warden would find them first. “This way.” 

He stepped through the gate and into the narrow street of white stone. Ruined mansions rose on either side of the street, adorned with statues of dark elves in armor. The road curved away around the side of the hill, making for the ramp to the higher tiers.

As Ridmark looked around the curve, he saw dark shapes coming towards them. Devout orcs, dozens of them, all armored in chain mail and armed with swords and spears. The leader of the orcs spotted Ridmark and let out a shout, gesturing with his sword as his black eyes flared with blue fire.

“Ridmark!” shouted Calliande. 

Ridmark turned and saw the corpses in the courtyard starting to rise, blue light washing down their limbs. He had assumed that the Warden personally raised the corpses of the Devout as his undead servants, but perhaps the dark magic cloaking Urd Morlemoch raised them without any effort from the Warden. Between the Devout charging down the street and the undead rising behind them, Ridmark and the others could find themselves trapped and encircled. 

They would not last long.

“Run!” said Ridmark, and he broke into a sprint. The Devout shouted challenges and came after them, while the undead rose in silence. Ridmark raced forward, following the curve of the hill, the ruined mansions and towers stark around him. Soon the ramp leading to the second tier came into sight, and Ridmark urged the others onto it. They reached the second terrace of the hill, more of the half-ruined mansions and towers rising over them, and Ridmark risked a look back down the ramp. The Devout warriors pursued them, while Ridmark saw more groups of orcs emerging from the ruins in pursuit.

“Morigna,” said Ridmark. “A wall of acidic mist.” He waved his hand over the top of the ramp.

“It will not slow them for long,” said Morigna, though she began the spell anyway. “The living Devout can send their undead through the wall, and they only need wait until enough undead pass through the mist to collapse my spell.”

She gestured, and a thick curtain of white mist rose across the top of the ramp. 

“Nevertheless,” said Ridmark. “They will have to wait. That will let us get to the Warden’s tower. I doubt they will be brave enough to follow us in there…or the Warden himself will come to greet us.”

And then the real challenge could begin.

“We had best move,” said Morigna. “My spell will not hold for long.” 

They ran for the next ramp, and the next. Finally they came to the apex of Urd Morlemoch’s hill, to a vast plaza at the foot of the Warden’s tower. The mansions here seemed in better condition, ringing the plaza in a wall of gleaming white stone. The bulk of the tower rose high overhead, its sides studded with buttresses and columns and turrets. Statues of dark elves and urvaalgs and ursaars and worse things stood in niches along the tower’s side. The three ribbons of fire revolved slowly around the tower’s length, throwing a flickering blue glow over everything. 

A figure in a black robe stood in the center of the plaza, leaning upon a staff of bones topped with the skulls of orcs. His ragged robe hung from his gaunt frame, and twin tumors gleamed with blue fire upon his temples, their glow falling over his sallow green skin and his long white hair. 

“Valakoth,” said Ridmark as the others came to a halt behind him. 

“Ridmark Arban,” said the orcish wizard in his thick, wet rasp. “Welcome. The master shall be pleased to see you at last.”

“I will speak with your master,” said Ridmark. “Stand aside or it will not go well with you.”

“Indeed?” said Valakoth, shadow and blue flame flickering around his staff. “The archmage of the high elves is not here to save you this time.” His black eyes flickered to Calliande and Morigna. “Your pet sorceresses are not strong enough to withstand my magic. Do you truly wish to fight me?”

“No,” said Ridmark. “If I must, I will defeat you. But stand aside. I have business with your master.”

Valakoth stared at him, and then began to laugh in a phlegmy cackle. 

“Fool, fool, fool,” he said. “Do you not understand? Your business with my master is finished! It was concluded the moment you set foot within his walls. You should have never returned to Urd Morlemoch, Ridmark Arban…and before you die you shall understand the magnitude of your failure.”

“Oh?” said Ridmark. “And just what failure is that?”

“It is not mine to tell you,” said Valakoth, “merely to make you understand that you shall never leave Urd Morlemoch again.” 

He beckoned, and a roar came from the mansions surrounding the plaza.

Devout orcs poured from the mansions, hundreds of them, all of them holding swords and spears. Ridmark turned, thinking to retreat back to the ramps, but the warriors from the first tier were ascending. He looked towards the great doors to the Warden’s tower, but even as he started in that direction, the doors burst open, and scores of urvaalgs poured forth. Shadows flickered overhead, and Ridmark saw a dozen urdhracosi leap from the balconies of the tower and circle above the plaza. They looked like women of inhuman beauty sheathed in armor of black steel, their great wings billowing behind them like sails. Even with Heartwarden, he had barely been able to defeat one urdhracos, let alone a dozen.