The Dark Warden (Book 6) (27 page)

And she had no idea how to awaken the others. 

She considered the intricate network of spells upon the menhirs, more complex than she could understand. Perhaps Calliande could have dispelled them, but Calliande’s spirit was imprisoned in the soulstone and her body was occupied by the Warden’s malevolent spirit. Mara suspected that removing the smaller soulstones from their altars would break the spell, but moving the stones could trigger a backlash of misdirected magic that would kill her and everyone else atop the tower. She had to find a way to break the others free of the spell.

But how?

Perhaps her power could move them. Mara had wondered if she could transport others with her when she used her power to move from place to place, though she had never been desperate enough to risk it. Well, she was desperate enough to try it now. 

Her first impulse was to free Jager. She wanted to save her husband, but Mara doubted she had the strength to break more than one or two of the others free. Whoever she freed would have to help her undo the spell around the others. Arandar, maybe? A soulblade gave its bearer the power to dispel hostile magic. Yet Heartwarden’s power had not been enough to protect Arandar from the Warden. 

That left Morigna. The wild sorceress did not have Calliande’s power or skill, but she could do things the Magistria could not. Perhaps she could figure out how to undo the spell. 

At least, Mara hoped so. 

She stepped back into the ring and gazed up at Morigna. Like the others, the sorceress was pressed against the menhir, her arms spread as if she had been crucified. Her eyes were closed, her expression serene. Mara wondered what filled her dreams. 

“I’m sorry about this,” whispered Mara.

She took several deep breaths, drawing on the song of her blood. Her head spun, and her body ached. The timing would have be just right. 

The blue fire rose to swallow her, but in the instant before it did, Mara grabbed Morigna’s shoulders and pulled her along. The snarling dark magic of the menhir closed around Mara, pain erupting through her skull, but the blue fire swallowed her. 

She reappeared a few yards away and fell to her knees, coughing and gasping.

Morigna sprawled motionless to the floor.

###

Black fire screamed through Morigna’s mind. 

She lay stunned upon the cold stone, her mind paralyzed by two competing sets of memories. In one she was a sorceress of the Wilderland, living alone in the woods. In another she was the wife of Ridmark Arban, Dux of Taliand, standing at his side as he brought order and prosperity to the High Kingdom…

Which set of memories was real? She could not tell. 

Then the sound of coughing filled her ears, and the false dream vanished, and Morigna realized just how much danger they faced. 

She sat up, summoning power for a spell. She was still at the top of the Warden’s tower. The Warden’s body floated in a sphere of blue light over the central altar, and there was no sign of Calliande or the soulstone. Mara knelt a few paces away, coughing and thumping on her chest with a fist. The blue-green fire blazing outside the walls of Urd Morlemoch made her face look ghostly.

It took Morigna a moment to find her voice. 

“We are not dead?” she said at last.

“Not yet,” said Mara, wiping blood from her nose. She sniffled, spat, and cleared her throat. “But we are in a lot of trouble.”

“Plainly,” said Morigna. “What happened? How long was I unconscious?” 

“Not long,” said Mara, wobbling to her feet. “A few moments. The Warden moved his spirit into Calliande’s body, and bound hers within that empty soulstone. He’s going to use it to open a gate to Old Earth. He trapped the rest of us in that enchanted sleep, and then left with the soulstone.”

“How are you still awake?” said Morigna. 

Mara grinned. “The Warden doesn’t know what I really am. So he didn’t use the proper spell on me. His magic didn’t knock me out.”

“The dream was so real,” murmured Morigna. She remembered the taste of Ridmark’s lips on hers as they lay together in Castra Arban, the feel of his child growing beneath her heart. That solidified her resolve. She had been trapped in a dream, but Ridmark was real. She would kiss him again, if they did not die here.

Though that seemed unlikely at the moment. 

“Aye,” said Mara. “The Traveler used to do it to slaves. He would bind them in an enchanted sleep, a dream that fulfilled their every desire. Except he would let them awake in the final moment before they died of thirst and hunger, so they would realize that the dream had been false in the instant before death.”

“I do not care for the dark elves,” said Morigna. 

“I don’t think they even liked themselves,” said Mara. 

“How did you break the spell and wake me up?” said Morigna. 

“I didn’t,” said Mara. “I grabbed you and transported you a short distance.”

Morigna frowned. “I thought Calliande said that transporting a human through magic almost always causes insanity.”

“She did,” said Mara. “But she also said the likelihood increases with further distance, and we only went a few yards. Given the alternatives, it seemed the best risk available.”

“It would seem so,” said Morigna. “Can you do it again?”

Mara shook her head. She looked exhausted, paler than usual, her eyes ringed with dark circles. The blue fire had not yet faded from her veins as it usually did after she used her power. “I doubt it. Not without killing myself in the process. I hoped you have a spell or two to use.”

“Ah,” said Morigna. She had wondered why Mara had freed her instead of Jager. “I will see what I can do.” 

Mara nodded. “We should hasten. If the Warden opens that gate, we’ll never see Calliande again.”

Morigna did not like Calliande, but even she would not wish such a hideous fate upon the Magistria. Nor would she condemn the people of Old Earth to millennia of slavery beneath the Warden’s iron hand. Of course, the nations of Old Earth seemed eager to enslave themselves, if the Warden’s visions had been true. But that was of no consequence. Ridmark was in danger, and she had to save him.

If she could figure out how to do so. 

She took a deep breath and cast the spell to sense the presence of magic.

It almost overwhelmed her. The tremendous magic stirring outside the walls of Urd Morlemoch washed over her senses like a storm. For a moment fear choked her. The Warden was nightmarishly strong. He could have brushed aside the Old Man like an insect and crushed the Artificer in a matter of moments. How could Morigna hope to oppose a wizard of such sorcerous power? 

“Are you all right?” said Mara.

“No,” said Morigna. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to focus upon the menhirs.

The spells upon the standing stones were tremendously complex. The spells bound their prisoners with chains upon the mind and the body, locking them in a sleep and filling their minds with soothing dreams. Worse, even touching the menhirs would release the power, killing both Morigna and whoever she touched. 

“Can you do anything?” said Mara. 

“I believe so,” said Morigna. The black menhirs were impervious to her magic, but she could fold the white stone beneath them. If she moved the menhirs, perhaps it would cause their prisoners to fall and break contact with the stones, shattering the spells. Or she could command a gust of wind to blow them away, though playing with the wind at this height was dangerous. She recast the spell, focusing it again. 

Something occurred to her. 

She swept the focus of her spell against the menhir Mara had occupied, and her eyes widened. That spell was damaged, bleeding power. Mara was right. Evidently whatever spell the Warden had used had not been designed for whatever Mara had become. 

“The power,” said Morigna. “The power for the spells is coming from the soulstones.” She left the circle, examining the small altars that stood against the exterior of the standing stones. “Look at this. There are thirteen menhirs, but only eight of us were trapped here.” 

“And only eight soulstones,” said Mara. “Mine looks…broken.”

It did. The other seven soulstones shone with a steady blue light, like domes of crystal draped over blue-burning candles. The one that had held Mara flickered and sputtered, seeming to vibrate like a rope under excessive tension. Morigna sensed the power leaking from it. 

A surge of excitement went through her.

Power that she could use, perhaps? Power that could use to break the spell?

“You can do something?” said Mara. 

“Yes,” murmured Morigna, staring at the damaged soulstone. “If I use the power in that soulstone, I can break the other spells.”

“What?” said Mara, horrified. “No, that’s not what I meant at all.” 

“It will work,” said Morigna. “Like when we faced the Artificer. The Warden’s magic can defend against everything except itself. If I draw on the power, I can use it to break the spells on the menhirs and awake the others.”

“You’ll have to draw that power into yourself,” said Mara. “That’s the Warden’s magic, Morigna. It will do bad things to you.”

“We have to break the others free,” said Morigna, looking at Ridmark.

“There are better ways,” said Mara, pointing at Morigna’s belt. “Your dwarven dagger. You can use it to push the soulstones off the altars. Its enchantment will resist the dark magic, and moving the soulstones will break the spells on the menhirs.”

“It might,” said Morigna. “Or I can turn the Warden’s own magic against the spells.”

“No,” said Mara. “Morigna, this is an extremely bad idea. You have seen what dark elven magic does to mortals. The soulcatcher almost turned Jager into an urhaalgar. You don’t know what this power will do to you.” 

“I know what I could do with it,” said Morigna. With that power she could free Ridmark and the others. If they lived through this, if they managed to escape Urd Morlemoch…she could put that power to great use. 

Great use, indeed. 

“Morigna,” said Mara, “please, listen to me…”

Before Morigna could change her mind, she reached out her left hand and placed it on the soulstone upon the altar. 

The soulstone blazed brighter, and blue light poured up Morigna’s arm. She gasped in surprise, her fingers clenching tighter against the soulstone’s cold, rough surface. The veins in her hand and arm shone with blue light, as Mara’s did when she used her power. Strength rushed into Morigna, and she felt her magic growing stronger. The sensation was almost intoxicating. With this power she could free the others, and perhaps she could even challenge the Warden himself…

Then the pain came.

Morigna threw back her head and screamed. It felt as if every fiber of her body had caught flame. Suddenly she felt the currents of magic roaring around Urd Morlemoch and flowing to the east, currents that pulled at the power burning with her.

“Morigna!” said Mara, grabbing her arm.

Blue fire and black shadow erupted around them both, and everything vanished into the void.

Chapter 19 - Threshold

Mara felt something rough and cold beneath her cheek. 

After a moment she realized it was concrete, though concrete far finer and smoother than any she had seen in the realm of Andomhaim. A peculiar murmuring sound filled her ears, and after a moment she realized it was the sound of a city, of boots clicking against the ground and voices raised in conversation in a language she did not recognize. Yet stranger sounds came to her ears. A deep rumble, like some great engine laboring endlessly. Peculiar beeps and chirps, like the songs of metal birds. Many softer rumbles, and the whooshing noise of something moving with terrific speed.

She gathered her strength, opened her eyes, and sat up.

The first thing she was saw the gray mist. It swirled around everything, through everything, and to her Sight it was saturated with magic. In the distance she saw a blazing sheet of blue-green flame, and realized that it was the Warden’s gate. Or, rather, what would soon become the Warden’s gate. The forces were gathering, and it was not yet fully open. 

Then the strangeness of the other sights forced their way into her consciousness. 

Mara was in the city of glass and steel the Warden had showed them.

She was in London, in Britannia upon Old Earth. 

The great buildings of glass and steel rose over her, and the strange horseless vehicles moved back and forth with terrific speed down a strip of black tar between the buildings. Paths of concrete ran on either side of the black road, filled with men and women on foot. Most of the men wore suits of shiny black cloth with gleaming black shoes and stark white shirts, peculiar ribbons of colored cloth hanging into their coats from their collars. The women’s clothing had more color, though most of them wore skirts that left their knees and legs bare, and rigid shoes with high heels that made a constant clicking against the concrete. Many people held their speaking machines to their ears, talking into them. One florid-faced man stepped towards Mara, talking into his device, and she tried to get out of the way.

Instead the man walked through her. As if she were not there. 

As if she were a ghost. 

Puzzled, Mara waved her hand, and her arm passed through the head of a nearby woman. The woman showed no reaction. Mara turned and strode through several men and women. None of them displayed any reaction.

Was she a ghost? Had she died and gone to Old Earth? That seemed most unlikely. When she died, Mara had thought she would either go to paradise because of her faith in the Dominus Christus or to hell because of the various crimes she had committed with the Red Family. She certainly had not expected to go to Londinium. 

Or perhaps she was real and she had come to a world of ghosts. 

A groan came to her ears.

Morigna lay upon the street.

She did not look well. 

Physically, she looked unharmed. Yet the Sight revealed the dark magic swirling and pulsing within her. Morigna had taken that power into herself, and now it was sinking into her like a poison working its way through the blood. Mara wondered if Morigna would transform into an urshane or an urdhracos.