Frostborn: The Broken Mage (16 page)

She didn’t have any way to shield herself from the basilisk’s gaze, and while her spells would enrage the creature, they couldn’t kill it. The basilisk had no such hindrance, and if it caught her, it would kill her. Or Morigna would become desperate enough to use her stolen dark magic, and there was no telling what would happen then…

Ridmark spun, using the motion to fuel the momentum of his axe, and drove the blade into a dvargir’s neck. There was a ghastly crunching noise, and the dvargir did a weird, jerking dance as Ridmark ripped the blade free. Another dvargir came at Ridmark, but Kharlacht stepped smoothly into the fray, his greatsword parting the dvargir warrior’s arm from his shoulder. The dvargir fell back with a hoarse scream, and Ridmark finished him off. 

He looked around, but the dvargir were retreating. 

“Arandar!” said Ridmark. “Take charge here.” He found his staff and picked it up in his left hand, the axe still in his right. “I’m going after Morigna.”

The Swordbearer nodded, and Ridmark ran into the gloom, staff and axe in hand. He supposed that the pale glow from Calliande’s ward would make him stand out like a beacon in the darkness, but the yellow glow from the basilisk’s eyes would serve just as well. Ridmark looked at the ground, but it was too dark to see tracks, and the hard stone floor would not hold footprints anyway. Where would Morigna have gone? She had spent years hunting and trapping in the forests of the Wilderland, so she knew how predators thought. She would have tried to lose the basilisk and circle back to rejoin him. But where could she lose the basilisk in this vast, open chamber? 

It had to be one of the blast furnaces. Some of them had been damaged, gaping holes yawning in their side. If Morigna climbed into one, perhaps she could throw off the basilisk’s pursuit…

A flicker of yellow light caught Ridmark’s attention. 

He saw the basilisk move around the base of a damaged blast furnace, its movements a peculiar combination of a serpentine slither and a centipede’s skitter. It was moving quietly. That meant it was sneaking up on someone…

Morigna. 

Ridmark dropped his staff and sprinted forward, both hands coiling around the axe’s haft. The basilisk tensed before the entrance to the furnace, ready to spring on someone inside. Ridmark ran faster and threw himself forward, raising the axe over his head. At the last moment the basilisk turned as it sensed his presence, and its long, slender tail stabbed forward. The stinger struck Ridmark in the chest, and a bolt of pain shot through him. He wondered if it had penetrated the dark elven armor he wore beneath his jerkin. 

But it did not slow him, and he buried the axe in the basilisk’s skull. The basilisk went into a mad spasm, its claws raking at the floor, its tail snapping back and forth in fury. Ridmark hit the side of the doorway, bounced off, and landed hard on the floor. For a moment he could not move as the breath exploded from his lungs, and another wave of pain went through his chest and injured shoulder. At last he managed sat up as Morigna ran to his side, purple fire flickering around her free hand as she started a spell. 

The basilisk thrashed once and then went limp, Ridmark’s axe still jutting from its skull. 

Ridmark let out a long, aching breath and got to his feet.

“It stung you,” said Morigna, her voice tight. 

“Aye,” said Ridmark. “Could you get a little more light?”

She nodded in the gloom and lifted her hand, a sphere of pale blue light shimmering into existence over her palm. Ridmark tugged aside his jerkin and looked at the plates of blue dark elven steel. He felt a terrible bruise forming across his chest, but the basilisk’s stinger had failed to penetrate the armor. 

“I do not believe it reached your flesh,” said Morigna. 

“I suppose if it had poisoned me I would have died by now,” said Ridmark. He took a deep breath, ignoring the ache in his chest. “I…am glad you are safe. Why did you charge off like that?”

“Because it would have killed me if I had stayed there,” said Morigna. “And you are hardly one to judge, Ridmark Arban. You are not the only one who can indulge in reckless madness from time to time.”

“I suppose not,” said Ridmark. He tugged his axe free from the basilisk’s skull. It came free with a crackling sound, yellow slime dripping from the blade. “How did you keep it from petrifying you? I was sure I would find your statue.”

She did not answer for a moment. “I ran faster, that is all. Evidently its power only operates in a certain range.”

Ridmark was certain that wasn’t the entire truth, that something else had happened. Perhaps she had resorted to the use of her stolen dark magic again. This wasn’t the time to deal with it, though. 

“Come on,” said Ridmark. He found where his staff had rolled to a stop against a cart and picked it up. “The dvargir were fleeing, but I want to rejoin the others as soon as possible. Sooner or later the dvargir will come after us again.”

“Doubtful,” said Morigna with a scornful laugh. “They are not so brave without their pets, and seeing Antenora cook their mzrokar likely stole away their courage.”

“It was an impressive sight,” said Ridmark, walking around one of the blast furnaces. 

“An amazingly foul odor, though,” said Morigna. “I suspect the surviving dvargir will flee straight back to Khaldurmar. Mostly they were common soldiers, and they will blame the failure upon Rzorgar, and return to their duties with Great House Mlurzar.” She hesitated. “I am…glad you are uninjured. When the basilisk stung you, I thought…”

He leaned his staff against the wall of the nearest blast furnace, reached over, and squeezed her hand. The fiery light from the flows of lava did not illuminate much, but he did see the brief smile flicker over her face. 

“I am glad you are safe, too,” said Ridmark.

“As safe as one can be, anyway,” said Morigna, “while standing in a dwarven ruin filled with creatures that want to kill us.” 

“True,” said Ridmark, releasing her hand and recovering his staff. “Then let’s find Dragonfall and get out of here.”

She let out a tired little laugh. “You always make these things sound so easy.” 

Ridmark had lost track of his location in the maze of domed blast furnaces and debris, but the light (and stench) from the burning mzrokar made it easy to find his way back to the others. Dead dvargir lay scattered across the floor, and Calliande stood next to Kharlacht, white light glimmering from her fingers as she cast healing spells. Many of the Magistri had the power to heal, but Calliande was the best healer Ridmark had ever encountered. A Magistria had to endure the pain of a wound to heal it, but Calliande never flinched, never complained. 

“The basilisk,” said Kharlacht.

“Dead,” said Ridmark. One of the dead dvargir had a cloak, and he cleaned the yellow slime from his axe and returned the weapon to his belt. “An axe to the head does not kill everything, but apparently it will kill basilisks.” 

Calliande nodded and made a gesture, and the pale light of her ward vanished. She crossed over, put her hand on Ridmark’s forehead, and nodded to herself. More light flashed around her hands, and she winced a little, and the pain of Ridmark’s injuries vanished as her magic healed them.

“Thank you,” said Ridmark. 

Calliande took a deep breath. “Morigna. Any wounds?”

“No,” said Morigna. “It was a close thing, though. If Ridmark had not arrived…”

“Let’s not linger here,” said Ridmark. “Caius?”

The dwarven friar straightened up, scraping a few flecks of bloody flesh from the head of his mace. “If that map is accurate, the entrance to the mine levels should be at the other end of the Forge Quarter. We’ll know it when we see it.” 

“How?” said Jager.

“Pulleys and carts and rubble and such,” said Caius. “It’s exceptionally difficult to dig a hole into the heart of a mountain, and many tools are required.”

“Clearly your business ventures never included a mine,” said Arandar. 

“Not yet,” said Jager, “though if we escape from here, I may have to diversify my…”

“Gray Knight!” said Antenora. “Enemies come!” 

Ridmark spun as Antenora pointed her staff towards the ramp leading back up to the Goldsmiths’ Market. 

He didn’t see anything. 

“Ridmark!” said Mara. “I see them too! Urvaalgs!”

Antenora thrust her staff, a ball of flame leaping from its end and hurtling towards the archway. It shot across the foundry chamber, struck the floor, and exploded in a billowing snarl of fire. As it did, shapes appeared in the midst of the flames, rolling across the floor with snarls of rage. The air in front of the fire rippled, and resolved into a dozen dark, hunched shapes that moved with terrific speed despite their misshapen limbs. The creatures looked like a grotesque mixture of wolf and ape, their fur hanging in greasy black ropes, their twisted limbs knotted with muscle, their eyes shining like hot coals. The creatures were urvaalgs, the malicious war beasts of the dark elves of old. 

Which meant that the Traveler had entered Khald Azalar, and his scouts had found them.

“Defend yourselves!” said Ridmark, taking his staff in both hands as the urvaalgs raced towards them.

Chapter 9: An Extended Family

The urvaalgs bounded across the floor, and Ridmark attacked. 

He dashed at the nearest urvaalg and swung his staff, aiming for the creature’s head. The urvaalg made no effort to dodge. Weapons of steel and wood could not harm urvaalgs. Only the spells of the Magistri and the blades of the Swordbearers could kill an urvaalg, so the beast had no reason at all to dodge Ridmark’s staff. 

The high elven archmage Ardrhythain had carried the staff for centuries, altering its nature, so when the end of Ridmark’s staff struck the urvaalg’s head, it landed with enough force to shatter the urvaalg’s jaw, to send broken fangs tumbling to the ground with a sound like clay jars clanking together. The urvaalg let out a furious snarl of pain and rage, its claws scraping against the floor, and Ridmark crushed the side of its head with a second blow. 

Gavin and Arandar attacked, and their soulblades proved deadly effective against the urvaalgs. The swords shone with white light, flames dancing at their edges, and the enchanted swords cleaved into the urvaalgs’ flesh and bone, burning through the dark magic saturating the creatures. Calliande cast a spell, and more white light erupted from her hands to leap to the weapons of the others. Kharlacht’s great sword began to glow, as did Caius’s mace and Mara’s and Jager’s blades, and even Ridmark’s staff began to gleam in his hand. 

An urvaalg reared up before Ridmark, claws reaching for his face. He jabbed the end of his staff into the creature’s belly, and it rocked backwards with a snarl. Before the urvaalg could launch another attack, Ridmark whipped the axe from his belt and swung, plunging the blade into the urvaalg’s neck. The urvaalg shuddered, and Ridmark pulled the axe free and swung again. The spells wrought into the weapon by the dwarven stonescribes held true, and it bit deep into the urvaalg’s corrupted flesh. The urvaalg died, and Ridmark sought another foe.

Around him the others struggled. Kharlacht cut his way through the urvaalgs, spilling the black slime of their blood upon the floor. Caius crushed skulls with his mace. Jager lured in the urvaalgs, and Mara reappeared behind them, stabbing with her short sword. Morigna flung spells of earth magic, throwing the urvaalgs off balance and allowing the others to land blows. 

They were winning. In the Northerland and the other frontiers of the High Kingdom, a single urvaalg could wipe out an entire freehold with ease. Yet with two Swordbearers, two sorceresses of elemental magic, and a Magistria, Ridmark and his friends carved their way through the urvaalgs. Yet it was not the urvaalgs that concerned Ridmark. The Traveler had far more powerful servants. A pack of urvaalgs was dangerous. A pack of urvaalgs backed by the might of an ursaar would be far more deadly. For that matter, the Traveler’s orcish soldiers, the Anathgrimm, were stronger, tougher, and more disciplined fighters than the Mhorites. If they attacked while Ridmark and the others were fighting the urvaalgs, Ridmark didn’t know if they could win free.

Best to be long gone by the time the Anathgrimm arrived. 

An urvaalg lunged at him, clawed forelegs reaching for his shoulders, jaws yawning to close around his neck. Ridmark ducked beneath the lunge, dropping his staff and swinging his axe, and the dwarven blade bit into the urvaalg’s rear hind leg. The beast roared in fury as its damaged leg collapsed, and Ridmark rolled back to his feet as the urvaalg struggled to stand, his staff in both hands.

Three heavy blows to the head later, the urvaalg died. Ridmark yanked his axe from its quivering carcass and turned to face another.

###

Mara flickered in and out of the battle, using her power to cover a dozen yards in an instant, reappearing and disappearing as needed. She could not possibly face an urvaalg in a fight, and so she didn’t even try. Instead she appeared behind the urvaalgs, using her short sword of dark elven steel to hamstring the beasts. Hindered and in pain, they tried to kill her, only for Kharlacht to behead them with a single massive blow of his sword, or for Arandar to bring Heartwarden down in a blaze of white fire. 

From time to time bursts of white fire shot past Mara to strike the charging urvaalgs, the fires chewing into their corrupted flesh. Even while maintaining the spell around the weapons, Calliande still had enough power left to attack the urvaalgs with blasts of killing magic. The magic of the Magistri could not harm living mortals, but it was deadly effective against creatures of dark magic. Calliande had indeed grown stronger since leaving Urd Morlemoch. To Mara’s Sight, the magic of the Well blazed around Calliande like a storm, and the Magistria wielded it with precision. Mara suspected that Calliande was already one of the most powerful Magistri in Andomhaim, and wondered how much stronger she would become with the magic of the Keeper at her command. 

Morigna flung spells of earth magic, knocking the urvaalgs over. Mara’s Sight saw the dark magic simmering within Morigna, like boiling water under a pot’s lid, but Morigna kept it under control. Antenora stood next to her, fires crackling around her staff, but the combatants were tangled so close together that she dared not unleash her furious powers.