Frostborn: The Broken Mage (35 page)

Then the wall of fire winked out, and shadows exploded through the Vault. 

A deathly chill went through Ridmark, and Gavin and Arandar flinched back, their soulblades blazing brighter as the magic of the swords struggled against the darkness writhing through the Vault. Tendrils of shadow shot in all directions, and Ridmark saw Kharlacht and Caius fall, the shadows plunging into them. Jager fell next, and Mara stumbled and went to one knee, shaking her head. Both Morigna and Antenora fell, the light from their staffs winking out. Arandar and Gavin stood in place, struggling to move forward like men fighting against a gale, their soulblades blazing. 

Yet the strange chill did not seem to touch Ridmark.

He looked at his staff and saw symbols glowing along its length, throwing a pale circle of light around his feet. The tendrils of shadow warped around the light like water flowing around a stone. Ridmark took a tentative step forward and found that he could move, even if the others could not.

Mournacht scrambled backwards, his wounds closing as his wards recovered from the assault of the soulblades.

“Mara!” shouted Ridmark, keeping an eye on Mournacht. “What is happening?”

“Dark magic,” croaked Mara. He could barely hear her. “Powerful. More powerful than…”

“I can barely hold it back,” said Gavin through gritted teeth. 

Mournacht went motionless, a glassy look coming over his face. Behind him Ridmark saw that the Mhorites had been overcome by the tendrils of shadow as well, many of them stunned and motionless. 

Boot heels clicked against the floor of the Vault.

A tall figure in a long, red-trimmed black coat strode down the central aisle of the Vault, and the maze of shadows seemed to pour from him, as if he could somehow cast a shadow in every direction at once. Beneath the coat he wore a stark white shirt, black trousers, and gleaming black boots. The man had the lean features and pointed ears of a high elf, but there was something wrong with him. His skin was the grayish-white of a corpse, and black veins throbbed beneath his hands and face, like fingers of corruption digging into rotting flesh. His bloodshot eyes were the color of mercury, of quicksilver, and Ridmark glimpsed his reflection in the high elf’s eyes.

A jolt of dark recognition went through Ridmark. He had never seen this high elf before, but Ridmark knew him.

The red-coated form stopped twenty yards from Ridmark, and Mournacht walked to his side with a halting limp.

“So you do recognize me,” said the high elf in perfect Latin. His voice was strange, distorted, as if two voices spoke through his mouth at once. One was the inhumanly deep and melodious voice of a high elf. The second was a strange, snarling hiss, distorted and furious, the rasping growl of a hungry shadow. “How appropriate. Do you know who I am?”

Ridmark took a deep breath. Here was the archmage who had summoned the Frostborn to Andomhaim. Here was the founder of the Enlightened of Incariel. Here was the man who had set Andomhaim to civil war to destroy the Order of the Vigilant, who had spent centuries planning to kill Calliande.

Here was the man who would summon the Frostborn again.

“Shadowbearer,” said Ridmark.

Chapter 20: A Constant Thorn In My Side

For a long moment Shadowbearer said nothing, his head tilted to the side as he considered Ridmark. The vast maze of shadow that stretched from him seemed to twitch and writhe, hissing and stirring like a den of restless serpents. Ridmark was not sure, but he thought Shadowbearer seemed…uncertain, perhaps even hesitant. Why? Ridmark could not hurt him. The Swordbearers might be able to hurt him, if they got close enough, but the shadows held them in place. 

Ridmark met Shadowbearer’s eyes, and felt the hideous weight and power of the ancient wizard’s gaze. He had felt something similar from the archmage Ardrhythain, but Ardrhythain had been without malice. Shadowbearer possessed a great deal of malice, and he wanted Ridmark dead. 

“You’re so young,” said Shadowbearer at last, shaking his head. 

“I don’t feel it,” said Ridmark, wondering why Shadowbearer was bothering to talk. 

“But you are,” said Shadowbearer, Mournacht standing motionless at his side. “Twenty-eight years? Thirty years? Thirty years is nothing. A pebble dropped into the abyss of the years of I have seen.” He shook his head again, incredulous. “Thirty years.”

“Why are you telling me this?” said Ridmark.

“You are nothing,” said Shadowbearer. “A flicker upon a pond. A flower the blooms in the morning and withers in the dusk. You are nothing…and yet do you have any idea how much difficulty you have caused me?” 

Ridmark blinked. 

Shadowbearer was talking because he was annoyed. 

Ridmark looked at the archmage, and then back at his staff, at the pale glow shining from the symbols written upon its length. The staff wasn’t magical, but the spells Ardrhythain had cast while holding it had altered the wood, allowing it to wound creatures of dark magic. Had it also altered the wood so that the staff protected its bearer from Shadowbearer’s power?

Had Ardrhythain foreseen this confrontation and given the staff to Ridmark for that reason?

Ridmark had to keep Shadowbearer talking.

“And just how much,” he said, “difficulty have I caused you?” 

Shadowbearer let out a sound that was halfway between an exasperated sigh and a growl, a sound made all the stranger by his eerie double voice. “Everything worked exactly as I intended. Your imbecilic High King and the insipid children of the Two Orders wiped out the Eternalists, but my Enlightened of Incariel spread through your realm like a cancer, eating it out from the inside. The Pendragon princes were so easy to manipulate into a bloody civil war.” His eyes roved over the Vault, as if seeking for something, and he glanced at Arandar, who struggled to move against the tendrils of shadow as Heartwarden shone in his fist. “You shouldn’t be so ashamed of being a bastard, Sir Arandar. Some of your ancestors were complete idiots.” He took several steps closer, and his gaze snapped back to Ridmark, its terrible power falling over him. “But none of them caused as much trouble as you did, Ridmark Arban the exile. I weakened Andomhaim. I crushed the Order of the Vigilant that Calliande left behind to trouble me. I seized the great soulstone from the caverns of Cathair Solas, and I was there waiting when Calliande awoke on the day of the conjunction.” A smile spread over his gray face, the black veins beneath his skin pulsing. “You should have seen her confusion, her fear. She had maimed herself in hopes of stopping me, and yet had delivered victory in my hands.”

“I know,” rasped Kharlacht, struggling against the tendrils of shadow that bound him. “I was there.”

“What?” said Shadowbearer. “Ah, of course. Qazarl’s cousin. The fool could do nothing right.” He turned back to Ridmark. “My plans worked perfectly. The Order of the Vigilant was destroyed, and the Enlightened crippled Andomhaim, so there was no one left to stop me. The Keeper had maimed herself, and was as weak and helpless as any other human bitch. I would draw away Ardrhythain’s attention, and Qazarl’s acolytes would kill Calliande upon the altar of the Black Mountain, opening the way for the Frostborn once more. I was an hour away from triumph.” Hate flashed over the black-veined face. “Then you wandered along.”  

“I take it that disrupted your plans?” said Ridmark, taking another cautious step closer to Shadowbearer. Still the corrupted archmage did not seem to care. Ridmark had seen Ardrhythain wield his power against the Warden, and if Shadowbearer had anything like Ardrhythain’s magical power, there was no way Ridmark could kill him. Yet if Shadowbearer did not see him as a threat, if the staff kept Ridmark free of the entangling shadows for a little while longer, perhaps he could catch Shadowbearer off guard. 

“Maybe I should have foreseen it,” said Shadowbearer, the snarl in his double voice growing deeper. “Ardrhythain did, certainly. Else why did he send you to Urd Morlemoch? The Warden foresaw it as well. He was ever the cleverest of his kindred, thought that is hardly high praise. Your future…the shadow you cast over the potentiality of time was immense.” He raked a hand through the air, as if pushing aside something that irritated him. “Do you know what is wrong with humans?”

“I suspect you are about to tell me,” said Ridmark, taking another step towards the archmage. Just a little closer…

“You don’t live long enough,” said Shadowbearer. “You change too quickly. You are impossible to predict. Centuries of planning and preparation, and you stumble across Calliande.” A shiver went through the maze of shadow surrounding him. “Perhaps God put you into my path. I still don’t know how humans came to Andomhaim. The dark elves summoned all the other kindreds here. I summoned the Frostborn, offered them this world like a roast upon a platter. Yet humans…your Keeper must have found a wild gate and wandered through it. It could have been a coincidence, yet a most unlikely one. But God ever loves to wield coincidence against his foes.” 

“What do you want?” said Ridmark. “Why do all of this? The Frostborn, the Enlightened…all of it? A hundred thousand years of war, if the Warden spoke true.”

Shadowbearer laughed. “Didn’t your beloved Ardrhythain tell you? No? Well, he wrought your kindred into his weapons, the Magistri and the Swordbearers, but one does not tell secrets to one’s sword. But I will tell you the truth, Ridmark Arban. Do you want to know why I have done what I have done?”

Ridmark said nothing.

“Freedom,” hissed Shadowbearer, both his voices snarling with rage. “I shall have it at last. And when I do, this world shall burn as my vengeance.” His smile returned. “And it seems the instrument of my freedom is at hand.”

He took a step forward and vanished in a swirl of blue flame. Ridmark spun, trying to find him, and Shadowbearer reappeared above Jager. The halfling thief tried to raise his short sword, but the tendrils of shadow held him fast. Shadowbearer stooped, tore the pouch with the soulstone from Jager’s belt, and straightened up. 

“You have no idea,” said Shadowbearer, “how much trouble it was to obtain this thing. First to steal it from Cathair Solas. Then to get it back from you. Coriolus couldn’t retrieve it from you. Tarrabus Carhaine failed to steal it from you, and Sir Paul Tallmane failed as well. Perhaps the old proverb is still the wisest. If you want something done right, do it yourself.” 

“Stealing that soulstone was a lot of work,” said Jager, his voice shaking as he fought against the tendrils of shadow holding him. “You just used magic. That’s cheating.” 

Shadowbearer ignored him, his gaze turning to Mara. “Surprised, my dark elven bastard? You are not the only one who knows how to travel through the edge of the threshold. You know, in a way, you and I are kin. Distant kin, to be sure, but kin nonetheless. I really must thank you for killing the Traveler. He posed a constant problem ever since rousing his cowardly hide from Nightmane Forest.” He looked at the Traveler’s corpse and laughed. “He was afraid of so many things – the Warden, Ardrhythain, the urdmordar. Me.” He laughed again. “I doubt he ever imagined one of his half-breed spawn would kill him. It’s his own fault, really, for using human women as concubines.” He turned from Mara and grinned at Caius. “You see, Brother Caius? A sin really is its own downfall.”

“Perhaps you should heed that warning yourself,” said Mara, struggling against the shadowy bonds. 

“Mortal laws do not apply to me,” said Shadowbearer, hefting the leather pouch in his right fist. “Still, it does have a pleasing sort of symmetry, does it not? I had planned to fill this great soulstone with the power of the Keeper, to use her magic to power the gate upon the Black Mountain. A pity I will not have the chance, since she is dead.”

“Are you sure about that?” said Ridmark.

“Entirely,” said Shadowbearer, his malice turning back towards Ridmark. “Do you think I would have been foolish enough to show myself if there was any threat here? You killed the Traveler for me. Mournacht is my puppet.” He smiled at that. “Do you know how I did it? A very minor spell, one to twist the jelly between their ears that serves as their brains. They think that my voice is the voice of Mhor. They would fall on their swords, if I asked it of them. And the greatest threat, Calliande the Keeper, is dead. The Devourer followed her into Dragonfall, and it killed her immediately.”

“You don’t know that,” said Ridmark.

“I do,” said Shadowbearer. “You see, Gray Knight, the Devourer is now trapped within Dragonfall. Even after it consumed Calliande and the power of the Keeper, it would not be able to break through the wards Ardrhythain placed within it. The malophage will make a useful tool once I free it from the trap. If Calliande had reclaimed her staff, she would have returned within a few moments.” He smiled. “She has not, has she?”

Ridmark said nothing. Shadowbearer’s logic made grim, remorseless sense. 

“But since Calliande is dead and therefore cannot fill the soulstone,” said Shadowbearer, “another source will have to serve.” 

He turned towards Morigna, and she tensed. 

“I remember you,” sneered Morigna. “Coriolus’s master, are you not? Given what a cringing toad the Old Man was, it seems only fitting that his master is little better.” 

Both of Shadowbearer’s voices laughed. “You were to have been Coriolus’s new vessel, but he failed me. It is only fitting that I make better use of you. Your feeble elemental magic is meaningless, but you imbibed of the Warden’s power, did you not? That will prove powerful enough to open a gate to the world of the Frostborn. Your death shall accomplish more than your life ever would have.” 

Shadowbearer pointed his free hand at her, shadowy fire dancing around his fingers, and Ridmark was out of time. 

He raced at Shadowbearer, drawing back his staff to strike. 

Shadowbearer did not turn, did not even so much as flinch. Instead he merely crooked a finger, and suddenly Ridmark froze in mid-step. Something held him immobile, and he struggled against the invisible force. Even as he struggled, it began to squeeze tighter around him.

It was becoming harder to breathe.