Frostborn: The Undying Wizard (14 page)

Not the prints of booted feet. 

Invisible men. A ridiculous idea.

Yet Ridmark was utterly certain those footprints had not been there a few moments ago. 

And if there were invisible men watching them, they were preparing to strike. And if they were preparing to strike, they were close enough to overhear anything he said.

Which meant he could not warn the others. 

Unless he thought of something clever. 

“Calliande,” he said, stepping closer to her.

“What is it?” she said. “I don’t sense anything…”

He took her in his arms and pulled her close. He just had time to see her expression, her blue eyes wide and shocked, but she made no effort to stop him. He cupped his free hand against the back of her neck and lowered his lips to her right ear.

“Listen to me,” he whispered as softly as he could. “We’re in terrible danger. Don’t speak. Nod if you understand.”

He felt her nod, heard Morigna’s amused laugh. 

“A spell to break other spells,” whispered Ridmark. “Can you cast it over the path?”

Calliande nodded. 

“Prepare it,” whispered Ridmark, her body warm against him. “Do it as soon as I step away.”

She nodded once more, and he felt her hands clench as she summoned power, her breathing turning rhythmic. Hopefully their unseen observers would fail to notice anything amiss. 

Ridmark released her and took two steps back, gripping his staff in both hands.

“Dare I even ask what that was about?” said Caius.

Calliande flung out her hands, white fire dancing around her fingers, and a pulse of white light washed across the hillside. For a moment nothing happened, and Ridmark wondered if he had been too cautious, or if he had simply lost his mind. 

Then seven man-sized pillars of shadow swirled around the edges of the path. Kharlacht barked a curse and drew his greatsword, while Caius lifted his mace and Gavin yanked his sword from its sheath. Morigna took a step back, purple fire shining around her fingers.

Then the shadows faded away, revealing seven men.

Six of them wore identical costumes, dark cloaks with the hoods raised, swords and daggers at their belts. Crimson masks concealed their faces, shaped like grinning human skulls, and cuirasses of crimson leather armored their torsos. Ridmark recognized the design of the masks at once. They were assassins of the Red Family of Cintarra, a cult that worshipped Mhor, one of the old orcish blood gods, and they dealt death in his name. They also happened to profit tidily from their murders, and performed assassinations in exchange for large sums of gold. 

The seventh man was stocky and muscular, with a thick beard and a hauberk of chain mail, a sword ready in his hand.

Sir Jonas Vorinus, younger brother of the praefectus of Moraime.

“Well, well,” said Jonas with a laugh. “You were just as clever as I was warned, Ridmark of the House of the Arbanii. But not clever enough to escape the Enlightened of Incariel.”

Chapter 9 - Sons of Mhor

“The Enlightened of what?” said Morigna, scowling at Jonas. “What foolishness is this?” 

She was stunned. Jonas has used some sort of magic to conceal himself and his red-masked followers. Yet she had sensed nothing. Surely she would have felt something, some trace of the spell, as they drew closer. Certainly the Old Man would have detected the magic and dispatched the intruders.

Yet there Jonas stood. Morigna had always considered him a spiteful, useless buffoon.

Perhaps she had been mistaken. 

“Oh, you don’t know, do you?” said Jonas, lifting his sword with a lazy smile. “The Witch of the Hills, so arrogant, so sure of herself, doesn’t know something? How shocking.”

“Incariel,” said Ridmark, his staff in both hands. The Gray Knight looked calm, but his voice was ice. “It’s a name for the great void the dark elves worshipped, the darkness that twisted them.”

“And the dvargir,” added Caius, his mace ready. 

“Go on,” said Jonas. “This is most educational.”

“There are some among the nobility of Andomhaim who worship Incariel, who believe it will give them the power to become the immortal princes of mankind,” said Ridmark. “Of course, the serpent promised much the same to Eve on Old Earth.”

“A feeble story for children,” said Jonas. “Neither Old Earth nor the Dominus Christus ever existed, only this world. The priests of the church have no power. The Initiated of the Enlightened do, power beyond anything your parochial little mind can understand.” 

“Paul Tallmane said the same,” said Ridmark.

“He was not one of the Initiated,” said Jonas, “and I have been sent to rectify his error.” His brown eyes, so similar to Nathan’s, turned back to Morigna. “And my fine friends, little witch? Do you recognize them?” 

Morigna sneered at Jonas’s companions. The men looked at her in silence, and she had to admit their grim skull-masks were a bit unnerving. “Whoever they are, they have poor taste in costumes. A crimson skull? Why not dress up in a sheet to frighten children?”

“They are called the Red Family of Cintarra,” said Ridmark. “Hired assassins. I have enemies, and they are willing to pay a rich price for my head.”

“The Dux Tarrabus Carhaine of Caerdracon, you mean,” said Jonas. “A fine and noble man. I enjoyed meeting him.”

“And these are your fur merchants, I take it?” said Morigna. 

Jonas laughed. “Aye. They’ve visited Moraime for years. I made their acquaintance when I visited Coldinium a few years ago…and there I met the Enlightened. They sought worthy men to join them, to aid them in ruling the earth in the new order to come, and I joined them.” 

“I suspect your masters will be less than pleased,” said Ridmark, “when they learn how badly you botched this ambush.”

“The Master cares nothing for methods, only for results,” said Jonas. “If I had to kill everyone in that miserable monastery to get at you, he would not blink an eye, so long as I was successful. Which reminds me. How did you see past the concealment?”

“The Magistria sensed it,” said Ridmark. That annoyed Morigna – if Calliande had been able to sense it, why had it eluded her notice?

“That is a lie,” said Jonas with a smile. “A good one, though. Mortal wizards, whether Magistri or renegade hill witches, cannot detect the power of Incariel’s shadow.”

Shadow? What was he talking about?

“Footprints,” said Ridmark. “You didn’t bother to conceal them when you followed us here.”

Jonas groaned. “Of course! You really are as clever as the Dux said. Not clever enough to escape, of course, but still clever.”

“And that is why you recognized me,” said Ridmark. “The Dux sent you to kill me.”

“In a way,” said Jonas. “The Master said you might pass through Moraime, and it is well-known within the Enlightened that the Dux will pay a fortune for your head. So I can both please the Master and earn the Dux’s gold in the same day. If there were a God, I would say that he smiled upon me.”

“So you want my head,” said Ridmark.

“Yes,” said Jonas. “And the pretty blond head of the Magistria, too. A pity we have to kill her. Ah, but we could have put her to some good use.”

One of the assassins let out a short, nasty laugh.

“Shadowbearer,” said Calliande, her blue eyes narrowed. “Your precious Master is Shadowbearer, isn’t he? I should have known. He told me…” She shook her head.

“The Master has many names,” said Jonas. “Some have called him Shadowbearer. We call him the Master, for he has taught us secret knowledge, and shown us the path to becoming gods.” 

“Folly,” said Caius. 

“As if you would know, dwarf,” said Jonas. “Your kindred shall have no place when the new order arises.” He pointed at Morigna. “Her, however, we shall take alive.”

“Me?” said Morigna. “What does your Master want with me?”

“I neither know nor care,” said Jonas. “I suspect the Master is doing a favor for one of his servants. But you will come with us…along with the stone carried by the Magistria.”

“The empty soulstone,” said Morigna. “And what will your Master do with it?”

“Why, that is a surprise,” said Jonas. “I suspect you will not enjoy it, though.” 

“Or to put it simply,” said Ridmark, “you are not important enough to the Enlightened to know.”

Morigna laughed at the flicker of dismay that went over Jonas’s expression, but the chagrin soon turned to anger.

“Enough,” said Jonas. “Let us begin, shall we?”

“By all means, please,” said Ridmark. “I assumed there was a reason you wished to weary our ears with your nonsense.” 

“Perhaps because we spoiled his ambush,” said Calliande.

Kharlacht barked a grim laugh. “Given how incompetently it was executed, we should not be surprised.”

“Impatience is ever the failing of the young,” said Caius. “Had the Red Brothers and the cultist remain where they were, we would have strolled right into their trap. We…”

“Enough!” said Jonas, pointing his sword. “I have decided to be generous and make you and offer. The Gray Knight and the Magistria must die, and the soulstone and the witch shall come with us.” 

“A compelling offer,” said Ridmark. “What do you offer in exchange?” 

“You three,” said Jonas with a smile. “The orc, the dwarf, and the boy. Kill the Gray Knight and the Magistria, help me overpower the witch, and I’ll let you live. More, I’ll even reward you. The Enlightened of Incariel are rising to power in Andomhaim, and we shall soon rule all of the world. Our friendship will be highly…”

Gavin and Caius laughed, and even Kharlacht looked amused.

“Aren’t you even going to offer us thirty pieces of silver?” said Gavin. “Isn’t that traditional?”

Caius laughed. “Well spoken, lad.”

“Thank you.” 

“Enough of this foolishness.” The Red Brother who had laughed turned his masked head to look at Jonas. “Kill them and be done with it. We were hired to kill your foes and help take the witch hostage, not to listen to your oratory.” 

“So be it, Rotherius,” said Jonas. 

“Are you sure that is wise?” said Ridmark. “We have a Magistria and another wielder of magic. You have none. Are you sure you can overcome us?”

“I am entirely certain,” said Jonas. “You see, Gray Knight, you might have overcome Paul Tallmane. He may have been one of the Enlightened, but he was not one of the Initiated…and I am an Initiated of the Second Circle.”

He lifted his sword, and shadows swirled and crawled around the blade.  

Cold power washed over Morigna, the darkness around the weapon pushing against her magical senses.

“They taught you magic?” she said, astonished. 

“Greater than the petty tricks of a Magistrius,” said Jonas, the shadows crawling up his arms like the tentacles of some unearthly beast. “The power of Incariel, the power to evolve mankind into a new and higher form. A pity you will not be there to see it. Rotherius! Kill them all, save for the witch. She’s mine.” 

Rotherius snarled a command, and the masked assassins sprang forward, swords and daggers a blur of steel. Ridmark and his companions moved just as quickly. Gavin planted himself before Calliande, shield and sword ready, and the Magistria herself began casting a spell. Kharlacht and Caius broke right and left, charging to meet the assassins’ attack, while Ridmark moved like a gray-cloaked storm, his staff a dark blur in his hand.

But Morigna focused upon Jonas. 

She drew upon her magic, letting the power of the earth flood through her. Her mind expanded, and she felt the ground beneath her boots, the stone bones of the earth spread below her like a skeleton draped in mud. She commanded the ground beneath Jonas to turn to quicksand, to suck him into the earth. The spell would hold him immobile until Ridmark questioned him. 

Or until Morigna decided to kill him. Ridmark, for all his strength, seemed like the sort of man to show mercy to defeated enemies. Valorous, certainly, but foolish.

A dead enemy could do you no harm. 

She gestured at him, and Jonas grinned.

The tentacle of shadow unwrapped from his arm and shot toward her with blinding speed. It wrapped around her like a rope, and Morigna screamed in sudden pain. She had no idea what kind of magic he had used, but it felt like a chain made of ice.

And it disrupted her concentration, shattering her spell.

Morigna slumped to her knees, fighting against the agony that flooded through her.

###

Calliande cast a spell, drawing on the magic of the Well despite her shock and alarm. The assassins of the Red Family were frightening, and she might die in the next few moments. 

But the revelation about Shadowbearer alarmed her more.

When she had first learned of the Enlightened of Incariel, she had assumed they were simply another esoteric cult, a collection of fools pursuing forbidden knowledge. Such things had happened at various times through Andomhaim’s history. But then the Watcher had appeared in her dreams and warned her against the Enlightened, telling her that they were a tool of Shadowbearer.

And now, if Jonas had told the truth, the Enlightened were Shadowbearer’s willing allies. 

The strange shadow writhing around Jonas’s sword arm seemed to prove the Watcher correct. It reminded Calliande of the shadow cast by Shadowbearer himself. It had crawled and hissed around him like a living serpent. When she had been dragged before him, naked and bound and helpless, she knew that a single touch of that terrible shadow would bring death. But he had intended to sacrifice her within a dark elven stone circle, binding her power to the empty soulstone. 

The empty soulstone she now carried. 

She felt a brief flicker of defiant pride. Apparently Shadowbearer had decided that she was too dangerous to keep alive. 

Morigna fell with a cry of pain, Jonas’s shadow coiling around her like a rope. Caius charged to the left, swinging his mace, while Kharlacht struck right, driving back a pair of the skull-masked assassins. Gavin raised his shield and set himself before Calliande. Ridmark ran at Jonas, while Rotherius and a second Red Brother moved to intercept him. 

White fire burn around Calliande’s hands as her spell flared to life. The light leapt from her fingers and soaked into her friends, and a moment later they moved faster, her magic enhancing their speed. The assassins fell back beneath the invigorated assault.