Frostborn: The Undying Wizard (21 page)

If so, why had they not raised undead to act as guards?

Ridmark examined the rampart over the gates. It was forty feet over the cavern floor, with high, narrow battlements. The battlements almost reached the cavern’s roof, yet there was enough room to allow an intruder to climb over the battlements and onto the rampart. 

“We’ll climb up,” said Ridmark. “The dvargir might not have thought to seal off the entrances on the rampart. If…”

“Wait,” said Caius. He frowned at some of the glyphs upon the façade. “I think…”

“Ridmark!”

Ridmark whirled. Morigna stood rigid, purple fire flaring to life around her hands as she gathered power for a spell.

“Someone is moving,” she said, voice tight with alarm. “Near the lake. I cannot see…”

“The dvargir have found us!” said Kharlacht. “To arms!” 

Ridmark gazed at the pond. If the unseen foes were indeed dvargir, they would have to release their shadowy invisibility before attacking. Yet there were other creatures that could move unseen in the Deeps. The urvaalgs and the ursaars, for one. Or…

Ridmark saw a shape outlined against the ghost mushrooms, hunched and moving without sound.

“Deep orcs!” said Ridmark, moving to attack.

And as he did, a dozen deep orcs sprang from the ghost mushrooms. 

The orcs of the surface tended to be tall and muscular, with dark green skin and black hair. The deep orcs were shorter and thinner, their skins a sickly yellow. Their huge ears, bigger than Ridmark’s palms, clung to the side of their heads. The deep orcs were eyeless, yet a strange band of knotted, veined flesh encircled their heads like a blindfold. The strange organ allowed them to see heat the way that humans and surface orcs saw the sun’s light. The dark elves had created the deep orcs long ago, using their magic to make them more effective slaves in the Deeps. The urdmordar had crushed the dark elves, but the deep orcs remained, living in independent tribes scattered throughout the Deeps. 

Or as slaves to the dvargir and the remaining dark elves.

One of the deep orcs charged at Ridmark. The orc wore black leather armor that drank the light, and carried a pair of black daggers. The orc lunged in eerie silence, his boots making no sound, and Ridmark jumped back. The blades missed, and he whirled his staff, using his weapon’s longer reach to land a hit against the deep orc’s left flank. He heard the crack of a rib, and for the first time the deep orc made a sound, a faint hiss of pain. Before the orcish warrior recovered, Ridmark raised his staff and brought it down upon the orc’s skull. Again he heard the crack of bone, and the deep orc fell, as silent as death as he had been in life. 

Ridmark sought a new foe and found a dozen deep orcs locked in battle against his friends. Kharlacht and Caius fought back to back as was their custom, a half-dozen orcs circling around them like dancing shadows. Gavin stood guard before Calliande, struggling against two deep orcs as the Magistria cast a spell. Morigna gestured, summoning up a column of pale white mist. A deep orc ran into the mist, and collapsed thrashing and smoking as the acid ate into his flesh. 

Ridmark sprinted for Calliande, intending to aid Gavin against the deep orcs. Calliande finished her spell, a blaze of white light burning around her, and the same white light wrapped around Ridmark. He felt her magic augment his speed, and he used the extra momentum to leap forward, swinging his staff with both hands. One of the deep orcs started to turn, but with Calliande’s magic Ridmark was faster, and his staff creased the orcish warrior’s skull. Gavin seized the opportunity and struck, his heavy sword sinking into the second orc’s belly. The deep orc staggered, and Gavin ripped his sword free and drove the blade into the warrior’s throat. 

The boy’s sword work had indeed improved. Ridmark would have preferred that Gavin had lived in peace in Aranaeus, but since that was impossible, he was pleased that Gavin was developing into a capable fighter. If they lived through this, if they survived the journey to Urd Morlemoch and stopped the Frostborn, Ridmark would see to it that Sir Constantine or Dux Gareth made the boy into a knight of Andomhaim. 

Another deep orc fell to Morigna’s acidic mist, and four others turned to attack her. Ridmark charged them as they lunged at the sorceress. Morigna shouted and flung out her hands, a ripple going through the solid stone of the floor. The deep orcs stumbled, and Ridmark struck, a blow from his staff shattering a skull and sending the deep orc to the ground. Two others turned to face him, black daggers in hand, and Ridmark sidestepped and swept his staff out. One of the orcs stumbled and fell, and Ridmark thrust the butt of his staff against the deep orc’s temple. Again bone cracked, and the orc toppled. Ridmark reversed his staff and killed another, and Morigna gestured, her tattered cloak flying around her. White mist swirled around the remaining orc, and the warrior staggered forward with a grunt, skin hissing and sizzling as it dissolved. Ridmark slammed his staff against the orc’s temple and put the warrior out of his misery.

He turned, seeking more foes, and saw Kharlacht open the last deep orc from throat to stomach with a vicious slash of his greatsword. The crimson blood that splashed from the ghastly wound was marked with black streaks, and the deep orc staggered and fell at the foot of a cluster of ghost mushrooms.

Silence fell over the cavern.

Ridmark looked around, but nothing else moved.

“Morigna,” he said, wiping some sweat from his forehead.

She cast her detection spell again. “Nothing. We are alone. I think.”

“How did they get so close?” said Calliande. “I thought you could detect them.”

“I did,” said Morigna, scowling at the Magistria. “But I warned you the spell’s range would be limited underground. No more than ten or twenty yards, I think. They were right on top of us before I sensed them. Perhaps you should have been paying better attention, Magistria, and you might have heard…”

“Enough,” said Ridmark. “That you were able to detect them at all saved our lives. They are masters of stealth.”

“What are they?” said Gavin, prodding one of the dead orcs with the tip of his blade. “They look like orcs, but…” 

“The eyeless ones,” said Caius, and Kharlacht nodded, his face grimmer than usual. 

“The deep orcs,” said Ridmark. “The dark elves changed them with magic, made them better suited to the Deeps.” 

“Aye,” said Calliande, her expression pained as she looked at the dead. “They are blind to normal light, but they can see heat. In absolute darkness, we can see nothing, but the heat of our bodies shines like torches to them. Their hearing is sharp, so sharp they could hear our heartbeats from a dozen yards away, and they know how to move in perfect silence.” 

“Likely they were waiting for us,” said Ridmark. “If not for Morigna’s spell, they would have taken us unawares.” 

Morigna smirked at Calliande. “And how to do you know so much about deep orcs? Have you encountered them before?”

Calliande ignored the sorceress’s mocking tone. “Apparently, I must have.”

“I think the deep orcs were slave-soldiers for the dvargir,” said Caius. He knelt and yanked aside the leather armor of a dead orc. A blocky glyph had been burned into the yellow skin of the warrior’s bony chest. 

“They were the guards, then,” said Ridmark. 

Caius nodded, straightened up, and made the sign of the cross over the dead orcs. “Most likely the dvargir gave them instructions to kill anyone who entered the cavern.”

“Which means,” said Ridmark, “we killed the guards, and the dvargir do not know we are here.” 

Caius nodded again. “That seems likely.”

“This is our best chance to enter Thainkul Dural and have a look around,” said Ridmark. “I will scale the wall and enter through the ramparts. Wait here for the rest of the day. If I have not returned…”

“Actually,” said Caius, “it might be easier to use the secret door.”

“Door?” said Ridmark. “What secret door?” 

“The one indicated by the glyphs over the main gate,” said Caius.

Morigna laughed. “Your kindred were very trusting then, were they not? They simply left a sign saying ‘here is the secret door’ upon the wall of their stronghold.”

“Of course not,” said Caius, walking to the gates of Thainkul Dural, the others following him. “The glyphs merely record the date of the founding and the Great Houses that stationed warriors here. But there is a code known only to dwarves of noble birth, a second, hidden meaning in many common words. And that code says there is a secret door right over…here.”

He stopped next to one of the pillars. Then he nodded to himself and started pressing portions of the glyphs seemingly at random. Nothing happened.

“This is…” Morigna started to say.

Ridmark heard a low click, and a portion of the wall slid aside, revealing a narrow doorway that led into darkness.

Caius smiled at Morigna. “You were saying?”

“Easier than climbing up a rope into the rampart,” said Morigna without missing a beat.

“Of course,” said Calliande. 

“I’ll go,” said Ridmark. “Wait here until…”

“You are not going in there alone,” said Calliande.

“For once, I agree,” said Morigna. “Without my spell, you cannot find the dvargir if they choose to make themselves invisible. You could blunder into them before you realize it.”

“And if you are attacked,” said Gavin, “you will be quickly overpowered.” 

Ridmark started to argue, realized that it was futile, and sighed. “Very well. But for the love of God, no arguing about history or magic or anything else. Keep quiet, and speak only if it is necessary. Calliande and Morigna, keep your sensing spells active, and warn us if you detect anything dangerous.”

“What exactly do we seek?” said Kharlacht. 

“Proof that the dvargir raised the undead and launched them upon Moraime,” said Ridmark. “And if not that, evidence of their intentions. Are they raiders seeking captives and booty? Scouts for an invasion? Allies of Jonas and the Red Family?”

Or did they have some other purpose? Ridmark remembered Rjalfur’s words, the repeated warnings that the undead had come to claim him. Jonas Vorinus had come to kill Calliande and take the soulstone. Ridmark had assumed that he had raised the undead, but Coriolus claimed that the dvargir had done so. Perhaps Jonas and the dvargir were allied, and perhaps they were working at cross-purposes.

Either way, Ridmark would find the answers within Thainkul Dural.

He stepped into the darkness, leading the way through the narrow passage.

Chapter 14 - Thainkul Dural

“Here,” whispered Caius. 

Calliande stood motionless, her mind divided in several directions. One maintained the pulsing ball of white light that floated over her left palm, throwing back the darkness of the hidden passage. The other worked to hold her sensing spell. She detected the latent power of the wards upon the gate. She also sensed flickers of magical power beyond the wall. Warding spells, she thought, but…sleeping. Inactive. Or simply incomplete.

Were the dvargir stonecasters constructing new wards within Thainkul Dural?

“The door is here,” murmured Caius, squeezing past Ridmark. The dwarven friar could walk comfortably within the passage, but the top of Calliande’s head brushed the ceiling, and Morigna had to keep her head down. Ridmark, Kharlacht, and Gavin all walked stooped. If something attacked while they were in the passage, they were trouble.

“Anything on the far side of the door?” said Ridmark.

Morigna gave a shake of her head. “Nothing that I can detect.” Calliande sensed the swirl of earth magic around the sorceress as the black-haired woman maintained her spell. 

“Brace yourselves,” said Caius. “This might be loud.”

He pressed a block in the side of the passage.

The wall ahead opened with a loud grinding noise, followed by a clang. Ridmark whispered a curse and urged Caius forward. The friar disappeared through the doorway, and Ridmark hurried after, staff in his right hand, his orcish war axe in his left. Kharlacht and Gavin when after them, and then Morigna and Calliande.

They stepped into a spacious hall, easily large enough to hold the church of Moraime. Thick, square pillars adorned with images of dwarven warriors and the gods of stone and silence supported the high ceiling. Glowstones shone from the apex of the arches and the tops of the pillars, providing ample light. The dwarves created the glowstones through a bath of chemicals and salts from the Deeps, and they lasted for centuries, even millennia. Likely those glowstones had shone from the ceiling ever since the dwarves had been driven from Thainkul Dural.

Or the dvargir had made their own. 

Ridmark moved in a circle, his staff leveled, his hard eyes unblinking. Calliande was struck again by his grace and speed. With a Soulblade in hand, he must have been a terror. Little wonder he had survived the journey to Urd Morlemoch. 

But if he was alarmed, then it was best to be ready. Calliande pushed aside her musings and prepared herself to cast a spell. 

“Why,” grunted Kharlacht, “was the door so loud?”

“It was a secret door,” said Caius. “The noise keeps foes from entering unseen into the fortress.”

“Foes like us, learned friar?” said Morigna. 

Calliande sighed and braced herself for the argument. Morigna had to be the single most disagreeable woman she had ever met. 

Fortunately, Ridmark spoke first. Morigna seemed willing to heed him, if no one else.

“It was a risk,” said Ridmark, voice quiet, “but every option is a risk. Wait a moment, and keep quiet.”

They stood motionless, waiting for any sign of movement. Calliande extended the reach of her sensing spell. She detected wards waiting on the floor of the hall, powerful and complex wards, but they felt…incomplete. She saw a flight of stairs descending deeper into the earth from the far end of the hall, but nothing moved.

“Anything?” said Ridmark at last. 

“No,” said Morigna. “Nothing.”

“There are wards upon the floor, but I don’t think they’re finished,” said Calliande.

“I can sense them as well,” said Morigna.