The Dark Warden (Book 6) (22 page)

“Including spells that touch the threshold,” said Calliande, her voice and face distant, as they often were when she remembered something from her past. “That’s exactly what the omen was. A conjunction of the moons, their auras combining in such a way to make it easier to reach the threshold with magical spells.”

“Very good,” said the Warden. “For a year and a month after the conjunction, it will be far simpler to open magical gates to other worlds. Far easier to view them, as well.” He pointed at Kharlacht. “You, orcish warrior. Your ancestors were the first we summoned. Would you like to see your homeworld?” 

He did not wait for an answer, but gestured again. The mist within the archway rippled and stirred, and an image appeared between the menhirs. Ridmark saw a landscape of wild forests and vast canyons, of seas of lava and broken mountains that spat molten stone. Tribes of orcs lived upon the slopes of burning mountains and the vast forests and waged war endlessly upon each other with weapons of stone and bone, calling out to Mhor and the other ancient blood gods of the orcs.

“A harsh world,” said the Warden, “that produced savage warriors, suited to our needs.” He gestured, and the image changed again, world after world flashing before their eyes. “Of course, armies of orcs alone did not allow us to defeat the high elves. We required more. So we summoned others. Dwarves, for one.” The image showed an airless and waterless world. The view sank below the surface, revealing vast subterranean cities of gray-skinned dwarves laboring and building. “A magical war destroyed the air and water of your homeworld long ago. Hence your kindred adapted themselves, learning to live below the surface, developing your skills of engineering and masonry.” 

“Summoning my kindred was a mistake,” said Caius. “We did not submit to your tyranny, and founded our Nine Kingdoms and allied with the high elves.”

“Mmm,” said the Warden. “Quite true. Alas, my kindred were never quite able to learn from their mistakes. A weakness the bearer of shadow exploited to the fullest extent. So we continued, opening gates to other worlds, and summoning other kindreds and binding them to our service.” He flicked his wrist, and the view within the arch changed again, showing a peaceful world covered in an ocean dotted with ten thousand islands of varying sizes. Halfings lived upon the islands, building cities in the branches of the towering trees that rose from the islands. Again the Warden gestured, and Ridmark saw the gloomy jungles of the world that had birthed the lupivirii, and the broad, arid savannahs and deserts of the world where the manetaur had once walked. “Kindred after kindred we summoned, binding them into our service…and then we opened the final gate.” 

“The urdmordar,” said Calliande. 

“Correct,” said the Warden. “I counseled them against it, the fools.” The field of mist showed a world of vast forests and plunging canyons, its lands riddled with thousands of caves and mantled with the webs of the urdmordar. “My peers saw the urdmordar as simple war beasts. I knew better, but they refused to heed me. So they opened the gates and demanded that the urdmordar serve them…”

“And the urdmordar then devoured them,” said Ridmark.

“It was almost comical,” said the Warden. “The urdmordar use the most potent dark magic as naturally as a bird takes to the air, and we were overmatched. Within five years the urdmordar had destroyed or enslaved the dark elven kingdoms, and then turned their attention against the remaining high elven kingdoms.”

“And you fled to Urd Morlemoch,” said Calliande, “and accidentally imprisoned yourself here.”

“My magic made me secure against any foe,” said the Warden, “even the urdmordar.”

“But you could never leave,” said Calliande.

The Warden stared at her, his black eyes seeming to grow harder and colder.

“Yes,” he said at last. 

“So how did humans come to Andomhaim?” said Jager. “Did the dark elves summon them to stop the urdmordar?” 

“The humans brought themselves here,” said the Warden. “Nearly one thousand years ago, in the year 538 after the birth of the Dominus Christus. There was a kingdom upon Old Earth called Britannia, wrought from the wreckage of the Empire of the Romans. The barbarian nations that destroyed the Empire invaded Britannia and slew the High King Arthur Pendragon. In desperation, Arthur’s bastard grandson Malahan turned to the Keeper of Avalon, the last of an ancient order of sorceresses. The time was right and the forces of magic were in alignment, and she opened a gate joining the threshold of Old Earth to the threshold of this world. Malahan, his people, and the Keeper escaped through the gate and founded the realm of Andomhaim here.” 

“How far away is Old Earth?” said Calliande.

“Farther than you can imagine,” said the Warden. He pointed at the sky. “If the sun were to explode, we would not see the light of the explosion for about eight minutes, so great is the distance. Old Earth is so far away that the light from the explosion would not be visible upon that world for nearly one hundred billion years. But magic…magic can bridge the gap between worlds in an instant.” He pointed at the arch. “Do you wish to see what Old Earth looks like now?”

“Why would you show us this?” said Ridmark.

“My own amusement,” said the Warden, “and you will not understand the origins of the Frostborn until you understand the nature of your own world.” Again he gestured at the archway. “Though understand this. Upon this world, according to your calendar, it is the year 1478. Upon Old Earth, it is the year 2012.” 

“Why?” said Calliande. “Have our calendars grown out of sync?”

“Yes,” said the Warden, “but that is not the primary cause. Time flows at different speeds in different parts of the cosmos, for reasons that have to do with the mass of nearby stars. For every year that passes upon Andomhaim, close to a year and four months pass upon Old Earth.” He swept his long, bony hand before the archway. Again the image changed, and Ridmark saw a strange city spread out on either side of a broad river. Towers of glass and steel rose from the land, separated by black roads. Peculiar vehicles of glass and metal moved along the roads, seemingly by their own power. Vast throngs of people strode on paths of concrete below the great towers, most of them wearing sleek suits of stark black and white. Many held metal rectangles against their heads, speaking into them at a rapid pace. 

“What is this place?” said Ridmark.

“Old Earth,” said the Warden. “Specifically, the city of London, or Londinium, as it was known during the Empire of the Romans. The men of Old Earth have no skill at magic and have deluded themselves that there are neither God nor any gods in the universe, only natural forces, yet they have acquired a modicum of skill at manipulating those natural forces. The rectangles they carry? Those are speaking devices that allow them to communicate with anyone in the world with a similar device. The vehicles upon their streets? They are propelled by fire, allowing them to travel many times the speed of even the fastest horse. The men of Old Earth have even conquered the air.” The view swept up from the gleaming city of steel and glass, showing metal birds soaring through the air that carried hundreds of people in their hollow bellies. “With such machines, do you know what else the men of Old Earth have fashioned?”

The others looked confused, but Ridmark understood with a sinking feeling.

“Weapons,” he said. “They have fashioned weapons.”

“Of such destructive power that you can scarce imagine,” said the Warden. “Behold.”

The scene changed from the city of steel and glass to images of horrific carnage. Ridmark saw machines that spat thousands of metal balls of a second, ripping men to bloody pulp. Metallic casings held poisons and plagues and exploded among men huddling in muddy trenches, killing them horribly. Metal birds flew in formation over cities, throwing down canisters of explosive fire. A single metal device exploded with such force that an entire city burned, a glowing cloud shaped like a giant mushroom rising overhead.

“If my kindred had been just a little more patient,” murmured the Warden, “if we had not summoned the urdmordar and instead claimed the weapons of natural force the men of Old Earth would one day fashion, we would have destroyed the high elves and founded an empire that would last for eternity. Perhaps it is just as well. The bearer of shadow would have betrayed us eventually.”

“Betrayed?” said Ridmark. “Shadowbearer betrayed you?”

“The high elven archmage you know as Shadowbearer was not the first bearer of the shadow of Incariel,” said the Warden, “and likely he shall not be the last. When my kindred first worshipped Incariel and drew upon his power, the bearer of shadow came among us and taught us secrets. In time I realized his secrets and his power were a trap, a lure designed to convert us into his tools and weapons. We thought we were the masters, but we were fools. I realized it in time. My fellows did not, and the dark elves were ground into the dust.”

“What did Shadowbearer want?” said Ridmark.

“What do we all want?” said the Warden. “Freedom.” His cold smile returned. “But this is supplementary to the main point. I have only shown it to you so that you may understand.”

“Who are the Frostborn,” said Ridmark, “and how are they returning?” He looked at the archway. “They’re…a kindred from another world, are they not?”

“Yes,” said the Warden. “Humans, elves, dwarves, halflings, and orcs all have a great deal in common, despite our differences. An elf will leave nearly forever, barring mischance, while dwarves endure for centuries. Humans and orcs and halflings have much shorter lifespans, but reproduce far more quickly, hence your greater numbers. Yet we all require food, water, air, shelter, much the same things. The urdmordar are considerably alien to us. They are born with an aptitude for dark magic that took me millennia of study to achieve, and can survive, even thrive, in conditions that would kill any of us. The Frostborn,” said the Warden, considering, “the Frostborn are even more alien than that. Observe.”

The view in the archway changed from scenes of mechanical carnage to a frozen world sheathed in ice, the sun concealed forever by gray clouds. Massive citadels of ice and stone covered the world, and within them strode towering creatures with skin like crystalline ice and eyes that burned with cold blue flame. The creatures wore elaborate armor of steel plate and carried massive swords, and even through the image Ridmark felt their terrible power, the same sort of aura of power that surrounded an urdmordar.

“The Frostborn,” whispered Calliande, her eyes wide. 

“You remember,” murmured the Warden. “They are immortal and very difficult to kill, being impervious to most forms of attack. They possess tremendous natural command over the elemental magic of wind and water and ice, more than any human or dark elven wizard could hope to achieve. They are arrogant and without mercy, and crush any who stand in their way. They have conquered world after world, using magic to open the gates, and exterminate any who oppose them and enslave those they find useful.”

“Worlds?” said Ridmark. “They came here, didn’t they? They opened a gate from one of their worlds to this one, and came forth to conquer.”

“Precisely,” said the Warden, “save for one aspect. The Frostborn did not open the gate. Shadowbearer did, and he invited them to this world.”

“Why?” said Ridmark.

“To utterly destroy the High Kingdom of Andomhaim,” said the Warden. “The Swordbearers and the Magistri had become a threat to his plans, and he wished to see you removed. When you proved strong enough to defeat the Frostborn, he turned to another plan. He created the Eternalists and then the Enlightened of Incariel, and provoked fifty years of war between the five Pendragon princes a century past, undermining your realm from within. That way, when he summoned the Frostborn to this world once more, you would not be strong enough to withstand them. Nor will you be.” 

“The empty soulstone,” said Ridmark. “That is the tool he needs to open a gate between worlds. He needs the strength of a powerful wizard to charge the stone. That is why he tried to sacrifice Calliande upon Black Mountain, and why his servants have sought the empty soulstone ever since.” 

“Correct,” said the Warden. “Shadowbearer desires the utter destruction of Andomhaim. So he will summon the Frostborn and invite them to add this world to their empire. With the Enlightened of Incariel infesting the nobles and the Magistri, your realm will be too weak to fight them off a second time.” He spread his hands. “Now you know the truth, Ridmark of the House of the Arbanii. Now you know how the Frostborn shall return.”

“And how they shall be stopped,” said Ridmark.

Assuming he could figure out a way out of Urd Morlemoch. 

“No,” said the Warden. “They will not be stopped again.” His terrible eyes turned to Calliande. “Would you like to know how they were stopped the first time?” 

Calliande said nothing, fear and hope warring upon her face. 

The Warden’s cruel smile widened, making his gaunt, pale face look all the more like a grinning skull. “Would you like to know who you really are, Calliande of Tarlion?”

Chapter 15 - Who Am I?

Calliande forced moisture into her dry mouth.

“Yes,” she said. “If you know.” 

Her heart hammered with anticipation and fear. Ever since awakening in that dark vault below the Tower of Vigilance, she had sought to recover her lost past. The Watcher had been able to guide her without telling her much, bound by her own forgotten command to keep from speaking of her past. Coriolus had known some things about her, as had Talvinius in the village of the Blue Hand kobolds. She had glimpsed an image of her father the day Ridmark had found the stoneberries, the day he had kissed her. Yet, in the end, she knew nothing of significance, save only that she needed to find Dragonfall and her staff…and that it was her duty to stop the return of the Frostborn. 

“Tell me,” said the Warden. The malevolent weight of his dark magic washed around her like the wind of a freezing storm, and the horrible pressure of his empty black eyes fell upon her like a physical blow. She forced herself to meet his gaze, refusing to show any weakness before this ancient monster. “The magic of the Magistri and the Swordbearers allowed Andomhaim to defeat the urdmordar and then the Frostborn. Yet Ardrhythain did not found the Two Orders until the year 953. Andomhaim was founded in 538, and the sons of Malahan Pendragon waged war against the orcish tribes and petty dark elven princes for centuries, all foes that possessed potent magic. How did they prevail without magic of their own?”