Chapter 7 - Dragon Blood
Utter silence reigned in the halls of the Warden’s tower.Ridmark followed Sir Lancelus through the gloomy corridors of white stone, high arches rising over their heads. More crystals gleamed in the ceiling, as in the catacombs, but these crystals radiated a pale silver light. The eerie glow seemed to transform the walls into sheets of silver glass, the shadows like ghosts trapped within the glass.
After everything else he had seen, it would not have surprised Ridmark if murderous ghosts did indeed burst from the walls.
“Do you know where you’re going?” whispered Ridmark.
“Not really,” said Sir Lancelus, his soulblade shining in his right first. The aura of dark magic surrounding the Warden’s tower was so strong both their soulblades shone like torches. Ridmark considered sheathing his blade to conceal the light from the eyes of any guardians, but discarded the idea. God only knew what kind of horrors walked the halls, and Ridmark might need his weapon at an instant’s notice.
“That could be a problem,” said Ridmark.
Lancelus grinned at him, his face ghostly in the silver light. “Problems, Sir Ridmark? Why, we are on a fool’s quest. It is a little late to worry about problems. Rhyannis is on the thirty-ninth level of the tower, in the Chamber of Stone. We need only keep going up until we’ve reached the thirty-ninth floor. Twelve down, twenty-seven to go.”
Ridmark could think of no better plan, so he nodded and followed Lancelus deeper into the massive tower.
The corridor circled the edge of the tower, tall, pointed windows looking down on the ruins of Urd Morlemoch below. Already they stood higher than most of the ruined mansions and all but a few of the crumbling towers. Beyond the walls Ridmark saw the rocky, spell-haunted wilderness of the Torn Hills and the rippling, steel-gray sheet of the western sea. What would the view be like from the top of the tower?
He might well find out. The thirty-ninth level, if his calculations were right, would be at least two-thirds of the way up, if not even higher. From there he might be able to see all the way to Castra Marcaine.
They went up another flight of stairs, and then another, climbing ever higher. Still utter silence reined around them. Ridmark found it odd that it had been so easy to enter the tower. He would have expected more guards, more wards, perhaps packs of urvaalgs prowling every level and mutated orcs standing guard at every door.
Lancelus came to a stop halfway up a flight of stairs, his soulblade coming up in guard.
“What is it?” hissed Ridmark.
“Someone’s coming,” said Lancelus.
He gestured, and Ridmark nodded, pressing himself against the wall on the right while Lancelus moved to the left. The stairs ended in a pointed archway a dozen yards ahead, and Ridmark heard the slow, steady tap of boots. One of the mutated orcs, perhaps? Ridmark took a deep breath, preparing himself for battle.
A moment later an orc appeared at the top of the stairs, the blue veins in his arms and temples pulsing.
The blue glow also filled the orc’s black eyes.
And, Ridmark realized the orc was dead. He was not breathing, not moving, not even so much as twitching. The Warden’s dark magic animated the corpse, a spell of necromancy driving the creature forward.
The orc started down the stairs with a slow, steady step, and Ridmark lifted his sword, drawing on Heartwarden for strength…
“Wait!” hissed Lancelus. “Do not move. Do not attack the creature.”
Ridmark gave him an incredulous look.
“Do not move!” said Lancelus. “Our lives depend upon it.”
Ridmark remained motionless, the undead orc walking towards him. He tensed, preparing to strike if the creature attacked. The orc drew nearer, and Ridmark readied himself…
But the orc kept walking. He did not turn his head, did not even glance at either Ridmark or Lancelus. Ridmark watched as the creature descended the stairs, and the undead orc soon vanished around the curve of the wall.
“Why didn’t it attack us?” said Ridmark.
“Because,” said Lancelus, “it’s not terribly clever. Forgive me. I should have warned you. The tower is filled with the Warden’s undead servants.” His smile had a hard, cold edge. “The orcish fools that worship him as a god regard Urd Morlemoch as a sacred place. They make pilgrimages here to pray to him and offer sacrifices. And when they die…”
Ridmark nodded, understanding. “They wish to buried here. As pilgrims hope to be buried below the cathedral of Tarlion.”
“The bishop of Tarlion,” said Lancelus, “does not raise the corpses interred in his crypt as undead servants. But the Warden does.”
“Why didn’t it fight us?”
“Ah, I haven’t answered your question,” said Lancelus. “Forgive me. I suspect the creatures are merely automatons with no free will of their own. If the Warden or one of his servants commands them, they will attack. But left alone, they will not attack us unless we strike at them first.”
“If we ignore them, they’ll ignore us,” said Ridmark.
Lancelus nodded.
“A poor choice in guards, then,” said Ridmark. “Ardrhythain did say the Warden was insane.”
“Perhaps not,” said Lancelus. “If I had not stopped you, you would have attacked the creature, the spells on it would have raised the alarm, and you would soon face hundreds of them. And if not for our soulblades, we would never have defeated the urvaalgs.”
“If the Warden has made mistakes in his defenses,” said Ridmark, “then let us use them to our advantage before he realizes his error.”
“A sound plan,” said Lancelus, and they resumed climbing the stairs. On and on the tower went, an endless maze of corridors and stairs, and Ridmark counted the levels.
On the thirtieth level, Lancelus stopped at the entrance to another corridor.
“We may have a problem,” said Lancelus.
Ridmark looked past him and saw the danger at once.
The corridor beyond the archway looked much the same as the others he had seen, with a high, arched ceiling and niches lining the walls. In the other corridors, statues had stood in the niches.
But here, undead orcs stood motionless upon the pedestals. Dozens of them waited without moving, their unblinking eyes shining with eerie blue light, their veins pulsing with the same glow. Ridmark wondered how many generations of orcs had brought their dead here to lie with their false god, only for their corpses to rise again as the Warden’s guardians.
“If we walk down this corridor,” said Ridmark, “will they wake and attack us?”
“I don’t know,” said Lancelus. “I would assume so. Or perhaps this corridor is the…servants’ quarters, as it were, and they wait here until summoned.” He looked at Ridmark. “I don’t think there’s another way up.”
“Then we go through,” said Ridmark.
“It’s still not too late to turn back,” said Lancelus. “Let the elves look after their own.”
“No,” said Ridmark.
He expected Lancelus to argue, but the older knight only grinned. “Sir Ridmark, I daresay that you are as mad as the Warden himself.”
Ridmark shrugged. Was Lancelus right? Perhaps leaving Urd Morlemoch would be the most sensible course of action, especially if Ardrhythain had indeed deceived them. Yet Ridmark did not want to go back to Castra Marcaine without having accomplished anything.
What would he tell Aelia?
“I gave my word,” said Ridmark at last.
“I respect that,” said Lancelus, lifting his soulblade. “Shall we?”
Ridmark nodded and they started down the corridor, soulblades in hand. The orcs remained motionless, their unblinking, glowing eyes staring at nothing. Heartwarden glowed with white light in Ridmark’s fist, and he kept the weapon raised, his eyes sweeping the undead orcs. The archway waited on the far end of the corridor, more stairs climbing into the heights of the tower.
They passed the halfway point. Still the orcs did not move. Ridmark
started to breathe a little easier. If the orcs were going to attack, they likely would have done so by now.
He took another step, and then Lancelus tripped with a curse.
The older knight lost his balance and fell into one of the motionless orcs, knocking the creature to the floor.
And as one, every one of the undead orcs turned to look at them.
“Oh,” said Lancelus, clawing back to his feet. The orc he had struck rose, the glowing eyes turning to face him. “Damn it.”
As one, the orcs stepped from their pedestals and attacked, reaching for them with cold, dead hands.
Ridmark moved.
He drew on Heartwarden’s magic, calling on the sword to fill him with strength and speed. An orc reached for him, and Ridmark cut off its hands with a single swipe of Heartwarden’s glowing blade. No blood leaked from the wound, only a blue glow. Still the orc advanced, and Ridmark took off its head with a two-handed blow.
The corpse crumpled motionless to the gleaming floor.
“The heads!” shouted Ridmark. “Strike at their heads!”
Lancelus growled and beheaded one of the orcs.
The two Swordbearers fought back to back, soulblades rising and falling. An orc lunged at Ridmark and he ducked, allowing Lancelus to whirl and take off the undead creature’s head. Another orc reached for Lancelus, and Ridmark slashed at the orc’s leg, forcing the animated corpse to stumble. The opening gave him more than enough time to bring Heartwarden around and decapitate the creature.
Step by step they fought, forcing their way through the press of undead flesh. The orcs were strong, unnaturally strong, and impervious to pain, but the soulblades gave the two knights superhuman strength to match. Ridmark took down another orc and turned, looking for more foes to fight.
But there were none left.
Three dozen orcish corpses lay strewn around them, crumbling into dust, the magic upon the undead flesh broken. Ridmark let out a deep breath and wiped the sweat from his brow, Heartwarden dangling from his right fist. Lancelus looked back and forth, leaning upon his glowing soulblade. The older man looked on the verge of exhaustion, his eyes ringed in dark circles. He had been fighting alone in the ruins of Urd Morlemoch for days, trying to avoid the mutated orcs and the urvaalgs. Ridmark wondered when the other Swordbearer had last slept the night.
“Forgive me,” said Lancelus. “That was my fault. Yet you fought magnificently. Just as I thought you would.” He smiled. “You are…you are as formidable as I thought you would be.”
“Thank you,” said Ridmark. For some reason the words made him uneasy, and for a brief moment he wondered if Lancelus was about to attack him. But Ridmark pushed aside his fears. Lancelus had undergone grave trials and survived, and had followed Ridmark deeper into Urd Morlemoch even though he had no obligation to do so.
“Come,” said Lancelus, pointing with his glowing sword. “Let us continue.”
They climbed higher into the tower.
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