“We have an accord,” I said. “Let the defeat of our enemies be as swift and as unstoppable as the wind.” It was another proverb I had heard from Rhalite orcs.

  “Indeed,” said Kharrhal. “Let us depart. The citadel is perhaps a day and a half from here.”

  ###

  We headed east, following the line of the mountains’ foothills. It had been wise to seek Kharrhal’s help – I realized I had been heading in entirely the wrong direction, and I would have had to backtrack at some point.

  “This Sword of Mzarhask,” I said as we walked. “What does it look like?”

  Kharrhal hesitated, thought about it, and decided to answer. “Akin to the axe I carry.” He patted the haft of the weapon. “A sword of gray metal, the center of its blade marked with strange symbols. The shamans say that it strikes with the power of a thunderbolt and can cleave any shield and sunder any armor. Long years ago, it was carried by a great warlord of the Rhalite tribes called Mzarhask. For a time, he ruled the Rhalite tribes and waged war against the followers of Qazalask to the south and the halfling tribes in the mountains. But he was slain in battle, and his headmen buried him in the citadel at the northern end of the pass. The blade has rested there ever since.”

  “Fortunate indeed that our paths crossed,” I said. “That axe you carry has a strong magical aura. Doubtless the Sword of Mzarhask shall as well, and I can help you find it.” I paused. “That is a xortami axe, is it not? The symbols upon its blade are similar to those I’ve seen upon the walls of the ruins.”

  “Your eye is keen,” said Kharrhal. “The xortami had the art of making magical weapons. This axe strikes with the bite of a blizzard in the heart of winter, though the Sword of Mzarhask is said to be more powerful. I took this axe from the hand of a xortami warrior I slew.”

  “You said they had the art of making magical weapons,” I said. “I assume they lost it?”

  “So the shamans say,” said Kharrhal. “When the lizardmen ruled their empire, they could build great towers and mighty walls and also knew the secrets of making magical weapons written with symbols of power. But when the great cataclysm destroyed their empire, the xortami lost the knowledge. Their tribes have capable enough smiths, but they can no longer make weapons like this.” He shrugged. “Or they can, but the tribes that have the knowledge come not this far south. The xortami war against each other more often than they attack us.”

  “The dwarves can do something similar,” I said. “Their stonescribes write symbols upon power upon weapons.”

  “Dwarves?” said Kharrhal, frowning at the strange word.

  “The khaldari?” I said. He shook his head. “I doubt you would ever have encountered them. Their nearest city was Khald Meraxur, beyond the Qazaluuskan Forest, and that was destroyed long ago.”

  Kharrhal scowled. “We have little to do with the orcs of the Qazaluuskan Forest. Their worship of Qazalask is an abomination, and they defile the dead to raise their undead thralls. Often have we battled.”

  I said nothing. This was not the time to mention that I had spoken at considerable length with some of the shamans of the Qazaluuskan Forest and had managed to reach an accord with them. At the very least, we hadn’t ended up killing each other.

  “We’re a long way from the Qazaluuskan Forest,” I said.

  Kharrhal eyed me. “Humans do not follow Qazalask, do they?”

  “No,” I said. Well, if they did, they worshipped Qazalask in secret, at least in Andomhaim. “Most of us in Andomhaim belong to the church of the Dominus Christus.”

  “The human god,” said Kharrhal. He did not question further. Like many pagan orcs, his idea of the gods was transactional – honor them, and they would provide protection and boons. Like a commoner with his lord. He would have found the idea of the Dominus Christus providing forgiveness of sins through faith, repentance, and the sacraments to be bafflingly incomprehensible. A group of Rhalite tribes lived to the west of Andomhaim, below the mountains of Kothluusk and the Mhorite orcs, and they had fought alongside the men of Andomhaim against the urdmordar. I know that some of the bishops of the church had high hopes of baptizing those Rhalite tribes and bringing them into the church of Andomhaim, but I thought it unlikely.

  That night we reached the pass through the mountains, a narrow valley that crossed north through the peaks to what had once been the heart of the xortami empire. A ruined xortami citadel sat just south of the pass, a great central tower ringed by a crumbling curtain wall. The place looked deserted, but Kharrhal and I avoided it. There was no telling what might have taken up residence in the deserted fortress.

  We camped that night out of sight of the curtain wall, taking turns at watch, and continued north into the pass at sunrise.

  The pass was a strange place, about four or five miles wide and ten long. Rocky hills of angular dark basalt rose on either side, climbing up to the peaks. There were numerous vents and hot springs throughout the valley. Strange mineral formations surrounded the hot pools, and Kharrhal and I stayed well away from the vents in case they issued poisonous fumes. Far to the distance, reflected against the clouds of the sky, I saw a fiery glow.

  “The mountains of fire in the xortami lands,” said Kharrhal. “Some of them must be erupting. At least one of them usually is. It is why we have never tried to settle in the lands beyond the mountains, nor do we ever visit them save to raid the lizardmen. Sometimes the land erupts in molten stone and burning ash, and everything burns for miles.”

  “Aye,” I said, glancing at the red glare reflecting off the clouds. “I studied this as part of my training in the lore of magic.” That wasn’t entirely true, but the full explanation would have been too long. “The xortami reached too deeply into the secrets of dark magic and unleashed the cataclysm that destroyed them. The earth itself cracked and bled fire in their destruction.”

  But it hadn’t destroyed the Dragonskull, unfortunately, nor swallowed the ruins of Takaris. Much evil might have been avoided had that happened.

  Kharrhal grunted. “Do all human wizards have such lore?”

  “Magistri,” I said. “We call ourselves the Magistri. And we know many things.”

  But no one else had believed me about Xothalaxiar and the Dragonskull. Else I would not have made this long journey alone.

  A few hours later, we came to the ruined fortress where the Sword of Mzarhask waited.

  Maybe it was better to say it was abandoned because while it was weathered a bit, the tower and the curtain wall were in good condition, certainly better than the fortress to the south. This fortress stood on an outthrust spur of the foothills, the curtain wall ringing its top. A narrow road climbed to the single gate, and any attackers would be exposed to arrows and missile fire the entire way. The curtain wall looked as if it had been damaged and rebuilt in places with orcish masonry. I wondered how many others had occupied the fortress since the Dragonskull had been forged and the xortami empire had fallen.

  “The Sword of Mzarhask awaits us there,” said Kharrhal. He had drawn his axe, and he pointed the weapon at the fortress. “Can you sense it from here?”

  “Perhaps.” I concentrated and cast the spell to sense magical forces, focusing my will upon the grim fortress. I didn’t sense much – the spell worked much better in close proximity, and we were still a good distance from the gate. But I did sense multiple magical auras coming from within the hill. “There are numerous objects of magical power within. And I think they are inside the hill itself. There must be dungeons and tunnels beneath it.”

  Kharrhal nodded. “The shamans said as much. We may have to search the fortress thoroughly.” He hesitated. “Your magic will make that easier.” He wasn’t entirely comfortable around magic, which frankly was wise, but that fortress was large, and searching it would take a lot of time. If I could use my spells to track down the sources of the different auras, that would save much time in finding the Sword of Mzarhask.

  And that would fulfill my promise to Kharrhal, and I could go on my way.

  Because beyond the ruined fortress stretched a wide land, more mountains rising in the distance.

  The heart of the old xortami empire.

  The Dragonskull was not far away.

  Which meant Xothalaxiar would be close.

  “Come,” I said. “Let’s find your Sword and send you back to your tribe to become a headman. They could probably benefit from your wisdom.”

  “Why do you think I possess wisdom?” said Kharrhal.

  “You were wise enough to make an ally of me, were you not?” I said.

  Kharrhal snorted. “You talk like an orcish woman. Do all the human women have such bold tongues, or just you?”

  “Probably just me.”

  We climbed the steep road to the fortress’s gate. I kept a wary eye on the curtain wall and the great tower as we walked. The two of us made excellent targets for any archers upon the ramparts. But nothing moved on either wall or atop the great tower, and the gate stood open.

  Well, I say it stood open, but the gate was gone entirely. I saw rusted hinges mounted on the ancient stonework but no trace of any actual doors. The gate had been smashed so long ago that the wood had rotted away.

  Though given that the xortami empire had fallen fourteen and a half thousand years ago, the citadel was in remarkably good condition. The xortami, much like the dwarves, had built to last. A pity they hadn’t stopped before making the Dragonskull.

  We walked through the gate and into the courtyard. The ground had been paved with square-cut slabs of stone, still flat and level despite the passage of the centuries. Over to the left, I saw a large rectangular hole with stairs sinking into the earth, no doubt leading to the lower levels. The great tower loomed overhead, its sides carved with more reliefs of the xortami lording it over captive orcs and halflings.

  “Grim place, isn’t it?” I said.

  “Aye, it is so,” said Kharrhal. “A strong fortress and it would be a seat for a powerful chieftain, maybe even a mighty warlord like Mzarhask in ancient days. But it is a place ill-omened. A man could not ever be at ease in such a stronghold.”

  “The xortami are alien to us both,” I said. “You’ve seen dark elven ruins?” Kharrhal nodded. “They inspire the same sort of unrest in the mind. Such places are best avoided except at great need.”

  “I cannot argue,” said Kharrhal. “Can you work your spell again?”

  I nodded, summoned my magic, and cast the spell to sense magical forces. I once again sensed multiple auras beneath the courtyard, though with far greater clarity than before. Dozens of powerful auras shone in the hill beneath my boots. Some sort of magical forge, maybe? Perhaps this place had once been where the xortami had made enspelled weapons like Kharrhal’s axe and the Sword of Mzarhask.

  And an aura of dark magic as well. That wasn’t surprising. The xortami priests had wielded dark magic, used it to forge the Dragonskull. I hoped that the Sword of Mzarhask wasn’t a weapon of dark magic, that the shamans hadn’t lied to Kharrhal about that…

  Wait.

  The aura was moving.

  And it was above us.

  I realized what was happening with just enough time to act.

  White fire blazed to life along the length of my staff as I stepped forward, and I cast a spell, shaping the power of the Well of Tarlion into a ward. A half-dome of translucent white light appeared before me, wide enough to cover both Kharrhal and myself.

  Which was good, because a second later a cone of shadow and blue flame swept over the ward.

  I gritted my teeth, holding the spell against the strain. The attack struck hard, but my ward held against the assault. The cone of shadow and blue fire vanished, and I stepped back, scanning the sky, while Kharrhal lifted his axe and looked for foes.

  I spotted the urdhracos, her leathery wings flapping as she perched upon a windowsill of the great tower.

  I had faced urdhracosi several times before. Sometimes the dark elves lords forced themselves upon the women of other kindreds, fathering a hybrid. Inevitably, the corruption of the dark elven half won out, and an urdhracos was created. This particular urdhracos looked like an elven woman with pale blond hair, her eyes filled with the void, close-fitting black armor sheathing her body. Jagged talons of black metal rose from her fingers.

  In her right hand, she held a sword, lightning flickering around its blade. Between the flashes of lightning, I saw xortami symbols written upon the weapon.

  It looked like someone else had found the Sword of Mzarhask first.

  “One of the winged devils,” said Kharrhal in a low voice. “We shall need all our valor to prevail.”

  The urdhracos considered us for a moment and then grinned. Her teeth were very white in her pale face.

  “You,” she said an orcish. “Something new. It’s been ever so long since I’ve seen something new. I wonder what it will feel like to kill you.”

  The urdhracosi are powerful and highly intelligent, but they are almost always insane. Not to the extent that they will put themselves in danger, but they sometimes act erratically, especially if there is no dark elven lord to command them.

  “I have slain urdhracosi before,” I called, “so I already know what I shall feel if you try to kill me.”

  The urdhracos laughed, high and wild. “A good answer. The orc with you, I have no interest in him. I’ve seen thousands of generations of orcs live and die. Ugh! Boring, boring, boring. But you…you’re not boring. A creature of a sort I have never known before, wielding the magic of the high elves.” She leaned a little closer, the talons of her left hand rasping against the stone as she kept her balance on the windowsill. “My father would have found you fascinating. Until he killed you.”

  “Your father?” I said.

  The urdhracos grinned her mad smile. “You might know his title. The other dark elves called him the Ossuary.”

  I did know that title. I had learned some of the lore of the dark elves from the Keeper, more when I studied under Ardrhythain in Cathair Solas, and more as we drove the urdmordar back. The dark elves had never shared their true names with other kindreds, so they always referred to each other by cruel, mocking titles – the Warden, trapped within Urd Morlemoch, the Traveler, who never left Nightmane Forest, the Sculptor, who had bred the urvaalgs, so his peers mocked him as a sculptor of flesh.

  The Ossuary had been one of the greatest necromancers of the dark elves, capable of taking bones, charging them with dark magic, and creating relics of terrible power. He had been, in fact, the dark elven lord who had summoned the xortami to this world, intending to use them as slaves and soldiers.

  Given that the Ossuary had disappeared from history and the xortami had built their empire, I expected the summoning hadn’t ended well for him.

  “And do you still serve your father?” I said.

  “Oh, not for thousands of years now,” said the urdhracos. “The xortami rather made a gelded dog out of him. A useful house pet.” She giggled. “They would have done the same to me, but…well, I can fly. It’s hard to catch someone who can fly. I’ve spent the last fourteen thousand years watching the xortami destroy one another. And sometimes giving them a little push when I think it best. You’re the second-strangest thing I’ve seen here in years.”

  “And what was the strangest?” I said, and then the realization came to me. “A urdmordar traveled past this fortress.”

  “Not four days past,” said the urdhracos. “I could feel her coming from such a long way off. The female urdmordar…it’s like a storm of dark magic upon the horizon, drawing ever closer.” I knew what she meant. I had felt it myself. “But she passed in haste and remained concealed. She headed into the north, to the ruins of the xortami.” The urdhracos laughed again. “She will find only death there. The xortami wrought a power too great for anyone to control. Not even a female urdmordar.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “Oh,” breathed the urdhracos. “You are pursuing her, are you not? Yes. Why else would you be in this land, wielding the magic of the high elves? A waste. The urdmordar goes to her death in the xortami ruins. You, too, will go to your death if you follow her. I shall be merciful. I will kill you both and spare you the agony that awaits.”

  Without warning, she leaped from the windowsill, wings spread wide, and cast a spell.

  But I had been expecting something like this, and I worked a spell of my own. Again the dome of pale light rose before us, and it kept the cone of shadow and blue fire from reaching either Kharrhal or me. The urdhracos let out a shrieking laugh and spiraled higher into the air, wings flapping as she swooped over us.

  “Be ready,” I said in a low voice as I summoned power. “I can force her from the air, but we will need to strike swiftly.”

  “We shall find victory or death,” said Kharrhal, axe ready in his hands.

  The urdhracos swooped towards us, the Sword of Mzarhask in her right hand, dark magic playing around her left. The power built within my mind, and I focused my will and cast a spell of my own.

  A shaft of mingled white flame and elemental fire lashed from my staff and slashed through the urdhracos’ left wing.

  She had been ready for an attack, but I don’t think she anticipated anything like that. The urdhracos let out a shriek of surprise and pain, and her left wing collapsed. Her swooping dive ended with her crashing hard into the courtyard, armor ringing with the impact.

  Kharrhal and I sprang forward, the orcish warrior moving with the speed that had let him take down that urvaalg near the hot spring.

  As fast as he was, the urdhracos was faster. She leaped to her feet, whipping the Sword of Mzarhask at his head. Kharrhal parried, lightning flashing from the blade. I feared that the lightning would travel down the axe blade and its steel haft, but the weapon’s grip had been wrapped in leather, which was enough to keep the lightning from reaching his flesh.

  I attacked from the right, swinging my staff at the urdhracos’s flank. I had often wielded the staff during the war against the urdmordar. In fact, I didn’t approve of how that had changed in the new Order of the Magistri, how the Magistri spent more time studying and practicing the healing spell rather than training with weapons. The other surviving First Magistri and the Master of the Order said it was to show that the Magistri were not a threat to the people of Andomhaim, that they would not abuse magic. I disagreed – I didn’t give a damn what anyone thought about me, let alone the people of Andomhaim, and you’re more likely to have a strong mind in a strong body than a weak one.

 

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