Tales of the Shield Knight

By Jonathan Moeller

Knights, wizards, thieves, dragons, and epic heroes!

Combined for the first time in one collection are all seventeen SHIELD KNIGHT short stories, adventures set in the world of FROSTBORN, SEVENFOLD SWORD, and DRAGONTIARNA!

Follow the adventures of Ridmark Arban and his allies as they fight to defend the kingdoms of Andomhaim and Owyllain from the powers of dark magic.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jonathan Moeller
• Release date: Aug 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005160012

Jonathan Moeller

Standing over six feet tall, Jonathan Moeller has the piercing blue eyes of a Conan of Cimmeria, the bronze-colored hair of a Visigothic warrior-king, and the stern visage of a captain of men, none of which are useful in his career as a computer repairman, alas.He has written the "Demonsouled" trilogy of sword-and-sorcery novels, and continues to write the "Ghosts" sequence about assassin and spy Caina Amalas, the "$0.99 Beginner's Guide" series of computer books, and numerous other works.Visit his website at:http://www.jonathanmoeller.comVisit his technology blog at:http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/screed

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Description

Knights, wizards, thieves, dragons, and epic heroes!

Combined for the first time in one collection are all seventeen SHIELD KNIGHT short stories, adventures set in the world of FROSTBORN, SEVENFOLD SWORD, and DRAGONTIARNA!

Follow the adventures of Ridmark Arban and his allies as they fight to defend the kingdoms of Andomhaim and Owyllain from the powers of dark magic.

***

Tales of the Shield Knight

Copyright 2021 by Jonathan Moeller.

Smashwords Edition.

Some cover images copyright Photo 20916381 / Fjord © Mapsico | Dreamstime.com & Photo 36219324 © Ed Francissen | Dreamstime.com & Photo 72767383 / Sky © Khim Wai Woon | Dreamstime.com.

Ebook edition published September 2017.

All Rights Reserved.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.

Created with Vellum (http://tryvellum.com/created)

***

Shield Knight: Ghost Orcs

***

Author's Note

SHIELD KNIGHT: GHOST ORCS is a novella set about one year before the events portrayed in SEVENFOLD SWORD: CHAMPION.

***

1

The Hunt

Ridmark Arban expected trouble.

I don’t expect any trouble, said Tormark Arban, Ridmark’s eldest brother and the Dux of Taliand.

Ridmark looked at his brother and grunted. Sure of that?

They rode at the head of a column of horsemen, the party making its way through the foothills of the mountains of southern Taliand. Tormark was thirteen years older than Ridmark, which put him at just under fifty years of age. He had tended towards stoutness in his younger, more active days, and in the seven years since he had become Dux of Taliand, the stoutness had become obesity. Ridmark felt sorry for the horse that had to bear Tormark’s bulk. Nevertheless, Ridmark's brother was a good lord, and the people of Taliand had known prosperity and order in the seven years since Tormark had become Dux.

Tormark smiled. This isn’t the Northerland, brother. His hair had turned entirely gray, his blue eyes in a face made ruddy by exertion and the wind. The pagan orcs were driven out or converted long ago, the ruins of the dark elves made safe, and the Shaluuskan orcs haven’t come this far west in a long time.

We’re hunting mountain lions, said Ridmark. Always best to remain cautious. And these mountains have entrances to the Deeps. You never know when something might come out of them.

And if something does come out of the Deeps, said Tormark, we are be quite equipped to deal with it.

Ridmark said nothing. Tormark did have a point.

The Dux of Taliand liked to hunt, and his taste for hunting had been inherited by his eldest daughter Sabrina. So, for her twelfth birthday, Tormark had offered to take her hunting for lions in the mountain valleys, and the girl had accepted eagerly. Of course, the Dux of Taliand and his eldest daughter (one of the most eligible maidens in the realm of Andomhaim) could hardly go anywhere alone. Thirty of Tormark’s household knights accompanied them, along with their squires, Tormark’s Master of the Hunt, four men from the kennel to handle the Dux’s hunting mastiffs, three squires to attend to the Dux himself, and two noblewomen chosen by Sabrina’s mother to see to her needs and to safeguard her reputation among so many men.

So nearly ninety men and women made up the hunting party, but Ridmark had joined it alone. After the High King’s campaign against the khaldjari in the Northerland, Ridmark had wanted to return straight home to his wife and sons. But Calliande had suggested that he stop at Castra Arban on his way back to see Tormark. It always seemed to bother Calliande that Ridmark was not closer to any of his brothers, perhaps because she had been an only child herself.

And that was how Ridmark found himself accompanying his brother and niece on a hunting party into the mountains of Taliand.

And there is one other thing, Father, said Sabrina.

Oh? said Tormark, glancing back at his daughter. What is that?

Sabrina rode a short distance behind them, flanked by her ladies-in-waiting. She had Tormark’s thick black hair and blue eyes, though fortunately for her she had inherited her mother’s looks and not her father’s. She was thin and pale, but fit nonetheless. Some noblewomen of Andomhaim preferred to remain at home and embroider, while others enthusiastically joined their husbands on hunts and trips around their lands. Ridmark thought that Sabrina was going to become the second kind of noblewoman.

She gave Ridmark a tentative smile. We have the Shield Knight of Andomhaim with us.

Ridmark said nothing. Tormark Arban was one of the most powerful noblemen of Andomhaim, a trusted right hand of the High King Arandar Pendragon. But Ridmark was the Shield Knight of Andomhaim. He bore the soulblade Oathshield, given to him by the high elven archmage Ardrhythain himself. Ridmark had gone to Urd Morlemoch twice and escaped, descended into the ruins of Khald Azalar to restore the power of the Keeper, slain the ancient wizard Tymandain Shadowbearer, found the sword of the Dragon Knight, brought the dwarves and the manetaurs to aid Andomhaim against the Frostborn, and dueled and defeated the usurper Tarrabus Carhaine below the walls of Tarlion.

At the time, he had mostly been trying to stay alive and save his friends. Much later, he realized that his experiences were the sort of things that bards liked to put into songs. Calliande had come to loathe bards, claiming they got things wrong and distorted what had really happened, and he was starting to agree with her. He also noticed that the noblewomen of Andomhaim, whether they preferred to stay at home or to go hunting, often became starry-eyed when listening to bards.

To judge from Sabrina’s smile, she might have listened to too many bards.

What the Shield Knight of Andomhaim hopes, Lady Sabrina, said Ridmark, is to have an uneventful hunt and for you to return to Castra Arban with a fine lion pelt.

Could you tell us a tale, uncle? said Sabrina.

Ridmark blinked. A tale? Of what?

Of your adventures, said Sabrina.

Tormark let out a guffaw, and Sabrina’s cheeks colored. Ridmark smiled a little at that. Some men in Andomhaim had become overawed at the legend of the Shield Knight. Ridmark’s oldest brother, quite thankfully, would never be one of them.

Still, he felt bad for Sabrina. She was young enough to be enchanted by such things. She would only have been five years old at most when the Frostborn were defeated. Sabrina would have only known the tales of knights in shining armor riding to war against wicked foes. She wouldn’t have seen the reality of such things, would not have seen the blood and felt the terror, would not have seen the wounded men screaming in agony, would not have known the horror of a creature of dark magic hunting for her.

For her sake, he hoped she never understood.

If you like, said Ridmark. I’m afraid they’re much less impressive in the retelling, though.

They are not, uncle! said Sabrina, her embarrassment forgotten. A bard came to Father’s court, and he sang the tale of the Iron Tower, how you slew the wicked Artificer and freed Queen Mara to take the crown from her evil father.

That wasn’t how it happened, said Ridmark, half-amused, half-annoyed. Calliande was right about bards. Damned songs. She wasn’t the Queen of the Anathgrimm then. And she freed herself. I didn’t have anything to do with that.

Well, said Sabrina, you could tell me what really happened. One of the ladies-in-waiting gave her a disapproving look.

Perhaps, said Ridmark. I…

He fell silent as something caught his attention.

The road wound its way through the green foothills of the low mountains, climbing towards the high valley where Tormark intended to hunt lions. To Ridmark’s right, the foothills climbed at such a steep angle they were nearly cliffs. Ahead, a waterfall fell down the steep rock face, splashing into a river in the valley below. The road became a narrow stone bridge that passed over the river, the waterfall tumbling to the right of the stone railing.

It was, Ridmark supposed, the perfect place for an ambush.

But who would ambush them? Tormark had a point. This was the heart of Taliand, the oldest duxarchate in Andomhaim. This wasn’t the Northerland, where urvaalgs prowled in the shadows and dvargir and kobolds regularly raided from the Deeps. Even the war with the Frostborn had avoided most of the lands of Taliand.

Yet Ridmark’s instincts would not remain quiet.

Uncle? said Sabrina. What’s wrong?

Ridmark? said Tormark, some of his amusement fading. They had gone into battle alongside each other often enough for Tormark to recognize when something was amiss.

Perhaps we should find another route into the valley, said Ridmark. I do not like the look of that bridge. I think…

His sword trembled at his belt.

Ridmark looked at it with sudden alarm, and he drew the soulblade a foot from its scabbard. Oathshield was a vivid shade of blue, different from any other soulblade that Ridmark had seen. Unlike other soulblades, it had two soulstones, one set in the pommel, the second in the tang of the blade.

Right now, pale white flames danced around the sword’s blade.

Soulblades only did that in the presence of creatures or wielders of dark magic.

Tormark, said Ridmark, his voice sharp.

Tormark looked at Ridmark’s soulblade, and his eyes went wide. What the devil? How… His face went hard, and he began barking orders in the voice of the Dux of Taliand. Hold! Hold here! The column of horsemen came to a stop.

Ridmark looked around, trying to find any foes. Nothing moved in the valley, and nothing could have climbed the cliff face without making any noise. He looked at the sky overhead. It was a cloudy day, the sun hidden beneath thick banks of gray clouds, and nothing moved against the sky.

Father? said Sabrina, looking at the white flames around Oathshield’s blade. What’s wrong?

Sabrina, stay where you are, said Tormark, drawing his sword. We need to…

The mastiffs started barking. Ridmark looked at the big dogs, saw them struggling against their keepers, their hackles rising and spittle flying from their jaws. They weren’t angry. No, they were afraid. Something had caught their attention and filled them with terror.

Creatures of dark magic often had that effect on animals.

And all the mastiffs were glaring at the cliffside.

Ridmark looked up, and he saw the danger.

Undead creatures clung to the rough cliff like spiders, climbing down with eerie speed. Ridmark thought the creatures had once been living orcs, for they had the tusked jaws and thicker bones of the orcish kindred. Ghostly blue fire burned in their eyes and clung to their shoulders and hands, and many of the skeletal orcs wore corroding armor and carried ancient weapons.

He realized that they were going to jump.

Out of the saddle! roared Ridmark, following his own command. Out of the saddle! This was a damnably bad place for a battle. It would have been a terrible place to fight normal foes. Against creatures that could cling to the cliff like insects, it was far worse. The horses could not maneuver on the narrow road, and a single misstep would send a man or a horse tumbling down the slope into the valley and the river below.

To arms! roared Tormark, heaving himself out of the saddle. He took a step towards his daughter. To arms! We…

The undead leaped from the cliff face and fell like thunderbolts.

Ridmark swept Oathshield before him in a two-handed swing, using the sword’s magic to augment his strength. The blade intercepted one of the undead orcs and smashed it to bone and dust, the white fire of the soulblade quenching the blue fire of the necromantic magic. Around him the undead slammed into the members of the hunting party, knocking them from their horses and driving them to the ground. Ridmark destroyed two more undead in rapid succession, but nearly a hundred of the creatures leaped into the men, driving them to the ground. He cursed and started attacking, cutting down creature after creature, but there were too many undead.

And as he did, an undead orc stooped over a stunned squire and opened its jaws. Ridmark’s first thought was that the undead orc would bite off the poor boy’s head, but instead, a blue mist came from the yellowed jaws and washed over the squire’s head. The boy shuddered and went limp, his eyes closing.

The mist had put him to sleep.

Ridmark looked up and down the chaotic line and saw the scene repeated in a dozen places. The undead were overpowering the hunters and putting them to sleep, and Ridmark saw the undead orcs picking up their victims and starting to carry them away.

They were taking captives. Why?

Ridmark cut down another pair of undead orcs, and then he looked up just in time to see two more undead jump from the cliff face and plummet towards him.

He tried to move, but it was too late.

The undead slammed into him and sent him falling into the valley below.

***

2

Survivors

Ridmark landed in the river, which saved his life.

The river was deeper than it looked, and he plunged into it, the shock of the impact stunning him. The powerful current drove him along, and Ridmark fought it, clawing and kicking towards the light.

His head broke the surface, and he took a long, shuddering gasp.

The current had carried him farther from the waterfall than he had thought. Ridmark swam towards the western bank of the river, still clutching Oathshield in his right hand. Swimming while holding a sword was difficult, but he had done it before, and urgency drove him onward.

At last, he got his feet beneath him, and he slogged to the shore, pushing back his wet gray cloak as water poured from his dark elven armor. At least he didn’t have to worry about Oathshield or the blue plates of his dark elven armor rusting.

No, he had far more urgent worries.

How far had that damned river carried him? Two-thirds of a mile?He could see the foothills to the north. Ridmark wiped some more river water from his eyes and looked for any undead, but he saw no creatures. If any had fallen into the river with him, the current had swept them away.

What was he going to do now?

He had to return to help the others. He had been the only Swordbearer in the party, and a Knight of the Soulblade had a better chance against the undead than anyone else.

And, more importantly, whoever had commanded those undead. That had been a coordinated ambush. There had not been any creatures of dark magic seen in this part of Taliand for centuries, so Ridmark suspected that ambush had been planned in advance. An assassination attempt against Tormark? That was possible, though Ridmark did not think his brother had enemies fanatical enough to use dark magic against him. Or had some other creature of dark magic ventured into Taliand in hopes of carving out a little domain of its own?

Either way, Ridmark intended to stop whatever was happening.

He returned Oathshield to its scabbard and jogged north along the river bank, his mind sorting through plans. The undead had been taking captives. That many undead creatures would have left a trail, and Ridmark could follow it to their lair.

And then what? Could he fight all those undead by himself? Even with Oathshield, even if he unlocked the full power of the Shield Knight and threw himself at the undead, Ridmark could not overcome them all. No, he would have to find whoever commanded the undead. If he could not overcome the master of the undead, he would have to retreat to Castra Arban, rouse Tormark’s Swordbearers and Magistri, and return in force.

But that would take six days at a minimum, and Tormark and his men might not have that long.

Ridmark jogged faster, and a scream rang out from the trees to his left.

He changed direction and veered into the forest, yanking Oathshield from its scabbard as he ran. The blade flashed with white fire, and some of its fury seeped into his mind. Oathshield had been forged to destroy creatures of dark magic, to fight dark power wherever it manifested, and the sword yearned to fulfill its purpose.

At the moment, Ridmark agreed with the soulblade.

He burst into a small clearing and saw Sabrina Arban running towards him, her blue eyes wide with terror. Her black hair and green riding dress were wet and sodden. She must have fallen into the river and been swept further into the valley.

Blue light flared in the trees behind her, and three undead creatures raced into the clearing. The undead orcs wore corroded armor and carried ancient weapons, and they converged on Sabrina, who stumbled and fell to one knee.

Then she saw Ridmark and gaped at him in astonishment.

Stay there! shouted Ridmark, and he dashed forward.

He caught the undead before they reached Sabrina, and he parried an axe, retracted Oathshield, and took off the creature’s head in a flash of white fire. The other two undead orcs came at him, and Ridmark parried a sword, twisted, and thrust Oathshield into the ribs of the skeletal orc. The soulblade burned hotter, and Ridmark ripped the blade up, shattering the undead orc’s skull. The bones collapsed to the ground, and Ridmark turned to face the final undead warrior.

He blocked once, twice, three times, and then took the creature down.

Silence fell over the clearing, broken only by Sabrina’s frantic panting.

Ridmark looked around, Oathshield ready in his grasp, but nothing else moved in the trees.

He turned to his niece. Are you all right?

I…I… croaked Sabrina, blinking. She was on the verge of breaking down into tears, of losing control entirely. They didn’t have time for that, and if she started sobbing, the noise might draw other undead.

Listen to me, said Ridmark. We’re going to find your father, and get his men back. Do you understand? Sabrina stared at him, and then managed a wide-eyed nod. But if we’re going to do that, I need your help. I need you to tell me what happened. Can you do that?

Sabrina hesitated, and then nodded again, seeming to pull herself together. I…I think so, uncle.

Good, said Ridmark. How did you get here?

One of those undead things breathed on my horse, said Sabrina. He fell asleep, and I lost my saddle. She got to her feet with a wince. I hit the edge of the road, bounced off, and fell into the river. I thought I was going to drown, but Mother insisted we learn how to swim. When I got out of the river, I didn’t know where I was. Then those undead things came for me…

Ridmark nodded.

Uncle, said Sabrina. What…what are we going to do?

That was a good question. Ridmark wondered if he ought to take Sabrina back to Castra Arban. Yet he feared that if he did not help Tormark and the others, they would all be slain. For that matter, it was three days to Castra Arban from here on foot, and Ridmark didn’t have any supplies with him. If there were roving bands of undead loose in the foothills, he and Sabrina would be vulnerable to attack.

No. Ridmark had to figure out what had happened to Tormark and the others, and he needed to find supplies. Only then could he make a decision about what to do next.

We’re going back to the road, said Ridmark, and we'll see what happened. I think it’s about a mile back, and we’ll have to climb for part of it. Can you do that? If not, I’ll find a safe place for you and come back once I know more.

No! said Sabrina. Please, don’t leave me alone. She took a deep breath. I can keep up. I promise I can keep up.

All right, said Ridmark. Follow me.

Ridmark led the way into the trees, Sabrina following him.

Do you know who sent those undead after my father? said Sabrina.

Not yet, said Ridmark. He did not bother to keep his footfalls quiet. He could move with stealth, but Sabrina could not. There haven’t been undead like that in this part Taliand for centuries. It could be any number of things. A rogue necromancer. An orcish warlock from the Wilderland. Dvargir raiding out of the Deeps. They sometimes raise undead, though they don’t usually bother.

Could it be dark elves? said Sabrina. Like in the ancient stories? My tutor said there were dark elven ruins in the mountains.

Likely not, said Ridmark. Those dark elven ruins were all cleared out and deserted centuries ago. But something else might have taken residence within them. He paused to look around again. Let’s keep quiet now. I don’t know how well those undead can hear, but I don’t want to find out.

Sabrina nodded, and they kept walking. Ridmark circled to the west and found a gentler slope, and they climbed back up to the road. He drew Oathshield as they approached the bridge and the waterfall, and while the sword still burned with white fire, it wasn’t as intense. The undead were still nearby, but they had moved off.

No bodies, said Ridmark, examining the tracks left on the road. A dozen pack horses still milled about, their agitation obvious, and Ridmark took the reins of one of the beasts and calmed it. A lot of destroyed undead. The men put up a fight, but it looks like the undead overpowered them and carried them off.

But where did they go? said Sabrina.

Further west along this road into the mountains, said Ridmark, frowning as he remembered the maps of Taliand he had seen. Why would the undead have taken their captives in that direction?

Then they’re going to the valley where Father wanted to hunt lions? said Sabrina, folding her arms tight around her chest.

Aye, said Ridmark. This road doesn’t go anywhere else. But there’s…

He fell silent as the answer came to him.

But there are more things than lions in that valley, said Ridmark. The Hanging Tower.

Sabrina’s frown sharpened. The Hanging Tower?

It’s a dark elven ruin at the northern end of that valley, said Ridmark, recalling the stories he had heard in his youth. A dark elven lord ruled there, but the urdmordar destroyed him, and the orcish soldiers of the urdmordar occupied the Tower. After the urdmordar were slain, the orcs were driven out…but others have come to the Tower since. He looked at Sabrina. One of our ancestors, Sir Nicodemus, fought an orcish warlock and a traitorous Magistrius in the Tower centuries ago.

Then some monster from the Tower attacked us? said Sabrina.

More likely, said Ridmark, some monster just settled in the Tower, and sent its undead to attack us. He shook his head. I have to go after them. As a Swordbearer, I have the best chance of helping the captives. He hesitated. If you take this horse and head back to Castra Arban…

No, uncle! said Sabrina at once. I would be safer with you. And I am of the blood of the Arbanii as much as you are. I cannot turn away when my father is in danger. She swallowed, terror and determination warring on her face. Please.

Ridmark sighed. Very well. In truth, the thought of sending her alone through the countryside with undead on the loose had made him uneasy. But you will do as I say. Is that understood?

Yes, uncle, said Sabrina. She swallowed again, and then tried to smile. Who am I to disobey the Shield Knight?

Then we’ll start now, said Ridmark, handing her the pack horse’s reins. Lead the horse and follow me. Keep your eyes open, and tell me at once if you see anything that looks strange.

He led the way west as the road climbed towards the mountains, Sabrina following with the pack horse.

***

3

Undead

A few hours later, Ridmark and Sabrina reached the high valley.

Ridmark gazed at his surroundings for a moment. The valley was perhaps five miles wide, and high mountains rose on either side, sheer and rocky and snow-crowned. A scraggly forest of pine trees filled the valley floor, thick and green. No one lived up here save for a few trappers and a few anchorites. The soil was too thin to support crops, and the pine trees did not make for good logging.

Yet there was a road here.

An ancient road, half-overgrown, but a road nonetheless. Here and there Ridmark saw ancient flagstones of smooth white rock. The dark elves had used that white stone in their construction, and it was nearly impervious to anything. Even millennia of wind and rain had done nothing to wear it down. That was why the High Kings of Andomhaim never pulled down dark elven ruins. The amount of effort to do so would have been tremendous.

The tracks of the undead were easy to find. Rotting, skeletal feet left footprints like nothing else in the world. The mass of undead had gone this way, and to judge from the depth of the tracks, they had been carrying numerous captives.

But why? Why take captives? Ridmark had never heard of undead doing that. Perhaps the master of the undead thought to obtain a ransom for Tormark and the captive knights.

This is a bleak place, said Sabrina, shivering. Their clothes had dried out during the climb, but it was still chilly this high in the mountains.

Aye, said Ridmark. The Hanging Tower will be five or six miles to the north, I think. It overlooks a precipice, and there’s only one way up to the Tower. If the undead want to hold the place against me, they’ll be able to do it.

He stopped himself from speculating further. Sabrina would likely have no understanding of the problems of storming a hostile fortress, and speaking of them would only frighten her.

What should we do next? said Sabrina, gazing at the trees as if she expected them to disgorge an army of enemies.

Keep moving, said Ridmark. And keep an eye out for anything strange.

Sabrina nodded and followed him with the pack horse, which had returned to placid calm.

Have you done this kind of thing before, uncle? said Sabrina.

Fought undead creatures? said Ridmark, gazing at the trees. Many times. More than he wished to remember, in truth.

I mean…chasing after captives, said Sabrina. Trying to free prisoners.

A few times, said Ridmark. There was a village called…Toricus, that was it, in the Northerland. The bone orcs of the Qazaluuskan Forest had carried them off as a sacrifice. That would have been a few years before you were born, I think. Then a village in the Wilderland called Aranaeus. An urdmordar had taken the villagers captive, planned to use them as a larder.

For such a young man, you have seen many battles, uncle, said Sabrina.

Ridmark looked back at her, startled. He was thirty-seven. He didn’t feel young.

Sabrina flushed. I mean…you’re young next to my father.

Don’t tell him that, said Ridmark.

But you have seen many battles, said Sabrina.

I have, said Ridmark. Why do you want to talk about them now?

It…comforts me, I fear, said Sabrina. To know that you have prevailed against so many foes. Perhaps you can prevail against these and save my father.

Perhaps, said Ridmark. He did not want to give the girl false hope until he knew more about the situation. It was possible the undead had slaughtered their prisoners at once. On the other hand, Tormark and the others might yet live. Dark magic and necromancy often required the blood of living victims, and the master of the undead might be holding the prisoners for just that purpose.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, the odor of blood came to Ridmark’s nostrils.

Do you smell that? said Sabrina. Is that…

Blood, yes, said Ridmark, looking at the road. A large set of tracks broke off from the road and headed into the trees, and at the foot of a pine tree, he saw a motionless shape. Follow me. Shout if you see anything.

He drew closer to the huddled shape, Oathshield flickering with white fire, and came to a stop.

A dead orcish man lay sprawled below the tree, his skull split by a sword blow. Ridmark’s first thought was regret that Sabrina had to see a slain warrior, but then other details came to his mind. Most nations and tribes of orcs were green-skinned, but this orc’s skin was a peculiar silvery gray that looked as if it should have reflected the light but did not. The warrior wore chain mail and carried a steel sword, and to judge from the wounds on his arms, he had gone down fighting.

Uncle, murmured Sabrina, that gray skin. Is that…

A ghost orc, said Ridmark, voice grim as he looked around.

For all he knew, a dozen ghost orcs watched him right now, invisible to his eyes.

I don’t know anything about them, said Sabrina. Are they from the Shaluuskan Forest?

They are, said Ridmark, still looking around. He wasn’t surprised that Sabrina’s education hadn’t touched upon the ghost orcs. A long time ago, a dark elven lord called the Sculptor gave the Shaluuskan orcs the ability to turn invisible for short periods of time. They rebelled against him and fled to the Shaluuskan Forest, and have ruled it ever since. The ghost orcs worship a goddess they call Shalask, a goddess of mysteries and secrets, and they mostly keep to themselves. Except that anyone who enters the Shaluuskan Forest is never seen again. And sometimes they launch raids from the Forest and make trouble for the High King’s realm.

Like now, said Sabrina. They must have sent the undead against my father!

Maybe, said Ridmark. Or maybe not.

He pointed at the ground. A sword green with orc blood lay upon the fallen pine needles. The sword was ancient and corroded, identical to the weapons that the undead orcs had used earlier.

The undead killed the ghost orc? said Sabrina.

Looks that way, said Ridmark. For the ghost orcs to travel this far from their strongholds in the Shaluuskan Forest was rare. To find them in the middle of a battle between the men of Taliand and undead orcs was an unlikely coincidence.

Do you think the undead came for the ghost orcs? said Sabrina. That we were just in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Maybe, said Ridmark. He looked at the ground some more, his eyes following the tracks. The small group of undead had left the road and headed west. Either way, we need to head to the Tower. The tracks…

He blinked. Ahead he heard the faint clang of steel against steel.

Someone was fighting in the trees to the west.

Uncle? said Sabrina, her eyes going wide again.

Ridmark glanced at her, trying to decide what to do. Should he tell her to stay here and wait for him? That seemed risky. If there was fighting ahead and any of the combatants fled this way, they could capture or kill Sabrina. No, better to keep her close.

Follow me, said Ridmark, lifting Oathshield. Stay close to me, and don’t run off. I need you to keep the horse calm. Can you do that? Sabrina bobbed her head, the motion a little jerky. Then let’s go.

He started into the trees, Sabrina leading the pack horse behind him. The smell of blood grew sharper, and Ridmark heard the clang of more weapons, followed by a shout of fury. There was indeed a battle raging ahead. Had Tormark or some of his men escaped from the undead?

Ridmark came to another clearing and saw a dozen undead orcs, blue fire in their eyes.

They fought four ghost orcs. Three of the ghost orcs were men, armored in chain mail and swords in their hands. The fourth was a woman. She was as tall as the orcish men, with the same tusked jaw, grayish skin, and blunt features, though less bulky. The woman wore a peculiar tattered cloak of gray cloth, the hood pulled over her head. She carried a carved staff in her right hand. Beneath the cloak, she wore a long vest and a skirt over heavy boots, and several amulets of bone and stone. Right now, the staff glimmered with purple fire, and she gestured, casting a magical spell. The ground shuddered, and entangling roots leaped from the earth to wrap around one of the undead.

But the rest of the creatures pressed the ghost orcs hard, and Ridmark saw that they would be overwhelmed.

He made his decision and charged.

The undead were focused upon the ghost orcs, so they did not see Ridmark coming.

He cut down two of them, sending yellowed bones and corroded armor tumbling to the ground. The undead reacted to the new threat, and Ridmark attacked again, beating down another undead warrior and parrying the chop of an axe. Oathshield’s power surged through him, giving him enhanced strength and speed, and he used that to stay ahead of his foes.

The ghost orcs recovered their balance and attacked, swords rising and falling. The woman, who was likely a priestess of Shalask, cast another spell. More roots ripped from the ground and coiled around an undead warrior, holding it in place, and the ghost orcs smashed it to pieces.

In short order, they had overcome the last of the undead orcs.

The Shaluuskan orcs stared at Ridmark. The men lifted their swords, watching him, and the priestess stepped forward, more purple fire playing around her staff.

***

4

Alliances

Hold, said the priestess, raising a hand. Hold for a moment. She spoke in the orcish tongue. There were many dialects and accents of the orcish tongue, and the speech of the Shaluuskan orcs sounded slightly slurred to Ridmark’s ear.

One of the orcish men growled. He is a Swordbearer of Andomhaim, priestess. He will slay us!

Peace, Khalzak, said the priestess. If the Swordbearer wished us dead, he need only have stood by and let the undead take us.

Khalzak growled again. He will fight us. The Swordbearers are without mercy.

Given that the undead seem to be hunting us both, said Ridmark in orcish, perhaps we can work together. He shrugged. Or we can fight each other, and then the undead will take us all.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then the priestess inclined her head.

What are you doing here? said Ridmark.

Khalzak bristled. It was hard to guess the age of the ghost orcs because of their gray skin, but Ridmark thought Khalzak was young, certainly no more than twenty-five. Do not presume to question a priestess of the great goddess Shalask, human.

We’re in Taliand, said Ridmark, meeting Khalzak’s gaze. The orcish man’s black eyes glimmered with the red glaze of orcish battle fury. If you came across me in the Shaluuskan Forest, I assume you would question my reasons for visiting.

Khalzak grunted but said nothing more.

You speak wisdom, Swordbearer, said the priestess. Very well. I am Vholazae, a priestess of Shalask and an initiate in her mysteries.

That hadn’t answered Ridmark’s question, but it was a start. I am Ridmark Arban, a Knight of the Order of the Soulblade. This is my niece Sabrina Arban, daughter of Dux Tormark of Taliand. Sabrina gripped her skirts and did a hasty bow. Ridmark had wondered if she could understand orcish.

Ridmark Arban, said Vholazae. You are the one who slew the Shadowbearer?

Yes, said Ridmark without elaboration. The orcish warriors shifted. Evidently, his reputation had reached even to the secretive orcs of the Shaluuskan Forest.

I see, said Vholazae. And will you slay me as well, Ridmark Arban? I am not a follower of your Dominus Christus and your church.

That would depend, said Ridmark, on if you have done anything to merit slaying. You are a long way from home.

Indeed, said Vholazae. What brings you and the girl to the shadow of the Hanging Tower?

Then she did know about the Hanging Tower.

Not the Tower, as it happens, said Ridmark. The Dux and Sabrina wished to go on a hunting trip in the valley, and since I was at Castra Arban, I accompanied them. Dux Tormark thought it would be safe enough since neither undead nor creatures of dark magic have been seen in this part of Taliand for centuries. On the road to the valley, we were attacked by undead creatures that breathed a sleeping mist. They overpowered our party and took them captive. Lady Sabrina and I fell into the river, and we escaped. Now I intend to defeat the undead and free their captives.

By yourself, said Vholazae.

Ridmark shrugged. I am a Knight of the Order of the Soulblade. It is my duty to fight creatures of dark magic. And I am the one best equipped to fight them. That is my story, priestess. What brings you to Taliand?

A dream of power came to me, said Vholazae, a vision of foretelling.

And what did this vision show you? said Ridmark. The Shaluuskan orcs, he knew, were not as superstitious and omen-ridden as the bone orcs of the Qazaluuskan Forest, who saw the will of their god Qazalask in every rustle of the leaves and the flight of every bird. Nevertheless, the ghost orcs believed their goddess communicated to them through dreams and visions, though Ridmark suspected that the visions followed the will of the priestesses rather than the will of Shalask.

In this vision, I saw a tower of bone rising from a mountain cliff, said Vholazae. In the tower rested the destiny and future of the sons and daughters of Shalask. When I awoke, I performed rites of divinatory sorcery. Sabrina shuddered a little. The rites told me of the Hanging Tower and its location in Taliand. I gathered my warriors about me and left the Shaluuskan Forest, and we made our way across Taliand and to this valley. When we came to the Hanging Tower, undead warriors issued forth to challenge us. As you said, they breathed sleeping mist, and many of my warriors were overcome and dragged into the Tower. We managed to fight our way free, and the undead had caught up to us when you found us.

I see, said Ridmark. That didn’t match what he had seen with the tracks. He thought a band of undead had broken off from the group carrying Tormark and the prisoners and then headed into the forest to the attack the Shaluuskan orcs. Though perhaps Vholazae and her warriors had already been fighting for their lives and some of the undead from the road had gone to join the battle. Did you see a large column of undead heading towards the Hanging Tower? They would have been carrying many human prisoners.

I did not, said Vholazae. We were trying to escape when the undead caught up to us. A fear a thousand undead could have moved along the road, and we might not have noticed.

When you came to the Hanging Tower, said Ridmark, how many undead issued forth?

Perhaps a hundred, said Khalzak. Maybe more.

What do you intend to do? said Vholazae.

I suggest we work together, said Ridmark. Whoever commands the undead has attacked both of us, and we have a better chance of freeing our people if we help each other.

Vholazae frowned behind her tusks. We cannot fight a hundred undead warriors on our own.

No, we can’t, said Ridmark. He lifted Oathshield, and the orcish men flinched a little, gripping their weapons. But my soulblade can break the sleeping spell upon the captives. If we wake enough of them up, we can fight the undead on a more equal footing.

And the master of the undead? said Vholazae.

I am a Swordbearer, said Ridmark. I will deal with whatever creature or sorcerer commands the undead.

Khalzak grunted. So confident?

He is a Swordbearer, Khalzak, said Vholazae. You saw him fight the undead. Indeed, did not the Swordbearers break the power of the urdmordar and send them fleeing into the hidden places of the world? Her black eyes turned back to Ridmark. And if we are victorious, Swordbearer? If we free our men and yours, what will happen then?

Ridmark shrugged. I am a Swordbearer, not a prophet. But if you take your men and leave at once, I doubt Dux Tormark will stop you. Likely he will have no wish to fight after escaping from the Hanging Tower.

Assuming, of course, that Tormark Arban was still alive. But Ridmark did not want to raise that possibility in front of Sabrina.

Very well, said Vholazae. "I find this accord acceptable. Together we shall work to free our people from the Hanging Tower. Once that is accomplished, I shall take my warriors and return to the Shaluuskan Forest. The