Morigna.
“No,” said Ridmark. “The pain is not a physical ailment. At least not one she can heal. When I broke my bond with the soulblade, it left a…scar upon me, for want of a better word. So long as I am near it, I will feel pain. But a soulblade is a mighty weapon, and worth enduring the pain.”
“One wishes that we were in safer country,” said Morigna. “Then we could go scouting together.”
Ridmark suspected she was not actually talking about scouting.
“I wish that, too,” said Ridmark. “Once we depart Urd Morlemoch and leave the Torn Hills behind.”
“Assuming that Sir Arandar and I do not kill each other first, you mean?” said Morigna, her usual acerbic manner returning.
“It would be best if you avoid that,” said Ridmark.
“I do not like him,” said Morigna. “He is pompous and too certain of himself. You said I believed the worst about the Swordbearers, thanks to the Old Man. Sir Arandar of Tarlion makes me believe that Coriolus may not have been wrong about everything.”
“Arandar is an honorable man,” said Ridmark. “He will not raise his hand against you unless you attack him first.”
“Fear not, Gray Knight,” said Morigna. “I will not start anything with him. We might need that soulblade before the end.”
“Thank you,” said Ridmark.
“I will just have Mara do it.”
“What?” said Morigna.
“She was an assassin of the Red Family for years,” said Morigna, “so one assumes that she is most practiced in making deaths look accidental. If I ask nicely she may even do it for free.”
Ridmark stared at her.
“That was a joke,” said Morigna.
“Not entirely, was it?” said Ridmark.
“I shall let you ponder on that,” said Morigna.
Ridmark sighed and kept walking.
###
The next day Calliande saw the first of the menhirs standing atop the hills.
“Not far now,” said Ridmark, looking at the grim standing stones. “A half-day to Urd Morlemoch at the most.”
Kharlacht grunted. “If we are not attacked first.”
Calliande said nothing, her eyes upon the menhirs. Those stones brought back dark memories. She had almost died upon an altar within a stone circle like that, bound and helpless as Vlazar raised his knife. Strange, alien designs covered the surfaces of the stones, sigils that blazed with ghostly light when their power activated. From time to time the misshapen ravens of the Torn Hills perched upon the stones, cawing and muttering to each other.
“Wretched things,” muttered Morigna.
It seemed she was not the only one with dark memories.
“There are countless stones like that within the Nightmane Forest,” said Mara, her voice quiet. “The Traveler inscribes his spells of warding and protection upon them.”
Arandar glanced at her. “You’ve been to Nightmane Forest?”
Calliande hesitated. Mara had successfully concealed her dark elven heritage from Arandar. She did not know how the Swordbearer would react to the truth.
Mara only shrugged. “I’ve traveled quite a lot.”
“There was one of those stone circles near Moraime,” said Morigna, her voice cold.
“Many in Vhaluusk,” said Kharlacht.
“And in Kothluusk,” said Arandar. “Save for the shamans, the Mhorites hold them in dread and avoid them.”
“They should,” said Ridmark. “The dark elves of old used those stone circles to work terrible sorcery, and the power lingers.”
“So do their creatures,” said Morigna.
“Why are there so many near Urd Morlemoch?” said Gavin.
“I do not know,” said Ridmark. The clouds were almost black now, and from time to time lightning leapt between them, a distant rumble of thunder rolling over the Torn Hills.
“I suspect I do,” said Calliande, a flicker of forgotten knowledge coming to the forefront of her thoughts. “They were part of the spell the Warden used to shield himself in Urd Morlemoch. There must be hundreds of stone circles ringing the citadel, and he used
“No,” said Ridmark. “The pain is not a physical ailment. At least not one she can heal. When I broke my bond with the soulblade, it left a…scar upon me, for want of a better word. So long as I am near it, I will feel pain. But a soulblade is a mighty weapon, and worth enduring the pain.”
“One wishes that we were in safer country,” said Morigna. “Then we could go scouting together.”
Ridmark suspected she was not actually talking about scouting.
“I wish that, too,” said Ridmark. “Once we depart Urd Morlemoch and leave the Torn Hills behind.”
“Assuming that Sir Arandar and I do not kill each other first, you mean?” said Morigna, her usual acerbic manner returning.
“It would be best if you avoid that,” said Ridmark.
“I do not like him,” said Morigna. “He is pompous and too certain of himself. You said I believed the worst about the Swordbearers, thanks to the Old Man. Sir Arandar of Tarlion makes me believe that Coriolus may not have been wrong about everything.”
“Arandar is an honorable man,” said Ridmark. “He will not raise his hand against you unless you attack him first.”
“Fear not, Gray Knight,” said Morigna. “I will not start anything with him. We might need that soulblade before the end.”
“Thank you,” said Ridmark.
“I will just have Mara do it.”
“What?” said Morigna.
“She was an assassin of the Red Family for years,” said Morigna, “so one assumes that she is most practiced in making deaths look accidental. If I ask nicely she may even do it for free.”
Ridmark stared at her.
“That was a joke,” said Morigna.
“Not entirely, was it?” said Ridmark.
“I shall let you ponder on that,” said Morigna.
Ridmark sighed and kept walking.
###
The next day Calliande saw the first of the menhirs standing atop the hills.
“Not far now,” said Ridmark, looking at the grim standing stones. “A half-day to Urd Morlemoch at the most.”
Kharlacht grunted. “If we are not attacked first.”
Calliande said nothing, her eyes upon the menhirs. Those stones brought back dark memories. She had almost died upon an altar within a stone circle like that, bound and helpless as Vlazar raised his knife. Strange, alien designs covered the surfaces of the stones, sigils that blazed with ghostly light when their power activated. From time to time the misshapen ravens of the Torn Hills perched upon the stones, cawing and muttering to each other.
“Wretched things,” muttered Morigna.
It seemed she was not the only one with dark memories.
“There are countless stones like that within the Nightmane Forest,” said Mara, her voice quiet. “The Traveler inscribes his spells of warding and protection upon them.”
Arandar glanced at her. “You’ve been to Nightmane Forest?”
Calliande hesitated. Mara had successfully concealed her dark elven heritage from Arandar. She did not know how the Swordbearer would react to the truth.
Mara only shrugged. “I’ve traveled quite a lot.”
“There was one of those stone circles near Moraime,” said Morigna, her voice cold.
“Many in Vhaluusk,” said Kharlacht.
“And in Kothluusk,” said Arandar. “Save for the shamans, the Mhorites hold them in dread and avoid them.”
“They should,” said Ridmark. “The dark elves of old used those stone circles to work terrible sorcery, and the power lingers.”
“So do their creatures,” said Morigna.
“Why are there so many near Urd Morlemoch?” said Gavin.
“I do not know,” said Ridmark. The clouds were almost black now, and from time to time lightning leapt between them, a distant rumble of thunder rolling over the Torn Hills.
“I suspect I do,” said Calliande, a flicker of forgotten knowledge coming to the forefront of her thoughts. “They were part of the spell the Warden used to shield himself in Urd Morlemoch. There must be hundreds of stone circles ringing the citadel, and he used
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