side, dodging the blow, and came around to strike. The blade hit Ridmark in the chest, but rebounded from the superior steel of the dark elven armor. Ridmark let the blow’s momentum knock him back a step, swinging the staff around in a low strike as he did so. It impacted the orc’s knee, and the warrior stumbled back with a furious shout. Again Ridmark whipped his staff around, and this time he hit the orc across the temple with bone-crushing force.
The orc went down in a boneless heap, and Ridmark jumped back, shooting a quick look around the Market. More Mhorites boiled from the gallery at the far end of the Market, and the orcs already scouting through the ruins began to converge on him, no doubt planning to encircle Ridmark or put an arrow through his back. He retreated towards the Travelers’ House, weaving back and forth to keep the crimson faces of the Mhorites in sight.
“Take him!” roared the Mhorite shaman from the back. “Take him and make him speak! Perhaps he knows the location of the relic the Voice of Mhor seeks.”
“You don’t recognize me?” said Ridmark, his voice echoing over the ruins. “Then you are a poor servant of your god. I am Ridmark Arban, and Mournacht himself wishes to kill me. Think of the rich reward you will earn if you lay my head before his feet.”
“Kill him!” said the shaman. The orc lifted his hands and began gesturing, bloody fire snarling around his fingers as he worked a spell of dark magic. “Kill him now!”
A dozen orcs shouted cries to Mhor and charged. The smarter ones drew their bows, aimed, and released. Ridmark threw himself to the side, ducking behind a chunk of broken wall. The volley of arrows hissed off the boulder and clattered away. Ridmark turned and sprinted for the Travelers’ House, jumping over chunks of rubble as he scrambled up the stairs, the few remaining glowstones throwing long black shadows behind him. The Mhorites pursued him, which was just as well, since they blocked the archers’ line of fire. They also blocked the shaman’s spells from hitting Ridmark.
He reached the tier before the Travelers’ House, and suddenly the ruined houses on either side erupted with motion.
###
Morigna stepped forward and raised her staff, drawing upon all the magic she could summon.
Not dark magic, though. Mara was right. The dark magic had given her powerful night vision, and there was no telling what else it might do to her.
Best not to find out, then.
Instead of dark magic, Morigna summoned power from the stone beneath her feet. Purple fire flared around her staff, and she thrust out a hand, the fire dancing around her fingers. The stairs leading to the Travelers’ House rippled and folded, the stone snapping like a flag caught in the wind, and her spell knocked a dozen Mhorites from their feet. Ridmark knew her magic well enough not to hesitate, and he sped forward and attacked, killing two Mhorites with quick blows of his black staff before the orcish warriors recovered. Before meeting Ridmark, Morigna had never thought that a staff could be a deadly weapon, but Ardrhythain’s staff was a blur of black shadow in Ridmark’s hands, dealing death and blocking strikes before they could come anywhere near him.
Gavin and Arandar were just as deadly. Gavin actually leaped from the ruined house, Truthseeker’s magic giving his jump inhuman power, and landed like a thunderbolt in the midst of the stunned Mhorites, the soulblade flashing in his grasp. Arandar fought more conservatively, but no less decisively, cutting his way into the orcs. Caius and Kharlacht came next, and then Mara and Jager. Mara flickered in and out the warriors, disappearing and reappearing, and Jager expertly exploited the chaos Mara left in her wake. White light flashed over the battle, and suddenly Ridmark and the others moved faster as Calliande’s magic aided them, lending power and speed to their blows
For a moment, just a moment, Morigna
The orc went down in a boneless heap, and Ridmark jumped back, shooting a quick look around the Market. More Mhorites boiled from the gallery at the far end of the Market, and the orcs already scouting through the ruins began to converge on him, no doubt planning to encircle Ridmark or put an arrow through his back. He retreated towards the Travelers’ House, weaving back and forth to keep the crimson faces of the Mhorites in sight.
“Take him!” roared the Mhorite shaman from the back. “Take him and make him speak! Perhaps he knows the location of the relic the Voice of Mhor seeks.”
“You don’t recognize me?” said Ridmark, his voice echoing over the ruins. “Then you are a poor servant of your god. I am Ridmark Arban, and Mournacht himself wishes to kill me. Think of the rich reward you will earn if you lay my head before his feet.”
“Kill him!” said the shaman. The orc lifted his hands and began gesturing, bloody fire snarling around his fingers as he worked a spell of dark magic. “Kill him now!”
A dozen orcs shouted cries to Mhor and charged. The smarter ones drew their bows, aimed, and released. Ridmark threw himself to the side, ducking behind a chunk of broken wall. The volley of arrows hissed off the boulder and clattered away. Ridmark turned and sprinted for the Travelers’ House, jumping over chunks of rubble as he scrambled up the stairs, the few remaining glowstones throwing long black shadows behind him. The Mhorites pursued him, which was just as well, since they blocked the archers’ line of fire. They also blocked the shaman’s spells from hitting Ridmark.
He reached the tier before the Travelers’ House, and suddenly the ruined houses on either side erupted with motion.
###
Morigna stepped forward and raised her staff, drawing upon all the magic she could summon.
Not dark magic, though. Mara was right. The dark magic had given her powerful night vision, and there was no telling what else it might do to her.
Best not to find out, then.
Instead of dark magic, Morigna summoned power from the stone beneath her feet. Purple fire flared around her staff, and she thrust out a hand, the fire dancing around her fingers. The stairs leading to the Travelers’ House rippled and folded, the stone snapping like a flag caught in the wind, and her spell knocked a dozen Mhorites from their feet. Ridmark knew her magic well enough not to hesitate, and he sped forward and attacked, killing two Mhorites with quick blows of his black staff before the orcish warriors recovered. Before meeting Ridmark, Morigna had never thought that a staff could be a deadly weapon, but Ardrhythain’s staff was a blur of black shadow in Ridmark’s hands, dealing death and blocking strikes before they could come anywhere near him.
Gavin and Arandar were just as deadly. Gavin actually leaped from the ruined house, Truthseeker’s magic giving his jump inhuman power, and landed like a thunderbolt in the midst of the stunned Mhorites, the soulblade flashing in his grasp. Arandar fought more conservatively, but no less decisively, cutting his way into the orcs. Caius and Kharlacht came next, and then Mara and Jager. Mara flickered in and out the warriors, disappearing and reappearing, and Jager expertly exploited the chaos Mara left in her wake. White light flashed over the battle, and suddenly Ridmark and the others moved faster as Calliande’s magic aided them, lending power and speed to their blows
For a moment, just a moment, Morigna
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