Frostborn: The Undying Wizard

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Book: Frostborn: The Undying Wizard Read Online Free PDF
Author: Jonathan Moeller
She had held her own against the undead, but without aid, they would overwhelm her.
    “Calliande,” said Ridmark.
    She stared at the sorceress, her mouth a hard line. But she blinked, nodded, and cast a spell. Again white light flared to life around their weapons, Ridmark’s staff a glowing line in his fist. A ripple went through the undead orcs as they sensed the presence of Calliande’s spell, and some of the creatures turned toward them. The sorceress upon the hill took advantage of their distraction and struck, more roots rising from the ground to entangle the undead. 
    Ridmark charged, Kharlacht and Caius at his side as Gavin hung back to shield Calliande from the undead. He brought his staff around and struck, smashing an orc’s skull, and whipped the weapon around to catch another undead behind the knees. The creature fell, and Caius’s mace met its skull. 
    The sorceress flung out her arms, and the ground around Ridmark rippled. For an instant he wondered if the woman had attacked him, if the undead had simply been a ploy to lure them into a trap, but the shockwave knocked the undead from their feet. He destroyed three of them before they recovered, Calliande’s magic glowing brighter around the staff as it canceled the necromancy binding the undead things. Kharlacht and Caius struck on his left and right, forcing their way through the undead. The mob of dead orcs staggered, forced back by the sheer power of their attack. The sorceress atop the burial mound sent another shock through the earth, a wild, mad grin on her face, and Ridmark struck down two more undead.
    The fight was almost over. 
    “Ridmark!”
    Calliande’s voice rang over the fray.
    “The fortress!” she shouted.
    He turned his head just in time to see the wraith float through the earthwork wall.
    The translucent creature looked like a hooded specter in a long black robe. It had the features of an orcish shaman of the blood gods, its face adorned with elaborate tattoos, bronze rings glinting in its nose and ears and lips. It glided over the water, and the grass turned black and dead at its touch.
    Ridmark suspected much the same would happen if it touched a living man or woman. 
    “Do not let it reach you!” said Calliande. “One touch will be enough to kill you.”
    The sorceress atop the hill gestured, and more roots rose from the earth, lashing at the wraith. But the roots passed through its immaterial body without touching it, and Ridmark glimpsed a flicker of fear on the sorceress’s face. 
    “Can you ward us against it?” said Ridmark, smashing another undead orc.
    “Aye,” said Calliande, “but I’ll not have enough strength left to maintain the aura around your weapons.”
    “Will the aura harm it?” said Ridmark, the wraith flowing toward him. 
    “It will!” said Calliande. “But…”
    “Kharlacht, Caius!” said Ridmark. “Hold against the undead orcs. Gavin, guard Lady Calliande.” The sorceress in the tattered cloak unleashed another spell, throwing more of the undead to the ground, and Kharlacht and Caius seized the moment to attack.
    “What will you…” began Calliande.
    Ridmark was already moving. 
    The air grew colder as he charged the wraith, and its eyes, filled with ghostly blue flame, turned toward him. It was freezing cold, yet no frost formed upon the pools of water, and Ridmark’s breath did not steam. It was a magical cold, one that tugged upon his life force. 
    He suspected a touch from the wraith would not be pleasant.
    The creature lunged at him, and Ridmark swung his staff one-handed, using the weapon’s greater reach to keep the wraith away from him. The staff sheared through the wraith’s torso, the spell upon it glowing brighter. The wraith hissed in pain, the first time Ridmark had heard any of the undead make a noise. 
    “Human dog,” whispered the wraith in orcish. “Bow down. We shall make all your kindred slaves.”
    “Unlikely,” said Ridmark, watching the wraith.
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