Frostborn: The Broken Mage Read Free Page B

surface. Most of the orcs of the surface world were like Kharlacht, tall and strong with their skin a deep green color. These orcs were shorter and thinner, their skin a sickly yellow, their ears the size of a grown man’s palms, their nostrils wide and black. The deep orcs had no eyes. In lieu of eyes, a strange band of knotted, veined flesh encircled their heads like a blindfold. The organ gave them the ability to sense heat the way that the human eye detected light, allowing them to move in perfect darkness. 
    A ring of a dozen deep orcs appeared around Calliande and the others, stepping from behind the pillars, and more appeared in the crossroads ahead, all of them moving with eerie silence. The deep orcs carried blowguns. The darts within were likely treated with a sleeping drug, and the deep orcs would take them captive as slaves.
    Or possibly as food.
    As one the deep orcs lifted the blowguns to their tusked mouths, and Calliande cast a spell. 
    Once such a spell would have been beyond her. Her powers had grown greatly in the last few weeks, first after her battle with the Artificer in the Iron Tower, and then after the Warden’s malevolent spirit had possessed her at Urd Morlemoch. Even with her new magical strength, if the deep orcs had been using crossbows or longbows, she couldn’t have managed it. Yet their darts were not heavy or moving very fast. 
    The deep orcs unleashed their darts, and white light pulsed from Calliande’s hands, and a dome of shimmering light erupted from her and expanded over the others. It passed through them and the deep orcs without harm, but the light of the warding spell deflected the poisoned darts. 
    For an instant the deep orcs were stunned, their eyeless heads turning back and forth in confusion.
    “Now!” shouted Ridmark. “Strike!”
    He dashed forward, his black staff spinning in a circle. The end of the weapon slammed into the side of a deep orc’s head with a bone-splitting crack, and the orc fell in a limp heap to the ground. The others followed his lead. Gavin and Arandar surged forward, moving with the superhuman speed granted by the power of their soulblades. Morigna cast another spell, and the stone floor rippled and folded, flinging three deep orcs from their feet. Jager darted into the fray, using the short sword of dark elven steel he had taken from the Warden’s armory. One of the deep orcs raised his blowgun, taking aim at Calliande. Blue fire swirled behind him, and Mara appeared out of nothingness, her face calm and detached as she slashed the deep orc’s throat with expert skill. The deep orc fell, and Mara disappeared again. Caius and Kharlacht fought side-by-side, Caius covering the orcish warrior’s back as Kharlacht’s greatsword rose and fell, killing with every blow. 
    Calliande summoned more power and cast a spell, white light leaping from her hands to sink into her companions. The spell made them stronger, allowing them to strike with greater force. She felt the weight of holding the spell lying upon her mind like a cord of fire, taking some of her magical strength, but she had power enough to work another spell if needed.
    Ridmark and the others cut free of the ring of deep orcs and charged towards the foes waiting in the crossroads. The deep orcs there rallied, drawing short swords and raising spears. There were at least twenty of them, and an idea came to Calliande.
    “Antenora!” she said, and the older woman’s yellow gaze turned towards her. “They see heat, not light. If you…”
    But Antenora had already grasped her purpose. She drew back her staff, its length suddenly burning with harsh fire, and thrust the weapon forward. A sphere of fire the size of Calliande’s head erupted from the staff, soared over Ridmark and the others, and landed in the midst of the deep orcs. 
    It made an impressive explosion. 
    Two of the deep orcs collapsed, flames tearing at their clothing and skin, and the rest stumbled back. Ridmark and the