Free Frostborn: The Undying Wizard by Jonathan Moeller

head. “A…totem, a relic. An object, I think. Something that was left in the crypts and then activated.
    “Then if we find and destroy it,” said Ridmark, “perhaps we can return the dead to their rest.” He looked at Ulakhur. “Lord abbot, with your permission, we shall enter the crypts and find this relic.”
    “You risk much on our behalf,” said Ulakhur. “Go with our blessings and prayers.”
    “If this goes ill,” said Michael, “we should withdraw the brothers to the wall, lord abbot, with crossbows and torches ready. If the Gray Knight fails, we should prepare to fire the monastery.”
    Ulakhur sighed. “Make what preparations you think best, Sir Michael. Gray Knight, you have our thanks. Though I am unsure of the presence of the witch of the hills.”
    Morigna scowled and started to speak, but Ridmark interrupted her. “She fought the undead outside of the town, lord abbot. I do not believe she means Moraime ill, and we need all the aid we can find.” 
    “Very well,” said Ulakhur. “Go with God and his saints.”
    Michael shouted orders, and the monks abandoned the crypt doors and headed for the walls. The militiamen moved to follow Michael, and Jonas hesitated, looking back and forth between Ridmark and his brother. Ridmark met his gaze, and Jonas scowled, sneered, and went after the militiamen. 
    The crypt doors shuddered, one of the planks splintering, and Ridmark glimpsed dark shapes moving behind the doors.
    And a hint of ghostly blue flame.
    “Prepare yourselves,” said Ridmark, raising his staff.
     
    ###
     
    Calliande took a deep breath and let her magical senses wash over the monastery one last time.
    She felt the peculiar power of Morigna’s earth magic, strange and alien. But it lacked the icy malevolence of the power binding the corpses behind the door, of the source of power buried in the crypt. 
    Gavin drew his sword and set his shield, putting himself in front of Calliande.
    Morigna laughed. “Defending the women, boy? I need no one to defend me.”
    “I wasn’t thinking of defending you,” said Gavin, not looking at Morigna.
    “Gavin,” said Calliande, “go with Ridmark. When the undead break through the doors, he will need your help.”
    Gavin hesitated, nodded, and hurried to join Ridmark and the other men. 
    “Does he usually shield you in battle?” said Morigna. 
    “Yes,” said Calliande, releasing her sensing spell and summoning more power, “effectively.”
    “Well, fear not,” said Morigna with her mocking smile. “I’ll look after you while you enchant the weapons.” 
    “How very comforting,” said Calliande. 
    She could deal with Morigna later, once the undead had been defeated. The woman was dangerous, and Calliande was sure that she had lied to Ridmark. Even if she had not used dark magic, she seemed well along on the path to becoming someone like Talvinius of the Eternalists or Alamur. 
    But for now, they had to work together to defeat the undead.
    Calliande cast a spell. White fire burst from her hands, and Ridmark’s staff began to glow with white light, as did Kharlacht’s sword, Gavin’s blade, and Caius’s mace. 
    The doors burst open, and the undead came forth.
    The undead in the marshes had been orcs, long-dead warriors of Vhaluusk. These undead had once been monks of Moraime, still clad in their crumbling robes. Generations of monks had been buried in the crypts, until the dark magic had defiled their graves and raised them up as undead.
    On the plus side, it meant none of the undead carried armor or weapons. No one buried monks with swords and daggers.
    Ridmark and the others charged into the horde of undead.
    Kharlacht carved into them like a man harvesting wheat, his blue greatsword inscribing white-glowing arcs through the undead monks. Every blow severed a head or a skeletal arm. Caius followed the tall orc, hammering with his mace. Whenever an undead monk drew too near, Caius darted into the gap, his brown robes