Free Frostborn: The Broken Mage by Jonathan Moeller

miss.
    He and Morigna raised their bows, drew back the strings, and released in unison. Ridmark’s arrow slammed into the shoulder of the nearest Mhorite, and Morigna’s arrow shot past the warrior to strike the throat of the orc behind him. She had always been the better shot. The Mhorite Ridmark had wounded bellowed in pain and rage, and the warrior Morigna had killed slumped to the floor. One of the orcs bellowed a command, and the Mhorites began scrambling forward with as much speed as they could muster while avoiding the deadly spikes. Ridmark and Morigna loosed arrow after arrow, killing several Mhorites, but the rest kept coming, stepping over their wounded and slain fellows. 
    Crimson light flared in the gallery, the spikes throwing mad, tangled shadows over the walls. Ridmark glimpsed another Mhorite shaman in the midst of the warriors, casting a spell. Calliande drew herself up and started casting a spell of her own, white fire shimmering around her fingers.
    The floor jolted beneath Ridmark’s boots. Every single one of the glyphs upon the tiles blazed with fiery light, and an enormous glyph burned upon the ceiling, so large that it seemed like a stylized moon wrought from a blacksmith’s fire. White light flashed around Ridmark and Morigna and Calliande, and an instant later the shaman’s attack hammered against the ward with a howl. Calliande’s magic proved the stronger, and the killing spell flickered and vanished. 
    As it did, every single door in the octagonal courtyard began to slide shut, massive slabs of glyph-carved granite moving to seal the entrances. 
    “Go!” shouted Ridmark. 
    The women sprinted for the archway. An arrow skipped off the floor next to Ridmark as one of the Mhorites produced a bow, and he ran after Calliande and Morigna. Arandar, Gavin, Kharlacht, and Caius stood at the entrance to the tunnel, just beyond the sliding slab of granite with its carved glyphs. Calliande and Morigna dashed through the closing gate, and Ridmark put on a burst of speed and followed. 
    The Mhorites were right behind him. 
    Five of the warriors burst through the closing door. Arandar slew one, and Kharlacht killed another. Morigna shouted, purple fire pulsing in the gloom, and a ripple went through the floor, knocking the Mhorites from their feet. Gavin killed one of the orcs with a quick slash from Truthseeker. Ridmark snatched the dwarven war axe from his belt and opened the throat of the fourth. The final orcish warrior fell backwards with a scream, and landed in the archway just as the massive granite slab slid shut, sealing off the courtyard.
    The closing door cut off the light, but just before it did, Ridmark saw the Mhorite orc’s torso explode like a fruit crushed beneath a horse’s hoof. The door’s motion did not slow in the slightest as it crushed the Mhorite.
    The resounding echoes faded away, the only light coming from the shimmering glyphs upon the door’s surface. 
    For a moment Ridmark and the others stood motionless, breathing hard.
    “Well,” said Gavin at last. “Now what?” 

Chapter 4: Night Visions
     
    Calliande took a deep breath, and then another. She felt calm return as the tension of battle drained away. They were safe enough for now. The granite door was two feet thick, and even with Mournacht’s powerful magic to break the warding glyphs, it would still take the Mhorites days to break through that door.
    Safe, of course, was a relative term, but they had make progress. Her staff felt closer. Perhaps they could yet find their way through this maze and reach Dragonfall.
    Assuming they had not just gotten trapped in a dead end.
    “Mara, Antenora,” said Ridmark. His voice was calm, the voice of a man in command of the situation. She knew him well enough by now to realize it was something he had learned, a part of his upbringing as a knight and noble of Andomhaim. Yet, by God and the apostles, it made her feel calmer. “Use your Sight, please. Are there any