Frostborn: The Master Thief Read Online Free Page B

One of the orcs raised a short bow and pointed it at Morigna, no doubt recognizing the threat of her magic.
    She slammed the end of her staff against the ground, power pulsing along its length. She had made the staff years ago, imbuing it with magic, and it gave her command over wood both living and dead. 
    Such as, for instance, the wood in the orc’s bow.
    The bow splintered into a dozen pieces, and the orcish warrior stumbled. Gavin darted forward and slashed his blade across the orc’s throat. The warrior fell, drowning in his own blood, and Gavin wheeled, shield raised in guard as he sought another foe. 
    As annoying as the boy was, he had the making of a proper swordsman in him. 
    The fighting raged on, and Morigna saw the white gleam as Calliande began another spell.
     
    ###
     
    Holding the spell of speed in place was like climbing a flight of stairs while holding a bucket of water in either hand. It was well within Calliande’s strength, but it nonetheless drained her endurance. 
    But it was the best way she could help Ridmark and the others. The magic of the Well at Tarlion’s heart, the magic of a Magistria, granted many powers. She could ward herself and others from harm and could heal their wounds instantly, though she had to take the pain of the wounds into herself. She could summon white fire to drive off or destroy creatures of dark magic. 
    But she could not use her power to harm or kill living mortals.
    Not the way Morigna could. 
    That filled Calliande with disquiet. She did not like Morigna, though she could not question the young woman’s courage. But her magic had a vast potential for abuse, to transform her into a monster the way the magic of the Magistri did not. 
    Yet Coriolus and Talvinius had once been Magistri, and they had nearly killed Calliande. Alamur had been a Magistrius, and he had tried to betray her to Shadowbearer. Were all the Magistri corrupt? She remembered Agrimnalazur’s words about corruption eating the High King’s realm of Andomhaim from the inside. 
    But here was a foe she could fight, and fight she would. 
    She cast another spell, adding to the burden upon her power. Her second spell laid a protective ward over her friends, one to turn aside the blows of swords and spears. She could not block the attacks entirely, not with her power spread over so many, but she could at least provide a measure of protection.
    The white light burst from her fingers, and Calliande focused upon holding her spells in place, her teeth gritting with the strain 
     
    ###
     
    Another orc came at Ridmark, shouting to Mhor, a sword flashing in his fist. Ridmark dodged, jabbing with his staff. The warrior stumbled with a grunt, and Ridmark reversed his staff and sent the sword flying. The orc charged with a yell, only to meet the end of Ridmark’s staff in his throat. 
    The warrior stumbled, and Ridmark finished him off with a strike to the temple. 
    He turned, seeking more foes, but found none.
    The battle was over. 
    Most of the Kothluuskan orcs lay scattered across the ground, their lifeblood soaking into the soil. A few others raced into the trees, vanishing in all directions. Devoted to Mhor they might have been, but apparently they were not yet ready to greet the god of death in person. 
    Ridmark let out a deep breath and lowered his staff, the white glow fading as Calliande released her spells. She hurried over to Kharlacht and the others, intent on checking them for injuries. The four dwarves stared at Ridmark, their faces hidden behind the grim masks of their helmets. 
    He glanced at the sky. No sign of the wyvern. Perhaps it had decided to hunt down the fleeing orcs. 
    “I am curious,” said Ridmark, “why you wandered away from camp.”
    Kharlacht grunted. “Morigna’s ravens spotted a deer.” He spoke Latin with the harsh, rumbling accent of Vhaluusk. Like Caius, he wore a wooden cross on a cord around his neck. “Since we are not far from the Torn Hills,