Frostborn: The Undying Wizard by Jonathan Moeller

likely kill everyone in Moraime.
    The wraiths reached for him, and Ridmark was out of time.
    He whirled, sprinted at the wall, and plunged his staff into one of the burial niches with all his strength, aiming for the metal he had seen earlier. From the staff’s fading glow he saw a skull crowned with an elaborate diadem, jewels glittering in the metal.
    Jewels that flickered with a pale glow of their own.
    Ridmark smashed his staff into the skull, and it shattered against the stone wall, the diadem snapping. 
    A pulse of cold blue fire erupted from the wall, washing over him and illuminating the crypt. The flames did not burn him, but he felt a terrible chill from their touch. The fire rolled through the crypt, and the wraiths dissolved into smoke at their touch, while the undead monks quivered and collapsed motionless to the floor. 
    Ridmark let out a long breath and caught his balance, leaning on his staff for a moment. 
    “Is anyone wounded?” he said. 
    “No,” said Calliande. “Well, yes. Some scrapes, some cuts. But none of the wraiths touched us.”
    “What did you do?” said Morigna. “There was a surge of power…and then nothing.”
    Ridmark turned and took careful steps towards the others. They were all alive, God and his saints be praised. Both Kharlacht and Gavin had taken some cuts, and already Calliande was working spells to heal them. 
    “There was a… totem,” said Ridmark. “A human skull, crowned with a diadem, blue gems in the metal. I guessed it was the source of the power, and I shattered it.” He rolled his shoulders, stretching the aching muscles. He had done a lot of fighting today. “It seemed to do the trick.”
    “A bold guess,” said Morigna. 
    “But an accurate one,” said Kharlacht, “given that it saved our lives.”
    “I’ve never heard of such a spell,” said Calliande.
    “I have, I fear,” said Caius. “It is a dvargir totem. When the dvargir abandoned my people and turned towards the darkness, the great void rewarded them with power over shadows and the dead. They use such totems to raise undead guardians to defend their strongholds.” 
    “It seems,” said Ridmark, “that your Old Man is not responsible for the undead after all.”
    “I told you,” said Morigna, but the reply lacked her usual spite, her eyes subdued as she stared at the dead dvargir. 
    Perhaps it had brought back more memories than she had wished. 
    “I think,” said Ridmark, “we should go have a talk with Abbot Ulakhur and Sir Michael.” 

Chapter 6 - The Abbot
    Abbot Ulakhur’s study was as austere as Ridmark expected.
    It occupied the highest room in one of the keep’s towers, with a view of the town and the hills rising to the north. The abbot’s desk was a simple wooden table, adorned only with a few half-finished letters and a copy of the Gospel of St. Luke. A wooden shelf held curios, mostly orcish knives and daggers made in the style of Vhaluusk. Ridmark guessed that Ulakhur’s path to the church had been as convoluted as Kharlacht’s.
    Fortunately, the abbot’s study had numerous guest chairs, and Ridmark sat gratefully in one, his legs and shoulders aching, and the others did the same. The abbot seated himself behind his desk, while Sir Michael leaned against the wall, his expression grim. Jonas paced back and forth before the study door.
    Again and again he glowered at Ridmark. 
    But Michael spoke first.
    “I object,” he said, pointing at Morigna, “to her presence here. She killed my brother.”
    “I did not,” said Morigna. Ridmark would have expected more anger, but she only sounded tired. The battle had taken its toll upon her. Or maybe she was tired of the argument. “The urvaalg killed Nathan. I tried to save him, but…”
    “Praefectus,” said the old abbot, “peace, I beg you. We all grieve for the death of Sir Nathan, and I admit, if I could have worked my will,” his black eyes turned to Morigna, “Nathan would have stayed far away from