Frostborn: The Undying Wizard by Jonathan Moeller Page B

so,” said Michael, “but why would any of the monks or novices let a dvargir into the monastery? The dvargir take humans and orcs and halflings as slaves. Any traitor would find himself killed once he was no longer useful.” 
    “Nor,” said Ulakhur, “does that explain the undead in the countryside.”
    “How many groups of undead have you seen?” said Ridmark.
    “Perhaps half a dozen,” said Michael, “of twenty or thirty each. There are many old orcish burial mounds scattered around the hills and the marshes. Sensible folk stay away from them, but this necromancer must have gone digging.”
    “It seems,” said Morigna, “that a great deal of preparation must have been involved. So, Magistria, much as you might wish to blame yourself, it seems you cannot. The necromancer cannot have known you would come here.”
    Calliande frowned, but Michael spoke first. “Be silent. I will tolerate your presence here, but I will not suffer you to speak.” 
    “A pity,” said Morigna. “If you listened to my counsel, then…”
    “If Nathan had listened to my counsel,” said Michael, “then you might not have led him to his death.”
    Morigna said nothing, but her fingers tightened against the arms of her chair.
    “This is ridiculous,” said Jonas. “Brother, lord abbot, you are the governors of Moraime. Not this Magistria, not the witch of the hills, and certainly not this…this gray-cloaked brigand with a coward’s brand. Why are we even heeding his counsel?”
    Ridmark met Jonas’s gaze without blinking, and eventually the knight looked away. 
    Again Ridmark could not shake the feeling that Jonas knew him. Of course, after Mhalek, most of the men of Andomhaim knew his name, and to his annoyance tales of the Gray Knight had spread far and wide. But Jonas’s dislike seemed different, as if the man knew him personally.
    Or had some other reason to hate him.
    “You should not speak of things you do not understand, Sir Jonas,” said Caius. 
    “The Gray Knight aided us without asking for any reward,” said the abbot. “And a man’s sins are in his past, if he repents and asks the Dominus Christus for forgiveness.” 
    “He saved my life and the lives of my village from an urdmordar,” said Gavin.
    Jonas laughed. “An urdmordar? Be silent when your elders are speaking, boy. And do not make up fanciful tales, or I shall have to give you a beating.” 
    “Sound advice,” said Morigna, and Gavin answered her with a glare. 
    “I told you to be silent,” said Michael, stepping closer to her. “Lord abbot, it is my belief that the Old Man and his apprentice are responsible for the undead. They used their magic to smuggle the dvargir into the monastery to divert blame from themselves.”
    “That is a slander,” said Morigna. “I have never lifted my hand against anyone in this miserable little town.”
    “Save for my brother, perhaps?” said Michael.
    Morigna slammed a fist against the arm of her chair. “I tried to save him, damn you! Why will you not believe me?”
    “Because,” said Calliande, “you are a renegade wielder of outlawed magic, as is your teacher?” 
    “I am suspicious of the Old Man,” said Ulakhur, “but he has dwelled alone in the hills for longer than I have been abbot. Longer than I have been a brother at this monastery. In all that long span of years he has never made trouble for the people of Moraime.” 
    “Perhaps, lord abbot,” said Jonas, “your forgiving nature makes it difficult for you to see the treacherous nature of men.” He looked at Morigna. “Or of women.”
    Ulakhur snorted. “My lad, I knew well the treacherous nature of men long before you were born.”
    “Then why do you not see the plain and obvious truth?” said Michael, pointing at Morigna. “Obviously the Old Man worked the necromancy, and left the dead dvargir to fool us. His apprentice is part of the plot. And she murdered my brother!”
    “You blind fool!” shouted Morigna,