Frostborn: The Eightfold Knife (12 page)

“There is more to it than that,” said Ridmark. “You always have your reasons, Brother Caius. If we merely needed strong arms, we could hire a few of the village men.”

Caius smiled. “I’ve known you less than a month, but already you know me too well. Yes, I think we could use his help, but I think we could help him as well.”

“How?” said Ridmark.

“The lad is a rare sort,” said Caius. “Bold and fearless, but without any malice in his heart. Consider how he was willing to help us against the kobolds, and did not ask for any reward. I fear his father is a craven, and his stepmother cold and scheming. That he has been strong enough of will to fight their influence is remarkable.”

“Perhaps he did so in rebellion against them,” said Ridmark.

“Virtue performed for the wrong reason is still virtue,” said Caius. “And he’s in love with that young woman, the one betrothed to the blacksmith’s apprentice.”

“So?” said Ridmark. “He loves her, but she loves the blacksmith. He’ll get over it.” 

“Or he won’t,” said Caius. “Perhaps you’ve seen that sort of thing before.”

“Or he won’t,” said Ridmark, remembering. Tarrabus had been in love with Aelia, for years. She had regarded him as a friend, at least until she had seen his true character.

That had not ended well. 

“If he wants the girl,” said Ridmark, “he’ll have to court her. And if she rejects him, he’ll simply have to accept it and move on.”

“I think he is strong enough to do that,” said Caius. “But in ten years? In twenty years? That sort of rejection can fester. Enough to twist a man’s character, to make him consider things he might have never contemplated in his wiser days.”

“Then,” said Ridmark, “you want to take a boy into a dark elven ruin so he doesn’t murder a romantic rival in twenty years?” 

“There’s more than that,” said Caius. “I think Gavin has the potential to become a remarkable man, a knight without peer. In all frankness, I think he would be wasted if he stayed here.”

Ridmark drummed his fingers on the side of his cup. “Father Martel put you up to this, didn’t he?” 

Caius laughed. “Am I that transparent? Yes, he did. Father Martel was quite well-educated before he left the realm – familiar with the Latin and Greek authors of Old Earth, the histories of Andomhaim, even a translation of the Chronicle of the Nine Kingdoms written by the stonescribes of my kindred. Gavin soaked it up like a sponge. Martel wants what is best for the boy, and I agree with him that it would be better if Gavin left Aranaeus and sought his fortune elsewhere.”

“Fine,” said Ridmark. “What does Gavin want? Other than Rosanna, that is.”

“A snide reply does not become you, Gray Knight. Consider. Gavin was willing to travel alone through the Wilderland to ask for aid from Dux Gareth,” said Caius. “I think you know what he wants.”

“To do great deeds and win renown as a knight of the realm,” said Ridmark, “as young men do.”

“You’re twenty-eight,” said Caius. “Hardly an old man. To me you all seem like children. Well. Except Calliande. And we don’t know how old she is.” 

“I don’t feel young,” said Ridmark. “Not for years, now.” Not since Aelia had died in a pool of her own blood before her father’s seat.

“But you remember it, I think,” said Caius, “and when you were fifteen years old, if some peril had threatened your home, what would you have done?”

Ridmark sighed. “I would have fought it. Very well. The boy can come. Though God forbid we get him killed. I don’t want to explain his death to his father.”

“I fear,” said Caius, “that is why he must come with us. I don’t think either his father or his stepmother would mind very much if he died.”

###

Calliande slept, and in her dreams the Watcher came to her again.

“Mistress,” he said, his eyes sad and heavy in his lined face.

“How much do you know about me?” said Calliande.

“You commanded me never to speak of your past,” said the Watcher.

“I mean my present,” said Calliande. “Can you see what I am doing?”

The Watcher nodded. “I can. It is part of both the oath and the spell that binds me. Time does not function for me as it does for you, and a haze of mist engulfs the world of the living to my eyes.”

“But you must have a good idea of what I’m doing,” said Calliande. “Because you know that I am about to do something dangerous, which is why you are appearing to me now.”

The Watcher nodded. 

“So if you can see my present, but are forbidden to speak about my past,” said Calliande, “can you tell me about my present?”

The Watcher blinked, and then smiled. “Yes. Yes, I can share my knowledge of our present.”

“What can you tell me about Urd Dagaash?” said Calliande.

The Watcher shrugged. “Little enough, I fear. It is part of a chain of dark elven ruins stretching across the Wilderland to Urd Morlemoch. They were ruled by petty dark elven princes and wizards, all at war with each other. When the urdmordar destroyed Cathair Amnios and swept south, they annihilated the dark elven princes for rebelling against them. Only the Warden resisted their power.” 

“What is inside Urd Dagaash?” said Calliande. “Something capable of causing these disappearances?”

“Almost certainly,” said the Watcher. “The possibilities are limitless. Pagan orcs or the urdmordar, or perhaps a rogue tribe of manetaurs. One of the dark elves’ sorcerous creatures, lairing in the ruins. Or the ruins link to the Deeps, and kobolds or the dvargir have been raiding the surface. Be careful if you enter Urd Dagaash. You alone stand against the Frostborn, and if you perish in a dark elven ruin, all hope is lost.”

The mist swallowed her, and then the sound of knocking awoke Calliande.

She sat up with a gasp. She was in her room at the White Walls Inn, the narrow bed creaking beneath her. The room was small but clean, with a tiny window overlooking the street.

“Magistria?” The door swung open, and Kharlacht stepped into the room, his blue greatsword in hand. “Are you well?”

“I’m fine,” said Calliande. It was odd that she trusted him, given that he had once handed her over to Qazarl and Shadowbearer. But trust him she did. “A dream. That’s all.”

But she knew better.

Chapter 8 - Hunters

The next morning Gavin adjusted his pack, checked his dagger in its sheath, picked up his club, and walked to the village’s northern gate. Beyond the wall, on the hills north of the village, he saw the strange, alien towers rising from the hill’s crest like the bones of some giant beast.

Urd Dagaash.

And he was going there of his own will.

A shiver of fear went down his spine. Urd Dagaash had been a place of dread all his life. No one went there. Every few years a wandering adventurer or an aspiring tomb robber arrived in the village and went to the ruins in search of plunder. 

They never returned.

Perhaps he would see their bones moldering within Urd Dagaash.

Perhaps his bones would lie alongside theirs. 

He had to do this. His father simply wanted to bury his head in the sand and wait until the problem went away. But Gavin knew that would not work. Whatever creatures had decided to prey upon the villagers and the beastmen would not give up. 

He heard the scrape of boots against the street and turned. 

Ridmark Arban walked towards him, staff tapping against the street, his gray cloak hanging around him. Calliande came after him, wearing a heavy cloak and a leather jerkin, a dagger at her belt. Though with her magic, Gavin supposed, she hardly needed to carry any weapons. Brother Caius came next, and then Kharlacht, grim and silent in his strange blue armor. 

“Sir,” said Gavin.

Ridmark grimaced, the lines of the brand on his left check distorting. “You’re determined on this, then?”

Gavin nodded. “I am, sir.” Aranaeus was in peril, and he could not sit idly by and do nothing. 

And another part of his mind, a small part, whispered that Rosanna might notice his bravery. That was folly, he knew it.

But the whisper would not stop.

“Very well,” said Ridmark, glancing at Caius. “You can follow us. But you will do as I say, understand? If I tell you to run, you run.”

“I will, sir,” said Gavin. 

“Good,” said Ridmark. He looked at the hills. “Let’s go. I would prefer not to be in those ruins after dark.”

He strode through the gate without a backwards glance, and Gavin followed him. Ridmark set a brisk pace along the path winding down the slope. The others kept up with him, and Gavin walked alongside Caius, keeping his club close at hand. Not that he expected the beastmen to approach so close to the village’s walls. But it never hurt to be careful. They left the village’s hill and came to the pastures and patches of forest between Aranaeus and the taller hills.

“On the village's northern side,” said Ridmark, glancing back at Gavin. “Are there any fields here? Any crops?”

“No, sir,” said Gavin. “Just pastures. The freeholders with cattle graze them here. But no one grows crops here. The soil is too rocky, and it’s too close to the ruins. No one ever goes north of the creek.”

Ridmark nodded and kept walking. 

A mile and a half later they reached the base of the valley between Aranaeus and the hill of Urd Dagaash. A wide creek bubbled before them, splashing around worn, smooth stones on its way to the River Moradel. On the south side of the creek lay the pastures of Aranaeus, alongside the patches of forest that provided firewood for the village.

On the north side the forest was thick and shadowed, an ancient, worn path of white stones climbing the hill to the gates of Urd Dagaash. 

Gavin shivered, despite his jacket. 

“Those standing stones,” said Ridmark, pointing with his staff. “Do you see them?”

A half dozen menhirs of dark stone stood alongside the path, their surfaces carved with strange, intricate designs showing scenes of torture and death. 

“A standing circle?” said Kharlacht.

“No,” said Calliande. Her blue eyes were distant, as if the standing stones reminded her of something unpleasant. “Not quite. These were wardstones. The dark elves bound spells of warding into them. If any intruders approached, the spells upon the stones would alert the wizards in the citadel.” 

“Are they still active?” said Ridmark.

Calliande whispered under her breath and waved her right hand. White light flared around her fingers and faded away, and Gavin shivered again. He knew she was a Magistria, that she commanded magical forces, but before yesterday he had never seen such powers used.

“No,” said Calliande. “No, any spells were broken long ago. There are barely even echoes left. Whoever destroyed Urd Dagaash likely also broke the spells.”

“The urdmordar, I suspect,” said Caius. “The stonescribes record that rebel dark elven princes settled here, hoping to escape slavery at the hands of the spider-devils. When the urdmordar shattered Cathair Amnios and came south, they took their revenge on the dark elves before they turned to Andomhaim.” 

“No one holds a grudge like an immortal spider-demon,” said Ridmark. 

Ridmark crossed the creek, hopping from stone to stone, and the others followed suit. Gavin took a deep breath, and for the first time in his life, crossed to the northern bank. 

Nothing happened.

They climbed the half-crumbled road, Gavin taking care to keep his balance on the shifting flagstones. Ridmark walked in the front, staff in hand, his eyes never ceasing their moment. Unlike the others, the man made absolutely no sound as he moved, despite the uneven terrain. Gavin wondered if he would be willing to teach the skill. 

Then Ridmark went motionless, holding up his free hand.

“Ah,” he said. “I thought this might happen.” 

“What is it?” said Calliande.

“Don’t move,” said Ridmark. “Keep your weapons out.” Kharlacht drew his greatsword, and Caius raised a mace of odd bronze-colored metal. “And above all, do not show any sign of weakness. Do not break eye contact, and do not take a step back if they snap at you.”

“Oh,” said Calliande, and sighed.

“What’s happening?” said Gavin.

A dozen hulking, black-furred forms poured out of the surrounding trees, moving into a circle around the overgrown road.

The beastmen had found them.

###

Ridmark kept a loose grip on his staff, though his limbs remained tensed and ready. The others raised their weapons, and Calliande began the rhythmic breathing that preceded a spell. Gavin gripped his club with both hands, his eyes darting back and forth.

“Steady,” said Ridmark, mostly for Gavin’s benefit.

One of the lupivirii moved closer, and Ridmark spotted Rakhaag.

He locked eyes with the lupivir alpha and walked closer, keeping his posture calm and unconcerned. Rakhaag stopped, his harsh golden eyes glaring down at Ridmark. 

Ridmark waited. The dominant male did not speak first.

“Ridmark son of Leogrance son of Rience,” said Rakhaag at last, using the orcish language.

“Rakhaag son of Balhaag son of Talhaag,” said Ridmark in the same tongue. 

“You are not of the True People,” said Rakhaag. “You are a user of tools, a crafter of lies.” 

“I am not of the beastmen,” said Ridmark, “and I am a user of tools made by the cunning of men, yes. But I spoke the truth to you when last we met.”

“Perhaps,” said Rakhaag. “And strange scents have come to our nostrils since. We watched as you battled corpses that walked, as one of your females wielded great magic. Such strange sights have not been seen by the True People since the dark elves still ruled in Urd Dagaash.” 

“You know what the dead things were, then?” said Ridmark. 

“I have never seen one with my own eyes, but it is in the memories of the True People,” said Rakhaag. “Of old, the dark elves and the urdmordar commanded great hosts of corpses, and hunted the True People for sport. You have powerful enemies, Ridmark son of Leogrance, if they can raise the dead and command them to hunt you.”

“I do,” said Ridmark. He had not lied to Rakhaag before, and this seemed like a poor time to start. “The creatures were called kobolds, and they were murdered and raised by a wizard who calls himself Shadowbearer.”