Frostborn: The Eightfold Knife (25 page)

He frowned, half-expecting her to start lecturing him about the necessity of forgiving himself, but instead she stepped back.

“You look,” she said, “absolutely ghastly.”

“You do good work,” said Ridmark, and she laughed. 

He picked up his staff, checked his axe in its belt loop, and went to join Kharlacht and Gavin. Kharlacht always looked solemn, but the fake scars gave him a fierce aspect. Gavin and Rosanna fell silent as he approached. 

“It is time?” said Kharlacht.

“Aye,” said Ridmark. He looked at Caius. “Stay with Calliande, and move Rosanna and Father Martel out of sight of the ramparts. If we locate the secret entrance, I intend to enter Urd Arowyn, have a quick look around, and rejoin you. If we’re not back in two days, leave. Make for Dun Licinia or Castra Marcaine, and let Sir Joram and Dux Gareth know what has happened here. Agrimnalazur might not be the only urdmordar gathering up a larder before the Frostborn return. And perhaps Calliande can convince the Dux and the others that the Frostborn are returning.”

“Go with God,” said Caius. “We shall pray for you.”

“Gavin,” said Rosanna. “Thank you for this. If…if you see Philip, can you tell him…”

“Yes?” said Gavin.

“Tell him that I love him,” said Rosanna, her eyes full of tears, “and that I will wait for him. However long it takes.” 

She had no idea, Ridmark supposed, how thoroughly she had just crushed Gavin’s heart. The boy’s face remained expressionless, and he managed to nod.

“I will,” he said. 

“You have the torches?” said Ridmark.

Gavin nodded.

“God be with you,” said Calliande. 

God had forsaken him for his failures long ago. 

But Ridmark only nodded. “And with you.”

He led the way toward Urd Arowyn, Kharlacht and Gavin following.

###

Night had fallen by the time they reached the base of the waterfall. 

Gavin looked at the dark cliffs overhead and shivered. Four of the thirteen moons shone in the dark sky, and the white walls of Urd Arowyn gleamed so brightly that Gavin had no trouble seeing the ground. It was like walking in a snow-choked forest during a full moon. The waterfall roared before him, white foam churning at its base, the spray wet against his face. Ridmark led the way across the broken stones, staying close to the foot of the cliff. A narrow path, covered with grit and wet pebbles, led behind the waterfall. Gavin followed Ridmark and Kharlacht, making sure to keep his balance on the uneven footing. 

The moonlight and the falling water filled the hollow space beyond the waterfall with an eerie, rippling glow.

No, not an empty space. A cavern.

And at the end of the cavern Gavin saw an arch of white stone, steps rising into the darkness, loose white stones littering the cavern floor.

Ridmark had been right. The dark elves had left a secret entrance into their fortress. 

They entered the cavern, and Gavin saw that the white things upon the floor were not stones.

They were bones, human and orcish both. 

Ridmark stopped at the base of the stairs.

“A torch,” he said, his voice just audible over the roar of the waterfall.

Gavin lit a torch, the sputtering light throwing shadows over the wall. He half-expected to see a terrible monster crouching upon the stairs, waiting to attack.

But he saw only white stairs climbing into the heart of the hill. 

“I doubt those bones washed down the waterfall,” said Kharlacht. 

“No,” said Ridmark. “The urdmordar are not fools. Likely Agrimnalazur has a guardian here, something to keep anyone from using the secret entrance.”

“And what do we do about the guardian?” said Kharlacht.

“Simple,” said Ridmark, hefting his staff. “We sneak around it unnoticed. And if it tries to stop us, we kill it.”

Or, Gavin knew, they would join the collection of bones littering the cavern floor.

Kharlacht grunted and shook his head. “I always seem to follow you into caverns filled with dangerous creatures. First the ursaar’s cave, and then the village of the Blue Hand.”

“We’re not dead yet,” said Ridmark. “Be ready to extinguish that torch in an instant.” He scratched his chin. “Though whatever’s waiting up there can likely see in the dark.”

Gavin took a deep breath, bracing himself. Walking into Urd Dagaash had been frightening. Fighting the arachar, both in the ruins of Aranaeus and in the hills, had been terrifying. But this, walking into the dark lair of some unknown thing, this was somehow worse. 

But he would not turn back now. He could not bear the disappointment in Rosanna’s eyes.

Ridmark started up the stairs, Kharlacht following him with greatsword in hand.

“Should I not go first?” said Gavin. “I have the torch.” 

“No,” said Ridmark. “The light might alert anyone waiting in the cavern. If you’re further back, any defenders will have a harder time seeing me.”

That made sense, so Gavin shrugged and followed the two men.

They climbed the stairs in silence, the torch throwing eerie shadows along the white walls. Dozens of bones littered the stairs, and Gavin took care to step around them. The noise of a bone clattering down the stairs would likely carry a long way. The bones showed no signs of violence, no marks from sword or axe or claws, and after the last few days, Gavin knew what such marks looked like.

It was almost as if some creature dwelling above had gotten in the habit of throwing corpses down the steps, leaving them to rot. 

The stairs ended at a tall arch of unusual angles, opening into a high corridor similar to the dungeons beneath Urd Dagaash. Ridmark stepped into the corridor, stopped, and pointed at the ceiling. Thick webs clung to the upper arches and walls, and dark shapes dotted the webs…

Gavin swallowed. 

Desiccated corpses hung in the thick strands. Some were human, their skin dried to yellowed leather. Others were orcish, and a few were beastmen, to judge from the fur. Most of their mouths hung open in silent screams, webs clinging to their withered lips. 

Were they walking into Agrimnalazur’s lair? The thought made Gavin want to run back down the stairs. All his life he had heard tales of the invincible might of the urdmordar.

And all the time his father and stepmother had worshipped such a creature, a creature that would leave rotting corpses hanging in those webs. 

Ridmark went around a corner and up another flight of stairs, his boots silent. Gavin followed, and they entered a large hall, similar to the chamber of traps in Urd Dagaash. Fortunately, the stone tiles were set close together, lacking the hidden blades.

Though he supposed that meant the hall held some other deadly traps.

Ridmark took a step forward and went motionless so quickly that Gavin wondered if he had been wounded. He started to speak, but Ridmark held up his hand for silence. 

And then Gavin saw what Ridmark was staring at, and he went rigid.

More dense webs covered the walls and ceiling, and in the corner of the hall crouched the single most hideous creature that Gavin had ever seen. 

It was a giant blood-colored spider, its swollen body the size of an ox. Eight thick legs jutted from its carapace, their ends topped with claws like axe blades. But in lieu of a head, the torso of a human male jutted from the spider, covered in more plates of armor-like chitin. Eight eyes dotted the hairless skull, and huge pincers rose from the distended mouth. 

The thing was an urdmordar. It had to be. 

Yet it was absolutely motionless. Was it sleeping? Gavin could not tell.

Ridmark turned and whispered something to Kharlacht. The big orc nodded, and Ridmark moved to Gavin’s side.

“Follow me,” he whispered. “Remain quiet. And do not touch any of the webs.”

Gavin followed Ridmark across the chamber, moving towards an archway in the far wall. That meant Gavin had to move closer to the urdmordar, and every fiber of his being flinched with revulsion. He had not been frightened of spiders as a child, but neither had he been fond of them, and the nightmarish thing in the corner made his skin crawl.

Step by step they made their way across the chamber. The huge spider-creature did not stir, did not even seem to breathe. After an eternity of walking, they reached the far stairs. They climbed and came to a round chamber, its walls adorned with scenes of the dark elves triumphing over their foes. 

He felt the absurd urge to laugh. The dark elves had summoned the urdmordar to this world, and now the urdmordar ruled in the ruins of their kingdoms.

“It should be safe to talk here,” said Ridmark.

Gavin let out a shuddering breath. “I don’t think the creature could fit up the stairs.”

“Oh, he could,” said Ridmark. “He could squeeze himself up, if he felt the reason to do so.”

“What was it?” said Kharlacht. Even the stern orcish warrior looked shaken. “An urdmordar?” 

Ridmark nodded.

“Agrimnalazur herself?” said Gavin.

“No,” said Ridmark. “That was a male urdmordar. The female urdmordar are the ones who are immortal and invincible, who wield mighty dark magic. The male urdmordar are far weaker. Normal steel can wound them, they cannot use magic, and they are not nearly as clever as the female urdmordar.” He shook his head. “But they are still fearsomely strong. A male urdmordar can face far larger numbers of humans and orcs and prevail with ease.”

“Why was that one down there?” said Gavin. 

“He is one of Agrimnalazur’s mates, I expect,” said Ridmark. “A female urdmordar usually has anywhere from one to a score of mates around her, depending upon her whims.” 

“Then we could face a dozen more of those things?” said Kharlacht.

“Unlikely,” said Ridmark. “Agrimnalazur would not want to share her larder with anyone else. I doubt she has more than one or two. An urdmordar female will eat her mates, if they become too tiresome.”

“Why was the creature sleeping?” said Gavin. “If Agrimnalazur commanded him to watch the entrance…isn’t he afraid that she will eat him?”

“He most probably forgot,” said Ridmark. “Male urdmordar are not very intelligent, and lack even the ability of the lupivirii to control their instincts. And he doesn’t need to stay awake. He can feel the web, sense it the way you and I can feel our fingers. If anyone touched it, he would awake at once.”

“So he lurks there,” said Kharlacht, “awakens to eat intruders, and then goes back to sleep?”

“A male urdmordar would find that a congenial existence,” said Ridmark. “But so long as we do not touch his webs, he will stay asleep. Come. We have tarried too long already.” 

Another archway opened on the other side of the round chamber, and Gavin followed Ridmark and Kharlacht. A narrow stair spiraled up from the chamber, terminating in a stone door. Ridmark examined the door for a moment, and then pushed one of the carvings in the arch. The floor vibrated beneath Gavin’s boots, and the stone door opened without a sound.

They stepped onto a street of ruins. 

Towers and mansions of white stone rose over the street, their roofs gone, their walls crumbling. Yet they still possessed an eerie, alien beauty. Statues stood on plinths alongside the street, showing dark elven warriors in armor, their faces concealed behind elaborate winged helmets. The outer wall rose behind them, and beyond the ruins Gavin saw the great stone mass of the central tower, its sides studded with statues and balconies.

“Now what?” said Kharlacht.

“Now,” said Ridmark, “we have a look around. Walk as if you have a purpose in mind.”

He set off down the street, staff tapping against the worn stones. This part of the ruins looked deserted, but they turned the corner and saw four arachar. Three were orcish, but one was a human, a squat, scowling man with the eightfold scar across his face. Gavin took a deep breath, his hand straying towards his sword hilt, his muscles tensing.

But Ridmark kept walking and nodded at the arachar, and one of the orcs nodded back.

The arachar turned the corner and left.

Gavin let out a long breath. He could not believe they had eluded discovery. 

Ridmark stopped, looking up at curtain wall for a moment.

A half-constructed ballista stood atop the rampart, an orcish arachar standing guard. A man in ragged, filthy clothing knelt over the ballista, working on the gears. 

It was Philip.

“Follow me,” said Ridmark, and he climbed the stairs to the ramparts. 

The arachar guarding the ballista scowled at Ridmark. Philip’s eyes went wide, and Gavin put a finger to his lips.

“What?” said the arachar in a sullen voice.

“One of the daughters of the goddess wants you,” said Ridmark.

“What? Why?” said the arachar, fear appearing on his tusked face. “What does she want?”

“How the hell should I know?” said Ridmark. “Do I look dumb enough to argue with a daughter of the goddess? You’re to meet her at the base of the central tower. Go, or we’ll take you.”

“I would like to see you try,” said the arachar, but the orcish warrior stalked away. 

Gavin watched him go, and then Ridmark turned to Philip.

“It’s you,” said Philip, stunned. “The Gray Knight. How…you didn’t join the arachar, did you?”

“Of course not,” said Ridmark. “We went to Urd Dagaash to investigate the disappearances, and the arachar attacked while we were in the ruins. When we returned the village had been burned and the people taken.”  

“I suppose Gavin and Father Martel were right all along,” said Philip. “Obviously the beastmen were not behind the disappearances.” He looked at Gavin. “Rosanna. Rosanna wasn’t with us.” There was fear in his eyes. “Is she…”

“She’s alive,” said Gavin. “She sheltered with Father Martel in the crypt below the church.”

“Thank God,” said Philip. He hesitated. “I thought…I thought after your father opened the gates, that you…”

“That I was one of them?” said Gavin. “That I worshipped the urdmordar like my father? Never. I am going to kill him for it.”

Both Ridmark and Kharlacht looked at him, and then back at Philip.

“Well,” said Philip with a scowl, “if any man deserves it, it’s that treacherous scoundrel Cornelius.”