Frostborn: The Eightfold Knife (35 page)

It was nothing short of miraculous they had lasted this long already. 

Ridmark ran at the urdmordar, and felt the telepathic weight as her green eyes turned upon him. Despite the contempt he held for their worshippers, he understood why Cornelius and the others worshipped Agrimnalazur as a goddess. The female urdmordar were power made manifest, magic and strength beyond anything a human could wield. 

But even urdmordar could die. 

Ridmark sprinted at Agrimnalazur, intending to leap upon her back and strike her from behind, as he had with her mate. 

But she was too fast, or she had divined his intentions. She drove her legs at him like barbed spears, and Ridmark had to dodge. Another leg lashed at him, and the blow caught him on the left side and sent him sprawling. He rolled to avoid the stab of still another leg as she skittered past him, and slashed with the dagger. The dark elven steel bit at the tip of one of her legs, and Ridmark felt the blade sink in, felt icy coldness spread into the alien flesh. Agrimnalazur screamed in fury and pain and ripped free of the dagger, springing into the air to land a dozen yards away. 

Ridmark rolled to his feet, the dagger in his right hand, staff in his left. 

“Ah,” said Agrimnalazur, her beautiful voice like thunder. “Figured that out, did you? Clever, clever. I taught Morwen a little too well. She would have gotten ideas above her station sooner or later. Just as well you rid me of her. One last time. Are you sure you do not wish to serve me?”

“You asked once before,” said Ridmark. The others gathered around him, battered, bloody and bleeding. The black fire still pinned Calliande in place, struggling against her wards, and Ridmark wished he could think of way to help her. “My answer is still the same. Are you going to simply talk, or are you going to kill me?”

“An excellent argument,” said Agrimnalazur. “The time for both speaking and playing has passed.”

She beckoned, and green fire, not dark, blazed around her claws.

Dozens of pinpoints of green light flared to life within the tower. Cornelius screamed, and corpses shambled from the tower, human and lupivirii both. All had been reduced to withered shells by Agrimnalazur’s hunger, and shrouds of torn webs fluttered from their limbs. 

Ridmark clenched the dark elven dagger, its eightfold guard twitching around his wrist. The blade and its dark magic could hurt Agrimnalazur, he was sure of it. But he could not get close enough to use the weapon. Her clawed legs gave her inhuman reach, and she moved too fast to get close.

“Kharlacht,” said Ridmark, his voice cold and hard in his ears. “If you get close enough, try to take off one of her legs. It will grow back, but it will slow her. And if I can get past her reach, this might have the power to harm her.”

“If we can get past the undead,” said Gavin.

They couldn’t. Ridmark knew it, and Agrimnalazur knew it. Calliande could have dealt with the undead, but the Agrimnalazur had magical power enough to command both her undead servants and to hold Calliande at bay. Ridmark and the others would have to behead the undead one by one.

Again the glassy calm of impending death returned to him.

The undead raced to meet them, Agrimnalazur sprang into the air, and Ridmark charged into the fray.

###

Calliande struggled with all her strength to fight off Agrimnalazur’s attack, to bring her spells to the aid of the others.

But it was futile. 

The female urdmordar’s magic was just too strong. Calliande could barely hold it at bay, and she felt her defenses crumpling. Any moment now, the spell would exhaust the last of her strength, and the shadow fire would kill her.

And then Agrimnalazur and her undead would kill the others.

Calliande cursed herself. If only she had been able to recall her past life! She had faced urdmordar in her past life, she was sure of it, and she was still alive. Yet the mists still choked her memory, and she could remember nothing of those battles. 

Her ward sputtered, the shadow fire drawing tight around her…

Then a dark blur shot past her, and then another, and another.

Then hundreds.

The lupivirii had returned.

She heard Rakhaag’s voice, wild with rage and terror, howl over the plaza.

“Fight!” he screamed. “Fight to save the Staffbearer! If she falls, the cold ones will return, and the world shall freeze. One last hunt! Fight!”

Calliande was astonished, and she saw the same shock mirrored on Agrimnalazur’s beautiful, alien face. Rakhaag and his packs charged into the melee, throwing themselves upon the undead. Six of the beastmen sprang upon Agrimnalazur, clawing at her carapace. 

Agrimnalazur whirled into a dance of death, butchering the lupivirii like a fox loose in a henhouse.

But her concentration wavered, the black fires dimming, and Calliande broke free at last. 

She caught her balance, tried to ignore the thundering pain behind her eyes, and gathered magic.

###

All around Gavin the roaring beastmen threw themselves upon the undead, snarling and snapping. He heard Rakhaag roar, saw the towering lupivir rip the head from an animated corpse with a single savage twist of his clawed hands. By speed and skill Ridmark and the others had stayed ahead of Agrimnalazur’s attacks, but the beastmen were hunters, not warriors, and the great urdmordar butchered them. But dozens of them circled around her, like hunting dogs trying to pull down an enraged boar.

“Now!” said Ridmark. “It’s our last chance! Take her!”

Gavin followed the others in a rush as Agrimnalazur killed beastman after beastman. For all her power, even a female urdmordar could only split her attention in so many directions at once, and dozens of beastmen surrounded her. 

A blast of white fire hammered across the courtyard, staggering the urdmordar, and Ridmark and the others struck.

Kharlacht reached her first, his massive greatsword shearing through one of the legs on her right side. Agrimnalazur shrieked, dark ichor spurting from the stump, and Kharlacht seized the moment of surprise and hewed off another leg. Ridmark darted into the gap and plunged the dagger into her side, burying the blade to its hilt. Dark fire pulsed around the wound, and Agrimnalazur screamed in pain. Gavin felt a surge of wild hope. They were winning! They…

The urdmordar lifted her hands. 

Kharlacht just had time to hew off another one of Agrimnalazur’s right legs before power exploded from the urdmordar. The blast of invisible force tore through the melee of beastmen and undead like a hurricane scything through a field of wheat. Lupivirii and undead alike went flying through the air.  Gavin felt himself tumbling, and then he struck the ground. He saw Brother Caius fall, the dwarf’s head bouncing off the ground with a loud crack.

He twitched once and went still. 

Kharlacht lay motionless, and Gavin heaved himself to his feet. Agrimnalazur turned in a circle, wobbling as her sole remaining right leg tried to support her weight. She was vulnerable, but Gavin saw new legs already starting to grow from the glistening black stumps. 

Their best effort had not been enough.

“God!” Gavin turned his head as Philip staggered to his side, his face covered in blood, hammer dangling from one hand. “What I wouldn’t give for a damned crossbow! I could…”

“A crossbow?” Ridmark stood nearby, the guard of that strange dagger wrapped around his hand, its blade wrapped in flames of darkness. “What did you say?” 

Philip blinked. “A…a crossbow. Does it matter now? What…”

“Did you finish any of those ballistae?” said Ridmark.

“Why?” said Philip. “Do…”

“Tell me if you finished any of those damned ballistae!” said Ridmark. 

Agrimnalazur veered in a drunken circle, slaughtering any beastman that drew too near. 

“Yes, three of them,” said Philip.

“Where?” said Ridmark. He had a strange, mad light in his eyes.

The light of a man who has just had an idea.

“East of the gate,” said Philip, “overlooking the valley. I…”

“Run!” said Ridmark. “Both of you, follow me! Run!”

He sprinted across the plaza, and Gavin followed, Philip running at his side.

Agrimnalazur started after Ridmark, moving with great speed despite her wounded legs. 

###

Calliande gathered power, hoping to strike at Agrimnalazur while the beastmen distracted her. 

Her heart burned with fury and grief. She had seen the urdmordar strike down both Kharlacht and Caius, and Agrimnalazur had slaughtered scores of beastmen. How many more had she slaughtered over the centuries, over the millennia?

Then Ridmark ran at her, Philip and Gavin racing behind. He would not run from a fight, not Ridmark. 

And Agrimnalazur was pursuing him. Even with three of her legs missing, she still ran with terrifying speed.

“Ridmark?” said Calliande. “What…”

“Run!” he shouted. “Follow me!”

He ran past her, and Calliande followed them as Agrimnalazur pursued. 

###

Ridmark ran towards the street, changed his mind, and veered into one of the ruined mansions lining the plaza. The street would be faster, but it would give Agrimnalazur a chance to run them down. Hopefully the obstacle course of the ruined mansion would slow Agrimnalazur long enough for Ridmark to reach the ballista. 

He dashed through a crumbling hall, up a flight of stairs, jumped through a window, and entered another ruined mansion. The others followed him, breathing hard, and a heartbeat later Ridmark heard the crash as Agrimnalazur ripped her way inside. He knew the urdmordar could squeeze herself into smaller spaces, or use her magic to shift to a smaller shape, but it seemed she had elected to simply rip her way through. 

Faster, most likely.

Ridmark sprinted through a door. It opened into one of the storehouses, flames still roaring through the debris. He ran through the wreckage, jumping over a burning timber, and through another door. He found himself in the plaza below the gate, the dead arachar still lying upon the rampart.

And there, further east upon the rampart, stood one of the ballistae. 

“What are we doing?” said Calliande, breathing hard.

“The ballista,” said Ridmark.

He ran across the plaza and up the stairs to the weapon. The ballista looked like an oversized crossbow, its gears and mechanisms gleaming with grease. Philip did good work. A bolt waited in the weapon, though the windlass had not been wound. 

“What…” said Calliande. 

Ridmark pressed the dagger against the razor-sharp head of the ballista’s bolt. At his mental command the legs of the dagger’s guard wrapped around the head, sinking into the metal and pinning the weapon in place. 

“Help me get this pointed at the mansion, now,” said Ridmark, pushing on the ballista. Philip and Gavin jumped to aid him. “Calliande, put all your magic into the shaft of the bolt, as you did to our weapons when we fought the undead kobolds at the ford.”

She blinked in confusion, and then her blue eyes widened as comprehension came.

“My God!” she said. “That’s…that’s…”

“Just do it!” said Ridmark, pushing the ballista so it pointed at the entrance to the burning mansion.

Calliande nodded, closed her eyes, and cast a spell, and the shaft of the bolt began to blaze with white fire.

Ridmark grabbed the winch and started to draw the weapon. Gavin and Philip helped him pull, winding the ballista, and Ridmark heard the metal arms creak. Just a little further…

The mansion’s entrance exploded in a spray of broken white stone, and Agrimnalazur erupted into the plaza. Her severed legs had regenerated, red and damp and glistening, propelling her forward in a blur.

She was going to reach them before Ridmark could finish winding the ballista.

He wanted to laugh.

He had come so close…but it seemed he would indeed die here.

Then Gavin sprinted down the stairs at Agrimnalazur, shouting at the top of his lungs.

###

Gavin ran at Agrimnalazur, screaming and brandishing his shield, and knew that he was about to die. 

But he knew that Ridmark had a plan. Philip could go home and marry Rosanna, and they could rebuild Aranaeus and raise a crop of children. It would make up for all the misery his father had wrought upon Aranaeus.

Agrimnalazur looked at him, amused contempt upon her beautiful, eerie face. He swung his sword, the blade rebounding from one of her legs. Another leg came up and tore the shield from his grasp. Agrimnalazur reared up, her claws ready to rip him to shreds.

Gavin spread his arms and waited to die. 

Someone crashed into him and spent him tumbling across the ground. A moment later Agrimnalazur’s clawed legs hammered into the spot where he had been standing, so hard the flagstones cracked. Gavin rolled, sputtering and coughing, and got to his feet. 

Cornelius stood facing Agrimnalazur, a club clutched in his hand. 

“Run,” his father whispered, his voice a strained, croaking wheeze. “Gavin, please. Just…just run. Run!”

“You?” said Agrimnalazur, her beautiful, alien voice filled with disdainful amusement. “Why, Cornelius, I never would have expected it of you.” 

“Run!” screamed Cornelius, and he threw himself at Agrimnalazur, beating at her legs with the club. 

It was like watching a mouse attack a lion.

Agrimnalazur raised a single leg and speared Cornelius through his chest. With a contemptuous flick of her leg she sent him flying to slam into the wall of the burning storehouse, leaving a crimson stain against the white stone.

And Gavin screamed.

###

The ballista clicked. 

“Now,” said Philip, his voice shaking with fear. “Do it now.”

“It has to be now,” whispered Calliande, sweat pouring down her face, eyes darting back and forth behind closed lids. “I can’t hold it for much longer…”

Ridmark’s hand tightened around the release lever.

“Agrimnalazur!” he shouted.