Frostborn: The Gorgon Spirit (3 page)

They returned to the camp. Mara, Caius, and Jager sat at the fire, Jager and Caius arguing good-naturedly while Mara stared at the flames. Kharlacht and Arandar stood on watch a short distance away. Gavin’s eyes flicked to the soulblade at Arandar’s belt. Ridmark had once carried Heartwarden as a Swordbearer, but the sword had been taken from him after Mhalek’s death. Gavin had always respected Ridmark, but that respect had risen after he had taken up Truthseeker. To lose his link to his soulblade would be as devastating as losing a hand.

Yet Ridmark had carried on nonetheless. 

“Gray Knight,” rumbled Kharlacht. “What news of the village?” 

“There is no longer a village,” said Morigna.

They all looked at Ridmark.

“Something killed every single orc in the village,” said Ridmark. “Men, women, and children. Morigna’s ravens spotted their skulls piled up in the square. It seemed unwise to enter the village, so we came here to warn you.”

Calliande offered a faint smile. “By your usual standards of recklessness, that was prudent.” 

“What slew the pagan orcs?” said Arandar. “Raiders from other villages?”

“No,” said Ridmark. “Trolls.” 

“Trolls?” said Jager. “Are not such beasts mythical?”

“I have never encountered one,” said Arandar. 

“You’ve never come this far north before,” said Ridmark. “I have. Kharlacht has, too, I would wager.”

The big warrior offered a curt nod. “They dislike warmth, and prefer to keep to the mountains of Vhaluusk and the Mountains of Ice. I am surprised they have come down from the mountains. You are sure trolls slew the folk of the village?”

“There were troll tracks everywhere,” said Ridmark. “It happened recently, within the last two days.” 

“What can you tell us about these creatures?” said Arandar. “If we are to fight them, then it is wise to know as much about them as we can.” 

“They are large,” said Kharlacht. “Eight nor nine feet tall. As strong as five men, and deadly quick. In appearance they resemble large kobolds.”

Calliande shuddered at that. She had been taken captive by kobolds, Gavin remembered, before her powers as a Magistria had returned. 

“They are also clever and cunning,” said Ridmark, “and have some ability to camouflage themselves. They are intelligent, fearsomely so, but do not have any kind of society or civilization. Their ability to heal, it seems, makes them averse to the company of their fellows, and they eat anything they can catch.”

“Anything?” said Jager.

“Anything,” said Ridmark.

“One imagines they would find halflings to be particularly toothsome,” said Morigna. 

“Compared to you, certainly,” said Jager without missing a beat. “You would be far too bitter. And stringy.”

Morigna’s black eyes narrowed, but Ridmark kept speaking before Morigna could respond. “I hope to avoid them if we can, but if they pick up our trail we will have to fight. They can heal from almost anything, save for fire and vitriol. If we fight them, take them down and cut off their heads, and let Morigna burn the wounds with her acid mist.”

“Would not the soulblades harm them?” said Gavin.

“They are not creatures of dark magic,” said Ridmark. “Their strength and healing come from their flesh, not from any dark power.” 

“We are but a day from Khorduk,” said Kharlacht, “and from there we can hire guides through the High Pass and the Vale of Stone Death. Perhaps we can elude the trolls entirely and reach the gates of Khald Azalar without incident.” 

Calliande swallowed at that. 

“Perhaps,” said Ridmark. “Once we leave camp, we’ll circle south of the village and then head for the foothills. From what Kharlacht has said, it should be a straight path to Khorduk from there.”

The others nodded and started to move, but a quiet voice interrupted them. 

“I fear,” said Mara, straightening up from the fire, “that we might have another problem.”

They all looked at her. Gavin liked Mara, but she inspired fear in him in a way that not even Morigna managed. Certainly Mara was the most level-headed among the Gray Knight’s followers. She never quarreled with anyone, never complained about anything, and never even raised her voice. She was short and pretty and soft-spoken and pious, and yet Gavin had seen her mow her way through the Warden’s orcs like so much wheat, the power of her dark elven blood making her disappear and reappear so fast that his eye could barely follow. If she felt like it, she could probably kill half the people in the camp in the space of a few heartbeats. 

He was very glad she was on their side. Though he did wonder what Jager had done to charm her. 

“What kind of problem?” said Ridmark.

“I think my father is coming here,” said Mara.

It took a few moments for that to sink in.

“The Traveler,” said Ridmark. “He’s coming to Vhaluusk.”

Mara nodded, her face tight. “He might be here already.”

“How do you know?” said Calliande. 

“I can hear him,” said Mara. “No, that’s not quite right.” She searched for the words. “Since my…change started, I’ve been able to sense the auras of powerful dark elven lords and wizards.” Ridmark and Gavin nodded. “My mind interprets it as a song. A beautiful, compelling song. That’s why the urvaalgs and the ursaars and the other creatures of dark magic have to obey the dark elven lords. They hear the song…and it makes them want to obey. They do it willingly. Joyfully, even. I have my own song now, which is why they cannot compel me.” She shook her head, frowning, and Jager stepped to her side and took her hand. “But I wander from the point. The Traveler’s song, my father’s song, has been changing.”

“Changing how?” said Calliande. 

“I wasn’t sure at first,” said Mara. “I’ve only been able to hear the songs since I escaped from the Iron Tower. And in that time, the songs I could hear – the Matriarch, the Warden, the Artificer, and my father – they stayed in the same place. Then my father’s song started to change. I thought he was casting a spell, or working some great sorcery. When you came back to the camp just now, Gray Knight, you were talking…”

“And my voice changed as I drew nearer,” said Ridmark.

“Then I understood,” said Mara. “The Traveler’s song changed because it wasn’t really a song. It was an aura, and he was moving. He’s coming closer, and I think he’s coming here.”

“For you?” said Ridmark.

“Perhaps he simply wishes to meet his new son-in-law,” said Jager.

“The Warden failed to recognize what you were,” said Arandar, “and that undid all his work. Perhaps the Traveler has not made the same mistake.” 

Mara shook her head. “I doubt he even knows that I am still alive, and he would not care if he did. Something else has brought him forth.”

“It must be something of grave import,” said Arandar. “In all the history of the High King’s realm, the Traveler has never ventured forth from his stronghold of the Nightmane Forest.”

Jager snorted. “Yes, such a long history the High King’s realm has.”

Arandar scowled, but Caius spoke first. “If you will forgive Master Jager’s flippancy, sir knight, he does have a point. Malahan Pendragon came to this world from Old Earth a thousand years past. My own kindred have dwelled here for thirty times that. And the high elves and the dark elves…who can say how long they have warred? You heard what the Warden shouted at Ardrhythain during their duel. A hundred thousand years, or perhaps longer. Who can say what the Traveler has done in the past?”

“True,” said Mara. “But Sir Arandar has a point. My father is a coward.” She said it without rancor. “He will never put himself at risk if he can help it. That is why he has ringed Nightmane Forest with warding spells and surrounded himself with an army of orcs and urvaalgs. He has not left Nightmane Forest in the last millennia because he fears the outside world. Something dire must have driven him forth at last.”

“If not you, then what?” said Ridmark, but Mara only shrugged.

“Dragonfall,” said Calliande, her voice tight. “My staff. The power of the Keeper. That has to be it. Why else would the Traveler come to Vhaluusk? He must have realized that Dragonfall and the staff of the Keeper are within Khald Azalar.” 

“Not even Shadowbearer knew where you had concealed your staff,” said Ridmark. 

“The Warden knew,” said Mara. “Maybe the Traveler figured it out as well.”

“He must not claim it,” said Calliande. “That power cannot fall into his hands.”

“He won’t,” said Ridmark. “Not if we get there first. Then the Traveler can beware.”

“Of what?” said Calliande.

“Of you,” said Ridmark.

Calliande blinked. 

“The power of the Keeper,” said Arandar. “The chronicles of the High King speak of how the Keepers dueled dark elven princes, how they could defeat urdmordar with their spells. Ardrhythain did not create the Two Orders until five hundred years after the realm was founded, when Andomhaim stood on the very edge of defeat. Before that, the Keeper’s strength held the dark powers at bay. If you recover yourself, my lady Calliande, you shall have that kind of power once more.”

Calliande nodded, though Gavin thought she looked uneasy. 

“Whether the trolls or the Traveler are after us,” said Ridmark, “the sooner we are gone from here, the better. Let’s…”

He stopped talking, frowning as he looked at the trees to the west. 

At the same time Morigna’s head snapped in the same direction, and four dark shapes shot overhead. Ravens, their wings flapping.

“Ridmark!” said Morigna. “They’re…”

“Trolls!” said Ridmark. “Defend yourselves!” 

Gavin turned, drawing Truthseeker from its sheath, and saw nothing at all. 

The soulstone embedded at the base of Truthseeker’s hilt shone with a pale white light, but the sword did not react as it did in the presence of dark magic. Gavin’s eyes swept back and forth over the clearing as the others raised weapons or began magical spells. He saw nothing strange, nothing out of place. 

Then a branch snapped across the clearing, and the air in front of the trees rippled, changing colors like cheap paint dissolving beneath water. 

And suddenly, all at once, Gavin saw the trolls.

There were three of the creatures, their scaly hides changing colors to match their surroundings as they raced forward. They looked like a cross between a towering man and a hunting lizard. Long claws tipped their fingers and toes, and their tails coiled back and forth behind them like whips. Gavin would have expected them to have long snouts like lizards, but instead they had short, blocky heads with enormous fang-lined jaws, their necks corded with muscle like mastiffs. Those jaws would let them take devastating bites, ripping chunks of flesh from their prey. Their nostrils were black slits, and their eyes were yellow and divided by vertical black slashes, like the eyes of a serpent. 

Gavin lifted Truthseeker, calling upon its power, and the sword answered. Strength flooded through him, and suddenly he felt faster, felt as if he could cut down an oak tree with a single blow. He started forward, shield upon his left arm, Truthseeker grasped in his right.

Morigna was faster. 

She swept her staff before her, purple fire flickering from the sigils carved into the wood. A twitch went through the ground, and thick masses of roots erupted from the earth, reaching up to coil around the trolls’ muscled legs. The creatures came to a staggering halt, snarling with fury, and slashed at the roots binding their legs. Their claws parted the roots as if they were slender threads.

But the roots had slowed them long enough for Gavin and the others to attack. 

He struck before the first troll recovered. The creature straightened up as its claws shredded through the roots, and Gavin brought Truthseeker down in a vicious slash. The soulblade sheared through the troll’s wrist, the talon-tipped hand falling to the earth. In lieu of blood, thick yellowish slime spurted from the stump of the hand. The troll loosed a deafening, brassy roar, its thick head coming down, its jaws yawning wide. Gavin stepped back, snapping his shield up. The troll’s fangs, like massive serrated daggers, slammed into his shield. The impact staggered him a step, but the troll leaned forward, its remaining hand coming up. That movement gave Gavin an opening, and he brought Truthseeker up and down again, all his strength and the sword’s power driving the blow.

The soulblade split the troll’s skull. The creature went into a weird, jerking dance, and fell backwards. As it did, Gavin caught a look at its wrist.

Its right hand was already growing back, the scales slick with yellowish slime. 

It was such a grotesque sight that Gavin froze for an instant, but only an instant. His training and his experiences screamed at him, and he snapped his gaze back and forth, taking stock of the battlefield, half-expecting that the other two trolls were about to attack him.

But the fighting was almost over. 

Arandar, Kharlacht, Caius, and Jager had taken one of the trolls. Jager had somehow gotten behind the creature and hamstrung it with the sword he had taken from the Warden’s armory. As the troll stumbled, Arandar, Caius, and Kharlacht landed blow after blow, driving the troll to the ground.

Ridmark fought the final troll all by himself. 

Gavin blinked in astonishment. He was competent at the art of fighting, but if he could sketch a decent picture, Ridmark could have painted an entire fresco by himself. The black staff of Ardrhythain blurred and flickered in his hands, and he landed blow after blow upon the troll, dancing around the creature’s raking claws and snapping fangs. The staff did not penetrate the troll’s hide, but Gavin heard the snap and crack as the troll’s bones broke. At last the troll fell with a rasping bellow of fury, and Ridmark brought the butt of his staff down with both hands.

The crack of the troll’s skull collapsing sounded like a thunderclap. 

Gavin stepped back just as the troll he had struck down started to move. It sat up, its cloven head oozing back together, yellow slime dripping down the distorted face and across its muscled chest. He struck with Truthseeker again, driving the soulblade into the troll’s chest and again into its skull. The creature slumped back to the ground, but already its wounds shrank. Gavin had never seen anything heal that fast. Calliande’s healing magic worked quickly, but he had seen the price she paid to work the spell, the pain that filled her face and her eyes as she worked the spell.