Frostborn: The Master Thief (28 page)

The Taalmak Azakhun.

“Gray Knight,” said Azakhun with a bow, and Ridmark answered in turn. “By our bonds of friendship, you bring us honor with your return.”

“And you bring me honor as well,” said Ridmark, “and it grieves me that I must ask you for aid.” 

Azakhun’s perpetual frown deepened. “I had heard you and Lady Calliande were arrested by the Comes’s men, but I have no authority to intervene in the laws of the High King.” 

“That was resolved,” said Ridmark, “thanks to the courage of Lady Calliande. I fear I must ask your aid in another matter.”

“Speak on, then,” said Azakhun. The glance he gave to Caius was uneasy. “The gods of stone and silence command us to honor our commitments.”

“Are you familiar with the ruins of Thainkul Balzon?” said Ridmark. 

“It was a stronghold of my kindred,” said Azakhun, “guarding an entrance to the Deeps below where this city now stands. It was destroyed when a horror from the Deeps overwhelmed the defenses, a creature we called the Hunter of the Dark.” He glanced at Caius. “But if you have spoken with the apostate, you know all of this already.”

“I have,” said Ridmark. “Though I do wonder why your kindred never attempted to retake Thainkul Balzon.”

Azakhun shrugged. “I am a young man, and not privy to the counsels of the kings and the Taalkhans. But we are diminished since the days of the long wars against the urdmordar, and we simply lack the numbers to retake all our lost strongholds. And the Hunter of the Dark still lurks there.” He hesitated. “Perhaps I should not reveal this, but I believe you to be a trustworthy man. Every year a few men are found eviscerated in the catacombs. I believe that the Hunter has chosen Thainkul Balzon as its hunting grounds and has lurked there ever since.” 

Ridmark frowned. “Why hasn’t the Comes tried to destroy the creature? Corbanic is not the sort of man to let something like the Hunter rampage through the city unchecked.”

“He has tried,” said Azakhun. “As did the previous Comes. I have been visiting Coldinium for nearly a century, and in that time every Comes has sent parties of Swordbearers into the catacombs. They never find anything. Whatever the Hunter of the Dark is, it is far too clever to show itself. Which is why I suspect the kings have never tried to retake the ruins. Thainkul Balzon opens into the Deeps…but the Hunter of the Dark keeps the horrors of the Deeps at bay. It dines upon dvargir and kobolds and dark elves just as readily as humans and orcs.” He shrugged. “It is more lucrative to maintain the Enclave here and to trade with Andomhaim, rather than rebuild Thainkul Balzon. But, come, Gray Knight. You must have some reason for asking.”

“You remember Jager?” said Ridmark.

“The halfling that traveled with us from Vulmhosk,” said Azakhun. 

“He has stolen a relic of power from Calliande,” said Ridmark. Morigna wondered why he trusted Azakhun enough to speak of it. Perhaps the dwarves would steal the empty soulstone for themselves. Still, it was better to have it in the hands of the dwarves than of Shadowbearer. “He did not realize that Calliande would use her magic to track him.” 

“And he fled into the catacombs, I assume,” said Azakhun. 

“Yes,” said Ridmark. “Apparently he is more frightened of us than of the Hunter.”

“A reasonable fear,” said Azakhun. “The Hunter only takes a few victims every year. The men and orcs and halflings of Coldinium avoid the ruins of Thainkul Balzon for that reason. So sometimes clever thieves hide themselves in the ruins, and sometimes become too clever and perish in the traps my kindred left behind.”

“It is vital that I recover what Jager has stolen,” said Ridmark. “Among the dwarves of the Enclave there must be a man familiar with both the ruins of Thainkul Balzon and the catacombs. Calliande’s magic can follow Jager, but we do not know the layout of the catacombs.”

“You need a guide,” said Azakhun.

“If you are willing,” said Ridmark. 

“I am,” said Azakhun. “I shall lead you myself, Ridmark Arban. For I believe you are an honorable man, and would not ask unless the need was great.” 

“Thank you,” said Ridmark. “We had best go at once, before the thief has a chance to escape with his goods.”

Azakhun bowed. “Please, follow me.”

###

Ridmark found it strange to walk the interior of the Dwarven Enclave.

He had spoken with dwarves before, of course, in the embassies that had visited his father’s court at Taliand. He had walked the corridors of dwarven ruins, of Thainkul Agon and Thainkul Dural and others. But those ruins had been silent and grim, full of bones and dust and crumbled grandeur.

The Enclave bustled with activity. 

Dwarven men worked forges or loaded goods onto the Enclave’s private docks, glowstones in the ceiling throwing light across the floor. Dwarven women in robes of blue and green, their heads hairless, recorded items in ledgers. All stopped to stare at Caius as he walked past, and some whispered among themselves. Caius walked without flinching, his gaze level and his face calm, the wooden cross hanging from his neck. At last Azakhun came to a locked door of dwarven steel, and opened it with a ring of keys. 

Stone stairs descended into the darkness. Azakhun provided each of them with a leather wristband mounted with a glowstone, and Ridmark donned his.

“Useful thing,” said Ridmark.

“Aye,” said Azakhun. “In the Deeps, the ghost mushrooms provide much light. In the catacombs, we must bring our own.”

Ridmark nodded and descended the stairs, sweeping the light back and forth.

The stairs ended in a high gallery of brick, niches lining the walls. Skeletons rested in the niches, slowly crumbling into dust. Caius crossed himself and whispered a prayer.

“Which way?” said Ridmark.

Calliande closed her eyes and cast her tracking spell.

“He is close,” she said, opening her eyes again. “Maybe a third of a mile to the south and the east.”

“That would put him near the foundations of the castra,” said Azakhun, “and close to the entrance to Thainkul Balzon. This way.”

He led them into the gloom of the catacombs.

A dozen rats raced past them and vanished into the darkness.

Chapter 18 - Catacombs

After a long time, Jager got to his feet.

He had to do something. He needed a plan. Something clever, something that would get the soulstone back. No, a gambit that would get Mara back, spring her from the Iron Tower and take his vengeance upon Tarrabus and Paul Tallmane. Some brilliant plan worthy of the Master Thief of Cintarra.

He came up with nothing. 

Jager staggered through the catacombs trying to think. Bit by bit he realized that he was heading towards the dwarven ruins, towards their traps and gates. In his current state of mind, with his back and arm blazing in agony, he was not in the best shape to navigate the traps. One error, one misstep, and the traps would kill him. 

He rubbed his face, the stubble rasping. God, but he needed to shave.

Perhaps dying in the ruins would be the best. He had failed again and again. His father had raised him to be the perfect halfling servant, obedient and diligent and pious, and Jager had failed at that. He had gone to Cintarra, hoping to establish himself as a master thief, and he had been forced to flee the city. But it had been worth it, because he had found Mara.

And then had stolen that damned ring from Tarrabus.

“Stupid,” he whispered, “stupid, stupid, stupid.” 

The only thing he had ever been good at was stealing, and he had failed at that. He had stolen that blasted ring, and he had ruined his life. Worse, he had destroyed Mara’s life. She had struggled for all her days against the darkness in her soul, and Tarrabus’s torture might turn her into the monster she always feared.

And it was Jager’s fault.

Perhaps it would be better to simply throw himself into the traps. There were so many different ways to die in the dwarven ruins, and all of them would be quick. He had let down so many people over his life. His father. His sister.

Mara most of all.

He staggered against the wall, leaning on it with his good hand.

No, he could not die. Not until he had freed Mara. He had no one…but neither did she. If he did not help her, there was no one else. He had to find a way. 

But how? 

He couldn’t rescue her by himself. He was merely a halfling thief, one quite likely to die of blood poisoning in a few weeks if he didn’t get that damned wound cleaned out. No one was going to help him.

Jager sat down with a sigh, leaned against the wall, and winced in agony. He slumped forward, and he saw a rat sitting in the darkness, staring at him with beady little eyes.

“Bugger off,” he said, picking up a loose stone and throwing it at the rat. The rodent scampered away, out of sight of Jager’s lantern, but he suspected the creature would lurk in the shadows. Likely the smell of blood drew it, and the miserable rodent would wait until he keeled over before gnawing on his fingers. It saw him only as food.

Perhaps there was wisdom in that. Tarrabus Carhaine only saw Jager as a tool to be used and then discarded. The Comes of Coldinium did not know Jager existed at all.

But perhaps Jager could use them against each other.

The High King’s nobles and the war chiefs of Kothluusk had warred against each other for generations. For Tarrabus to consort with them was treason, and for him to hire assassins of the Red Family was a crime against both the High King and the laws of the church. 

If Comes Corbanic learned that Tarrabus had brought Mhorite orcs into Coldinium, he would turn against the Dux. He might even try to arrest Tarrabus, or bring his men to attack the Dux’s soldiers. If Tarrabus was arrested, if it was proven he had conspired with the High King’s enemies, he would be tried for treason. He would no longer have authority over the Constable of the Iron Tower, and Jager might have a chance to free Mara. 

Of course, Tarrabus might refuse to yield, and Jager’s actions could touch off a civil war within Andomhaim.

But so what? Andomhaim, the High King, and the nobles had never done anything for him. All he cared about was saving Mara. And if to save her he had to touch off a conflict that would make the War of the Five Princes look like a summer tournament, then he would do it with a smile on his face and a song in his heart. 

He needed to find his way back into Tarrabus’s domus, obtain proof that the Dux had conspired with the Kothluuskan orcs, and find a way to get that proof anonymously to Comes Corbanic. 

Tonight.

But how? Using the dagger and fleeing the domus had put the Dux’s guards on high alert, to say nothing of the Mhorite orcs. They would be on guard. 

Which meant the best way for Jager to get into the domus was to go back through the secret door in the catacombs. They would not expect him to go back in that way. 

Or they would be waiting to kill him.

Either way, it was a risk he had to take.

There was no other choice left. 

The plan came together in his head. He needed to wait a few hours for the guards in the mansion to grow lax, for the initial shock of his escape to wear off. That was just as well, since he had to return to his caches in the dwarven ruins and equip himself with the appropriate tools. 

Jager set off down the gallery, the dead silent in their niches around him. 

He heard a skittering noise and spun.

Two rats darted out of the light of his lantern.

“Damned rats,” muttered Jager, turning towards the dwarven ruins.

###

Ridmark walked in silence, his staff in his right hand. 

The catacombs stretched around him, dark and silent. Niches in the walls held skeletons, some wrapped in their grave clothes, others little more than dust. An air of antiquity hung over everything. Yet Coldinium had only been built a century and a half past. Coldinium’s catacombs felt old to Ridmark…but he had walked in places far older. The ruins of Urd Arowyn, thousands of years old. The stone circle upon Black Mountain had stood for millennia before humans had ever set foot upon Andomhaim. 

This world and its conflicts were ancient beyond reckoning, and humans were newcomers. Shadowbearer was a high elf, and the legends spoke of him bringing misery and woe for countless millennia. Whatever he planned with the Frostborn and the empty soulstone, he had been plotting for thousands of years before Ridmark had even been born.

How could Ridmark presume to defeat such a creature?

“I think,” said Morigna in a low voice, “I think I can see him.”

“Or your rats can see him, you mean,” said Calliande. 

“Yes, the rats,” said Morigna, her eyes darting back and forth behind closed lids. “They…can smell him. Blood, a lot of blood. Smells like Gavin carved him up. He…is walking away from them.” She grunted and made an irritated gesture. “The rats are following him. If they do not get distracted. They think primarily about food.”

“Calliande,” said Ridmark.

She shuddered, no doubt thinking about rats, and cast her seeking spell again. “He is close. Less than a quarter of a mile away. So close I fear that if we make too much noise, he will hear us.” 

“Can you see where he is, Mistress Morigna?” said Azakhun. He had donned his masked helm of dwarven steel, his deep voice hollow and metallic. 

Morigna shrugged. “A gallery lined with the dead, like all the others. There are loose bricks upon the floor…wait. He went into a…a vault. Two galleries intersect there. The rats can see…I think it is a sarcophagus, with a statue of a winged angel upon it.”

“I know where he is, Sir Ridmark,” said Azakhun. “Mistress Morigna, can you guess which direction he is going?”

“East,” said Morigna. “Definitely east.”

“Then he is going into the ruins of Thainkul Balzon,” said Azakhun. 

“Why?” said Calliande. 

“Perhaps he is meeting his patron there,” said Ridmark.

“Surely he could find a safer place to do it,” said Caius. “The traps of my kindred are deadly, and one false movement would bring him death.”

“He might wish to conceal his stolen goods there before moving on,” said Azakhun. “The traps are indeed deadly, as the apostate said, and dread of them and the Hunter keeps all but the boldest away from Thainkul Balzon.”