Frostborn: The Master Thief (36 page)

Calliande summoned every bit of power she could muster and directed it into a spell. White fire crackled into Mournacht, again and again, and the shaman started to cast his own spells, pouring more power into his wards. Then a rat sank its teeth into his cheek, and Mournacht bellowed and ripped the rat away. 

His spell collapsed, and his wards dissolved an instant later.

“Now!” said Calliande.

Morigna had already summoned the magic. She shouted and swept her hand before her, fingers wreathed in purple fire. A column of thick white mist materialized around Mournacht, and the orcish shaman’s bellows of rage turned into a howl of pain. Even over the melee, Calliande heard the sizzle of charred flesh, saw the rats fall in smoking lumps from his arms and legs.

Mournacht’s ward snapped back into existence around him. Yet had been badly hurt, with livid burns across his face and chest and arms.

“Withdraw!” he roared, his voice booming over the atrium. “Withdraw, all of you!” 

He turned, dashed along the colonnade, and vanished into the domus, still pursued by the surviving rats. 

The Mhorite orcs fell back, fleeing along with their leader, and the men-at-arms and the dwarves pursued them, killing with every step.

###

Jager watched in astonishment as the rats swarmed over Mournacht. It had to be Morigna’s work. If he lived through this, he would have to take care to avoid irritating her. 

But at the moment, survival seemed unlikely.

Rotherius drove hard at Ridmark, his blades flying. Ridmark retreated. The Gray Knight had taken too many wounds, had fought too hard for too long. One more stumble, and Rotherius would have him. If Jager tried to intervene, he would only get himself spitted upon Rotherius’s dagger.

A part of his mind urged him to flee, to leave the Gray Knight to his fate. But a larger part of his mind noted that he needed Ridmark to free Mara, that no one else would help him. And for the first time in years, for the first time since leaving Caerdracon, Jager felt guilt. His bad decisions had led him here. If he had not stolen that damned ring, if he had not stolen the soulstone, then Ridmark would not be about to die in the atrium of Tarrabus Carhaine’s domus. 

He did not want Ridmark’s blood on his hands. He was a thief, not a murderer. But he was a very good thief.

And that meant he was good at snatching things.

In one smooth motion Jager knelt and seized one of the passing rats by the tail. The beast let out a furious chitter of rage, its legs flailing. Jager threw back his arm and flung the rat.

It landed right on Rotherius’s skull-mask. The rat clambered up the mask, and Rotherius bellowed a curse, reaching with his dagger hand to grab at the rat. But the rat had already scampered into his black cowl.

That was all the opening Ridmark needed.

His staff blurred with a mighty swing, impacting Rotherius’s dagger arm, and Jager heard the bones of the assassin’s forearm shatter. Rotherius howled in fury, his cowl still bulging as the rat scrambled down his back, and slashed at Ridmark. The Gray Knight parried the blow and thrust, the tip of his staff striking Rotherius’s broken arm. The Red Brother stumbled in pain, breath rasping through his skull-mask, and Ridmark’s next swing hit Rotherius’s head with a loud clang.

The mask and helmet ripped away, revealing Rotherius’s stunned face, his pale eyes wide with shock and pain.

Ridmark’s final blow connected with the assassin’s temple. 

Rotherius fell motionless to the ground and did not move again, blood pooling beneath his head. His cloak rippled, and the rat climbed down his leg, racing away across the atrium. Around them the Mhorite orcs followed suit, vanishing into the domus. Jager suspected they would make their way to the cellar and flee through the catacombs. The men-at-arms and the dwarves would have a busy night hunting them.

Ridmark leaned against his staff, breathing hard, sweat and blood dripping down his face. 

“Good throw,” he said at last. 

“I really hate rats,” said Jager.

Chapter 23 - Traitor To The Realm

Two days later, a soft knock at the door awoke Ridmark. 

He looked at the light leaking through the shutters. It was later than he would have liked. After the Mhorites had fled and Sir Cortin’s men had taken control of Tarrabus’s domus, Ridmark had wanted to pursue Sir Paul Tallmane and the stolen soulstone at once. But that had not been possible. Ridmark had been wounded and exhausted, and both Morigna and Calliande had needed rest after exerting so much magic. Calliande had healed Ridmark’s wounds first, despite his insistence that she attend to the others, and then had healed wounds among the men-at-arms and the dwarves until her strength failed.

Going after Paul Tallmane without rest would have been suicide.

So they had withdrawn to the Comes’s castra to rest and heal before departing.

The soft knock came again.

“Enter,” said Ridmark, sitting up and pushing aside the blankets. He winced a little. Calliande had healed his wounds, but the stiffness in his joints remained. The last several days had been exhausting. Come to think of it, every day in the fifty-two days since the omen of blue fire had been trying.

A year and a month to stop the return of the Frostborn, and nearly two of those months had passed.

The door swung open, and Morigna stepped into the room. She wore her usual clothes, leather jerkin, trousers, and heavy boots, her tattered cloak of green and gray hanging from her shoulders. Her eyes widened a bit.

“I am sorry,” she said. “I did not realize you were not dressed. Usually you are awake by now.”

Ridmark made a dismissive wave of his hand, got to his feet, and started pulling on his clothes. “I thought you were one of the servants.” 

He felt her eyes lingering as he pulled on his shirt, jerkin, and boots. That could be a problem. At least he had slept in his trousers. Well, it was a problem he could worry about once the soulstone had been retrieved, once they had gone to Urd Morlemoch and found the secret of the Frostborn.

Morigna snorted. “If you thought that, clearly you have not been paying attention.”

“Clearly,” said Ridmark, slinging his gray cloak over his shoulders. “Speaking of that, have any of the Comes’s men given you trouble?” She had used a great deal of magic during the fighting at Tarrabus’s domus. The knights and men-at-arms had been focused upon the Mhorites, but all it would take was one man seeing purple fire crackling around Morigna’s hand…

“None,” said Morigna. “I suspect they are convinced I am some wild huntress you found in the Wilderland and brought back with you to civilized lands.”

Ridmark retrieved his staff from the corner. “They’re not wrong.”

She laughed. “Impudent man. The Comes asked me to fetch you. He wants to speak with us before we depart for the Iron Tower.”

“You are sure that is where we are going next?” said Ridmark.

“Quite,” said Morigna. “Shadowbearer must not get the soulstone, and you promised the thief that you would help free his lover from the Iron Tower. And you do what you say you will do, Ridmark Arban.”

“When I can,” said Ridmark, thinking of Aelia. “Come. Let us not keep Corbanic waiting.”

###

Ridmark and Morigna returned to the great hall of the castra, where Imaria had brought her accusations before the Comes and Calliande had defeated her. He supposed Imaria had left with Tarrabus. Corbanic stood atop the dais, flanked by his son and an gray-haired and bearded dwarf in ornate armor, the Taalkaz of the Enclave, a dwarven noble roughly equal in rank to a Comes of Andomhaim. Azakhun waited at the Taalkaz’s right hand. Calliande, Kharlacht, Caius, and Gavin waited below the dais, and Calliande smiled as Ridmark came closer. 

“You’re looking better,” she said.

“As are you,” he said. Her resilience always surprised him. The amount of effort she had expended against Mournacht and in the aftermath of the fighting should have left her on her back for a week. Yet a day of rest had restored her, and she always seemed to heal quickly.

Useful, given the foes they faced.

“Ridmark Arban,” said Corbanic, stepping forward. “Before you depart, I wished to extend you my formal thanks. Your efforts alerted us to the presence of Kothluuskan orcs within the walls of Coldinium. Worse, it seems that Tarrabus Carhaine is in league with them.”

“It would appear so, my lord Comes,” said Ridmark. He had told the Comes everything after the Mhorites had been driven back. 

“And this…cult, this conspiracy, spreading among the vassals of Tarrabus Carhaine,” said Corbanic. “These so-called ‘Enlightened’ of Incariel are an offense to both the laws of the High King and the laws of God. It seems clear to me that Tarrabus Carhaine is a traitor to the realm and to the High King. I intend to bring charges against him before the High King’s court.”

“That is a risky course, my lord,” said Ridmark. “Tarrabus is powerful, and has many friends and allies among the nobility and the Magistri. I fear he may simply have you assassinated.”

“Nevertheless, my duty is clear,” said Corbanic. “I have long felt there is something amiss in the realm, and now the cause becomes apparent. Creatures like these Enlightened prefer to do their work in the darkness. Let us see how they respond when the light of truth shines upon them.”

“Then God be with you, Comes,” said Caius, “in this noble task.”

Corbanic nodded. “You are set upon your course, then?”

“I am,” said Ridmark. “We must retrieve the soulstone. It cannot fall into the hands of Shadowbearer.”

“I know not how,” said Calliande, “but if Shadowbearer claims the soulstone, he will somehow use it to achieve the return of the Frostborn.” 

“The Frostborn,” said Corbanic with a shake of his head. “It all seems so fantastical. The High King and the Swordbearers wiped out the Frostborn two hundred years ago. A week ago, I would not have believed your tale. Yet a Dux of Andomhaim conspiring with the Mhorite orcs and the Red Family of Cintarra? Who can say what other evils may come to pass in such dark days?”

“I know not, my lord Comes,” said Ridmark, “but with God’s help, we may yet avert them.”

“You shall have horses and supplies, whatever else you may require,” said Corbanic. “You are an exile and an outlaw, but you have acted with honor and courage by bringing Tarrabus’s treachery to light.”

“Thank you,” said Ridmark. “We shall be glad for any aid you can give.”

The Taalkaz stepped forward, Azakhun at his side. 

“There is one other matter,” said the old dwarf in Latin, his deep voice like the rasp of grating stone. “The Taalmak Azakhun has told me of your valor, how you aided him in the Wilderland with no thought of reward. And the Kothluuskan orcs have been enemies of our kindred since long before the High King even raised his citadel in the ruins of Tarlion. You have proven yourself our worthy friend, and we wish to show our regard for you. Taalmak.”

Azakhun gestured, and some of the castra’s halfling servants came forward, clad in the blue livery of the Pendragons. The halflings bore trays, and one stopped before Ridmark, offering up the tray. Upon the tray lay a single-bladed war axe of dwarven steel, its blade carved with glyphs. Ridmark picked up the weapon and examined its heft. It was lighter than his lost orcish war axe, its balance superb.

“This is a kingly gift, my lord Taalkaz,” said Ridmark. “Thank you.”

The Taalkaz nodded. “Azakhun told me how you lost your axe in the belly of the Hunter. It seemed only just to reward you with another.” The other servants stepped to Ridmark’s companions, also bearing trays. “Additionally, we shall give each of your followers a dagger as a sign of our friendship.”

“These weapons are magical,” said Calliande, picking up a bronze-colored dagger, its foot-long blade marked with dwarven glyphs.

“You speak truly, Magistria,” said the Taalkaz. “They are not as powerful as the Soulblades carried by your Swordbearers. Nevertheless, our stonescribes have written glyphs of power upon the weapons. They will wound creatures of dark magic, even kill them if driven into the heart or brain. By means of such weapons have our kindred stood fast against the dark elves and the urdmordar, long before Ardrhythain created the Magistri and the Swordbearers among your kindred.” 

“Thank you,” said Ridmark, bowing to the dwarven nobles. “These are indeed magnificent gifts.”

“I fear you shall have need of them all too soon,” said the Taalkaz. “May your God watch over you, Ridmark Arban…and your companions.” He glanced at Caius, who returned his gaze impassively. “All of you.”

“If you do not object, my lord Comes,” said Ridmark, “I would like to be on the road to the Iron Tower before noon.”

###

A short time later Calliande found Ridmark alone in the Comes’s stables. Corbanic had given them the gift of horses and supplies both, and Ridmark hoped to overtake Paul on the road to the Iron Tower. Calliande had no knowledge of the Iron Tower, but everyone said it was a strong fortress, that the Constable maintained a garrison of several hundred men. If the soulstone went into the Tower, they would have a much harder time getting it out again.

Of course, Mara was already in the Tower, and Ridmark had promised to help free her.

But one problem at a time. 

“Ridmark,” said Calliande.

He looked up from the saddle he was examining. “Do you know how to ride a horse?”

“I…think so,” said Calliande. “Not that I’ve done it in the last fifty-two days. I suppose it’s one of those things I learned…before.”

He nodded. “Kharlacht can manage it, but neither Morigna nor Gavin have ever been in the saddle before.” He rubbed his chin. “I had hoped to catch up to Paul on horseback, but that might be unworkable.”

“Just don’t charge off on your own,” said Calliande. “You promised me that you would not throw your life away.”

He offered a faint smile. “And despite my best efforts, I have managed to keep that promise. But, no. I will not go after the soulstone alone.”

A silence stretched between them. Calliande remembered the day of the wyvern attack, the day in the clearing. Did she want him to kiss her again? It was such a foolish, foolish thing to think about now, when such important matters hung in the balance.