Frostborn: The Master Thief (37 page)

But she often thought about it. 

“Before we leave,” said Calliande, “I just want you to know…”

He nodded, waiting.

“That I am sorry for the things I said,” said Calliande. “After the Challenge.”

He waved his hand in dismissal. “You have nothing for which to apologize.”

“Why?” said Calliande. “Because I was under the influence of Imaria’s memories…or because you think she was right?”

He said nothing.

“Ridmark,” said Calliande.

“Why can it not be both?” he said at last. 

“Damn it,” said Calliande. “That is…that is…how can you believe that about yourself? You’re the bravest man I’ve ever known. And yet…”

“I will keep my promises to you,” said Ridmark. “We will stop the Frostborn, and we will find Dragonfall and recover your staff.” He looked at her, and she saw such exhaustion and pain on his face that she wanted to take him in her arms. “But that…that is all that I have the right to do. I’m sorry.” 

“I am, too,” said Calliande, a quaver in her voice.

“Listen to me,” said Ridmark. “Do not blame yourself. If not for you, your magic and your courage, we would all be dead. Qazarl would have killed me at Dun Licinia, or Agrimnalazur at Urd Arowyn, or Coriolus at Moraime. Imaria might have well found a way to execute us all, if you had not challenged her. If we succeed in this, it will have been because of you.” 

“You truly believe that?” said Calliande, and he nodded. “Thank you.” 

“We should go,” said Ridmark. “We will need every hour of daylight to catch Sir Paul.” 

“You’re right,” said Calliande. “But, Ridmark. Listen to me, please. I don’t know who am I…but neither do you know yourself, not truly. You have…a false image of your heart, believe yourself to be worse than who you are. For your sake, please, forgive yourself for Aelia’s death. It was not your fault, and even if it was, the Dominus Christus forgives all sins. If you do not forgive yourself for this, I fear it will destroy you.”

“I wish,” said Ridmark, walking for the door, “that it was that easy.”

Calliande did, too.

Chapter 24 - Debts To Pay

Jager waited by the northern gate of Coldinium with the horses he had just purchased.

Oddly, no one had robbed his house during the weeks of his absence. He had equipped himself with useful tools, weapons, and equipment, purchased the horses and an ample stock of supplies. Then he had left the keys on the front step and left. Anyone who happened by was welcome to help themselves to anything inside the house.

Jager suspected he would never return.

He waited at the gate, doubt gnawing at him. Perhaps he ought to set off on his own for the Iron Tower. Even though he was an exile and an outcast, Ridmark was still a noble of Andomhaim, and such men had given nothing but pain to Jager. 

Yet there was no way Jager could get Mara out of the Iron Tower without help.

And Jager owed Ridmark and his companions, had created their current problems. Sometimes he even felt a little flicker of hope. If anyone could enter the Iron Tower and live, it was Ridmark Arban and Calliande of the Magistri and their friends.

So he waited with his horses, and soon Ridmark and the others arrived.

They rode horses that the Comes had given them. Ridmark and Calliande each had their own mount and led a pair of pack horses. Kharlacht and Caius both rode with surprising ease, though Jager felt sorry for the poor horse that had to bear Kharlacht’s weight. Gavin and Morigna followed, and neither one looked terribly pleased to be in the saddle. 

Ridmark reined up before Jager, the dwarven war axe hanging from his belt. 

“You waited,” said Ridmark. 

“You came,” said Jager. 

“Surprised?” said Ridmark.

Jager shrugged. “Life has often taught me to be disappointed.” 

Ridmark grunted. “I know what it is to blame yourself.” Calliande gave him a sharp look. “And I would spare you that, if I can.”

“So you really are going to help a thief?” said Jager.

And to his astonishment, Ridmark smiled. It somehow made him look even more dangerous.

“You stole the soulstone, did you not?” said Ridmark. “So now you’re going to steal it back from Paul Tallmane. And then together we shall steal Mara out of the Iron Tower.” 

Jager considered that.

“Thank you,” he said at last. 

“Let’s go,” said Ridmark. “The road to the Iron Tower is in good condition, and if we hasten we can yet make ten miles before the sun goes down.”

###

They rode on, and Ridmark looked at his companions. 

Caius and Kharlacht led Gavin’s and Morigna’s horses. Gavin was taking to horsemanship with ease, while Morigna loudly proclaimed the superiority of her own feet. From time to time Jager offered a mocking little comment, and Morigna answered in turn. Perhaps it was just as well that Jager had joined them – he would help keep Morigna and Caius from their interminable theological debates. 

Calliande moved beside him, handling her mount with ease. She was an excellent rider, it seemed – yet another skill she had acquired before going into the long sleep below the Tower of Vigilance.

He regretted that he had hurt her. But it was for the best. He had seen Aelia die, and he could not bear to have it happen again. And if she desired companionship...well, she could do far better than a branded exile. 

“You’ve acquired quite the collection of followers,” Calliande said. “It must be a change from wandering the Wilderland alone.”

“It is,” said Ridmark. “But I cannot to what needs to be done alone. I cannot stop the Frostborn alone.”

“Nor can I,” said Calliande. 

He nodded, and they rode on toward the Iron Tower and the soulstone.

And beyond, to where Urd Morlemoch and the Warden awaited with the secret of the Frostborn.

Epilogue

After he finished, Tarrabus rolled off Imaria Licinius and got to his feet, breathing hard, sweat beading upon his skin. Imaria sighed and stretched on the camp bed, displaying her body to him. She was devoted to Tarrabus, and she possessed a number of skills he had found useful.

But Imaria was not Aelia, and he could never really forgive her for that. 

Still, that was no reason not to take his pleasure with her. 

“My lord is vigorous,” she purred.

“Indeed,” said Tarrabus. He poured himself a cup of wine from the folding table besides his bed, the walls of the tent rippling in the night breeze. “My work in Coldinium was successful. Why should I not be pleased?” 

Sir Paul had the soulstone, and would guard it at the Iron Tower. Tarrabus had hoped to kill Ridmark Arban, and he also wanted Calliande dead. Shadowbearer had ordered her death, and after seeing her performance against Imaria, Tarrabus knew that she was a potential threat. Best to kill her before that potential became actual.

But it was no great loss if Mournacht and Rotherius failed in their trap. Ridmark would never retrieve the soulstone from the Iron Tower, and if he tried the garrison would kill him. Shadowbearer would take the stone, and then at last Tarrabus could begin.

He would make humanity strong and immortal, a master kindred to dominate this world forever.

Imaria chattered about something inconsequential, and Tarrabus listened with half an ear, sipping at his wine.

Then a deep chill fell over him, and his shadow, thrown by the light of the lantern, flickered.

“Leave me,” he said. “Now. Return to your tent. I shall see you in the morning.”

A hurt look went over her face, but she nodded, collected her robe, and left. She knew better than to disobey him.

Tarrabus sat on the bed as his shadow flickered and grew longer and darker. A strange, eerie voice came from the shadow. Or more precisely, two voices at once, one deep and musical, the other an inhuman, alien buzz. 

“Have you been successful?” said Shadowbearer. 

“I have,” said Tarrabus. “The soulstone shall await you at the Iron Tower. Once you can travel without fear of Ardrhythain locating you, you may proceed to the Tower and claim it.”

“Good,” said Shadowbearer. “Very good. You have done well, Dux of Caerdracon. Andomhaim shall prosper with you as her High King.”

There was a faint note of mockery in the wizard’s voice, but Tarrabus did not care. Shadowbearer had created the Enlightened of Incariel, had forged them as tools to serve his own purpose.

But Tarrabus had his own purposes. 

“Thank you,” said Tarrabus.

“And Calliande?” said Shadowbearer. “Is she dead?”

“No,” said Tarrabus.

Shadowbearer hissed in annoyance. “She is dangerous, more dangerous than you know. But once I have the soulstone, I will kill her with all the others.”

###

In the darkness below the Iron Tower, Mara sat alone in her cell, the iron collar about her neck holding her fast to the wall. The thin shift they permitted her was not enough, and she kept shivering, her teeth chattering. The guards had not harmed her, but they had not gone out of their way to make her comfortable. 

At least they had let her keep the jade bracelet on her left wrist.

Which was wise of them. Without the bracelet she might have killed every living thing in the Tower.

But the cost would have been more than she could bear.

She buried her face in her knees. Cold, she was so cold. She would have wept, but there were no tears left. Jager, her poor, brave Jager, was likely dead, and there was no one coming for her, no one to free her…

“Perhaps,” murmured a deep whisper, “you ought to free yourself.”

Mara’s head snapped up, her hands moving to weapons she did not carry.

Alone. The white cell was empty, save for her chamber pot and the isron chains.

But the shadows in one corner seemed darker, somehow…and she felt something within them staring at her. 

“You are caged,” said the whisper, “but there is no need for it.”

“Who are you?” said Mara. Was this a trick? Some game the guards were playing with her?

“A prisoner, like you,” said the whisper. “We can free each other…and then grow drunk upon the blood of our enemies.”

THE END

Thank you for reading FROSTBORN: THE MASTER THIEF. If you liked the story, please consider leaving a review at your ebook site of choice. 

Ridmark Arban and his companions will return in fall 2013 in FROSTBORN: THE IRON TOWER. To receive immediate notification of new releases, 
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