Ridmark had not.
“Perhaps he had aid,” said Caius. “Or he came to the aid of another traveler.”
“Maybe,” said Calliande. She looked at the ground, wishing she had Ridmark’s skill at reading tracks. Instead she gripped her dagger and cast the tracking spell again. “But he’s still alive, and not far ahead.”
“Then we should hasten,” said Caius. “He may have need of help.”
“Aye,” said Calliande, “but why would the lupivirii attack him? Or anyone?”
“Packs of beastmen range along the foothills of the mountains of Kothluusk,” said Caius. “They are hardly peaceful, and are not above feeding upon orcs and dwarves if they are hungry.”
“I know,” said Calliande, “but only if they are starving, or feel threatened. Otherwise they stay away from the other kindreds.” She shook her head. “They call themselves the True People, and think the use of tools and weapons is wicked and corrupt.”
“You sound as if you admire them,” said Caius.
“I do not,” said Calliande. “I pity them. I saw many a man who would have died at Dun Licinia, if I had not treated his wounds with needle and thread and boiling wine, all things made with tools. Did not God give us minds and hands? Yet the lupivirii have both minds and hands, but use them in service of their animal nature.” She frowned. “I must have dealt with them in my former life, if I know so much about them.” She shook her head. “I am rambling. I can deal with them again, if they threaten Ridmark.”
Caius nodded. “If he is fighting the beastmen, he should easy to find. Lead on.”
Calliande stepped forward, touched her dagger, and cast the spell again. “Less than a mile ahead. He’s not moving. I think…”
Her voice trailed off.
She felt something else, something cold and icy, something that crawled with rotting corruption and freezing fire.
Dark magic.
“Shadowbearer,” hissed Calliande, turning.
“What?” said Caius, alarmed. “Here?”
“Yes,” said Calliande, her eyes sweeping the eastern bank of the Moradel. She had stood before Shadowbearer, naked and defenseless, soon after awakening beneath the Tower of Vigilance. He had known her at once, remembered her from her past life. The Watcher had warned her against him. Calliande did not know who he was, or what he wanted.
Only that he intended to harm both her and all the world.
And that he was tremendously powerful. Even now, with her reawakened magic, she doubted she could face him and live.
He had come for her, but she would not surrender without a fight.
Calliande turned, calling her magic, watching for any sign of a foe.
Movement on the eastern bank caught her attention.
A kobold stepped out of the shadows of the trees and into the sunlight. The creature was the size of a large human child, with gray scales, a long, slender tail, and a narrow skull lined with fangs. A ridged crest of crimson scales surrounded its neck, and Calliande felt the weight of the creature’s gaze. A tattoo of a blue human hand marked the scales of its chest.
There was something wrong with the kobold.
“A Blue Hand kobold,” said Caius. “In the daylight. Their fear of Shadowbearer must be great, if he can drive them into the sunlight…”
“Caius,” said Calliande. “That kobold is dead.”
The kobold was not breathing. Its tail remained motionless, and its head rotated to face her in an eerie manner, like a piece of meat dangling from a string. Like lizards and snakes, kobolds never blinked, but Calliande saw a pale blue glow in the creature’s eyes.
The light of the dark magic that animated the corpse.
More and more dead kobolds came out of the trees, until dozens of the creatures stood on the far bank, staring at Calliande. She felt the gathered dark magic waiting in the undead flesh, felt the spells binding the creatures.
“There are hundreds of them,” said Calliande.
“May God have mercy and deliver us from such dark magic,” said Caius. “Shadowbearer slaughtered them all, didn’t he? He killed all the kobolds left in the village, raised them as undead, and loosed them upon us.”
Calliande nodded. “He wants me. And he wants that empty soulstone.” She flexed her fingers, summoning power. “We can’t outrun them, and we can’t hide from them. They will not tire, and they will not stop hunting me.”
“Then we fight,” said Caius.
And as if a signal had been given, the mass of kobolds surged forward. They raced into the ford, heedless of the water. Their unblinking dead eyes never turned from Calliande as they ignored the current and the slippery footing.
Calliande summoned her power, raised her hands, and cast a spell.
Magic surged through her, and blasts of white flame burst from her palms and slammed into the charging kobolds. A half-dozen of the creatures fell motionless into the water, the dark magic binding them burned away. Calliande struck again and again, yet still the undead ran at her.
There were so many of them.
And with a surge of alarm Calliande realized she did not have the strength to stop them all.
The first kobolds staggered up the bank, claws reaching for her, and Caius jumped into the fray, shouting for God to lend his arm strength. His heavy dwarven mace struck one, two, three kobolds in rapid succession, smashing bone and knocking fangs from their jaws. The undead creatures staggered, but not did not stop. Caius could not kill them.
Shadowbearer had already slain them.
Calliande flung another blast of white flame, then turned long enough to cast a spell at Caius. White fire shot from her hand and engulfed the head of his mace, sheathing the weapon in crackling flame. Caius paused just long enough to gape at the sight, and then went on the attack. He struck the kobolds again and again, and this time when he landed blows the fire from his mace sank into the undead flesh, the flame shattering the spells upon the kobolds.
Their corpses fell to the ground, rolling down the bank to splash into the Moradel.
Yet even with Caius’s aid, Calliande felt her strength wavering.
The undead kobolds closed around them in a ring, charging forward despite the flames of Calliande’s magic. Another group of kobolds circled past them and jumped upon the mules, and the poor beasts’ terrified braying filled Calliande’s ears. The kobolds tore three of the mules into bloody chunks, while a fourth raced away into the woods. A kobold jumped upon Caius, and Calliande divided her attention long enough to strike the creature with a burst of white fire. The kobold slumped to the ground, and Caius went on the attack.
But it was not enough. The Magistri could only draw so much magic at one time, and Calliande had nearly reached her limit, and the effort of holding the spell upon Caius’s mace was draining her further.
The kobolds closed around them.
And it seemed that the Watcher hadn’t needed to worry about Calliande going to Urd Morlemoch after all.
Chapter 3 - Alpha
Ridmark ran through the trees, Kharlacht keeping pace behind him.
A half-overgrown trail wound its way through the trees. If Ridmark’s memory served, it led to the cultivated fields of Aranaeus, though few of the villagers ever ventured far from the safety of their walls. He heard the howls of the beastmen, and caught glimpses of dark shapes racing through the dense trees.
Quite a few dark shapes.
They were hunting something, but not Ridmark or Kharlacht. He didn’t think the lupivirii at the riverbank had expected to find him. Most likely they had been watching for someone approaching from the west, not the east. That explained why they had failed to notice him until he had crossed the ford.
But who were the beastmen hunting?
The trail led into a wide clearing. Ridmark paused for a moment to get his bearings, and then a figure sprinted from the trees.
It was a human boy of about fifteen years, old enough to serve as a knight’s squire or a craftsman’s apprentice. He
was tall and wiry, with a ragged shock of curly brown hair and brown eyes wide with fear. He staggered into the clearing, breathing hard, and stopped when he saw Ridmark and Kharlacht.
“Run!” said the boy in Latin. “The wolfmen, they…”
A half-dozen beastmen crashed into the clearing. The boy backed towards Ridmark and Kharlacht, a heavy club in his right hand. Ridmark saw blood and clumps of fur stuck to the length of wood. Scratches marred the boy’s forearms, and blood stained his tunic and trousers.
“Run!” said the boy. “Whoever you are, run! I’ll hold them off! Go…”
A dozen more beastmen came into the clearing, snarling. They moved into a circle, showing their fangs and growling, but did not move closer. They had expected to find the boy, but they had not anticipated Ridmark or Kharlacht. That would make them hesitate for a few moments while they considered the new threat.
And then they would kill Ridmark, Kharlacht, and the boy.
“What is your name?” said Ridmark, raising his staff.
“Gavin,” said the boy. He took a deep breath. “I’ll charge them, and you can…”
“Gavin,” said Ridmark, “if you want to live, do exactly as I say.” He scanned the waiting lupivirii. There were at least twenty, with more entering the clearing. Understand?”
“But…” said Gavin.
“You will do,” said Ridmark in the voice he had used when he had taken command of the army of Andomhaim at Dun Licinia, “exactly as I command.” He spotted the biggest of the wolfmen, and decided to take a gamble. “Now wait here until I return.”
Before either Kharlacht or Gavin could stop him, Ridmark strode towards the biggest lupivir. The other beastmen snarled and snapped, but Ridmark ignored them. He stopped a dozen paces from the largest beastman and stared at the creature, meeting the golden eyes with his own.
The lupivir reared upon his legs, standing nearly nine feet tall, a solid tower of muscle and fur.
“You think,” said Ridmark in orcish, “to challenge me?”
The beastman’s golden eyes narrowed. He did not throw himself at Ridmark. That meant he was at least in partial control of his instincts, was more intelligent than the others. The alphas of the beastmen packs often were smarter than their fellows.
“You are the challenger, human,” growled the towering lupivir.
“I am Ridmark, son of Leogrance, son of Rience, from Taliand in the south,” said Ridmark.
“And I,” hissed the beastman, “am Rakhaag, son of Balhaag, son of Talhaag, and you stand upon our range.” His nostrils flared. “And I smell the blood of my kin upon you.”
“Yes,” said Ridmark. “Two of your kin attacked me when I crossed the river, and I killed them.”
“Then they should have proven stronger,” said Rakhaag. “You slew them with a sword, I assume? The craven tool of weaklings.”
“No,” said Ridmark, lifting his staff. “With this.”
Rakhaag regarded it for a moment. “A club. Still a craven’s weapon…but less of a craven.”
“You call me craven?” said Ridmark. “I name you craven, Rakhaag son of Balhaag son of Talhaag.”
An ominous growl went up from the beastmen, but Rakhaag only glared.
“And why do you bring such a challenge?” said Rakhaag.
“Because you prey upon humans,” said Ridmark. “I know the True People. You are strong and fast and contemptuous of injury and death. You can outran a deer and bring it down, or face the fury and the tusks of an enraged boar. All this the True People can do, yet you have chosen to hunt humans, creatures too slow to outrun you and too weak to slay with their bare hands. Have you grown so weak, Rakhaag, so feeble that you must turn to such…”
Rakhaag roared, and Ridmark’s hand tightened around his staff. But the lupivir mastered himself, and glared down at Ridmark.
“We have not hunted you,” spat Rakhaag, “but you have hunted us. Humans and orcs have issued from their shelter, kidnapping our young and our females, and taken them into captivity.”
Ridmark wanted to look at Gavin to see his reaction, but he dared not take his eyes from Rakhaag. The alpha would interpret that as a sign of weakness and attack.
“You have proof of this?” said Ridmark.
Rakhaag showed his fangs. “The True People do not lie. Humans and orcs and dwarves build tools of lies from cunning words, but the True People do not. I have smelled them with my own nose, followed the trails with my own feet. Humans and orcs have taken our females and our young and carried them into captivity.”
“I know nothing of this,” said Ridmark.
“You lie,” growled Rakhaag. “Humans lie. Orcs lie. I think you carried off our children. You will tell us what you have done with them, or I shall kill you and feast upon your flesh.”
“No,” said Ridmark.
Rakhaag growled, his muscles tensing, and Ridmark hit him across the face with his staff.
It was not a hard blow, not hard enough to break bone, but it was enough to knock the hulking lupivir back a step.
The other beastmen growled, and Ridmark raised his staff.
“I challenge you!” he roared at the top of his lungs. “I, Ridmark son of Leogrance son of Rience, challenge Rakhaag son of Balhaag son of Talhaag! Before this pack, I name you craven, weak, and unfit, a hunter of humans because you are too weak to hunt proper prey! Let me pass, or I shall kill you where you stand!”
“Human craven!” said Rakhaag. “You think to challenge one of the True People? You steal our young and females, and then hide behind your cunning lies?”
“You fear to face my challenge?” said Ridmark. “You are as weak as I thought! Little wonder you prey upon humans! I shall…”
Rakhaag bellowed in pure rage. “Human worm! I accept your challenge!”
The lupivir surged forward, all claws and fangs and dark fur. Kharlacht and Gavin shouted warnings, while the other beastmen roared in support of their alpha.
Ridmark thrust his staff, ducking under the blur of Rakhaag’s claws, and drove the end of the weapon into the lupivir’s stomach. The shock of the impact almost ripped the staff from his hands. Yet Rakhaag came to a painful halt, his jaw falling open as the breath exploded from his lungs. Ridmark charged as Rakhaag wheezed, and brought his staff around in a two-handed swing. The length of heavy wood slammed into the back of Rakhaag’s right knee, and the lupivir’s leg folded. Rakhaag let out a croaking cry, and Ridmark’s next swing landed in the small of the beastman’s back.
Rakhaag’s legs went out from under him, and the lupivir landed hard upon his back. Before the beastman could recover, Ridmark sprang upon him, slamming his staff against Rakhaag’s throat and arms, the musky stench of the lupivir’s fur filling his nostrils. His knees pinned the staff in place, pressing it against Rakhaag’s neck and wrists. The lupivir gurgled as the staff sank into his neck. He bucked and heaved, trying to regain his feet. Yet Rakhaag had no leverage, and he began to wheeze, his tongue lashing at his fangs.
“Yield,” said Ridmark.
Rakhaag tried to snarl.
“Yield,” said Ridmark, “or I’ll choke you to death.”
He leaned a little harder on the staff.
“Kill me,” rasped Rakhaag, “and the others will tear you apart.”
“Aye,” said Ridmark, “but you’ll be dead, and then I’ll be dead, and there will be no one left to find out who kidnapped your females and young.”
Rakhaag snarled, though not as loudly. Perhaps he did not have the breath.
Ridmark leaned against the staff, and Rakhaag shuddered.
“Yield,” said Ridmark, “or die, and never find your females and your young.”
Rakhaag shuddered again. “Yield. I yield.”
Ridmark stood, pulled his staff from Rakhaag’s throat, and stepped back, the weapon ready. Rakhaag staggered to his feet, coughing and wheezing, one clawed hand massaging his neck.
“You are weak, Rakhaag!” said another lupivir, stalking toward the leade
r of the pack. The beastman glared at the larger male. “If you allow this human to dominate you, you are not fit to lead us, and I challenge…”
“Accepted,” said Rakhaag, and his free hand moved in a blur. The younger male never even saw the blow coming. Rakhaag’s talons tore out his throat, and the smaller male collapsed, his body shrinking back into its half-human, half-bestial form.
For a moment no one said anything.
“Withdraw,” said Rakhaag to the rest of the pack, “and keep watch over the shelters of the humans.” His furious yellow eyes turned back to Ridmark. “You and the orc may pass, and you may even take the whelp. But if you have lied to me, I shall rip out your throat and drink your blood.”
“I did not take your children, nor do I know who did,” said Ridmark. “I swear it on the name of the Dominus Christus and all his saints.”
“I care nothing for your human god,” said Rakhaag, “but we shall see if you speak the truth.”
He turned, dropped to all fours, and loped from the clearing, vanishing into the trees. The other lupivirii followed suit. Some stopped long enough to snarl and growl at Ridmark, but none would meet his gaze, and they followed Rakhaag from the clearing.
Soon Ridmark was alone with Kharlacht and Gavin.
“I am surprised,” said Kharlacht in Latin.
Ridmark turned. “Surprised at what?”
“That,” said Kharlacht, “we are still alive.”
Ridmark looked at the dead beastman. “As am I.”
“What…what did you do?” said Gavin. The boy was trying to keep a brave face, but he was as white as a sheet, and a faint twitch kept going through his jaw. The hand that held his club, though, remained steady as a stone. “You talked to them, you fought the largest beastman…and then they all turned and ran.” He shook his head. “How did you do that?”
“By cleverness,” rumbled Kharlacht. “He is very clever.”
“By understanding,” said Ridmark. “The beastmen are like wolves. A wolf pack has a dominant male, an alpha. Challenge the alpha, and none of the other wolves will trouble you.”
Frostborn: The Eightfold Knife Page 3
