Frostborn: The Eightfold Knife

by Jonathan Moeller

  No. They were running past him.

  A woman rested on one knee behind Caius. She looked a few years younger than Ridmark, with long blond hair and blue eyes. Her face was tight with exhaustion, her arms trembling as she tried to raise them.

  Calliande.

  And the undead kobolds were about to tear her apart.

  There was no time to wonder why Calliande and Caius were here, or who had created the undead kobolds.

  Ridmark moved.

  ###

  Calliande shouted and drew on the last of her strength.

  White fire burst from her in a ring and scythed into the front ranks of the kobolds. A dozen of the creatures fell, joining the others upon the earth. Between Caius’s mace and her magic, they must have destroyed at least half of the vile creatures, maybe more.

  But she did not have strength enough to destroy the rest.

  The kobolds closed around her, ignoring Caius, and Calliande wondered if they would leave him alone after they killed her…

  A kobold reached for her with black claws.

  Then a gray blur shot past her, and the kobold’s head jumped off its head and rolled into the river with a splash. The body staggered forward another step and collapsed before Calliande, the dusty smell of its scales and the rotten odor of its long-congealed blood filling her nostrils. Two more kobolds fell motionless in as many heartbeats, their heads hewn from their skinny necks.

  A man in a gray cloak fought the kobolds, an orcish war axe in his right hand. He was tall, with close-cropped black hair and hard blue eyes, his left cheek and jaw deformed by the coward’s brand of a broken sword. Yet he fought without fear, without hesitation, and moved with the economical motions of a master swordsman.

  Ridmark Arban carved his way through the kobolds.

  ###

  “Gray Knight!” shouted Caius with a laugh, hammering another kobold to the ground. “You seem to make a habit of saving my life.”

  Ridmark cut down a second kobold. The creatures had been ignoring Caius to focus upon Calliande, but they reacted to the new threat. Three kobolds turned towards Ridmark, slashing with their claws. He danced past them, swinging the axe, taking the head from one and the hands from another. The handless kobold charged at him, its jaws snapping. Ridmark sidestepped and brought the axe around in a two-handed swing, taking off the creature’s head.

  “We can reminisce later,” said Ridmark, shooting a quick look around. The kobolds surged at Kharlacht, but the orcish warrior was a match for them. Their claws and fangs shattered against his armor, his dark elven greatsword carving great swaths through them. Gavin stayed closed to his side, eyes wide and his face tight with fear, but his hands did not tremble as he swung his club.

  “Aye,” said Caius, raising his mace. “There is work to be done yet.”

  Ridmark looked over the advancing kobolds, his mind calculating the odds. Calliande’s magic had inflicted substantial losses, but there were at least a hundred and fifty of the creatures left. And right now Calliande looked too exhausted to speak, let alone to stand and fling potent magic at their foes.

  They might be able to overcome the kobolds without magical aid. In their undead state, the kobolds had neither cunning nor skill, simply flinging themselves upon their foes. A skilled fighter could carve his way through them, and both Kharlacht and Caius knew how to fight.

  But there were so many of the things.

  Ridmark gripped the axe in both hands, the wooden haft rough beneath his palms, and met the attack. He cut down one kobold, and then another, the heavy blade shearing through their slender necks with ease. He remembered the second battle of Dun Licinia, remembered Qazarl’s black magic raising the slain orcs as undead. It had been much harder to take off their heads.

  A kobold lunged at Calliande. Ridmark jumped to meet it, a blow from the axe catching the creature in the chest. The kobold stumbled, and Ridmark brought his weapon down in a heavy blow. The fanged head rolled away, the black-slit eyes staring, and the body crumpled in a heap.

  Ridmark caught a brief glimpse of Calliande’s eyes, wide and blue and full of strain, and then turned back to the kobolds.

  All around him the fighting raged.

  ###

  Calliande struggled to summon magic, struggled to stand.

  Around her Ridmark and Kharlacht and Caius battled against the tide of undead kobolds. A curly-haired boy she did not recognize followed Kharlacht, striking at the kobolds with a heavy wooden club. His face was full of fear and dread, yet he did not flinch from the foe. Calliande had seen men with the same expressions upon the walls of Dun Licinia, fighting to defend their wives and children from Qazarl’s Mhalekite orcs…

  She shook her head. Her mind was drifting, spinning out of focus. Ridmark and the others needed her help. But she did not have the strength left to strike against the undead.

  Caius smashed a kobold to the ground, his mace shining with a white glow. Calliande had forgotten that she still held the spell over his weapon. The effort seemed trivial compared to the exhaustion she had brought upon herself.

  And perhaps that meant she could still enchant the weapons of Ridmark and the others.

  She forced herself to draw more magic, forced herself to stand. The world spun around her, but she lifted her hands, white light dancing around her fingers, and cast a spell. The white fire washed out from her, wrapping around the blades of Ridmark’s axe and Kharlacht’s sword, made the curly-haired boy’s club glow. The boy gaped at his weapon in surprise, but neither Kharlacht nor Ridmark slowed down. White fire burst from the touch of their weapons, destroying the undead kobolds with every stroke.

  Calliande gritted her teeth, pouring all her strength and will into the spell.

  She had to hold it until the kobolds were destroyed.

  ###

  Ghostly memories danced through Ridmark’s mind as he carved his way through the undead kobolds.

  He felt the power of Calliande’s magic thrumming through the orcish axe. It was only a pale echo of the power that his soulblade Heartwarden had possessed, but he remembered Heartwarden burning with white light in his fist as he faced the urdmordar Gothalinzur, as he lead the armies of Andomhaim against the Mhalekite horde at Dun Licinia.

  As he faced Mhalek for the last time in the great hall of Castra Marcaine, Aelia’s screams ringing in his ears.

  No, he did not want to remember that.

  Ridmark forced aside the black memories and fought, the axe a white blur in his hands.

  And then there were no more foes to fight.

  He turned in a circle. Dead kobolds carpeted the riverbank. Some had fallen into the water, the current bearing them away. Kharlacht and Caius and Gavin stood some distance away, weapons still in hand. Calliande swayed, her face haggard, white light flickering around her fingers.

  Her bleary eyes focused on him.

  “Ridmark,” she said. “You should…should have…”

  “Calliande,” he said, stepping closer. “You can release the spell. It’s over.”

  She gave a curt nod and made a chopping gesture, the light vanishing from her fingers. The glow faded from Ridmark’s axe, the thrumming sensation of the magic fading, and the white fire disappeared from the weapons of Kharlacht and Caius and Gavin. Silence fell over the field, and Ridmark caught his breath.

  Calliande swayed again, and for a moment Ridmark thought she was going to fall into the river. He frowned, returned his axe to its belt loop, and started towards her.

  And as he did, shadows rose from the dead kobolds.

  ###

  Calliande sensed the dark magic surge through the corpses. Her magic had destroyed the spells animating the kobolds, whether channeled through her white fire or the weapons of Ridmark and the others. But there had been another spell on the undead, one waiting for the creatures to be destroyed.

  One final trick of Shadowbearer’s.

  She felt his will driving the dark magic as the shadows rose like hooded wraiths from
the corpses. The shadows would kill her and Ridmark and the others. Then Shadowbearer could come and retrieve the soulstone at his leisure. He had wanted to kill her and trap her power in the stone, but he could find another Magistrius to kill just as easily.

  The force of the spell gathered, Shadowbearer’s will driving it.

  He was going to kill her.

  He was going to kill Ridmark.

  Calliande gathered every last scrap of power and flung it in an attack. White fire lanced from her hands, slicing through the shadows, and she felt her will contend against Shadowbearer’s.

  And she heard the renegade high elf’s strange voice reverberating inside her head.

  “It is useless,” he hissed. “You were not strong enough to destroy me centuries ago, and you are less than you were. You are lessened, diminished, maimed, and you do not even know why you did it to yourself! You cannot stop me. You can never stop me. Lie down and die. It will be easier.”

  “No,” growled Calliande, struggling against the alien presence in her mind.

  “Yes,” said Shadowbearer. “You will never reach Dragonfall, never recover your staff. You failed, Calliande. You failed to stop me, your precious Order of the Vigilant rotted away around you, and you cannot even remember who you are. Lie down and…”

  Why was he talking about Dragonfall?

  “You don’t know where it is,” said Calliande. “That’s why you’re asking. You want me to think of it so you can find it.”

  “Calliande?” said Ridmark, but she ignored him.

  Shadowbearer’s rage flooded her mind, but the revelation filled Calliande with fresh resolve. For all his power, for all his knowledge, he was not invincible. She flung her will and magic against him, and for a moment their spells strained against each other. He was stronger, so much stronger, and she was exhausted…but he was far away and she was not.

  The white fire blazed from her fingers, slicing the shadows into nothingness, and Shadowbearer’s presence vanished from her mind.

  Calliande let out a long breath, lowering her hands.

  Gray mist swallowed her vision, and she fell.

  She did not feel herself hit the ground.

  ###

  Calliande swayed, her eyes rolling back into her head, and fell over.

  Ridmark caught her before she toppled into the river. She twitched in his arms, and she felt feverish even through the wool shirt and leather jerkin she wore.

  “Is she all right?” said Caius.

  “No,” said Ridmark. “She’s exhausted herself. The Magistri can draw too much magic through themselves, like a man undertaking heavy labor in the hot sun without rest or water for too long. If we let her rest, she should be fine.”

  At least, he thought so. He hoped so.

  “We’d best make camp away from here, then,” said Caius. “The reek of those kobold corpses will hardly help her rest.”

  “But the beastmen,” said Gavin. “Will they not trouble us?”

  “Beastmen?” said Caius.

  “We’ll take a few corpses with us,” said Ridmark, looking at the dead kobolds. Calliande stirred in his arms, her eyes twitching behind closed lids. “That ought to deter the lupivirii. They’ll be able to smell the dark magic.”

  “Beastmen,” said Caius. “It seems you have quite an interesting tale to tell.”

  “And you as well,” said Ridmark.

  ###

  In the darkness of the caverns below the Black Mountain, the creature some men called Shadowbearer opened his eyes.

  “Well,” he said.

  Fury stirred within him. He had come so close to ridding himself of Calliande at last and claiming the soulstone. He would have preferred to kill her while she was helpless and powerless after awakening, but that idiot Qazarl and his pet fool Vlazar had made a botch of it.

  It was Shadowbearer’s own fault, really. Mortals were so easily corruptible…but rarely made reliable servants.

  No matter. He had time yet. A year and a month since the omen of the blue fire filled the sky, a year and a month while the thirteen moons were in proper position and the threshold was open.

  There were other ways to obtain an empty soulstone, and Shadowbearer had many other servants.

  Servants that made a collection of dead kobolds and a few fanatical orcs look like feeble kittens.

  He strode into the darkness, his rage, his ancient, eternal rage, driving him forward.

  Chapter 5 - Blue Fire

  Ridmark had the others make camp in the clearing where he had challenged Rakhaag. The lack of trees would make it harder for the beastmen to creep up unnoticed. He had Kharlacht and Gavin drag a pair of kobold corpses from the river and dump them at either end of the clearing. Ridmark doubted Rakhaag and his pack had ever encountered kobolds before, and he hoped their scent would keep the beastmen away.

  They were predators, and predators did not like the unknown.

  Of course, that would make it harder to prove that Ridmark and Kharlacht had not kidnapped the lupivirii females and young. Or perhaps Rakhaag would blame the disappearances on the kobolds. Still, Rakhaag had claimed that men and orcs were responsible for the missing lupivirii, and the beastmen did not knowingly tell lies.

  As dusk fell, Gavin got a fire going, and Ridmark lay Calliande down near it and covered her with a blanket.

  “We ought to be secure enough for now,” said Ridmark. He picked up his staff and brushed some dirt from its length. “The beastmen will rip us apart if they get a chance, but their alpha promised to leave us alone until we came to Aranaeus.”

  “Though he said nothing about Calliande and Brother Caius,” said Kharlacht.

  “No,” said Ridmark. “If he disagrees, we shall have to contest them.” He looked at Calliande. If she was awake by then, she could use her magic to frighten them off.

  But why was she even here?

  “What are you doing here?” said Ridmark.

  Caius snorted. “Following you. Is that not plain?”

  “Pardon, sir,” said Gavin, “but your friends…who are they?”

  “This is the Magistria Calliande,” said Ridmark, “and this is Brother Caius, a brother of the order of mendicants.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, young sir,” said Caius with a stately bow. “Might I know your name?”

  Gavin blinked. “Ah…Gavin of Aranaeus, Brother. My father is the praefectus of Aranaeus.”

  Caius nodded. “In whose name does he hold the village?”

  Gavin shrugged. “In the name of the village itself, I suppose. Aranaeus doesn’t actually have a lord. My father says our people left the realm long ago to be free. Though I don’t know what that really means.” He blinked. “Are you really a dwarf? I’ve never seen one before.”

  Caius laughed. “All my life, and I fear I’ve lived quite a long time. Long enough that that I remember when my kindred marched alongside the High King to fight the Frostborn, though I was too young to fight back then. But we do not call ourselves the dwarves, but the khaldari. Your kindred gave us that name when…”

  “Brother Caius,” said Ridmark, “you can instruct the boy in history when we have less urgent matters to discuss.”

  Caius smile, his beard rustling against his chest. “History is the urgent concern of every man.”

  Ridmark sighed. “True. But we have more urgent concerns. For one, why are you here, and how did you find me?”

  “As for how we found you,” said Caius, “that is simple enough. The dagger you gave Calliande.”

  Ridmark had seen it at her belt. “What about it?”

  “You gave it to her as a gift, and she used it to kill Alamur,” said Caius. “Apparently, that set up some sort of magical resonance between you and the dagger. She used it to follow you.”

  “Oh,” said Ridmark. He had never heard of such a thing, but obviously it worked.

  “And as for why we followed you, do you even need to ask?” said Caius.

  “Yes, I do,” said Ridmark.
“It is better that I go alone to find the truth.”

  “Calliande said you promised to aid her,” said Caius.

  Ridmark’s fingers tightened against his staff. “I did. And I shall. And I can do it best by discovering the truth about the Frostborn. She is tied to them somehow, I am sure of it, and if I find the truth about the Frostborn, I will discover the truth about her past.”

  “Pardon, sir,” said Gavin, “but the Frostborn? The Frostborn are extinct. The High King destroyed them, Father Martel said so.”

  Ridmark looked at the boy. “You saw the omen about three weeks ago? The blue fire?” Gavin nodded. “That was a sign that the Frostborn shall return. I first learned of it in Urd Morlemoch, a dark elven ruin ruled by an undead wizard called the Warden. I am traveling to Urd Morlemoch to force the Warden to tell me more. If the Frostborn are returning, the realm must be warned.”

  Gavin gaped at him, eyes wide.

  “You’re going to fight the Warden?” said Gavin. “Have you heard the stories about him?”

  “Some of them,” said Ridmark. Few in Andomhaim had heard of the Warden or Urd Morlemoch, but tales about Urd Morlemoch, stories whispered in dread and fear, were common in the Northerland and the Wilderland.

  “They say he can read minds,” said Gavin, “and that he plays cruel games with his enemies, imprisoning them in dungeons constructed of their own worst sins. Or that the powers of hell come at his command, and drag his foes to the abyss.”

  “I’ve met him,” said Ridmark, “and he’s actually much worse.”

  Gavin’s eyes got even wider.

  “If I go there,” said Ridmark, “I’ll almost certainly be killed. There’s no reason for anyone else to come with me. None.”

  Caius lifted his graying eyebrows. “You brought Kharlacht with you.”

  “I fear I had nowhere else to go,” said Kharlacht. “For an orc of Vhaluusk, blood ties are paramount above all else. Yet all my kin are dead. Qazarl was the last, and he betrayed me and was slain outside the walls of Dun Licinia. I can lie down and die, I can wander the earth without purpose, or I can follow Ridmark to Urd Morlemoch and try to accomplish something of worth.”