Calliande slept, and in her dreams the Watcher came to her again.
“Mistress,” he said, his eyes sad and heavy in his lined face.
“How much do you know about me?” said Calliande.
“You commanded me never to speak of your past,” said the Watcher.
“I mean my present,” said Calliande. “Can you see what I am doing?”
The Watcher nodded. “I can. It is part of both the oath and the spell that binds me. Time does not function for me as it does for you, and a haze of mist engulfs the world of the living to my eyes.”
“But you must have a good idea of what I’m doing,” said Calliande. “Because you know that I am about to do something dangerous, which is why you are appearing to me now.”
The Watcher nodded.
“So if you can see my present, but are forbidden to speak about my past,” said Calliande, “can you tell me about my present?”
The Watcher blinked, and then smiled. “Yes. Yes, I can share my knowledge of our present.”
“What can you tell me about Urd Dagaash?” said Calliande.
The Watcher shrugged. “Little enough, I fear. It is part of a chain of dark elven ruins stretching across the Wilderland to Urd Morlemoch. They were ruled by petty dark elven princes and wizards, all at war with each other. When the urdmordar destroyed Cathair Amnios and swept south, they annihilated the dark elven princes for rebelling against them. Only the Warden resisted their power.”
“What is inside Urd Dagaash?” said Calliande. “Something capable of causing these disappearances?”
“Almost certainly,” said the Watcher. “The possibilities are limitless. Pagan orcs or the urdmordar, or perhaps a rogue tribe of manetaurs. One of the dark elves’ sorcerous creatures, lairing in the ruins. Or the ruins link to the Deeps, and kobolds or the dvargir have been raiding the surface. Be careful if you enter Urd Dagaash. You alone stand against the Frostborn, and if you perish in a dark elven ruin, all hope is lost.”
The mist swallowed her, and then the sound of knocking awoke Calliande.
She sat up with a gasp. She was in her room at the White Walls Inn, the narrow bed creaking beneath her. The room was small but clean, with a tiny window overlooking the street.
“Magistria?” The door swung open, and Kharlacht stepped into the room, his blue greatsword in hand. “Are you well?”
“I’m fine,” said Calliande. It was odd that she trusted him, given that he had once handed her over to Qazarl and Shadowbearer. But trust him she did. “A dream. That’s all.”
But she knew better.
Chapter 8 - Hunters
The next morning Gavin adjusted his pack, checked his dagger in its sheath, picked up his club, and walked to the village’s northern gate. Beyond the wall, on the hills north of the village, he saw the strange, alien towers rising from the hill’s crest like the bones of some giant beast.
Urd Dagaash.
And he was going there of his own will.
A shiver of fear went down his spine. Urd Dagaash had been a place of dread all his life. No one went there. Every few years a wandering adventurer or an aspiring tomb robber arrived in the village and went to the ruins in search of plunder.
They never returned.
Perhaps he would see their bones moldering within Urd Dagaash.
Perhaps his bones would lie alongside theirs.
He had to do this. His father simply wanted to bury his head in the sand and wait until the problem went away. But Gavin knew that would not work. Whatever creatures had decided to prey upon the villagers and the beastmen would not give up.
He heard the scrape of boots against the street and turned.
Ridmark Arban walked towards him, staff tapping against the street, his gray cloak hanging around him. Calliande came after him, wearing a heavy cloak and a leather jerkin, a dagger at her belt. Though with her magic, Gavin supposed, she hardly needed to carry any weapons. Brother Caius came next, and then Kharlacht, grim and silent in his strange blue armor.
“Sir,” said Gavin.
Ridmark grimaced, the lines of the brand on his left check distorting. “You’re determined on this, then?”
Gavin nodded. “I am, sir.” Aranaeus was in peril, and he could not sit idly by and do nothing.
And another part of his mind, a small part, whispered that Rosanna might notice his bravery. That was folly, he knew it.
But the whisper would not stop.
“Very well,” said Ridmark, glancing at Caius. “You can follow us. But you will do as I say, understand? If I tell you to run, you run.”
“I will, sir,” said Gavin.
“Good,” said Ridmark. He looked at the hills. “Let’s go. I would prefer not to be in those ruins after dark.”
He strode through the gate without a backwards glance, and Gavin followed him. Ridmark set a brisk pace along the path winding down the slope. The others kept up with him, and Gavin walked alongside Caius, keeping his club close at hand. Not that he expected the beastmen to approach so close to the village’s walls. But it never hurt to be careful. They left the village’s hill and came to the pastures and patches of forest between Aranaeus and the taller hills.
“On the village's northern side,” said Ridmark, glancing back at Gavin. “Are there any fields here? Any crops?”
“No, sir,” said Gavin. “Just pastures. The freeholders with cattle graze them here. But no one grows crops here. The soil is too rocky, and it’s too close to the ruins. No one ever goes north of the creek.”
Ridmark nodded and kept walking.
A mile and a half later they reached the base of the valley between Aranaeus and the hill of Urd Dagaash. A wide creek bubbled before them, splashing around worn, smooth stones on its way to the River Moradel. On the south side of the creek lay the pastures of Aranaeus, alongside the patches of forest that provided firewood for the village.
On the north side the forest was thick and shadowed, an ancient, worn path of white stones climbing the hill to the gates of Urd Dagaash.
Gavin shivered, despite his jacket.
“Those standing stones,” said Ridmark, pointing with his staff. “Do you see them?”
A half dozen menhirs of dark stone stood alongside the path, their surfaces carved with strange, intricate designs showing scenes of torture and death.
“A standing circle?” said Kharlacht.
“No,” said Calliande. Her blue eyes were distant, as if the standing stones reminded her of something unpleasant. “Not quite. These were wardstones. The dark elves bound spells of warding into them. If any intruders approached, the spells upon the stones would alert the wizards in the citadel.”
“Are they still active?” said Ridmark.
Calliande whispered under her breath and waved her right hand. White light flared around her fingers and faded away, and Gavin shivered again. He knew she was a Magistria, that she commanded magical forces, but before yesterday he had never seen such powers used.
“No,” said Calliande. “No, any spells were broken long ago. There are barely even echoes left. Whoever destroyed Urd Dagaash likely also broke the spells.”
“The urdmordar, I suspect,” said Caius. “The stonescribes record that rebel dark elven princes settled here, hoping to escape slavery at the hands of the spider-devils. When the urdmordar shattered Cathair Amnios and came south, they took their revenge on the dark elves before they turned to Andomhaim.”
“No one holds a grudge like an immortal spider-demon,” said Ridmark.
Ridmark crossed the creek, hopping from stone to stone, and the others followed suit. Gavin took a deep breath, and for the first time in his life, crossed to the northern bank.
Nothing happened.
They climbed the half-crumbled road, Gavin taking care to keep his balance on the shifting flagstones. Ridmark walked in the front, staff in hand, his eyes never ceasing their moment. Unlike the others, the man made absolutely no sound as he moved, despite the uneven terrain. Gavin w
ondered if he would be willing to teach the skill.
Then Ridmark went motionless, holding up his free hand.
“Ah,” he said. “I thought this might happen.”
“What is it?” said Calliande.
“Don’t move,” said Ridmark. “Keep your weapons out.” Kharlacht drew his greatsword, and Caius raised a mace of odd bronze-colored metal. “And above all, do not show any sign of weakness. Do not break eye contact, and do not take a step back if they snap at you.”
“Oh,” said Calliande, and sighed.
“What’s happening?” said Gavin.
A dozen hulking, black-furred forms poured out of the surrounding trees, moving into a circle around the overgrown road.
The beastmen had found them.
###
Ridmark kept a loose grip on his staff, though his limbs remained tensed and ready. The others raised their weapons, and Calliande began the rhythmic breathing that preceded a spell. Gavin gripped his club with both hands, his eyes darting back and forth.
“Steady,” said Ridmark, mostly for Gavin’s benefit.
One of the lupivirii moved closer, and Ridmark spotted Rakhaag.
He locked eyes with the lupivir alpha and walked closer, keeping his posture calm and unconcerned. Rakhaag stopped, his harsh golden eyes glaring down at Ridmark.
Ridmark waited. The dominant male did not speak first.
“Ridmark son of Leogrance son of Rience,” said Rakhaag at last, using the orcish language.
“Rakhaag son of Balhaag son of Talhaag,” said Ridmark in the same tongue.
“You are not of the True People,” said Rakhaag. “You are a user of tools, a crafter of lies.”
“I am not of the beastmen,” said Ridmark, “and I am a user of tools made by the cunning of men, yes. But I spoke the truth to you when last we met.”
“Perhaps,” said Rakhaag. “And strange scents have come to our nostrils since. We watched as you battled corpses that walked, as one of your females wielded great magic. Such strange sights have not been seen by the True People since the dark elves still ruled in Urd Dagaash.”
“You know what the dead things were, then?” said Ridmark.
“I have never seen one with my own eyes, but it is in the memories of the True People,” said Rakhaag. “Of old, the dark elves and the urdmordar commanded great hosts of corpses, and hunted the True People for sport. You have powerful enemies, Ridmark son of Leogrance, if they can raise the dead and command them to hunt you.”
“I do,” said Ridmark. He had not lied to Rakhaag before, and this seemed like a poor time to start. “The creatures were called kobolds, and they were murdered and raised by a wizard who calls himself Shadowbearer.”
Rakhaag hissed, and an ominous growl went through the lupivir pack.
“I see they know the name,” said Calliande.
“The True People know of him,” said Rakhaag. “He taught the dark elves how to open the doors to the threshold. He brought the Frostborn to the forest.”
“The Frostborn?” said Ridmark, surprised. “What do you know about the Frostborn and Shadowbearer?” He had assumed Shadowbearer wanted the empty soulstone and Calliande’s death for some nefarious purpose of his own, but did that purpose involve the Frostborn somehow?
“Only that he is the herald of woe, and he heralded the invasion of the Frostborn nearly three hundred winters ago,” said Rakhaag.
“How?” said Ridmark. “How do you know that? The True People rarely live past thirty winters.”
“It is in our memories,” said Rakhaag. “But you did not come here to speak of the Frostborn.”
“No,” said Ridmark, “and you did not come here to speak of them, either. You sought us out.”
Rakhaag growled, showing his fangs. “Men and orcs have taken our females and young.”
“Perhaps they have,” said Ridmark, “and you blamed the villagers of Aranaeus. But there are no orcs in Aranaeus, are there? And you realized there are more than one group of humans in the Wilderland.”
Rakhaag said nothing. He shifted back into his half-human, half-bestial form, his pale skin marked with stripes of black fur. In this form, he looked young, perhaps no more than a year or two older than Gavin.
“Yes,” he growled at last. “That is why we have sought you out. The orcs that took our kin. We have seen them.”
“Where?” said Ridmark.
Rakhaag growled again. “They entered Urd Dagaash last night.” His golden eyes shifted to Gavin. “Likely your missing kin are within the ruin.”
“And you want us,” said Ridmark, “to go inside and have a look.”
Caius snorted. “Given that you cannot lie, that is downright devious.”
“The True People may not enter Urd Dagaash,” said Rakhaag. “Our memories tell us that any male, female, or cub of the True People who has ever entered the ruins has not come out again.”
“But we are not of the True People,” said Ridmark, “so you’re more than happy to send us inside to deal with these orcs.”
“Yes,” said Rakhaag. He took a step closer, glaring down at Ridmark. “Prove your truth, Ridmark son of Leogrance. You say you do not lie? Then enter the ruins. Take the dwarf, the whelp, the orc, and the female and find our kin. Show…”
He trailed off, his eyes fixed on Calliande. She lifted her chin and met his eyes without blinking, but Ridmark saw a muscle trembling in her jaw.
“Rakhaag,” said Ridmark, “what is this?”
“Your hand,” said Rakhaag, a note of awe in the rough voice.
“My hand?” said Ridmark. “What about it?”
“Not yours!” snarled Rakhaag, never looking away from Calliande. “The female’s. Let me smell your hand.”
Calliande hesitated, still keeping her eyes fixed upon Rakhaag’s.
“Ridmark,” she said.
“Let him do it,” said Ridmark, raising his staff a few inches. Perhaps Rakhaag had smelled Calliande’s ability to use magic. Ridmark did not know how the beastmen would react to a Magistria. The lupivirii were nearly extinct within Andomhaim, and Ridmark had never seen a lupivir encounter a user of magic. Perhaps Calliande’s power would command a more cooperation from Rakhaag and his pack.
Or perhaps he would go berserk and try to kill her.
If he did, Ridmark would be ready.
Calliande shrugged and extended her hand, and Rakhaag bowed over it, his nostrils flaring. For a moment he looked like a courtier bowing over the hand of a lady, albeit a naked, dark-furred courtier standing nine feet tall. His nostrils flared once, twice, three times.
Then Rakhaag straightened up so violently that Ridmark was sure he would attack.
“You are her!” Rakhaag hissed. “After so many years. You have come!”
There was terror on his face.
“What are you talking about?” said Calliande.
“Staffbearer,” said Rakhaag. “You are the Staffbearer.”
###
Calliande stared at the towering lupivir. Rakhaag stood at least three and a half feet over her and outweighed her by two hundred pounds. He could have snapped her in half without much effort.
Yet he was terrified of her.
“Staffbearer?” said Calliande. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
“You are the Staffbearer,” said Rakhaag. “It is in our memories. You would return, to warn the True People against the coming of the Frostborn.”
“You…you know who I am?” said Calliande, stunned. It was madness. She had been born centuries ago, and Rakhaag could not have been more than twenty. There was no way he could know who she was.
Yet the lupivirii did not lie.
“You are the Staffbearer,” said Rakhaag, “and we must obey you. Otherwise the world shall die in ice, and the True People shall perish. All peoples shall perish.”
“I see,” said Calliande. “How can you possibly know that?”
Rakhaag hissed. “The great memory of the True People.”
“When we die,” said Rakhaag, “our memories are not lost, but become part of the great memory. When we are born, we can touch the great memory. A cub learns to hunt, to stalk, to survive in the wilds by learning from the great memory.”
“You mean the memories of the True People remain after death?” said Calliande. “And you can recall them?”
“It is as you say,” said Rakhaag. “Your scent is part of the great memory. Every one of the True People would recognize you from your scent. And we will do as you say.”
Calliande hesitated. The Magistri could speak which each other over vast distances, using their magic to create a limited form of telepathy. Perhaps the lupivirii could do something similar, communicating their memories after death. And if the lupivirii had some telepathic ability, it explained why they never spoke to each other, but only employed speech to communicate with other kindreds.
And if she had spoken with them before she had gone to sleep below the Tower of Vigilance…they might know who she truly was.
“Dragonfall,” said Calliande. “Do you know where it is?”
Rakhaag growled. “The name is not known to us.”
“You called me the Staffbearer,” said Calliande. “Why?”
“Because you are the Staffbearer,” said Rakhaag.
“Obviously I have no staff now,” said Calliande. “Do you know where it is?”
Rakhaag hesitated. “You are the Staffbearer.”
Calliande could have screamed in frustration. The lupivirii knew her. Or at least they knew who she had been. Yet they thought in terms of scent and instinct. They could not translate their great memory into useful information.
Ridmark’s quiet voice cut into her thoughts.
“The lupivirii said you can command them,” said Ridmark. “Perhaps you should follow their suggestion. And they might know something about the disappearances.”
Calliande took a deep breath. “Yes, of course, you’re right.” She rebuked herself. Innocent lives were at stake, and she could not waste time with self-pity. And if the beastmen thought like wolves…then she would ask them questions wolves might understand. “Will you answer my questions, Rakhaag son of Balhaag?”
Frostborn: The Eightfold Knife Page 10
