Frostborn: The Eightfold Knife

by Jonathan Moeller

  But he had given Calliande the time she needed to finish her spell.

  She thrust her arms out, and white fire poured from her palms and sank into the urdmordar. The creature screamed, legs lashing at the floor, pincers snapping with fury. A Magistria could only use her power to defend, to learn, and to communicate, never to harm another mortal. But the urdmordar were immortals, were predators that delighted in tormenting the innocent.

  She could unleash her power against them without mercy, without scruple.

  Calliande poured all her strength into the spell.

  But it was not enough.

  Step by step the urdmordar dragged himself towards her, his clawed legs clicking against the stone floor. Her spell left smoking burns across his carapace, the hideous stench of charred chitin filling the vault. But still the urdmordar came for her, like a man walking into a strong wind.

  She was not strong enough to stop him.

  ###

  Ridmark gripped the axe in his left hand and ran at the male urdmordar.

  The creature’s full attention was on Calliande. An inferno of white flame burst from her hands and slammed into the urdmordar, but he shrugged off the burns. The urdmordar moved closer to her, and soon would be near enough to strike.

  Ridmark grabbed the back of the urdmordar’s thorax. The crimson chitin felt icy cold beneath his fingers, and he heaved himself onto the urdmordar’s back. Calliande’s white flames billowed around him, but left him untouched. Her spell would harm creatures of dark magic, but not living mortals.

  Though Ridmark might not remain living much longer.

  The urdmordar felt his presence, the human-shaped torso turning to face him.

  Ridmark dashed across the urdmordar’s back with two steps and swung his axe with both hands.

  He felt the blade land, and then the urdmordar’s fist struck his stomach, throwing him to the floor.

  ###

  Gavin groaned and got to one knee.

  His chest burned from the urdmordar’s blow, and he feared he had broken a rib. He looked for his sword, saw it jutting from the urdmordar’s abdomen, just below the creature’s human-shaped torso.

  A weapon, he needed a weapon. Did one of the withered corpses have a weapon? Perhaps…

  He saw Ridmark standing on the urdmordar’s back, and then he went flying, tumbling across the floor.

  The urdmordar twitched, legs writhing and jerking. Calliande poured more white fire into the creature, and Gavin saw something jutting from the back of the urdmordar’s head, black ichor dripping down the crimson carapace.

  Ridmark’s axe.

  The urdmordar twitched once more, and then fell over.

  ###

  Calliande lowered her hands with a sigh, the fire winking out, her head ringing with the effort of wielding so much magic.

  The telepathic weight of the urdmordar faded from her thoughts.

  The creature was indeed dead.

  She blinked at the sudden gloom. The fury of her magic had lit up the hall, but now that it was gone, the only light came from Gavin’s dropped torch. The boy picked up his torch, wincing, and Caius walked closer, mace still hand.

  “Is it dead?” Gavin whispered.

  “Aye,” said Caius. “An axe to the brain will kill almost anything.”

  “Except a female urdmordar,” said Calliande. One male urdmordar had almost killed them all. What would happen if Agrimnalazur took a hand in the coming fight?

  She pushed aside the fear. It was too late to turn back now.

  Ridmark joined them, helping Kharlacht to stand.

  “You’re hurt,” said Calliande.

  Kharlacht grimaced. “I turned my leg in the fall. It is not serious…”

  “Enough,” said Calliande, summoning magic and putting her hands on Kharlacht’s left leg. The pain of his torn muscles and cracked bone flooded through her, but she gritted her teeth and commanded the spell to heal him. After that she healed Gavin’s broken ribs, trying not to shriek as the pain plunged into her chest. Caius was uninjured, thanks to the sturdiness of dwarven bones, and Ridmark was only bruised, despite his mad attack.

  Perhaps it was luck, or God indeed favored him.

  Or maybe it was sheer skill. Something had allowed him to survive so many mad deeds.

  “That went well,” said Ridmark.

  “Well?” said Gavin, incredulous. “How did that go well?”

  “We are still alive,” said Kharlacht.

  “And,” said Ridmark, putting one boot upon the male urdmordar’s chest, “the guardian is dead.” He gripped his axe and yanked it free from the urdmordar’s head with a ghastly squelching sound. Black ichor gleamed upon the blade. “Which means we can use the secret passage to help the slaves escape from here.”

  “Oh.” To judge from his expression, Gavin had not thought of that. Thought to be fair, neither had Calliande. “That will be useful, if the arachar block the main gate.”

  “Exactly,” said Ridmark. “Get your sword. You’ll likely need it soon.”

  Gavin nodded and tugged his sword from the dead urdmordar.

  “That was easier than I expected,” said Kharlacht. “I thought an urdmordar would be a more formidable foe.”

  “They are,” said Ridmark. “We were lucky. Male urdmordar are not terribly clever. If he had been thinking clearly, the urdmordar would have killed the rest of us first, and then dispatched Calliande.” Ridmark shook his head. “If he had done that, odds are that no one would ever know what had happened to us. The male urdmordar would likely forget unless Agrimnalazur happened to ask about it.”

  Calliande felt a chill. If not for Ridmark’s quick thinking, if not for her magic, the urdmordar would have killed them all with ease.

  And the male urdmordar had only a fraction of the power of a female.

  “Come,” said Ridmark, returning his axe to his belt and picking up his staff. “Philip awaits.”

  ###

  Ridmark pushed open the secret door as the bell of the assembly clanged over the ruins of Urd Arowyn.

  He looked around the street. He wanted to avoid any fights until he killed the gate guards and got the lupivirii within the walls. A few arachar, panicked by flames and the unknown attackers, would not be a challenge. But if Morwen set all the arachar to hunting Ridmark and his companions, they would die in short order.

  “You came!” hissed a man’s voice.

  Philip waited in the shadows of a ruined archway. The blacksmith hurried over, his face and clothing dirty, but his eyes eager.

  “Aye,” said Ridmark. “Are you ready?”

  Philip nodded. “I spoke to Mallen and Bardus and a few other trustworthy men. They had to go to the assembly, but they left oil in the storehouses. We can set them ablaze whenever we wish.”

  “Good,” said Ridmark, looking north. He saw the glow of the assembly’s torches reflecting against the white bulk of the central tower, heard the distant echoes of Morwen’s sermon. If she had started preaching, all of the slaves and the arachar must have gathered in the plaza. “Gavin, go with Philip. Set as many fires as you can. Calliande, Caius, Kharlacht, help me deal with the guards at the gate. The sooner we can get the lupivirii inside the walls, the better. Gavin, Philip. Meet us at the gate once you’ve set as many fires as you can. I expect Urd Arowyn will be rather frantic by then.”

  He headed towards the outer wall.

  ###

  “Here,” said Philip, pointing at a ruined mansion.

  Gavin glanced around, but the street was empty. The ruined dark elven mansion loomed overhead, its windows gazing down like the eyes of a corpse. Here and there the remnants of the disturbing, grisly reliefs the dark elves had preferred still covered the walls. Yet the mansion was a ruin, and now housed supplies to feed the slaves of the urdmordar.

  Philip led Gavin inside the mansion. Bales of hay stood stacked against one wall, while bundles of clothing and blankets rested against another. Gavin smelled oil in the air, saw that the
hay and the blankets glistened with it.

  “Fodder for the animals,” said Philip, grinning. “Should make a nice, thick black smoke.”

  Gavin nodded and raised his torch.

  “If we don’t live through this,” said Philip, “you’re a good man, Gavin.” He hesitated. “Better than your father. I was always annoyed how you kept sniffing around Rosanna, and after Cornelius opened the gate…well, I thought the worst of you. But I was wrong. You’re a good man.” He snorted. “And as mad and brave as that Gray Knight.”

  “I’m not that brave,” said Gavin. He looked a deep breath. “But thank you. And…I know I will never wed Rosanna. But if she is to wed anyone, she could do much worse than you. Much worse.”

  “Well,” said Philip. He reached behind one of the bundles and drew out the heavy hammer of a blacksmith. In his hands, it would make a formidable weapon. “Shall we kill some arachar?”

  “By all means,” said Gavin, touching the torch to the bales of hay.

  They fled from the mansion as the hay and the clothing began to burn, and went to another storehouse and started a second fire.

  And then a third, and a fourth.

  ###

  Ridmark waited in the shadows.

  A small, oval plaza lay behind the gates of Urd Arowyn, a long-dried fountain adorned with statues of armored warriors occupying its center. Six arachar stood guard over the gate. Two stood below the arch itself, spears in hand. Four waited atop the rampart, watching the path that led down to the valley and the creek.

  The arachar on the right side of the rampart carried a war horn at his belt.

  The glow from three separate fires flickered in the ruins. Both the arachar upon the wall and the slaves and arachar in the assembly would notice at any moment.

  It was time to move.

  Ridmark took a deep breath, lifted his bow, and set an arrow to the string.

  Calliande began to whisper, her fingers glimmering with white light.

  Ridmark drew back the bow and released. His arrow hissed through the gloom and plunged into the arachar with the horn. The orc staggered forward with a grunt, arms flailing, and slumped against the battlements.

  “Eh?” said the orc next to him. “What is it? The daughters will have your hide if you’ve been drinking while on guard.”

  Calliande cast her spell, and a pulsing glow of white light flared around Kharlacht. The big orc surged forward with superhuman speed, the power of Calliande’s magic driving his legs.

  “Brothers!” shouted Kharlacht. “We are under attack! To arms! To arms!”

  The orcs spun, and Ridmark took the opportunity to shoot another. The arrow sprouted from the chest of an arachar on the rampart, and the orc toppled forward with a scream, landing with bone-breaking force upon the flagstones. The two arachar waiting in the archway hurried forward, but Kharlacht acted first. His blue greatsword came around in a blur, the heavy blade taking off the head of an arachar in a fountain of green blood. The second arachar thrust his sword, but Kharlacht was already moving. He beat aside the thrust, stepped back, and brought his blade hammering down. The weapon ripped through the orc’s chest and belly, and the arachar stumbled to his knees.

  The remaining two arachar upon the wall drew their bows and took aim, but Ridmark and Caius were already running. The archers released, and Kharlacht dodged with the speed granted by Calliande’s spell. Ridmark raced up the stairs to the ramparts as the archers reached for more arrows. The first orc whirled, drawing to draw back his bow to shoot Ridmark, but Ridmark was faster. His staff hooked the bow’s string and ripped the weapon from the arachar’s hands. The orc roared and started to draw his sword, but Caius’s mace slammed into the orc’s arm with bone-shattering force. The orc bellowed again, and Ridmark swung his staff and shattered the orc’s skull.

  The second arachar lifted his bow, but Caius was already moving. His mace struck the orc in the knee, and the warrior stumbled. Ridmark swung his staff, the blow catching the orc’s other leg. The arachar tumbled from the rampart, landed in the plaza thirty feet below, and did not move again.

  Ridmark turned, looking around the courtyard, but saw no sign of any other arachar. But a fourth fire glimmered in the ruins, and even as he looked he saw a fifth flare to life. Gavin and Philip were industrious. An uneasy rumbling came from the central plaza. That would be the slaves and the arachar, realizing that something was wrong.

  Morwen would send the arachar to quench the fires soon.

  Calliande walked to the gate, the white light still flickering around her fingers.

  “They’re coming!” she called to Ridmark.

  Ridmark and Caius descended from the rampart just as a wave of dark shapes and gleaming yellow eyes flowed through the gate.

  Lupivirii.

  Hundreds of them. They moved in eerie silence, their yellow eyes reflecting the growing light from the fires. Some of them spread out and disappeared into the streets, while a few dozen stopped before Calliande and Ridmark, Rakhaag at their head. The alpha took a step forward, his form blurring into his half-human, half-beast shape.

  “Ridmark son of Leogrance,” said Rakhaag, his voice solemn. “We have come.”

  “Rather more than I expected,” said Ridmark.

  “More came at my call,” said Rakhaag. “The great memory knows that the urdmordar are the enemy, our terrible foe. We cannot face them and prevail.” He broke Ridmark’s gaze and shifted his eyes to Calliande. “But the Staffbearer has called us. If we do not aid her, our kin shall perish, and the Staffbearer will perish with them. And the cold ones shall return and destroy the True People and the great memory.”

  “I am glad of your aid,” said Ridmark. “Break into small packs. The tainted orcs will come to put out the fires soon, and you will…”

  For the first time, Ridmark heard Rakhaag laugh.

  “You will tell us how to hunt, gray warrior?” said Rakhaag. “We know how to hunt. And tonight, our prey is the tainted orcs!”

  Footsteps clattered against the flagstones, and Gavin and Philip ran into the plaza. The lupivirii snarled and snapped at them, but did not attack. Ridmark could only guess what they might have done had Calliande not been there.

  “We managed to get seven fires going,” said Gavin. “Then some arachar came to see what was happening, and we had to run.”

  The sounds of chaos from the central plaza grew louder. With many of the arachar sent away, the panic and fear would spread. Morwen and Cornelius would have a harder time keeping the slaves under control.

  And the moment of opportunity had arrived.

  “Come,” said Ridmark, lifting his staff. “Let us free some slaves.”

  He strode towards the central plaza, the others following him. All around them packs of the lupivirii vanished into the darkness, racing down the narrow streets.

  A few moments later the screams began.

  Chapter 19 - Storm

  Gavin’s heartbeat thundered in his ears.

  The wide street led towards the white tower rising from the heart of the ruins. Shouts and screams and snarls echoed from the surrounding streets, and dark forms raced through the ruins, beastmen hunting for the arachar.

  Urd Arowyn had fallen into chaos. Gavin wondered if Morwen and his father knew what was happening, if they had yet realized they were under attack.

  If they hadn’t, they soon would.

  A score of arachar burst out of a side street, running towards one of the fires, and came to a shocked halt when they saw Ridmark and the others.

  For a moment no one moved.

  Ridmark stepped forward, staff tapping against the white paving stones.

  “Let’s make this simple, shall we?” said Ridmark. “Surrender, lay down your arms, remove your armor, and depart Urd Arowyn immediately. Otherwise I will fight you.”

  The arachar leader blinked.

  “Kill them!” roared the arachar, and the orcs charged with furious yells, their black eyes flaring with the crimson haze o
f orcish battle rage.

  “Fight!” said Ridmark, and Gavin gripped his sword and raised his shield as Philip lifted his hammer.

  ###

  Ridmark sprinted at the orcs, his staff ready.

  Even through their battle rage, he saw the contempt flash across their faces. Warriors fought with swords and axes or maces, never with a quarterstaff. A staff was the weapon of peasants, of freeholders, of farmers fighting to defend their holdings from bandits and wolves. Warriors did not wield quarterstaffs.

  Ridmark had thought that, once. As a new-made squire he had boasted of his skill with the sword. Amused, his father had equipped him with a sword and sent him to fight an old man-at-arms armed with a quarterstaff. Ridmark had been certain of victory.

  The old man had beaten him so thoroughly that Ridmark had not been able to sit down for a week.

  Since then he had respected the quarterstaff. A skilled swordsman was a dangerous foe, but a man of equal skill with a quarterstaff would prevail.

  Almost every time.

  So the orcs’ surprise was absolute when Ridmark attacked.

  He struck first, the end of his staff smashing an arachar’s hand with enough force to break bones. The orc howled, rage vanishing in surprised pain, and Ridmark’s next blow cracked his skull. The orc toppled to the ground in a limp heap. Another orc came at him with an axe, and Ridmark drove the end of his staff into the arachar’s neck. The strike crushed the arachar’s windpipe, and the orc fell to his knees. A quick blow from his staff put the orc out of his misery. A third orc came at Ridmark, and he tripped the arachar with a quick sweep of his staff. The orc fell into two others, throwing off their balance.

  His friends crashed into the melee around him. Kharlacht’s sword wrote arcs of blue steel in the air, leaving trails of black-streaked green blood in its wake. Caius’s mace smashed bones and crushed skulls, while Gavin bashed with his shield, thrusting with his sword at off-balance orcs. Ridmark would have to correct the boy’s technique if they lived through this …