Frostborn: The Eightfold Knife

by Jonathan Moeller

  Then the bolt exploded.

  Ridmark threw himself before Calliande as a column of green and black fire erupted from Agrimnalazur, brighter than the fires raging through the storehouses. Calliande slumped to her knees with a groan.

  The fire faded away.

  Agrimnalazur looked at the ramparts, the glow in her eyes dimming, her beautiful, terrible face filled with confusion. A smoking crater filled most of her torso, the chitin armor charred and blackened.

  “A…a clever,” she rasped, “a clever…herd animal…” She smiled. “But…remember this, when the Frostborn come for you. You will wish…you will wish to you had sworn to serve…me…”

  The light faded from her eyes, and she collapsed motionless to the ground, her legs a tangled knot.

  Dead.

  Calliande opened her eyes, breathing hard.

  Ridmark picked up his staff and descended the stairs, moving closer to the urdmordar. The half-melted bolt still jutted from her chest, glowing like a sullen coal. The remains of the dark elven dagger drooped from the bolt, withered like a burned leaf. No black flames danced around the blade. Ridmark prodded her with his staff, and she did not move.

  She was truly dead.

  “You did it,” said Philip, stunned. “You killed an urdmordar.”

  “No.” Ridmark looked at Calliande, at where Gavin knelt beside his father. “I had help.”

  ###

  Gavin looked at his father’s gray face, at his terrified, bloodshot eyes.

  “Gavin,” whispered Cornelius. “It…it…the goddess…”

  “She’s dead,” said Gavin.

  “I hated her,” said Cornelius. “I hated her so much. But I wasn’t brave. Not like your mother.” His eyes met Gavin’s. “Not like you.”

  Gavin did not know what to say.

  “It’s over now,” he said at last.

  “Yes,” said Cornelius. “Gavin. I did it…everything that I did, I did it for you. To keep you safe from her. To…”

  He slumped against the ground, letting out his final breath.

  Gavin bowed his head and wept.

  Chapter 23 - The Return

  The next morning, Ridmark walked through the plaza at the heart of Urd Arowyn.

  The air smelled of smoke and death. A cool wind whistled through the ruins, black plumes of smoke trailing from the smoldering storehouses. Dead lupivirii lay scattered across the ground, and they would lie there until their flesh moldered and scavengers picked their bones. The beastmen did not bury their dead.

  Perhaps they lived on in their great memory. Or perhaps Caius was right, and the lupivirii died in a state of savage innocence and entered paradise.

  Ridmark did not know.

  He stopped at the makeshift encampment at the base of the tower, away from the spiderling bodies upon the stairs. Crows descended from the skies to feast upon the dead lupivirii, but the birds went nowhere near the dead spiderlings.

  “How is she?” said Ridmark.

  A fire crackled against the foot of the tower, and Calliande lay unconscious near it, wrapped in a blanket. Caius and Kharlacht stood guard over her. None of the beastmen would dare harm the Staffbearer, but if anyone else tried, they would quickly come to a bloody end.

  “Well enough,” said Caius. “I think she just needs rest. How are you? You must be exhausted.”

  Ridmark gave a distracted nod, looking at Calliande. “I can rest when I’m dead.”

  After Agrimnalazur’s death, Calliande had rushed back to the plaza to heal both Caius and Kharlacht. Then she had gone to the beastmen, healing them one by one, enduring their pain until it had been too much for her and she collapsed into unconsciousness.

  “Where’s Gavin?” said Caius.

  “I took sent him with Philip,” said Ridmark. “The villagers were milling all over the valley, but Philip and Bardus and Mallen and some of the other men put them in order. Father Martel and Philip have taken charge, and I expect our young blacksmith is going to find himself elected praefectus before too much longer.”

  Caius snorted. “And wed, most likely.”

  “Aye,” said Ridmark. Gavin’s weary expression had not changed when Rosanna had flown weeping into Philip’s arms, though he had smiled when Rosanna had thanked him for bringing Philip back to her.

  Kharlacht grunted. “Will they not take vengeance upon him for helping to slay Agrimnalazur?”

  “Probably not,” said Ridmark. “Agrimnalazur was a goddess for many of them, but we killed her nonetheless. I imagine seeing your goddess die would shake the faith of even the most stalwart believer.”

  “And unlike the Dominus Christus,” said Caius, “she will not rise again on the third day.”

  “No,” said Ridmark. “I do not think many of the villagers knew the truth about Agrimnalazur, and those who did were held in line by fear. Like Cornelius. The rest were simply indifferent. But after this shock, I think Father Martel will have far more worshippers in his church.”

  Claws rasped against stone. Rakhaag approached, wearing his half-human form. Fresh scars from Agrimnalazur’s claws marked his torso. He would have bled to death, had Calliande not healed him.

  “Ridmark son of Leogrance,” said Rakhaag.

  “Rakhaag son of Balhaag,” said Ridmark.

  “Will you keep your bargain?” said Rakhaag. The lupivir alpha had seemed subdued ever since Agrimnalazur’s death. Ridmark suspect the great memory contained very few recollections of an urdmordar meeting defeat. “Will you help us awake our females and young?”

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. “I would not betray you. Not after you fought valiantly at our side against Agrimnalazur.” He pointed at Calliande’s motionless form. “And even if I were of a mind to do so, which I am not, I would not betray the Staffbearer, not after she had given her word.”

  At last Rakhaag lowered his challenging gaze. “That is acceptable.”

  “Have your hunters gathered the plants I requested?” said Ridmark.

  Rakhaag snarled an acknowledgment, and a dozen beastmen came forward, bearing plants gathered from the valley, and Brother Caius went to work. The dwarves had lived upon this world far longer than the humans, and they too had fought the urdmordar.

  And they knew how to wake those who had fallen victim to the venom of the urdmordar.

  Kharlacht’s nose wrinkled behind his tusks. “That does not smell pleasant.”

  “It does not,” said Caius, mixing the ingredients in a pot over the fire. “But it makes an excellent cure for hangovers. And it will wake anyone who has fallen victim to the sleeping poison of the urdmordar.”

  “Stay with Calliande,” said Ridmark. Kharlacht nodded, and Ridmark led Caius and Rakhaag into the heart of the central tower, steam rising from Caius’s foul-smelling pot. They stepped into a huge round chamber, once the great hall of some long-dead dark elven prince. Slender pillars supported delicate balconies, and the chamber would have been beautiful, if not for the disturbing reliefs of chilling beauty that covered the walls, scenes that showed the dark elves torturing dwarves and halflings and orcs.

  And for the masses of thick webs strung between the pillars, hundreds of humans and lupivirii wrapped in cocoons of webbing.

  “Quite the larder,” said Caius.

  Ridmark crossed to the nearest cocoon and cut it open, revealing the face of a lupivirii girl of about twelve, her eyes closed, her skin pallid and chill beneath the black fur. Caius lifted the pot to her face, and she shuddered, her yellow eyes flying open.

  “Best send to the villagers for help,” said Ridmark. “This might take a while.”

  ###

  Gavin walked alone through the makeshift encampment.

  In the chaos of Ridmark’s attack, the villagers had fled Urd Arowyn as fast as they could, wandering the valley in the dark. Bardus and Mallen and Rosanna's father had started putting things to order, and Philip had come and taken charge.

  They had rounded up most of the survivors, though a few people had s
imply disappeared. Some, Gavin was sure, had struck out on their own, preferring to take their chances in the Wilderland. Others had likely fled south to Aranaeus. A few had been killed. There were predators other than urdmordar in the hills of the Wilderland.

  But most of the captives had survived.

  More than Gavin could have hoped.

  As he walked through them, he felt their stares.

  Their fear, their mistrust.

  Even their hatred.

  He could not blame them. Cornelius had betrayed them to the arachar, and he was Cornelius’s son. He heard their whispers. Perhaps he had betrayed them, too. Maybe he had gone into Urd Dagaash to summon the arachar. The Gray Knight had freed them, but perhaps Gavin was as false as his father, allying himself with Ridmark when victory became apparent.

  None of that was true. Gavin knew what had happened. He knew what the villagers said about him wasn’t true.

  But they whispered it nonetheless.

  And Gavin found that he did not care. He did not blame them, but neither did he care.

  He walked through the camp until he found Rosanna. She stood talking with Father Martel, discussing how to best arrange the supplies for the journey south.

  “Gavin!” she said, smiling as she saw him. “You should get some sleep.”

  “So should you,” said Gavin. “You were up all night.”

  “But I was not fighting,” said Rosanna.

  “Or slaying an urdmordar,” said Martel. “Such a feat…only Swordbearers and Magistri have slain urdmordar in the past. For common men to do so…”

  “Ridmark did it,” said Gavin. “It was his plan. And Calliande’s magic. If not for them, Agrimnalazur would have killed us all.”

  “But Philip told us you fought valiantly,” said Rosanna. “If you hadn’t distracted the demon, she would have killed the Gray Knight before he could release the ballista.”

  “And your father,” said Martel, voice quiet, “seems to have repented, before the end.”

  “Aye,” said Gavin. “Maybe.” A jumble of pain and rage and regret burned through his heart at the mention of Cornelius. “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “But Ridmark sent me. They’ve woken up most of the children, and need someone to take them in hand.”

  “I will speak to the other women,” said Rosanna. “Perhaps we shall have some tears of joy before this day is done. God knows we need them.” She smiled at him again. “We’ll rebuild Aranaeus, won’t we? We’ll make it better and stronger than it was.”

  “Yes.” Gavin nodded. “You will.”

  She hugged him and vanished into the camp.

  Gavin stood alone with Martel for a moment.

  “It is not just,” said the old priest, “how the villagers blame you for this.”

  Gavin shrugged. “I understand it. We have endured much misery, and my father was the author of most of it.”

  “But you sought to warn the village that our foe was something darker than the beastmen,” said Martel, “and you were right. And you fought for our freedom. But the scriptures recorded it truly. A prophet has no honor in his hometown.”

  Gavin laughed. “I’m not a prophet, Father. I’m…”

  Who was he now?

  The praefectus’s son? Cornelius was dead. A man of Aranaeus? The village was ashes, and it would never be the same. The boy who was in love with Rosanna? Rosanna and Philip would wed the moment they returned to Aranaeus.

  So who was Gavin now?

  “What will you do once we depart?” said Martel.

  “I don’t know,” said Gavin.

  “Rosanna would like it if you remained for the wedding,” said Martel. “Philip, too, now that you have gone through grave danger together.”

  “They would,” said Gavin, “but I wouldn’t.”

  Martel offered a gentle smile. “I understand. I was once a young man myself. Go with God, Gavin. I would tell you to remember mercy, to show valor in the face of evil, but you have already learned those lessons far better than I could teach.”

  “Thank you,” said Gavin. “For everything.”

  He left the camp.

  ###

  Calliande drifted in the mists of her mind.

  By now the dream was familiar to her. Glimpses from her past, cloaked in the haze choking her memory, flashed before her eyes. Terrible battles, as men in shining steel faced figures in armor the color of gray ice, blue eyes burning in their crystalline faces.

  Fire and ice and death, a sword of red gold ablaze with flames.

  A council of old men in white robes, frowning at her.

  The cold darkness of the vault below the Tower of Vigilance closing around her.

  And something she had not seen before, a chamber full of skulls, countless skulls, the skulls of dragons watching her with empty eyes…

  The mists rippled, and again Calliande saw the white-robed Watcher, his tired eyes full of sadness.

  “You almost died,” said the Watcher. “Below Urd Dagaash, and again in Urd Arowyn.”

  “I know,” said Calliande.

  “And if you had,” said the Watcher, “the empty soulstone would have fallen into the claws of Agrimnalazur, and there would have been no one left to stop the Frostborn.”

  “The urdmordar care nothing for tools,” said Calliande, “and Agrimnalazur would have cast aside the soulstone and forgotten about it. And those people needed me, needed my power. Magic is supposed to serve and defend the people of this world, not torment them. If I had turned my back on them and pursued my own goals…I would have been no better that Talvinius and Alamur.”

  The Watcher sighed. “The loss of your memory has not changed you, Calliande. As always you are ready to take terrible risks in defense of others, heedless of the cost to yourself.”

  Calliande raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were not permitted to speak of my past.”

  The Watcher snorted. “This is so. But I am not speaking of the past. I merely point out the obvious. The blatantly obvious.”

  “I cannot dispute that,” said Calliande.

  He smiled. “It was one of the things I admired about you. One of the reasons I followed you in life, and serve you after death.”

  “And you can tell me no more, I suppose?” said Calliande.

  “I cannot,” said the Watcher, “but I can warn you. Look.”

  He pointed, and deep in the mists Calliande saw a flare of blood-colored light. “What is that?” she said.

  “Shadowbearer,” said the Watcher. “He is seeking you, always seeking you. You escaped from his undead slaves, but he will never stop hunting you. Because you are the key to either stopping the Frostborn, or allowing them to return.”

  “How?” said Calliande.

  “I can tell you no more,” said the Watcher.

  Calliande pounded a fist against her leg in frustration. “Someday you will tell me a straight answer and the moons shall freeze in their courses overhead.”

  “I grieve that I cannot tell you more,” said the Watcher. “I would, if I could work my will, but I cannot. You know what you must do. Find Dragonfall, find your staff, and you shall have your answers.”

  Again the strange image of a chamber lined with dragon skulls flashed through her mind.

  “Very well,” said Calliande.

  She turned to go, preparing to dismiss the strange dream.

  And then a thought occurred to her.

  “I don’t suppose,” said Calliande, “that you know anything about the Enlightened of Incariel?”

  “I do,” said the Watcher. “And I can speak of it to you.”

  “You can?” said Calliande. “Why?”

  “Because it is not part of your past,” said the Watcher. “It began after you entered the long sleep below the Tower. And I am the Watcher, am I not? I watch the mortal world, to prepare for your return.”

  “Then tell me about the Enlightened,” said Calliande. Even if she could get nothing useful about the Frostborn or Dragonfall from the
Watcher, perhaps he could tell her about the Enlightened that Paul Tallmane had claimed to serve.

  “They began during the war of the five Pendragon princes a hundred years past,” said the Watcher. “They worship a creature they call Incariel, a name they give to the great void the dark elves worshipped. They claim the worship of Incariel will make them superior men, immortal and invincible, able to vanquish the urdmordar and the dark elves without the aid of the Magistri or the Swordbearers. They desire to break the Pact of Ardrhythain and the Two Orders and use magic to conquer the world and make all other kindreds, and most of mankind, their slaves.” He shook his head. “Beyond that I can say nothing more. They are very secretive…and I fear they have spread through the nobles and Magistri of Andomhaim like a cancer. Beware them, Calliande. If they learn who you are, they will come for you and the empty soulstone. And you must beware them for one other reason.”

  “What is that?” said Calliande.

  “They are the devoted servants of Shadowbearer,” said the Watcher.

  The red light pulsed in the distance, and the dream vanished.

  ###

  Calliande awoke with a splitting headache, every joint in her body stiff.

  She sat up and groaned, rubbing her head. She lay at the base of Urd Arowyn’s central tower. People milled through the plaza, women with children, many of them crying.

  “Drink this.”

  Ridmark handed her a cup that smelled and tasted of medicine. Calliande drank it all as he sat next to her.

  “How do you feel?” he said.

  “Terrible,” said Calliande. “How long was I asleep?”

  “All of the night and most of the day,” said Ridmark. “It’s almost sunset now. If you feel up to it, we will depart tomorrow.”

  Calliande raised her eyebrows. “So you won’t run off while I recover this time?”

  She regretted saying it at once, but to her surprise, Ridmark laughed.

  “No, not this time,” he said. “You were right. You have every reason to follow me. We both want to find the secret of the Frostborn, and stop them from returning, if we can.” He shrugged. “And if you had not been here, I would have been killed. I couldn’t fight an urdmordar on my own.”