“If I hadn’t been here,” said Calliande, “then perhaps you would not have gone to Aranaeus.”
“No,” said Ridmark. “I still would have. I would have found Gavin, I would have gone to Aranaeus, and sooner or later the spiderlings or Agrimnalazur herself would have killed me.” His smile was tired. “That is what I would have done.”
“Risk your life in hopes that you finally die in repayment for Aelia’s death?” said Calliande.
“I told you I don’t want to talk about Aelia,” said Ridmark.
“But I’m right,” said Calliande.
Ridmark looked away. “I am going to Urd Morlemoch to wring the secret from the Warden…but I have a better chance of success with you and the others.”
“Thank you,” said Calliande. Odd that his comment had touched her so much. “And my best chance of finding Dragonfall, of learning who I am, is with you.”
They sat in silence for a moment, watching the women with their children.
“They would have all died, or grown up as slaves,” said Calliande.
“I know,” said Ridmark.
“It was good we helped them,” said Calliande.
Ridmark nodded.
“Perhaps on the way to Urd Morlemoch,” said Calliande, “we’ll have a chance to help a few other people.”
He turned his head and smiled, one of the few genuine smiles she had ever seen from him.
“Perhaps we will,” he said.
###
The next morning Ridmark walked from the gates, Calliande, Caius, and Kharlacht following him.
Philip, Mallen, Bardus, Richard, Father Martel, and the other chief men of Aranaeus awaited him, Rosanna holding Philip’s arm.
“We have all the supplies we can carry,” said Philip, “and we are setting out for Aranaeus. We should have enough to plant a crop. We will have to tighten our belts for a year or so, but with God’s favor, we should be able to rebuild Aranaeus.”
“I think you will do well,” said Ridmark. “Praefectus.”
Philip grimaced. “They should have elected someone else. Like a nobleman. A knight. Someone who knows how to fight. Someone who could be, say, the Comes of Aranaeus.”
Ridmark laughed. “You’ll have to find someone else. I fear I have another task.”
“The Frostborn,” said Philip. “Gavin told me.”
Ridmark wondered where Gavin had gone. Perhaps he had gone to bury his father. Ridmark would have liked to say farewell, but he understood if Gavin never wanted to see him again.
Ridmark had come to Aranaeus, and Gavin’s life would never again be the same.
“The Frostborn are coming back,” said Ridmark, and he saw that they were listening to him. Usually when he spoke of the Frostborn, people ignored him or laughed him off. Even Sir Joram and Sir Constantine and Dux Gareth thought him mad with grief. “I do now know how, or why. But they shall return,” he remembered what Agrimnalazur had told him, “within a year.”
“We will prepare,” said Philip. “Gray Knight…if you ever have need of aid, come to Aranaeus. We owe you our lives and freedom.”
“May God go with you,” said Father Martel, “and aid you in your quest.”
“Perhaps he will,” said Ridmark, and he led the others down the hill towards the valley. He had not traveled in this part of the Wilderland before, but he had seen maps, and had traveled through most of the neighboring areas. From here they could proceed west until they reached the swamps surrounding Moraime, a town built around a monastery. From there they would turn northwest, towards the mountains of Kothluusk and the Three Kingdoms of the dwarves.
And then across the Torn Hills to Urd Morlemoch itself.
They reached the valley, crossed the creek, and turned west.
The lupivirii awaited them.
A score of the males stood near the creek, wearing their half-human, half-beast forms. Rakhaag stood at their head, and stepped forward as Ridmark and the others approached.
“You depart, gray warrior,” he said.
“Aye,” said Ridmark.
“Will the humans of Aranaeus trouble the True People?” said Rakhaag.
“I cannot say,” said Ridmark. “But they have taken heavy losses, and are weary of pain and suffering. If you leave them alone, if you ignore them and their flocks, they will leave you in peace.”
“We shall,” said Rakhaag. “We will return to our hunting grounds, far from the homes of humans.” He hesitated, and then lowered his eyes. “We are…grateful…to you, gray warrior, for your deeds on our behalf. In all the great memory, only the Staffbearer has ever aided us as you have. And none among the True People have ever seen the death of an urdmordar.”
“I am pleased,” said Ridmark, “that at least some of your kin were able to escape from Agrimnalazur.”
“The True People all die, in the end,” said Rakhaag, “but better that we die on the hunt, our bones weary with age, than as prey for the urdmordar.” His yellow eyes shifted to Calliande. “And you, Staffbearer, you alone have aided us more than the gray warrior. The cold ones are returning. When the hour comes, call and we will aid you.”
“I shall,” said Calliande.
“Then good hunting to you,” said Rakhaag. “The great memory will remember you, for as long as the True People endure.”
The lupivirii melted away into the trees.
“How will you call them?” said Ridmark a moment later.
“I don’t know,” said Calliande. “It must have been something I knew how to do in my previous life. When I still had my memory.” She gave a frustrated shake of her head. “I wish I could remember more. And I wish their great memory could have told me more.”
“I know,” said Ridmark, “where we can find our answers.”
He heard a boot crunch against dead leaves.
Chapter 24 - The Five
“Wait!” said Gavin.
He found Ridmark and his friends near the creek. Ridmark had his staff in hand, Calliande at his side in her leather jerkin and heavy cloak. Caius followed in his brown robes, and Kharlacht in his blue armor.
Gavin stopped a dozen paces away, his orcish sword bouncing in its scabbard, his pack digging into his shoulders.
Ridmark looked at him and nodded, as if unsurprised.
“Gavin,” said Calliande. “The other villagers are still by the gate.”
“I don’t think,” said Caius, “that our young friend is looking for the villagers of Aranaeus.”
“No,” said Gavin. He took a deep breath. “I would like to come with you.”
Ridmark said nothing.
“Why?” said Calliande.
“Because,” said Gavin. “There is nothing left for me in Aranaeus. My father is a traitor, a man who sold his neighbors into slavery, and I am his son. The villagers will never forgive me for that.”
“And Rosanna,” said Caius, “is about to marry someone else.”
Gavin looked away. “Aye.”
“I can understand that,” rumbled Kharlacht.
“You could help your neighbors rebuild,” said Caius.
“They don’t need my help,” said Gavin. “I already talked to Father Martel. Everything my father had, I inherited, and I gave it all to Father Martel and the church, to help anyone who goes hungry. And I…I would be a reminder of everything that had happened.” He shook his head. “The man whose father betrayed the village.”
Still Ridmark said nothing.
“And I want to help,” said Gavin.
“With what?” said Calliande.
“To find the Frostborn,” said Gavin. “The blue fire a month past…that was when it all began. That’s when Agrimnalazur decided to harvest Aranaeus. The Frostborn are coming back, aren’t they?”
“They are,” said Calliande. “I am utterly certain of it.”
“And you’re going to try and stop them,” said Gavin. “Let me help.” His hands curled into fists. “Their return made Agrimnalazur destroy Aranaeus. As bad as that w
as, if the Frostborn return, it will be much worse, won’t it?”
Calliande and the others looked at Ridmark. He would make the decision, Gavin knew. The others would defer to his judgment.
“If you don’t want to return to Aranaeus,” said Ridmark, “I can send you with a letter to Castra Marcaine. The Dux will take you as a squire in his court. In time, if you serve well and valiantly, you will become one of his household knights. Given the bravery you showed against the arachar and Agrimnalazur, I don’t think you will find that much of a challenge.”
It was a tempting offer. Urd Arowyn was the farthest Gavin had ever been from Aranaeus, and for a moment visions of traveling through the realm flashed through his mind, of seeing Castra Marcaine and Cintarra and Coldinium and Tarlion and all the other places Father Martel had told him about.
“That is a kind offer, sir,” said Gavin, “and I may take you up on it. But only after this is done. After you and Lady Calliande have defeated the Frostborn, then I might go to Castra Marcaine. But this…this is important. After what happened at Aranaeus, I have to see it through to the end.”
Ridmark sighed. “I should have left Dun Licinia the moment Qazarl was dead.”
Calliande laughed. “We already had this talk.”
“I know,” said Ridmark, and his cold eyes fixed on Gavin. “You understand what I’m doing? The Frostborn are returning, and I’m going to Urd Morlemoch to find out how and why. We could be killed on the way there. If even make it there, we will very likely be killed. The Warden is even more formidable than the tales claim, and will not easily divulge his secrets.”
“I thought I was going to die yesterday,” said Gavin. “If by following you I can help make amends for the harm my father has done, then I will do it.”
“You’ll have to be trained,” said Ridmark, “in the use of the sword and shield. It’s nothing short of a miracle you haven’t cut off your own foot yet.”
“Well,” said Gavin, taking a deep breath, “if you’re the Gray Knight… doesn’t every knight need a squire?”
Ridmark blinked, and the others laughed.
“Well spoken, Gavin,” said Caius.
“God have mercy, Gavin,” said Ridmark, “you’re as mad as they are.”
Calliande laughed again. “Said the man who fought an urdmordar and lived, twice, and is now going to Urd Morlemoch.”
Ridmark ignored the tease. “So. I have said what I intend to do. And knowing all that, do you still want to follow me?”
“Yes,” said Gavin.
“So be it,” said Ridmark. “Then gather your possessions and come. I want to make at least another ten miles before nightfall.”
“I will not disappoint you, sir,” said Gavin.
Ridmark almost smiled. “I don’t think you will. Though you will do the cooking tonight.”
###
Ridmark Arban turned his face to the west.
Urd Morlemoch awaited.
And within the darkness of the Warden’s stronghold, perhaps he would find the answers that both he and Calliande sought.
Epilogue
In the great hall of the Iron Tower, Sir Paul Tallmane knelt before the dais and told his tale. He did not bother to lie, did not paper over his failures in Aranaeus. The creature standing atop the dais would know if he lied.
Paul realized that he was going to die.
Actually, death was probably more than he could hope for.
Considering what the creature atop the dais could do to him.
Considering the inhuman screams he often heard echoing from the dungeons of the Iron Tower.
“And then I returned here, Master,” said Paul, still not daring to lift his eyes. His broken wrist throbbed in its splint.
“So I observe,” said the Master.
The Master’s voice was…wrong. It was deep and resonant and commanding, yet carried an eerie echo. A resonance that made Paul’s head hurt and sent a shiver down his spine.
As if two creatures were trying to speak through the same mouth at once.
“Look at me,” said the Master.
Paul shuddered, swallowed, and lifted his eyes to the Master, the creature that some called Shadowbearer.
The Master was a high elf, clad in a black tunic, trousers, and boots beneath a long black-trimmed coat the color of blood. The wizards of the high elves wore coats like that, though Paul was not sure that the Master was still a high elf. His skin was the grayish-white of a corpse, and black veins threaded beneath his face and hands. The irises of his bloodshot eyes were the color of quicksilver, and Paul saw his reflection in them.
The Master stepped closer, and Paul flinched. A hearth burned in the wall to Paul’s left, throwing his shadow to the right. Yet the Master’s shadow pointed at Paul, like a serpent ready to strike.
Paul knew what would happen if that shadow touched him.
“So,” said the Master, “the Dux sent you to kill his old enemy. Instead the Gray Knight slew all your men, and in a fit of mercy let you live. Is that the sum of it?”
“Yes, Master,” said Paul. “The failure is mine.”
The Master glanced at the ceiling, as if distracted.
“Perhaps,” said the Master, “the fault is mine.”
Paul had not expected that. He started to speak, and then realized that keeping quiet was a good idea.
“I knew that word would reach the Dux about the Gray Knight,” said the Master, “and the Dux would send someone after him. The Dux never forgiven him for that dead girl in Castra Marcaine.” He shook his head. “So the Dux sent you…and Ridmark Arban prevailed. That is not surprising. The man is a lion, and you, Sir Paul, are not. As well send a mouse to slay a cat.”
Paul started to protest, his anger rising. Then sanity reasserted itself and he clamped his mouth shut. One did not question the Master.
“Remain here,” said the Master, descending from the dais. He strode past Paul without a glance, his shadow sweeping after him like the wings of a hunting raptor. “I shall have duties for you soon enough.”
He left the great hall without another word.
A scream echoed up from the dungeons, faint and full of despair.
Paul let out a long breath, marveling at his survival.
The anger returned, partly at himself.
But mostly at Ridmark Arban.
The Enlightened of Incariel did not tolerate weakness, but Paul had been given a second chance. He would prove himself strong, would prove himself worthy to reign with the Enlightened in immortality forevermore.
And to do that, he need only kill Ridmark Arban.
###
The creature that some men called Shadowbearer stood upon the ramparts of the Iron Tower, gazing to the north. Behind him stretched the rippling water of the Lake of Battles. The lords of Andomhaim had given the lake its name from the numerous battles against the pagan orcs fought upon its shores. But many battles had been fought here, long before the humans had even come through the gate from Old Earth.
Many, many mortals had died here.
And many more would, before Shadowbearer was done.
Time had not run out yet. He still had a year before the conjunction of the thirteen moons passed.
And he had more servants other than the idiots of the Enlightened of Incariel.
Shadowbearer closed his eyes and sent his will ranging north.
A few moments later he touched the mind he sought. It was ancient by the standards of the humans, nearly two centuries old, though that was but a drop in the ocean of years Shadowbearer had seen.
And a drop in the endless abyss of the howling black power filling him.
“Master?” said the mind, its words brushing against Shadowbearer’s thoughts. “It has been a long time.”
Shadowbearer opened his eyes and smiled.
“It has,” he said. “But I have a task for you. You proved the strongest, and therefore you are worthy. Soon a man and a woman shall pass near your home.” He sent an image of C
alliande of Tarlion and Ridmark Arban, of his old enemy and her newfound protector. “They carry an empty soulstone. Kill them both and bring the soulstone to me. Do this, and I shall reward you with power beyond anything you can imagine.”
For a moment there was silence.
Then the mind answered, its words filled with confidence.
“It shall be as you say, Master. They both will die.”
THE END
Thank you for reading FROSTBORN: THE EIGHTFOLD KNIFE. If you liked the story, please consider leaving a review at your ebook site of choice.
Ridmark Arban and his companions will return in early 2014 in FROSTBORN: THE UNDYING WIZARD. To receive immediate notification of new releases, sign up for my newsletter, or watch for news on my Facebook page.
About the Author
Standing over six feet tall, Jonathan Moeller has the piercing blue eyes of a Conan of Cimmeria, the bronze-colored hair a Visigothic warrior-king, and the stern visage of a captain of men, none of which are useful in his career as a computer repairman, alas.
He has written the DEMONSOULED series of sword-and-sorcery novels, and continues to write THE GHOSTS sequence about assassin and spy Caina Amalas, the COMPUTER BEGINNER'S GUIDE series of computer books, and numerous other works.
Visit his website at:
http://www.jonathanmoeller.com
Visit his technology blog at:
http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/screed
Contact him at:
[email protected]
You can sign up for his email newsletter here, or watch for news on his Facebook page.
Other books by the author
The Frostborn Series
Frostborn: The Gray Knight (Frostborn #1)
Frostborn: The Eightfold Knife (Frostborn #2)
Frostborn: The First Quest
The Orc's Tale (Tales of the Frostborn short story)
The Soulblade's Tale (Tales of the Frostborn short story)
The Third Soul Series
Frostborn: The Eightfold Knife Page 30
