Frostborn: The Dwarven Prince (Frostborn #12)

by Jonathan Moeller

  Ridmark frowned, trying to think, trying to remember when he had been here before. It seemed important. It seemed terribly important…

  “Ridmark.”

  He turned, and forgot all about the old knight and the woman gowned in fire.

  The old knight sighed. “For God’s sake. Here we go again.”

  Morigna stood before the dais.

  She looked as she had on the day she died, black-haired and black-eyed, her lean body clothed in leather and fur, a cloak of tattered green and brown strips hanging from her shoulders. In her left hand, she held her symbol-carved staff, and she smiled as she saw Ridmark.

  “You have done well, my love,” said Morigna. “Kurdulkar and his servants were sent to stop you and Calliande, but you overcame them.”

  Ridmark stared at her, emotions churning through him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “For what?” said Morigna, raising her dark eyebrows.

  “For…this,” said Ridmark. “I didn’t save you.”

  “You could not have done so,” said Morigna. “My death was not your fault.”

  “Then…for what came after,” said Ridmark. “For…”

  “Ah,” said Morigna. “For Calliande has drawn your eye again?”

  He expected rage or fury or spite, but instead she laughed.

  “It is not funny,” said Ridmark.

  “Humor is a matter of perspective,” said Morigna. “Ridmark, my love, I am dead. You can love a dead woman, but you cannot live with her. I can see this now. I will always love you, but the dead do not love as the living do. Calliande loves you, and she needs you, just as you need her.”

  The old knight let out an exasperated sigh.

  “Do be quiet, old man,” said Morigna, glancing his way. “Not all of us are so ancient and decrepit that we forget what it was like to live.”

  “Centuries of waiting,” said the old knight, “and now I have to listen to this. It is undignified.”

  “We are dead, and therefore have a dignity that the living do not,” said Morigna.

  “Bah,” said the old knight, yet he smiled as he said it.

  Morigna rolled her eyes and turned back to Ridmark. “So do not mourn for me overlong, my love. I wish you to live and thrive and know joy again. But to do that, you must be ready.” Her face grew solemn. “Your enemies are coming for you.”

  “The Weaver,” said Ridmark. “He attacked today, and then he fled. I don’t know why. It seems like we drove him off, but I think he chose to withdraw.”

  “Burn with me,” murmured the woman gowned in flames. She had Calliande’s face now, and it seemed strange to see the harsh flames blazing from Calliande’s eyes.

  “Beware of him,” said Morigna. “He will come for you.”

  “I will protect Calliande,” said Ridmark.

  “You must protect yourself,” said Morigna. “The Weaver is not coming for her. He is coming for you.”

  “Me?” said Ridmark. “Why? Calliande is the Keeper. Killing her would guarantee that the Frostborn and the Enlightened would win the war.”

  “She is the Keeper,” said Morigna, “but you have become her heart. Imaria Shadowbearer knows this in her cruel wisdom.”

  “Don’t be sentimental,” said the old knight. “The new Shadowbearer fears what you might become. Better for her that she kill you before you can become even more dangerous to her.”

  “Burn with me,” said the woman gowned in flame. She stepped closer to Ridmark, opening her arms, and fire erupted from her to consume the world. “Burn with me!”

  Ridmark burned.

  ###

  His eyes jolted open, and Ridmark flew to his feet, snatching up his staff as he did so. His eyes jerked back and forth, the sweat clammy upon his forehead, his heart thundering like a drum. He looked around, trying to find what had disturbed him. Had the ghost orcs descended upon the camp? Had the Weaver returned? Had the dvargir launched another assault?

  Yet nothing seemed amiss.

  The camp was quiet, the fires burned down. He heard nothing but the splash of the Moradel against its banks and the buzz of insects, the slightly rotten smell of the river filling his nostrils.

  Nothing was wrong.

  Yet he had the overwhelming sensation that something was wrong.

  He looked at the nearby campfire. It had burned down to glowing coals, radiating heat, and that set something to scratching at the back of his mind, something important, something to do with fire.

  Burn with me…

  He shook off the stray thought. Dreams, it had just had been a dream.

  Given all the things that he had seen and all the fears that haunted him, why should he not have bad dreams? It would have been more surprising if he had not suffered the occasional nightmare.

  But he could not shake the uneasy feeling that something more was happening.

  Ridmark lay back down and sank into sleep once more.

  This time, nothing disturbed his rest.

  Chapter 4: Borderlands

  They made better time than Gavin expected along the Shaluuskan road.

  Their column rode north, the Shaluuskan Forest upon their left and the broad gray expanse of the Moradel on their right. Gavin saw no other travelers upon the road. From time to time, on the far bank of the Moradel, he glimpsed groups of horsemen. Most likely they were couriers for Prince Regent Arandar and the lords of Caerdracon, sending messages back and forth. It was also possible they were bandits, taking advantage of the chaos to prey upon the weak.

  It was also possible they were Enlightened.

  Yet none of the horsemen made any effort to cross the river.

  Gavin also spent his time watching the vast forest to the west of the road. It did not look as gloomy as the Qazaluuskan Forest of the bone orcs, but it nonetheless looked formidable, tangled and overgrown, shadows clustered beneath the boughs like pools of darkness. It seemed like the sort of place where a man could lose himself forever. Ridmark and Sir Ector commanded that no one was to enter the trees for any reason, not even to gather loose branches for firewood, and Gavin had no difficulty obeying that command.

  On the second day after Regnum, Gavin saw his first ghost orc.

  He was riding with Calliande, Antenora, Kharlacht, and Caius. Gavin found himself reminiscing with the others. They had been traveling together since they had fought the great urdmordar Agrimnalazur to save the people of Aranaeus from her insatiable hunger. Agrimnalazur had warned Ridmark that the Frostborn would return and destroy the world.

  She had been right.

  Their task had seemed simpler then. They would travel to Urd Morlemoch and learn the secret of how the Frostborn would return. Once they escaped Urd Morlemoch, they would stop Shadowbearer from opening the world gate for the Frostborn.

  It had all seemed so simple…and they had failed.

  Gavin wondered if there was something he could have done differently, if there was anything that any of them could have done differently, but he could not see how. Agrimnalazur had been right after all.

  He put that disturbing thought out of his mind and listened to Caius. The discussion had turned to the ruins of Khald Azalar, and Caius had started talking about Khald Tormen. Caius still seemed reluctant to discuss his reasons for leaving the city, but on every other topic related to Khald Tormen, he waxed eloquent.

  “Will Khald Tormen be much like Khald Azalar?” said Gavin.

  Kharlacht grunted. “Hopefully fewer dvargir and deep orcs.”

  “And malophages,” said Calliande with a shudder.

  “And basilisks,” added Antenora.

  “It will be quite different,” said Caius. “Khald Azalar was once the smallest of the dwarven kingdoms. Once there were Nine Kingdoms of the dwarves. One of them became Khaldurmar when its people abandoned the gods of stone and silence to worship the shadow of Incariel. Four others were destroyed in our long wars with the dark elves and the urdmordar and the dvargir, and the Frostborn destroyed Khal
d Azalar. The remaining Three Kingdoms of the dwarves, Khald Tormen, Khald Durast, and Khald Valazur, lie underneath the mountains of Kothluusk. Of the three, Khald Tormen is the oldest and the strongest.”

  “It is where your kindred first came to this world, isn’t it?” said Gavin.

  “Aye,” said Caius. “The khaldari were brought here just as the dark elves brought so many other kindreds to this world, to serve as slaves and soldiers in their wars against the high elves. In the Deeps below the mountains of Kothluusk, they grew a huge soulstone and used it to power a mighty world gate. Hundreds of thousands of my kindred were summoned.”

  “That seems like a poor tactical decision,” said Antenora. “Based on what I have seen of your kindred, I cannot imagine they would submit meekly to enslavement.”

  “The dark elves also summoned the urdmordar, who then devoured them,” said Kharlacht. “If summoning the dwarves was a poor tactical decision, they failed to learn from it.”

  “Even though my ancestors taught them a sharp lesson,” said Caius. “We rebelled at once, and there was a terrible battle. Tens of thousands were slain upon both sides, but in the end, the dark elves were repulsed. The first King of Khald Tormen seized the giant soulstone the dark elves had used to summon us and declared it the Stone Heart. Khald Tormen was founded, and in time my kindred prospered and built eight other kingdoms.” He sighed. “Khald Azalar, I fear, was a graveyard. Khald Tormen is the heart of the khaldari kindred, our greatest work and the seat of our civilization. All of Khald Azalar could fit comfortably within the bounds of Khald Tormen.”

  “A strange thought,” said Gavin. “It took us days to cross Khald Azalar and reach Dragonfall.”

  “No one in this world can match the engineering skill of my kindred,” said Caius with a smile, “save perhaps the high elves, and they no longer build.” His smile faded. “Though…I do wonder what we shall find at Khald Tormen. Based on what Taalmak Azakhun and his warriors said…”

  Blue fire swirled, and Third stepped out of nothingness next to Calliande’s horse. Gavin’s own horse flinched, and he took a moment to calm the beast.

  “Keeper,” said Third. “Your presence is required.”

  “What’s wrong?” said Calliande.

  “The ghost orcs are waiting for us.”

  ###

  Calliande reined up her horse next to Ridmark and Sir Ector.

  The ghost orcs awaited them in the center of the road.

  There were three of them. Two of the ghost orcs were men, as tall as Kharlacht, though thinner, and wore chain mail and bore swords. Most of the different nations and tribes of orcs had green skin, even the Anathgrimm. These orcs had skin a peculiar shade of gray, almost silvery, and it looked as if it should have reflected the light.

  An orcish woman stood between the two warriors. She was as tall as the men, with the same tusked jaw and blunt features, though less bulky. The woman wore a peculiar tattered cloak of gray cloth, the hood pulled over her head and carried a carved staff in her right hand. Beneath the cloak, she wore a long vest and a skirt over heavy boots, and several amulets of bone and stone. To Calliande’s Sight, the amulets and the staff glimmered with strange, blurring magical power. The woman was a priestess of Shalask, the orcish blood goddess of shadows and secrets.

  Yet neither the priestess nor her warriors attacked.

  “They were waiting for us,” said Ridmark in response to her unspoken question. “The priestess asked to speak with the Keeper.”

  “This could be a trap,” said Ector. “They might have warriors lying in wait for us ahead or in the trees.”

  “Maybe,” said Calliande. She drew on her Sight, sweeping it left and right. The dvargir could conceal themselves from her Sight, but the ghost orcs could not, and she saw none of them hiding nearby. “But not this time. They’re alone.”

  “Shall we find out what they want?” said Ridmark.

  “Aye,” said Calliande, swinging down from her horse. If the ghost orcs wanted to talk, then she would talk, and towering over them on a horse would start the discussion off on the wrong foot. Ridmark dropped down from his saddle, as did Gavin, and together they walked towards the ghost orcs.

  The priestess stirred as they approached, and Calliande stopped a half-dozen yards away.

  “I am Calliande, the Keeper of Andomhaim,” said Calliande in the orcish tongue. “You wish to speak with me?”

  “We do,” said the priestess. Her voice was surprisingly soft. “I am Vhorshala, a priestess of the goddess Shalask. Your coming was revealed to us in a dream, Calliande of Tarlion. Why do you cross the lands of the faithful of Shalask?”

  “We do not mean harm to you or your lands,” said Calliande. “A mission of great urgency drives me, and crossing your lands is the quickest way to achieve that task. If you let us pass in peace, we will neither harm your people or loot your goods.”

  Vhorshala considered this. “What is your mission?”

  “The Frostborn have returned to our world,” said Calliande. “As I did in centuries past, I hope to gather an alliance of all the nations and kingdoms of our world to stand against them. Else the Frostborn shall enslave us one by one.” A thought came to her. “Perhaps the followers of Shalask shall march alongside us.”

  “The faithful of Shalask stand alone,” said Vhorshala, “and do not concern themselves in the affairs of outsiders.”

  “Nevertheless,” said Calliande. “The Frostborn shall enslave all, whether followers of the Dominus Christus or the faithful of Shalask. Better to fight the Frostborn now when they can still be stopped. Else one day they shall march upon the Shaluuskan Forest itself.”

  Vhorshala said nothing, and for a moment Calliande wondered if the priestess was considering her offer. The Shaluuskan orcs had remained aloof during the last war with the Frostborn, but if they could be convinced to help, they would make valuable allies.

  “There are more immediate concerns,” said Vhorshala. “An ancient enemy of the faithful of Shalask stirs to the west.”

  “Who?” said Calliande.

  “Your presence explains much, Keeper of Andomhaim,” said Vhorshala. “Our enemy awakens to fight you. By your presence, you will oppose him who we hate most of all. Therefore, we shall permit you to cross our lands, if you do not enter into the forest itself.”

  “Thank you,” said Calliande. “Might I know more about your great enemy? If he is my foe as well, I wish to prepare myself before I fight him.”

  She wondered who this enemy was. The Frostborn? The Enlightened? The ghost orcs were so secretive that no one in Andomhaim knew much about them. They had lived in the Shaluuskan Forest for a long time, so perhaps their enemy was older than Andomhaim, maybe one of the urdmordar or a dark elven lord or the Great Houses of Khaldurmar.

  “He will make himself known to you soon enough,” said Vhorshala, “for he has set himself in your path. Be wary of him, for he is subtle and cunning, and his traps are often unseen. Beware also your other enemies. They stalk you even now.”

  With that, gray light flashed around Vhorshala and her warriors, and they vanished from sight. At least, they vanished to Calliande’s mortal eyes. The Sight saw the magical power around them, and she watched as the ghost orcs walked to the Shaluuskan Forest and disappeared into the trees.

  “They’re gone,” she said at last.

  “That was cryptic,” said Ridmark.

  “This talk of enemies,” said Gavin. “The Enlightened and the Weaver?”

  “That is probably the enemy stalking us,” said Calliande, thinking over the strange warning.

  “I doubted the Weaver was finished with us,” said Ridmark.

  “But this other enemy,” said Gavin. “The enemy of the Shaluuskan orcs. What do you think that means?”

  “A dark elven lord,” said Ridmark.

  “A dark elf?” said Gavin. “Like the Traveler?”

  “Probably,” said Calliande. “A long time ago someone mutated the ghost orcs, giving them th
e ability to turn invisible, just as the Warden mutated the Devout and the Traveler created the Anathgrimm.” Gavin nodded. “The Devout and the Anathgrimm remained loyal, worshipping the Warden and the Traveler as gods. The ghost orcs rebelled from their maker and settled in the Shaluuskan Forest.”

  “Then this dark elven lord who created the ghost orcs is your enemy?” said Gavin. “Who is he?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Calliande. “There are a dozen different stories of who created the ghost orcs. Most of the remaining dark elven lords are in hiding, lurking in the Deeps or in lonely ruins like Urd Morlemoch. The Traveler was one of the few to openly rule a realm. As for what this dark elven lord wants with me…” She sighed. “The Warden wanted to use my body to escape Urd Morlemoch and conquer Old Earth. The Traveler went to Khald Azalar to steal my power from Dragonfall. God only knows what this one might want.”

  “Whatever he wants,” said Ridmark, voice hard, “if he tries to make trouble for us, we will be ready for him.”

  ###

  But despite Ridmark’s readiness, no trouble found them.

  They passed the Shaluuskan Forest without incident. Vhorshala was true to her word, and no raiders emerged from the trees to attack them. Perhaps the ghost orcs thought Calliande could overcome their ancient enemy, whoever he was. Or maybe they hoped to remain hidden in the Shaluuskan Forest while Calliande dealt with the Frostborn.

  Or, more likely, they simply didn’t care what happened outside of their borders.

  Once they passed the Shaluuskan Forest, they turned west, crossing the lands of the orcish kingdom of Khaluusk. The king of Khaluusk was one of the three orcish kings sworn to the High King, and the warriors and headmen of Khaluusk were with Arandar, waging war against Tarrabus Carhaine. The orcs of Khaluusk had been baptized and followed the Dominus Christus with the same fervor that most orcs, whether baptized or pagan, brought to matters of religion.