Frostborn: The Dwarven Prince (Frostborn #12)

by Jonathan Moeller

  Ridmark blinked.

  The Sculptor’s words rattled around inside of his head like dry bones inside an urn.

  The mind must always form itself to the shape of your flesh…

  The horrified realization came to him.

  “You killed Calazon,” said Ridmark, a hard rasp in his voice.

  The Sculptor fell silent, and Third frowned at Ridmark.

  “You’ve been at Khald Tormen the entire time,” said Ridmark. “You killed Calazon and took his place.”

  “Ah,” said the Sculptor, looking at the Cutter again. “It seems your assessment of his intelligence was better than mine.” The Sculptor gestured, and his form blurred and shifted, changing to the gray-robed appearance of the stonescribe Calazon. He gestured again, and took his true form. “Do you like the shapechange spell? The amount of effort required to avoid the Sight of the Keeper was not trivial.”

  “You infiltrated the dwarves of Khald Tormen,” said Third. “Why?”

  The Sculptor smiled. It was a mad smile, the smile of a cruel child amused by the suffering of his pets. He did not have the cold hubris of the Warden or the wild madness of the Traveler but he was just as insane nonetheless.

  “Let us see if my servant’s assessment of your intelligence is correct,” said the Sculptor. “Why did I infiltrate the dwarves?”

  Ridmark stared at the dark elven lord. He remembered the soulstone Calliande had carried and Imaria had used to create the world gate. Imaria had empowered the soulstone with Morigna’s death, draining away the dark magic she had stolen from the Warden.

  And the Stone Heart was a giant soulstone.

  “A world gate,” said Ridmark. “You’re going to kill the Keeper and use her magic to open a world gate in the Stone Heart.”

  “Remarkable,” said the Sculptor. “Clearly you possess greater logical faculty than I thought. I wish I had the time to dissect your brain.”

  “Why?” said Ridmark. “Have you decided to throw your lot in with the Frostborn? Or do you think to summon a new kindred to fight them? It worked so well when you summoned the urdmordar.”

  The Sculptor just stared at him.

  “Perhaps my original assessment of your intellectual capacity was optimistic,” said the Sculptor.

  “Why open another world gate?” said Ridmark.

  “The Stone Heart empowers many of the warding glyphs shielding Khald Tormen,” said the Sculptor. “Consequently most of the great soulstone’s capacity maintains those glyphs, and there is little left. It will only open a weak and feeble world gate, with only enough power to allow passage for a few individuals.”

  “You don’t want to rule the world,” said Ridmark. “You want to escape before it’s too late.”

  “The flesh shapes the mind,” said the Sculptor, “and your flesh is that of a warrior, and therefore your mind cannot see the simple and inescapable truth. The Frostborn cannot be defeated.”

  “The Keeper beat them once before,” said Ridmark.

  “That was merely the vanguard of their Dominion,” said the Sculptor. “An expeditionary force. This time they have come to conquer, and they will not stop. Already they are too well-fortified to be dislodged from the Northerland. Even if your plans are successful, even if you create a league of humans and dwarves and orcs and manetaurs, at best you will secure a temporary stalemate. The Frostborn will summon reinforcements and will wear you down. It will take a century at most, but in the end, the Frostborn will conquer this world.”

  “Will you surrender so easily?” said Ridmark.

  “Your defiance is a consequence of the configuration of your flesh,” said Sculptor. “The Frostborn are superior. Their very flesh is infused with the essence of their magic, and they are stronger than even the urdmordar, and they have enslaved and conquered all who stand in their path. I have no wish to be conquered or enslaved. Consequently, I will flee this doomed world and leave you to your fate.”

  “No,” said Ridmark. “I will not let you harm the Keeper.”

  “The spell might not harm her,” said the Sculptor. “It will only require a few days of preparation. Once I have departed this world for another, your fate is of no further consequence to me, and you may do as you wish.”

  “A few moments ago you said you only wished to speak with the Keeper,” said Ridmark. “Now you said that the spell might not kill her. I am reasonably sure that you are lying about that as well. And if the Stone Heart powers the defenses of Khald Tormen and you meddle with it…I assume there will be unpleasant side effects?”

  “A few thousand khaldari might die in the resultant explosions,” said the Sculptor. “Perhaps as many as ten thousand. But what does that matter? They will all die anyway when the Frostborn destroy Khald Tormen. At least if you accept my offer, the khaldari will join your alliance, and you can maintain the illusion of hope for a little while longer.”

  “That is not a compelling offer,” said Ridmark. “You will murder thousands of dwarves, and you will probably murder the Keeper. For that matter, if you kill thousands of dwarves, do you really think they will want to aid us?”

  The Sculptor shrugged. “That is no concern of mine. Very well. What if you were to benefit personally?”

  Ridmark frowned. “Are you trying to bribe me?”

  “Would you like your wife back?”

  Something cold shifted in Ridmark. “What?”

  The Sculptor shrugged. “Growing a clone of her physical form would be an elementary application of my alchemical spells. You could have as many clones of her as you like, and I can alter their brains so they would automatically obey your every wish.”

  “That is repellent,” said Ridmark, the cold feeling turning to rage.

  “Why?” said the Sculptor. “Unlike other kindreds, human males are always in heat. Are clones of your wife insufficient? I understood you took another lover after her, a sorceress named…”

  “Morigna,” said the Cutter.

  “Yes, that was it, Morigna,” said the Sculptor. “I can grow clones of her as well. As many as you wish, configured to be docile and obedient. Both of your dead wife and your dead lover.”

  Ridmark’s fingers tightened against his staff.

  “No,” said Ridmark. “You’re not going to touch the Keeper. We’re going to return to Khald Tormen and let the King know that you murdered Calazon and have been taking his place ever since.”

  “I told you he would be defiant, master,” said the Cutter.

  “You were correct,” said the Sculptor. “No matter. Do you think me a fool, Ridmark Arban?”

  “You’re planning to murder the Keeper to save your own worthless hide, and you tried to bribe me with mindless slaves made in the image of Aelia and Morigna?” said Ridmark. “You’re damned right I consider you a fool.”

  The Sculptor smiled. “The consideration of lesser kindreds is of no importance.”

  Something moved in the house behind the Sculptor, and Ridmark lifted his staff.

  “Did you think I would not prepare for your rejection?” said the Sculptor.

  “Then you’re going to kill us?” said Ridmark, gauging the distance to the Sculptor. If he struck at once, perhaps he could surprise the dark elven lord. Neither the Warden nor the Traveler had been lacking in arrogance, and perhaps the Sculptor had become overconfident. But the Cutter’s gaze had never wavered from Ridmark, and he suspected the Sculptor was not as careless as he appeared.

  “Certainly not,” said the Sculptor. “I’m going to Khald Tormen to escape from this world before the Frostborn destroy it. My creations will remain behind and ensure that you are going to die.”

  He beckoned, and a pale form stepped from the empty house behind him.

  A bolt of shock blazed through Ridmark.

  Morigna walked from the doorway, smirking at Ridmark.

  She was naked, and her pale, lean form was just as Ridmark remembered, her long black hair bound in a braid that swayed between her shoulder blades, her black eye
s flashing as she looked at him. A wave of lust and regret and sorrow went through Ridmark.

  “Lord magister?” said Third.

  She wouldn’t know what Morigna looked like. Morigna had been killed before Ridmark had met Third.

  Had the Sculptor resurrected her? It was impossible, utterly impossible, but…

  A second Morigna walked from the house, then a third and a fourth, and then Aelia Licinius Arban emerged from the doorway. Like Morigna, she was naked. She had darker skin than Morigna, her breasts and hips fuller, and Ridmark’s eyes froze on her, a torrent of memories shooting through his mind.

  A second Aelia came from the doorway, and two more copies of Morigna.

  “Lord magister,” said Third, her voice urgent. “Ridmark.”

  “They’re urshanes, aren’t they?” said Ridmark. A dozen of the duplicates had come into the square, standing behind the Sculptor and the Cutter, all them smirking. Ridmark had seen a lot of disturbing things in his life, but seeing a dozen naked copies of Morigna and Aelia was one of the worst. “Your pet shapeshifters.”

  “Yes,” said the Sculptor. “I would have grown you the real thing, perfect duplicates of your slain wife and lover, obedient to you in every way. Instead, you have chosen death. Kill him.”

  He gestured, and both he and the Cutter vanished in a snarl of blue fire and shadow.

  The duplicates shivered, and their eyes changed. Aelia’s eyes had been green and Morigna’s black, but now they became yellow with vertical black pupils. Fangs curled behind their lips, and over their shoulders rose tails like those of a scorpion, the ends tipped with a barbed stinger.

  The disguised urshanes glided forward, tails swaying over their shoulders.

  Chapter 15: Hunting

  “Third,” said Ridmark.

  “I cannot travel away,” she said, voice tight as she watched the urshanes. “The Sculptor’s suppression spell lingers. Likely he cast it over the entire area.”

  “Then how did he travel away?” said Ridmark, watching as the urshanes approached, spreading out in a loose semicircle. He glanced over his shoulder and saw more urshanes in Aelia’s form moving to block the alley to the main street.

  “He would not craft a trap that would hold himself,” said Third.

  “No,” said Ridmark, watching the urshanes. Ridmark and Third were outnumbered, and they had to get away. His first thought had been to send Third to travel away and get help, but they were trapped. They had to get away, or at least find ground more advantageous to a fight.

  His eyes swept over the houses, and an idea came to him.

  Perhaps they could do both at once.

  “Ridmark, my love,” crooned one of the urshanes wearing Aelia’s form. “You have forgotten me. You have forsaken me. You abandoned me for this gaunt sorceress…”

  “And you have forgotten me,” said one of the urshanes in Morigna’s form. “You abandoned me for the Keeper, for whom you have always lusted…”

  “They are not real,” said Third in a low, urgent voice. “They can read your thoughts and take the form of someone from your past to torment you, to…”

  “Yes, I know,” said Ridmark. The first time he had gone to Urd Morlemoch, nearly thirteen years ago, one of the Warden’s urshanes had taken Aelia’s form, taunting him and luring him in. Ridmark knew better than to fall for the trick, but by God and the saints, seeing copies of his dead wife and dead lover glide towards him was disturbing in the extreme.

  He rebuked himself as a fool. He should have realized the Sculptor’s plans sooner. The Warden had even used the same trick on Ridmark during that long-ago visit to Urd Morlemoch. Disguised as Calazon, the Sculptor could come and go as he pleased from Khald Tormen, and Calliande had no idea of the deadly danger waiting for her in plain sight.

  Ridmark had to get out of here alive because there was no one else to warn Calliande. If he and Third died here, Narzaxar and the others would assume the urshanes had killed them, and would not know of the danger waiting in the heart of Khald Tormen.

  “Come with us,” said one of the Morigna-urshanes, beckoning with her left hand, her hips cocked as she took a pose. “Come with us, and we will give you pleasures such as few men have ever known.”

  “I doubt that,” said Ridmark.

  One of the Aelia-urshanes laughed. “He is besotted with the freak next to him.”

  “Hardly,” said Third.

  “Perhaps he shall be more tractable once the freak is killed,” said the urshane.

  “I know what you really are,” said Ridmark. He took a step back towards the house behind him. “I’ve seen the real appearance of an urshane. I fear that has killed any ardor I might have for you.”

  “Also,” said Third, “they want to kill you and eat you.”

  He caught her eye and glanced towards the house behind them, and she inclined her head in a slight nod. They had fought alongside each other often enough that she knew what he intended.

  Ridmark took another step back, Third keeping pace next to him. The urshanes continued to advance across the courtyard, while more emerged from the alley.

  “Bold words from a freak,” said one of the urshanes with Morigna’s face. The creature even managed to match Morigna’s imperious, haughty manner of speech. “You could be one of us again, and serve the glorious will of the master, and take pleasure in consuming his enemies.”

  “Or,” said Ridmark, “we could kill you and defeat your master.”

  The urshanes laughed in two choruses of identical-sounding laughter.

  “You shall not,” said one of the duplicates of Aelia, moving forward with a swaying, seductive walk. “You belong to us now, and we shall take delight in tormenting…”

  Ridmark attacked.

  It was hard, damnably hard, to swing his staff at a creature that looked exactly the way his wife had looked, but Ridmark had done far harder things. If he failed here, Calliande would die, along with Third and thousands of dwarves in Khald Tormen.

  Compared to that thought, attacking was easy.

  The staff hit the urshane in the jaw, cracking its head back. A look of shocked agony appeared on Aelia’s face, though the yellow eyes rather ruined the effect.

  “Ridmark!” she pleaded, her voice full of pain. “But I love you, I…”

  Ridmark hit the urshane again, and this time the creature collapsed. As it did, it reverted to its true form, a female human figure, but one covered in gleaming black scales, a scorpion’s tail rising from the base of its spine, the mouth filled with fangs and the fingers and toes tipped with claws.

  “Kill them!” shrieked one of the Morigna-urshanes, and the creatures surged forward.

  “Now!” said Ridmark, and he and Third sprinted for the house behind them. Third went through the door first, and Ridmark followed her, the urshanes racing after him. He whirled and jabbed his staff, and the end of the weapon caught the leading urshane in the throat. Morigna’s head jerked back, eyes widening, and Ridmark remembered her lying dead on the floor of Dun Licinia’s keep.

  Third’s blades flashed, landing fatal blows, and the urshane collapsed, Morigna’s form dissolving into the true shape of the urshane.

  One of the Aelia-urshanes attacked next, and Ridmark struck it in the belly. The urshane doubled over with a little gasp of agony, just as Aelia had on the day she had died, and Third brought her swords down upon the back of the creature’s neck. The urshane died and collapsed, reverting to its true form. A third urshane came at Ridmark, wearing Morigna’s shape, and Ridmark killed it with a blow to the side of the head. The other urshanes tried to rush him, but the narrow doorway meant they could only come at him and Third one at a time and the dead creatures hindered their footing.

  For a moment, the urshanes retreated a few steps, preparing to come at him in a rush or to storm through the windows and the doors simultaneously.

  Ridmark had been waiting for that.

  “Now!” he said.

  Third nodded, and together they sp
rinted across the dusty inner room of the house. Like the other houses they had seen in Thainkul Morzan, it was mostly empty, with only a few shards of shattered furniture scattered across the floor. But the stairs leading to the roof were intact, and Ridmark and Third raced upward.

  He had never quite figured out why the dwarves of the thainkuls had built their houses with flat roofs. It was not as if they could come to the rooftops to enjoy the sunlight. On the other hand, it wasn’t as if they needed sloped rooftops to allow rainwater to drain away. Right now, Ridmark didn’t care.

  The flat rooftops made a marvelous road.

  Ridmark and Third ran to the edge of the rooftop and jumped, leaping over the narrow alley and landing on the next house. From here, Ridmark saw Thainkul Morzan spread out below him, the stream cutting through the center of the cavern. He could also see the dwarven force camped in the courtyard below the outer wall. If they saw Ridmark and Third fleeing over the rooftops, perhaps they would send help.

  They jumped over a second alley, and then another, and Third skidded to a halt, blades flying up in guard. Ridmark followed her example and came to a stop, and that saved his life.

  An urshane in Morigna’s form heaved herself onto the rooftop, and her scorpion’s tail stabbed down. Had Ridmark kept moving, the stinger would have punched through his throat. As it was, Ridmark whipped his staff. It caught the urshane in the face. Morigna’s pale legs scrabbled against the edge of the roof, and then the creature fell back with a squawk of outrage and pain.

  Two more urshanes leaped after it, both in Morigna’s form. Behind Ridmark and Third came three more urshanes in Aelia’s shape.

  “Third?” said Ridmark

  She shook her head. Whatever spell the Sculptor used to block her ability to travel, they were still within its reach. She could not travel away to get help from the others, and nor could she escape to safety.

  They would have to fight their way out.

  One of the urshanes wearing Morigna’s form laughed.

  “Do you not find us fair, Gray Knight?” said the urshane. “Or perhaps you have wearied of your dead lovers?”