Frostborn: The Undying Wizard

by Jonathan Moeller

  “I thought as much,” said Calliande.

  “But she is young,” said Ridmark.

  “Younger than me, you mean,” said Calliande.

  “We all are,” said Ridmark, “but I mean she is younger than all of us, save for Gavin. She is clever, and strong with magic, but has little experience of the world beyond the marshes. So she has the arrogance of youth coupled with considerable power.”

  “A dangerous combination,” said Calliande.

  “But tempered by loss,” said Ridmark. “Apparently she and Nathan Vorinus were lovers. He disregarded her counsel and got himself killed by an urvaalg, and Michael and Jonas blame her for his death.”

  “Perhaps they are right to do so,” said Calliande.

  “I don’t think so,” said Ridmark. “Either she is a convincing actress, or she blames herself for his death. Which is, I suspect, why she is helping us. Why she was going to Moraime in to warn the townsmen against the undead. It is what Nathan would have wanted her to do.” He shook his head. “I don’t trust her, but I believe I understand her.”

  “Which is why you are talking her with us to speak with the Old Man,” said Calliande. “She could be luring us into a trap.”

  Ridmark nodded. “I know. But if she is with us, she cannot work any mischief against the town.”

  She seemed angry. “Maybe there is another reason.”

  “Oh?” said Ridmark.

  “She looked at you with her dark eyes and swayed you,” said Calliande.

  Ridmark blinked. “Ah. You think she has charmed me, is that it?”

  Calliande folded her arms. The words seemed to pain her, but she kept speaking. “She seems quite taken with you. And it is not unusual for a man to be swayed by the admiration of a pretty young woman.”

  “The same could be said of you,” said Ridmark.

  “What?”

  “I intended to head to Urd Morlemoch alone,” said Ridmark. “I promised I would help find the truth of your memory, and I meant it. But I could do that alone. Yet it is a month later, and here we both are.”

  “You said my help was valuable,” said Calliande.

  “It was, and it is,” said Ridmark. “But I intended to risk my life and no others. Yet here you are. You have a knack for getting your way, Calliande.”

  She laughed. “I suppose I do. Ridmark. Forgive me. What I said…that was unworthy of you.”

  He waved his hand. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does.” She gripped his hands, her fingers cold against his. “You are a good man, Ridmark Arban.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “I know you are humoring me,” she said. “But you are. Regardless of what you think of yourself. Regardless of the things for which you unjustly take the blame.” He sighed, but she kept speaking. “You are a good and brave man.”

  He looked down at her and said nothing. She was lovely in the dim moonlight, and if he leaned down and kissed her, he suspected she would not protest. For just a moment he wondered what it feel like to have her lips against his, her body pressed against his…

  He dismissed the thought.

  Aelia’s death was his fault. No matter what anyone else said, no matter who forgave him for it, Tarrabus Carhaine had been right. The Order had been right to expel Ridmark, take his soulblade, and brand him as a coward. He deserved no less. He deserved much worse.

  And neither he nor Calliande knew who she really was.

  He lifted her hands to his lips, kissed her fingers, and then released them.

  “And you are a brave and valiant woman,” he said.

  For just an instant she looked disappointed, but then she smiled.

  “I am not,” she said. “I have wanted to run screaming ever since I awoke beneath the Tower of Vigilance.”

  “But you did not,” said Ridmark, “and you stood against the wrath of an urdmordar without fleeing. Few among the Magistri could do the same.”

  Calliande sighed. “Let’s hope an urdmordar isn’t behind these undead.”

  “I think we may be safe in that hope,” said Ridmark. “If an urdmordar showed herself so openly, Moraime would already be ashes.” He remembered the smoke rising from the ruins of Aranaeus. “And the Old Man seems like a survivor. If an urdmordar laired anywhere near his dwelling, he would flee.”

  Calliande nodded. “I’m going to get some sleep.” She turned, paused. “Ridmark?”

  “Aye?” he said.

  “Thank you,” said Calliande.

  “We’ll find the secret of the Frostborn yet,” said Ridmark, “and the truth of who you are.”

  Or they would both die in the attempt. But there was no reason to say it.

  She already knew that.

  Chapter 8 - Scouts

  The next morning, Ridmark and the others left Moraime and headed north.

  Ridmark walked at the front, Kharlacht and Morigna at his side. Of Ridmark’s companions, Kharlacht had spent the most time in the wild, and knew how to track. Morigna was familiar with the countryside around Moraime and knew its dangers.

  That, and she was the only one who knew where the Old Man lived.

  Calliande followed, Gavin and Caius at her side. Gavin alternated between watching the countryside and scowling at Morigna, as if he believed her to be a greater threat than the swamp drakes or the undead.

  He might not be wrong.

  One way or another, they would know by the end of the day.

  “We will have to head into the marshes,” said Morigna.

  “That’s east, not north,” said Calliande.

  “Aye,” said Morigna, “but it is the only way to reach the Old Man’s home. He lives upon one of the rockier hills. From the north, the east, and the west, it is inaccessible, and the only open path is from the south. And that path begins in the marshes.”

  “A solid defensive choice,” said Kharlacht, “forcing any visitors to wade through the swamp.”

  “Though it means we shall have to pass through the marshes again,” said Gavin.

  “I am sure,” said Morigna with a smirk, “that a strapping young lad like you is ready for the challenge.”

  “Let’s go,” said Ridmark, hoping to cut off yet another argument. “Where shall we head first?”

  “The ruined fortress where we first met, Gray Knight,” said Morigna, brushing a bit of hair from her forehead as she looked at him. “From there we can head due north to the Old Man’s hill.”

  “How many orcish burial mounds are in the marshes?” said Ridmark.

  “Many,” said Morigna. She glanced at Kharlacht. “Your kindred warred amongst themselves so enthusiastically that the tribes here wiped each other out, and only the burial mounds remain.”

  “Which means,” said Caius, “there will be plenty of opportunities to fight more undead.”

  “If the necromancer raised more,” said Ridmark. There had been no attacks in the night, and none of the night watchmen had seen any undead moving outside the town. It was as if the necromancer had raised enough creatures to cause an upheaval, and had then stopped.

  But why?

  “I will keep my spells in place,” said Calliande, “watching for any sign of dark magic.”

  She looked at Morigna as she said it, but the black-haired woman only smiled.

  “I can help with that as well,” said Morigna, and she snapped her fingers, a pulse of purple fire flaring around her hand.

  A moment later a pair of large black birds fell out of the sky and perched upon the shoulders of her tattered cloak, looking at Ridmark with beady black eyes.

  “Crows?” said Gavin. “You can command crows?”

  “Ravens,” said Morigna. “Much smarter than crows. And villagers of the Wilderland, for that matter.” She stroked one of the birds with a finger. “I can see their thoughts with a spell, and bid them to keep watch. If they see any undead, or any other foes, they will return to warn me.”

  “Dark magic,” said Gavin.

  “Onl
y if it used against a mortal mind,” said Calliande, though she sounded reluctant.

  “I suppose I could employ the spell upon you, dear Gavin,” said Morigna, “but, alas, where would be the challenge?”

  Ridmark expected Gavin to insult her back, but the boy only shook his head. “I saw an urdmordar conjure shadows and green fire. After that, a trick with a pair of birds is hardly frightening.”

  “Ah,” said Morigna. “You’re getting better at his.”

  She snapped her fingers again, and the ravens flew off in silence.

  “I imagine,” said Kharlacht, “that was a useful skill while hunting.”

  Morigna blinked in surprise, and then laughed. “Yes, it was. Easier to find a deer through the eyes of a raven instead of a mortal man. Nathan said…” She shook her head. “We had best be on our way, Gray Knight, if you want to speak with the Old Man before dark.”

  “Then let us be off,” said Ridmark. He beckoned with his staff, and they left Moraime.

  He led them to the marshes, and they took the old causeway, picking their way over the rocks and the tangled roots. The marshes were silent around them, save for the occasional splash of water or cry of a bird. It was still too early in the year for insects, God be praised. Soon they came into sight of the domed mud hut of the swamp drake’s nest, and…

  Ridmark stopped.

  “What’s wrong?” said Calliande. “I don’t sense any magic.”

  “I haven’t seen anyone approach,” said Morigna.

  “Something’s missing,” said Ridmark.

  “What?” said Kharlacht.

  Caius realized the answer first. “The swamp drake. Where is its carcass?”

  It had vanished.

  Patches of dried blood marked the causeway, a faint metallic odor clinging to them. Ridmark saw the indentations on the grass where the drake’s carcass and severed head had lain, but the animal was gone.

  “Scavengers must have gotten to it,” said Caius, but there was doubt in the dwarf’s deep voice.

  “Scavengers would have left a mess,” said Ridmark. “Stay back so I can have a look at the ground.”

  He paced forward, examining the damp grass and wet rock. There were no other tracks upon the causeway, save the ones they had left during the battle yesterday. The dead swamp drake had been as heavy as a horse, and would have taken a team of strong men to move. He supposed wolves or other scavengers could have done it, but only by ripping the carcass to shreds. Certainly they would not have bothered to move the armored scales and heavy bones of the dead drake.

  He considered the ground, but no tracks or traces presented themselves. That made even less sense. The carcass could not have been moved without someone leaving tracks. Of course, the sides of the causeway were hardly ideal for preserving tracks, but surely some trace would have been left.

  “So the carcass,” said Calliande, “simply disappeared.”

  Ridmark straightened up. “It would appear so.” He looked at Morigna. “Are there any creatures in the marsh that could make a swamp drake’s carcass vanish?”

  “None that I have ever encountered,” said Morigna. She, too, looked troubled.

  “Maybe the trolldomr took it,” said Gavin. “Perhaps he can make things disappear into the ground with him.”

  “Why would Rjalfur take the carcass of a swamp drake?” said Caius, but Gavin only shrugged.

  “No matter,” said Ridmark, looking at Calliande. “Keep your sensing spell active, and warn us if you sense anything.” She nodded and Ridmark turned to Morigna. “Keep your eyes open. All six of them, it seems.”

  “I shall,” said Morigna.

  “The rest of you, be on your guard,” said Ridmark. “Something strange is happening, and I will not be at ease until we discover what.”

  Caius snorted. “When have you ever been at ease?”

  “Not recently,” said Ridmark.

  Not since he had heard the Warden warn him against the return of the Frostborn nine years ago. Ridmark had wed Aelia, had hope to live in honor and peace as a Swordbearer of the Dux’s court, but in the back of his mind, the Warden’s warning had lingered.

  And then Mhalek had come.

  Ridmark led the way from the causeway to the ruined fortress. To his relief, they saw no additional undead near the ruins or the burial mounds. All of the mounds had been opened, the dead within having risen as undead, but nothing moved through the ruins.

  Perhaps the previous attack had emptied the graves.

  The undead they had destroyed still lay strewn across the ground, the bones moldering, the weapons rusting away in the dank of the swamp.

  “Lady Calliande,” said Gavin. “After they are destroyed, can the undead be raised once more?”

  “It depends upon the spell used,” said Calliande. “Some forms of dark magic devour the corpse after the spell is broken, leaving only ashes and embers in its wake. But others are more subtle. I fear these undead could well be raised again.”

  “A grim thought,” said Kharlacht, “that we might have to fight them all over again.”

  “Which way?” said Ridmark.

  “Due north,” said Morigna.

  They headed north from the fortress and the burial mound, picking their way across the grassy patches and around the trunks of the massive, mossy trees. Fortunately, the ground soon grew firmer, though rockier. Massive gray boulders jutted from the earth, weathered and mantled with lichen. The terrain tilted upward, and Ridmark saw that they walked upon a wide spit of rocky land that rose from the swamp like an island.

  The perfect place for a renegade sorcerer to make his lair.

  Ridmark looked over the mossy ground and stopped.

  “Hold a moment,” he said.

  “What is it?” said Calliande. “I don’t sense anything.”

  “Footprints,” said Ridmark. “A large group of men passed this way. Recently. Perhaps even a few hours ago.”

  “Truly?” said Morigna, peering at the ground. “I saw the Old Man four days past. These tracks were not here then.”

  “Does the Old Man often have visitors?” said Ridmark.

  “Rarely,” said Morigna. “Sometimes one of the townsmen will get desperate and visit him, but not often.” She seemed almost concerned. “No one else would dare.”

  “Your ravens have seen nothing,” said Ridmark.

  “No,” said Morigna. “They overflew his cottage on their last flight. No one is on the hills.”

  “An ambush, then,” said Kharlacht. “I dislike these rocks, Gray Knight.” He waved a fist at the tangled gray boulders covering the side of the hill. “Too many places for an ambush.”

  “Agreed,” said Ridmark.

  “I wish to go ahead and scout,” said Kharlacht. “If an ambush awaits us, perhaps we can repay our foes in kind.”

  “Go,” said Ridmark. “Be careful.”

  The orc’s lips split in a hard grin, his tusks rising like daggers before his face. “I shall be as careful as you are.”

  “That’s hardly reassuring,” muttered Calliande.

  Kharlacht strode into the maze of boulders. Despite his bulk and his armor, he moved without sound, and soon disappeared.

  “You let him go off alone?” said Morigna.

  “Kharlacht knows what he is doing,” said Calliande.

  “He does,” said Ridmark. “I left Dun Licinia alone, and I have spent years wandering the Wilderland. I know how to move without leaving a trail. Yet he tracked me nonetheless.”

  Morigna shrugged, her tattered cloak rippling around her. “As you say.”

  Dark shapes moved overhead, and Ridmark raised his staff. But it was only Morigna’s ravens, and they dropped upon her shoulders. Her eyes closed, darting back and forth behind the lids as she communicated with the birds.

  “Anything?” said Ridmark.

  “Nothing,” said Morigna, her voice tight. “The Old Man’s cottage is still there, and they saw smoke rising from the chimney. But…”


  She fell silent.

  “What is it?” said Ridmark.

  Her eyes shot open, and the ravens took flight.

  “I need to speak with you,” said Morigna. She glanced at Calliande. “Alone.”

  “Why?” said Calliande.

  “So I can plot to bewitch him with dark magic, of course,” said Morigna.

  “Of course,” said Calliande, her scorn apparent.

  “But you could sense any spell I worked,” said Morigna. “And I simply do not wish to share with you what I have to say.”

  “Very well,” said Ridmark. “Be quick about it, though.”

  He strode a dozen paces away, close enough that he could see the others if anyone attacked, but far that Morigna would not be overhead.

  “What is it?” said Ridmark.

  “The place I told you about,” said Morigna in a low voice. “The circle of standing stones where…”

  “Where Sir Nathan Vorinus died,” said Ridmark.

  She gave a sharp nod. “It is atop a hill about a half-mile north of the Old Man’s cottage. Something is moving around within the circle.”

  “Could the ravens see what it was?” said Ridmark.

  “No,” said Morigna. “The ravens won’t go anywhere near the stones. They…sense the dark magic about the place, I think. Even with magic, I can’t force them to approach it.”

  Ridmark nodded. Most animals avoided the dark elven standing stones. Most people, as well.

  At least those with good intentions.

  “Have the ravens circle this hill again,” said Ridmark. “See if they can find anything.”

  Morigna gave a sharp nod, her face strained, and then she laughed.

  “What is it?” said Ridmark.

  “Look at me,” said Morigna. “Jumping at your commands, as if I was one of your ragged little collection of outcasts.”

  “Do you have a better plan?” said Ridmark. “Then, please, I am eager to hear it.”

  She scowled. “Are you mocking me?”

  “No,” said Ridmark. “If you have a better plan, I shall be glad to put it into motion.” He shook his head. “Perhaps we are merely chasing shadows. Or perhaps deadly foes lurk in the boulders. If so, if I make the wrong decision, we all shall die, and I shall have more deaths upon my conscience. So I would be glad for a better plan.”