“That would be most welcome,” said Ridmark. “It is a long way to Urd Morlemoch, and the supplies shall be useful.”
“You are of course welcome to stay here, all of you,” said Ulakhur, “for as long as you like. In truth, your aid would be welcome. But I doubt I can dissuade you.”
“I fear not, lord abbot,” said Ridmark. “My mind is set.”
“And we mad fools,” said Kharlacht, “will follow him.”
Ridmark looked at them, at Calliande and Caius and Kharlacht and Gavin, and felt a wave of gratitude. For love of him, Rjalfur had said, they followed him to Urd Morlemoch. He wished they wouldn’t, wished he had found a way to persuade them to stay behind.
But he was grateful for their presence nonetheless.
“So be it,” said Ulakhur. “I expect you will depart in the morning.”
Ridmark nodded. “After a good night’s rest.”
Michael grunted. “Lord abbot. There is one other matter to discuss.”
“Yes.” Ulakhur sighed. “The matter of the witch of the hills, the Old Man’s apprentice.”
“What of her?” said Ridmark.
“Do you know where she is?” said Ulakhur.
“No,” said Ridmark. “She fled as soon as Coriolus was slain.” He was not sure why. Perhaps the death of the Old Man had been too much for her, and she would vanish into the Wilderland, preferring a life far away from humans and orcs and dwarves or anyone else.
“Suspicious,” said Michael.
“You suspect her further?” said Calliande. “Most likely Coriolus arranged your brother’s death. He used that stone circle for his ritual, and it would not surprise me if he commanded the urvaalg to kill Sir Nathan.”
“No,” said Michael. “I fear I did her an injustice, but only in that. The Old Man was responsible for Nathan’s death, the cruel bastard.” He took a deep breath. “But from this day forward Morigna is forbidden from ever setting foot in Moraime again.”
“Why?” said Ridmark.
“She was hardly welcome before this,” said Calliande, a touch of anger in her voice. Ridmark had not expected Calliande to speak in Morigna’s defense.
“Indeed not,” said Ulakhur, “but I fear we must think of the town. She is dangerous.”
“She helped defeat Coriolus,” said Calliande.
“The Old Man trained her,” said Ulakhur. “Trained and shaped her from youth. To be a vessel to save his soul from its inevitable and well-deserved damnation, but a mirror image of himself nonetheless. To be blunt, I fear her, and I fear what she may yet become.”
“Does not the Dominus Christus forgive all who repent?” said Caius with a frown.
“He does,” said Ulakhur, “but I suspect Morigna will not repent.”
“It is your decision,” said Ridmark, though it annoyed him, “and we have no right to gainsay it.” Morigna had been deceived all her life, yet for all that she was brave, facing the undead and the dvargir both without flinching. She deserved more than this.
But perhaps she knew it had been inevitable. Perhaps she had gone off into the Wilderland to make a new life for herself elsewhere, free from the dark burden of her past.
Ridmark wished her well.
“So be it, then,” said Calliande, though Ridmark could tell she was not pleased.
“Very well,” said the abbot. “Please, join us in the hall tonight for dinner before you continue your journey.”
“We shall be glad of it,” said Ridmark, “but first we must warn you.”
“Of what?” said Michael. “The dvargir? Did the Old Man have another student?”
“No,” said Ridmark. “The Frostborn.”
Both the abbot and the praefectus looked at him in silence.
“They are returning,” said Ridmark. “I don’t know how yet. If I return from Urd Morlemoch, hopefully I can tell you more. But they are returning, and Moraime and the monastery of St. Cassian must be ready.”
“The Frostborn were destroyed,” said Michael, but there was doubt in his voice. “By the Dragon Knight and the Keeper of Avalon, two and a half centuries ago.”
“Once I would have agreed with you,” said Ridmark. “But I have seen too much. I have heard urdmordar speak of their return. The Warden himself was certain of it. And Coriolus said that they would return, that the Enlightened of Incariel are involved somehow, that a new order is rising and the Frostborn are the heralds of it.”
“Coriolus was a lair,” said Ulakhur.
“He was,” said Calliande, “but he acted as if the Frostborn were returning, my lord abbot.”
Ulakhur and Michael shared another look.
“You have persuaded me, Gray Knight,” said Ulakhur. “We shall be vigilant.” Calliande stirred at the word. “We shall keep watch for any sign, any sign at all, of the return of the Frostborn, and if we have news we will send it to you at once.”
“Thank you,” said Ridmark. He was glad they believed him. No one in the realm of Andomhaim had. “But do not send news to me. This is the one thing I ask of you, lord abbot, save for the supplies. If you learn of the Frostborn, send word to the realm of Andomhaim. To the Dux of the Northerland, Gareth of the House of the Licinii. Or to my father, Dux Leogrance Arban of Taliand. They will both listen and prepare.”
“We shall,” said Ulakhur, “do as you ask, I swear it. Is there anything else you would ask of us?”
“Only,” said Ridmark, “a meal and a bed.”
###
That night Calliande returned alone to the women’s guest cottage and took a bath, enjoying the hot water as she scrubbed away the grime of their journey through the marshes and the Deeps.
She wondered what had happened to Morigna. Part of her was relieved the sorceress had departed. She was dangerous, and Calliande feared the effect she would have on Ridmark. He was prone to grim, fatalistic moods, to throwing his life away to atone for the death of his wife five years past. She could only imagine the effect Morigna would have upon him when he was in one of his dark moods.
Another part of her felt guilty over her relief. Morigna was prickly and unpleasant, but the Old Man had done that to her. Coriolus had indeed twisted her life, lying to her every day for over fourteen years. No one deserved that.
And a small part of her, a very small part, whispered that it was good Morigna had left, that she would not draw Ridmark’s attention away from Calliande…
She rebuked herself for the thought. For all Calliande knew, she had a husband sleeping below another ruin of the Order of the Vigilant. And Ridmark was mourning for his dead wife. If she walked up to him and kissed him this very night, she knew he would gently push her away and say something polite, all while his blue eyes took on the pained look they gained whenever he thought of Aelia.
Calliande shoved aside the tangle of emotions with disgust. The Frostborn were returning, and such maudlin ruminations were a wasteful luxury. She finished her bath and went to bed, sighing as she pulled the warm blankets close.
It might be a long time before she could sleep in a proper bed once more.
Calliande slept, and the Watcher appeared in the gray mist of her dreams.
“Watcher,” said Calliande.
The old man smiled at her. As ever, he looked tired and sad. But there was a gleam of something in his eye that had not seen there before.
Hope, maybe?
“You have done it again, Calliande,” said the Watcher. “Coriolus was one of the strongest Eternalists, and the list of his crimes would have filled many books. You did well to stand against him.”
“I thought,” said Calliande, “that you wanted me to stop interfering with the problems of others, to devote myself to finding Dragonfall.”
The Watcher shook his head. “I still wish that. But you are who you are, Calliande. You could no more turn aside from someone in need than a river could choose to flow uphill. And the Eternalists were a blight upon the realm, a precursor of the Enlightened of Incariel. To rid the world of Coriolus�
�s evil was a noble deed.”
“It was Ridmark’s victory, not mine,” said Calliande. “He talked the trolldomr into aiding us, and he fooled Coriolus into striking against Rjalfur.” They had survived by only the thinnest of threads, but once again Ridmark had snatched victory from certain defeat, just as he had done in Urd Arowyn against Agrimnalazur.
Just as he had done against Mhalek and his horde before Calliande had even met him.
“Perhaps,” said the Watcher, “but he could not have done it without you.”
“I suppose not,” said Calliande. “But if not for him, Vlazur would have killed me upon the Black Mountain. Or Shadowbearer’s kobolds would have slain me at the ford of the Moradel.”
“I would not have wished,” said the Watcher, “for your fate to have become entangled with such a man, but so be it.”
“Why?” said Calliande, growing angry. “Because of his coward’s brand? He does not deserve that and you know it.”
“Because he seeks death,” said the Watcher. “And he might bring you to your death as well. Freeing the villagers of Aranaeus and defeating Coriolus were noble deeds, yes, and you should not regret them. But if you are slain, there will be no one to stop the Frostborn from returning.”
Calliande made an exasperated noise. “Then just tell me where Dragonfall is already.”
The Watcher closed his eyes. “I cannot, because…”
“Because I forbade it of you, before I went into the long sleep below the Tower,” said Calliande. She thought for a moment. “Why?”
The Watcher blinked. “Mistress?”
“Why?” said Calliande. “Why did I forbid you to tell me of my past when I awoke? It was a foolish and stupid thing to do. Can I rescind my command?”
“Not until you find Dragonfall and claim your staff,” said the Watcher.
“A stupid plan,” said Calliande, rubbing her forehead. “But…I must have thought that when I woke up, the Order of the Vigilant would still be there. I thought someone would be there to tell me what to do, where to go, how to find Dragonfall and my staff.” She looked back at the Watcher. “But the war of the Pendragon princes burned the Tower…and you told me that Shadowbearer instigated that war.”
The Watcher nodded.
“As he created the Eternalists and the Enlightened of Incariel,” said Calliande.
Again the Watcher nodded.
“Why?” said Calliande.
“To kill you and destroy the Order of the Vigilant,” said the Watcher.
“But why?” said Calliande. “My death is the means to an end, but what is the end? What does he seek?”
“You forbade me to tell you,” said the Watcher.
“I know,” said Calliande, thinking hard. “The Frostborn. It has something to do with the Frostborn. He knows I would try to stop the Frostborn from returning. So that is why he is trying to kill me, why he destroyed the Order of the Vigilant. He wants the Frostborn to return.”
The Watcher said nothing. He often did that when Calliande had reasoned something out on her own, something that was true but that he could not confirm.
And all at once, it clicked.
“And that is why,” said Calliande. “My lost memory…it has something Shadowbearer needs or fears. Some power, some spell, some knowledge of magic. Something he would either destroy…or claim and wield for himself.” She felt her hands curl into fists. “That is why I removed my memories. They hold dangerous knowledge, and I was afraid that Shadowbearer would claim them and kill me the moment I woke up. He tried to do it, too, when he found me at the Tower.”
“You removed your memory, mistress,” said the Watcher, “for good and proper reasons.”
“Which means that in my memory,” said Calliande, “is either the means to defeat Shadowbearer…or to allow the Frostborn to return.”
Again the Watcher said nothing, and suddenly red light flared in the gray mists.
“Shadowbearer,” said the Watcher. “He must have learned of Coriolus’s death. Now that Coriolus has failed, he will send new servants after you…and ones more dangerous than the Eternalist. You must be ready, Calliande. You must find Dragonfall and reclaim your staff. Only then can you hope to prevail against Shadowbearer. Though as you draw nearer to Urd Morlemoch, you may gain a respite from Shadowbearer’s servants.”
“Why?” said Calliande, watching the blood-colored light flare and burn in the depths of the mists.
“Because,” said the Watcher, “the only thing Shadowbearer fears more than your memory is the Warden of Urd Morlemoch.”
Calliande sank into a dreamless sleep then, but did not feel rested when she awoke the next morning.
###
Ridmark walked through the western gate of Moraime and looked behind him.
The town seemed peaceful behind its walls, the monastery of St. Cassian standing atop its crag. He hoped it would remain that way.
But he knew it would not. The Frostborn were returning, and if they were not stopped, the world would freeze even as the cities of men burned.
Still, for now, Moraime was safe, and the undead would trouble it no further.
“Are donkeys all such stubborn beasts?” said Gavin, grumbling as he tugged at the reins of their baggage train. Michael had given them a pack train of eight donkeys, laden with food and useful supplies. The beasts would slow their progress, unfortunately. But the further west they went, the harder it would be to find supplies. And in the spell-haunted wastes of the Torn Hills in the shadow of Urd Morlemoch’s towers, there was no food or drink to be had. At least none that was safe for mortal men to consume.
Ridmark remembered that well.
“I fear so,” said Caius. “Donkeys are stubborn and willful beasts, and require a strong hand and firm discipline. Much like mortal men in our fallen state.”
“You would turn everything into a sermon,” said Kharlacht.
“Our eyes must be ever toward God,” said Caius.
“True,” said Kharlacht, “but you could give the boy some useful advice.”
“Such as?” said Caius.
“That donkeys bite.”
Gavin jerked forward as the donkey’s teeth snapped shut a few inches from his arm, and Kharlacht and Caius laughed, while Calliande smiled and shook her head.
“Where is the path now, Ridmark?” said Calliande.
“Northwest,” he said, pointing. In that direction rolled the fields and pastures of the townsmen of Moraime, but beyond them rose the dense and ancient forests of the Wilderland. “We’ll pass through the forests, and then come to the foothills of the mountains of the Three Kingdoms. Perhaps we’ll see some kindred of yours, Caius.”
“Pagan orcs raiding down from Kothluusk is more likely,” said Kharlacht.
“Then onto the Torn Hills, haunted by the ghosts and spells of battles long past,” said Ridmark. “Another three weeks, I think, and we shall see the walls of Urd Morlemoch.”
And then at last he would have some answers.
Or the Warden would kill them all.
“Then may God lend our limbs strength and speed,” said Caius, “for our cause is just.”
“Let us hope he sends us warm beds and dry roads as well,” said Kharlacht.
“Come,” said Ridmark, and he led the way from Moraime.
Chapter 24 - Ravens
Thirty-seven days after it began, thirty-seven days after the day in the Year of Our Lord 1478 when blue fire filled the sky from horizon to horizon, Ridmark rose from his blanket, walked past the smoldering coals of their dying campfire, and looked at the morning sky through the gap in the trees overhead.
He stared at the sky for a while, watching and listening. He heard Caius rise, the dwarven friar beginning to sing the twenty-third Psalm in Latin as he did every morning.
A little later he heard the rustling as Caius’s singing woke the others, as Gavin started to prepare breakfast. Then he felt a presence next to him.
“What is it?” said Calliande, loo
king at the sky. “Birds?”
Ridmark nodded and watched the black speck circling overhead.
“Just birds?” said Calliande, flexing her fingers. “Not wyverns? Drakes? Or, God forbid, an urdhracos?”
“No,” said Ridmark. “Ravens, in fact.”
Calliande frowned.
“I think,” said Ridmark, “we shall have a visitor today.”
“Perhaps we should move, then,” said Calliande.
“No need,” said Ridmark. “With her spells, she could find us anyway. To say nothing of Caius’s singing.”
“Perhaps we should convince him of the virtues of silent prayer,” said Calliande.
Ridmark laughed, and a surprised smile spread over Calliande’s face. “Perhaps. But, for now, it is no use. We have been found. And I am curious to see what she shall do when she shows herself.”
They broke camp and continued northwest, making their way through the trackless forest of the Wilderland. Few dwelled in this part of the Wilderland. The forest often served as a battleground between the orcs of Vhaluusk and the orcs of Kothluusk and the dwarves of the Three Kingdoms, and the creatures of the dark elves lurked in the trees, ready to feast upon the unwary. There were entrances into the Deeps, and old, undead-haunted ruins left from many ancient wars.
But for now the trees were quiet, and the late spring weather was pleasant and mild.
Ridmark saw a raven fly overhead and perch upon a tree, and raised his hand for a halt. The others stopped, Gavin muttering threats at the donkeys, and Ridmark looked at the raven. The bird gazed back at him with an unblinking black eye.
“You may as well come out,” said Ridmark. “I know you’re there.”
For a moment nothing moved.
Then Morigna appeared from behind one of the trees. She wore her previous costume of leather and wool, a dagger and a variety of pouches at her belt. In her right hand she carried a long staff that had been carved with a number of odd sigils. Her black hair had been pulled back by a ring of bone, and her black eyes were stark in her pale face.
Frostborn: The Undying Wizard Page 29
