Frostborn: The Undying Wizard

by Jonathan Moeller

  She stopped a dozen paces away from Ridmark and took a deep breath.

  As if she was nervous.

  ###

  Morigna stared at Ridmark Arban.

  She could not tell if he was glad to see her or not. His hard face gave away nothing, his cold blue eyes unblinking. Caius seemed pleased to see her, and Kharlacht indifferent. Gavin alternated between scowling at her and at the donkeys.

  She was reasonably certain that Calliande was not happy to see her.

  “How did you know that I was following you?” said Morigna.

  “Your ravens,” said Ridmark.

  “There are many ravens in the forest,” said Morigna.

  “This is true,” said Ridmark. “It is also true that the same raven tends not to fly in a circle over a group of travelers over and over again.”

  Morigna sighed. “One would suppose that rather gave the game away.”

  “And what game is that?” said Ridmark. “I assume you followed us for a reason?”

  Morigna hesitated, trying to find the words for what she wished to say.

  “Is it because of what happened in Moraime?” said Calliande. Morigna still did not like the woman, but found that she could respect the Magistria. Few would have had the strength to survive that long in a battle of spells with the Old Man, but Calliande had.

  “What happened in Moraime?” said Morigna. “Did the Old Man work some evil there before Rjalfur slew him?”

  “No,” said Calliande. “Abbot Ulakhur and the praefectus have forbidden you from the town.”

  Morigna nodded, indifferent. “No matter. I have no desire to return to Moraime for any reason.”

  “Then what do you want?” said Ridmark.

  “I…” Morigna opened her mouth, closed it, and started speaking. “I left the hill, after Coriolus died, because…I did not know what to do next. It was all…simply too much.”

  “That is understandable,” said Caius.

  Morigna did not want sympathy from him or anyone. “I intended to leave Vhaluusk entirely, to make my way across the realm and see it with my own eyes. I know how to hunt and move through the wilderness, and with my magic I can go anywhere I wish.”

  Ridmark nodded. “So why didn’t you?”

  Again Morigna did not know how to answer.

  “Because,” said Calliande, her voice quiet, “you are lost. You trusted Coriolus for most of your life, and he betrayed you.”

  “I am not lost,” snapped Morigna. She would be damned before she would show weakness before Calliande. Though all of Ridmark’s companions had seen her naked and tied to that altar. How much more weakness could she show than that? “I know exactly where I am.”

  “But you are uncertain,” said Ridmark, “of what to do next.”

  “Yes,” said Morigna. “I thought about retreating into the Wilderland, but I confess the life of a hermit holds no appeal for me.”

  “This from a woman who spent years living in the marshes?” said Ridmark.

  “I prefer to spend most of my time alone,” said Morigna, “but that does not mean I never wish to hear another voice.”

  “Then I suppose you have a chance that few ever receive,” said Calliande, “to make of your life whatever you will.”

  “If you like,” said Ridmark, “I could write to the Dux of the Northerland, and ask him to find you a place.”

  Morigna said nothing. She had hoped that he would ask her to come with him, but he would not ask anyone to come with him, believing that he would die on the journey to Urd Morlemoch. Likely Calliande and the others had invited themselves along.

  “That is…that is kind,” said Morigna, “but when I said I did not know what to do next, I was not entirely truthful. There is something I must do first. I have a debt I must pay.”

  “To who?” said Ridmark.

  He truly didn’t know? “To you.”

  “You owe me nothing,” said Ridmark.

  “You saved my life,” said Morigna, “and you defeated Coriolus.”

  “Rjalfur did that,” said Ridmark.

  “The trolldomr would have done nothing but philosophize and watch as Coriolus possessed me,” said Morigna, “had you not intervened.” She shook her head. “You didn’t have to help me, either. You could have continued to Urd Morlemoch, and no one would have blamed you. Instead you came back for me.” She swallowed and forced herself to say the next words. The Old Man would have believed them an admission of weakness…but he was dead and she was not. “Thank you.”

  “You are welcome,” said Ridmark.

  “I would not stand by and let an Eternalist possess an innocent victim,” said Calliande.

  Kharlacht shrugged. “Where the Gray Knight goes, I follow.” Caius and Gavin nodded their agreement.

  “And this is how I shall repay my debt to you,” said Morigna. “I will come with you, and help you succeed in your task.”

  Ridmark met her eyes, and she forced herself not to look away. Odd that his gaze had such an effect on her.

  “You know where I am going,” said Ridmark. “Even Coriolus was frightened of Urd Morlemoch, and in this if nothing else, he was right. There is a very good chance the Warden will kill us all.”

  “I know this,” said Morigna. She lifted her chin. “You face certain death, this is so. But with my help…perhaps you will have a chance of survival.”

  A ghost of a smile appeared on his hard face. “Miniscule.”

  “Indeed,” said Morigna.

  “You are set on this, then?” said Ridmark.

  Morigna nodded.

  Ridmark sighed. “I set out for Urd Morlemoch alone, and now I have a…a…”

  “Party,” said Caius.

  “Warband,” said Kharlacht.

  “Retainers,” said Gavin.

  Calliande smiled. “Friends.”

  “So be it,” said Ridmark. “One condition, though. You will do as I say, and you will not instigate fights with the others. Is this understood?”

  “Those are two conditions, but they are understood,” said Morigna. Though if she had to act for Ridmark’s own good without his knowledge, Morigna had no qualms about that.

  “Very well,” said Ridmark. “One question. What is that staff? You didn’t have it before.”

  “I made it,” said Morigna, “some time ago, from the wood of an elderoak. The high elves, the Old Man told me, could make staves from the wood with magical properties. He took the staff when I made it, claiming it was dangerous, but I know that was a lie. With it, I suspect I will have command over trees and perhaps even items of wood.”

  “That could be useful,” said Kharlacht, “when facing bowmen.”

  “Indeed,” said Ridmark. He glanced at the sky. “Let us be on our way. Even with the pack beasts, we should be able to make another eight miles today.”

  He led the way, and the others followed. Morigna fell in with them, and Calliande nodded at her. She nodded back, the staff smooth and cool against her fingers. She would repay her debt, she vowed. She would see Ridmark safely into Urd Morlemoch and back, to continue his quest against the Frostborn.

  She would find enough power to make it so.

  ###

  Ridmark considered their new companion as he walked.

  Morigna was dangerous, but they were going to a dangerous place. And if they were to go into Urd Morlemoch and succeed in wresting any knowledge from the Warden, Ridmark would need help.

  He would have gone alone, had he the power to manage it…but it seemed the he did not.

  And for all that, he was grateful for the others nonetheless.

  They walked on through the forest, drawing ever closer to the Torn Hills and Urd Morlemoch beyond them.

  Epilogue

  Tarrabus of the House of the Carhainii, Dux of Caerdracon, stood upon the dais in the great hall of the Iron Tower and listened as the assassin Rotherius gave his report.

  Other than Tarrabus and Rotherius, there were two other men in the hall. The firs
t wore the armor of a knight of Andomhaim, gleaming steel plate beneath a surcoat adorned with the heraldry of Caerdracon, a black dragon’s head upon a field of blue. He had black eyes and brown hair and mustache he styled and trimmed every day. Sir Paul Tallmane was both the Constable of the Iron Tower and a fool. Nonetheless, he was loyal fool, and had no qualms about doing whatever Tarrabus asked of him, no matter how bloody. He was much like the Iron Tower itself, Tarrabus mused – the castra was far from Caerdracon, but Tarrabus had put it to good use.

  The Enlightened of Incariel housed many of their secrets, treasures, and useful prisoners within the Iron Tower’s vaults.

  “And that was it,” said Rotherius, kneeling before the dais. The Red Brother had removed his skull mask, and beneath it he had a narrow face beneath a tangle of graying yellow hair. “The fool Jonas led nearly all my brothers to their deaths. I returned to report our failure to the Matriarch, and she bade me to bear the news to you, my lords.”

  Tarrabus held Rotherius’s gaze for a moment, and then looked to the second man.

  Of course, the second man wasn’t really a man at all.

  The high elf wore black boots, trousers and tunic beneath a long, black-trimmed coat the color of blood. His skin was the grayish-white of a corpse, and black veins throbbed beneath his hands and face, like fingers of corruption digging into rotting flesh. His bloodshot eyes were the color of mercury, of quicksilver, and whenever Tarrabus looked in his direction, he saw his distorted reflection in the irises of the high elf’s eyes.

  The creature had many names, but Tarrabus’s father had called the high elven wizard Shadowbearer, and Tarrabus used that name. It had been Tarrabus’s father, the Dux Samothus Carhaine, who had introduced Tarrabus to both Shadowbearer and the teachings of the Enlightened of Incariel. The strong would rule over the weak, Samothus had said, and Tarrabus would be strong, not matter how cruel the lessons, no matter how much torment it took.

  Or else.

  But Tarrabus had learned his father’s lessons well.

  So well, in fact, that he had murdered the old tyrant and taken the title of Dux of Caerdracon himself shortly before Mhalek’s invasion of the Northerland. His father had been right. The old faith and the old morality were deluding lies, and the strong ruled and the weak suffered. Tarrabus had never doubted this, never wavered in his faith in the new order.

  Except for when he spoke to Aelia Licinius and watched her tend to the orphans and widows of Castra Marcaine.

  She had made him question.

  His sword hand curled into a fist. Even now, after five years, he still felt pain and rage at her death.

  She never should have married Ridmark Arban. The wretched Swordbearer had been too weak to save her, in the end.

  “You are displeased, my lord Dux?”

  Shadowbearer’s strange voice was deeper and more resonant than any human voice, yet carried a strange, reverberating echo. As if two voices were trying to speak through the same mouth at once.

  Tarrabus realized that his thoughts were wandering, that a scowl had come over his face, and he smoothed his expression back to calm. He was the Dux of Caerdracon, and the Dux did not show his emotions before lesser men.

  As did the High King. And within the next two years, Tarrabus Carhaine would be High King of the realm of Andomhaim, once the decrepit Pendragon and his foolish sons had been consigned to the grave.

  The first steps had already been taken.

  “No,” said Tarrabus, turning his mind to the task at hand, “no, I am not displeased.”

  “You are not, lord Dux?” said Rotherius. “The Red Family failed to kill the exile.”

  “Disappointed, if not surprised,” said Tarrabus, descending from the dais toward one of the hearths. It was cold this far north, even in the end of the spring. “The exile is a formidable foe, even without a Soulblade. Perhaps you are fortunate to be alive at all.”

  Rotherius scowled. “Aye, my lord Dux. That trickery with the marsh gas…clever business. But fear not, my lord. Ridmark Arban has slain too many of our brothers. He has earned the lasting enmity of the Red Family, and the Matriarch has decreed that we shall hunt him down.” He paused. “With no additional charge to you, my lord Dux.”

  “How very gracious,” said Tarrabus, his voice dry. “Go about your business.”

  Rotherius bowed and left the hall of the Iron Tower. Tarrabus stood in silence for a moment, Paul waiting at his right hand. A distant, faint scream rang out from the depths of the Tower’s dungeons. The Enlightened of Incariel kept many prisoners here, those too useful to kill. Many of Tarrabus’s personal enemies had ended up in the dungeons below the fortress

  Given that he was the Initiated of the Seventh Circle of the Enlightened, his enemies were their enemies.

  “I thought you said,” said Tarrabus, “that this wretched Eternalist of yours would prove more than a match for Ridmark and Calliande.”

  “I did,” said Shadowbearer, walking from the dais. “Alas, it seems my faith was misplaced. Victory was in his hand…and then he neglected to pay his hirelings. A simple, foolish, spiteful mistake, but enough to ruin all.”

  “Now what?” said Tarrabus. “We must have that empty soulstone for the new order to arise. Otherwise the next opportunity will not arrive for another century and a half.” He fully intended to be alive then, of course, but he had no wish to wait that long. “Can’t you simply find another?”

  “No,” murmured Shadowbearer, his shadow pointing in the wrong direction as he approached. “I barely stole that one from the caverns of Cathair Solas. Ardrhythain will not allow the lapse again. It must be the soulstone Calliande carries.”

  “You should have killed her yourself,” said Tarrabus, “when you had the chance.”

  Paul flinched. No one else would dare to speak to Shadowbearer like that. But the Enlightened of Incariel were Tarrabus’s to command, and he would soon be the High King of Andomhaim. He would not display weakness before anyone, not even Shadowbearer himself.

  “Plainly,” said Shadowbearer. Paul let out a relieved sigh. “Even I am not infallible, Tarrabus Carhaine.” He looked to the east. “Not yet, anyway. Alas, at the time Ardrhythain was hunting for me, and this would be a most inconvenient time to die. He continues his hunt for me, and I must move on.”

  “Here?” said Tarrabus. “He is coming here?”

  A ripple went through the ancient wizard’s shadow.

  “Indeed,” said Shadowbearer, “and you will be glad that I shall lure him elsewhere, for the battle between us would turn the Iron Tower to smoking slag. But fear not. I shall return, and there is yet a year to open the way.”

  Without another word, he turned and disappeared in a swirl of darkness.

  “The wizard is…mercurial,” said Paul at last.

  “He is,” said Tarrabus. “And we must have that soulstone, Sir Paul. The new order cannot arise without it. Ridmark Arban will die for his crimes, of course, and we shall dispose of that…tattered anachronism that calls herself Calliande. But all things in due time.” Ridmark had spent five years warning of the return of the Frostborn. Let him see the depths of his failure. Let him know the utter dregs of final despair before death. “But first we must have the soulstone.”

  “But how, my lord Dux?” said Paul. “If Shadowbearer fears to confront Calliande, and his minions have failed to overcome Ridmark…how shall we obtain the soulstone?”

  “Main force has failed,” said Tarrabus, “so the soulstone shall be stolen away.”

  Paul frowned. “That would require the skill of a master thief.”

  “Yes.” Tarrabus glanced at his right hand, where his signet ring had once been. “And I know just where to find one.”

  Another scream rang out from the dungeons.

  THE END

  Thank you for reading FROSTBORN: THE UNDYING WIZARD. If you liked the story, please consider leaving a review at your ebook site of choice.

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  Bonus Chapter from FROSTBORN: THE MASTER THIEF

  An excerpt from the chronicles of the High Kings of Andomhaim:

  In the Year of Our Lord 538, Malahan Pendragon and the Keeper of Avalon led the survivors of Arthur Pendragon’s realm through a magical gate to a new world, a world far from the reach of the heathen Saxons. Here Malahan founded the new realm of Andomhaim and raised his citadel at Tarlion, and in time his new kingdom spread far and wide.

  And the knights of Andomhaim encountered the kindreds of this new world, the orcs and the manetaur, the dark elves and the dvargir, and waged many wars against them.

  Yet not all the kindreds they encountered were foes.

  For the orcs and the dark elves kept the halflings as slaves. Slender and short of stature, the halflings were nimble and stealthy, yet lacked the strength of men and orcs and dwarves. Therefore they were easily enslaved, and the pagan kings of the orcs kept vast numbers of halflings to toil in their fields and serve in their citadels.

  Yet the High King overthrew the orcish kings of Khaluusk. And in joy and gratitude, the halflings of Khaluusk swore solemn oaths to the High King and his nobles, to serve forever as free servants in their fields and houses. Thus were the men of Andomhaim free to pursue war against the many foes that threatened them.

  And so the halflings joyfully labor for their masters to this day, grateful to serve their liberators.

  CHAPTER 1 - WINGS

  Forty-one days after it began, forty-one days after the day in the Year of Our Lord 1478 when blue fire filled the sky from horizon to horizon, Ridmark Arban moved alone through the forest.

  Something felt wrong, and he wanted to have a look around.

  The forest was quiet, the gray light of dawn just brightening the trees. It was the end of spring and the beginning of summer, and new green leaves whispered in the breeze. He moved in silence through the trees, his boots making no sound against the forest floor, his heavy staff ready in his right hand. The forest was quiet, but it did not mean it would stay that way. Warbands of pagan orcs might come down from the hills of Vhaluusk to the north or the mountains of Kothluusk to the west. Packs of lupivirii prowled the forest, and bands of dvargir and kobolds raided from the Deeps in search of captives and loot.