Frostborn: The Gray Knight (Frostborn #1)

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Fair enough,” said Ridmark. He saw hundreds of green-skinned figures moving back and forth below the Tower’s outer wall. “Two hundred years ago, after the High King Arthurain the Fifth and the Dragon Knight and the Magistri and the Swordbearers destroyed the Frostborn, some feared the Frostborn they might return. So the Order of the Vigilant was founded, and they built the Tower of Vigilance to watch for the Frostborn. But the decades passed, and the Order became an anachronism. Finally, during the War of the Five Princes, the Master of the Vigilant picked the wrong side. The current High King’s father seized the Tower of the Vigilant, burned it, and slew the Order. The castle has been abandoned ever since.”

  “And now here you are,” said Caius, “hunting signs of the return of the Frostborn. Who are extinct.”

  “And I’ve found orcs instead,” said Ridmark. “God has a sense of humor.”

  “The Lord works in mysterious ways,” said Caius, “his wonders to perform. And while I do not presume to know the mind of God, I hope his plan does not involve you dying in the heart of those ruins. Which you will, if we go any further. I suggest we return to Dun Licinia at once. Sir Joram must be warned…and if the outlying freeholders do not fall back behind the town’s walls, they shall be slaughtered.”

  The dwarven friar was right. The omen Ridmark had sought for five years had filled the sky, and Ridmark knew the answers were somewhere on the Black Mountain. Yet a small army of orcs stood between Ridmark and the Mountain. He did not fear death, and after Mhalek’s defeat, he had courted death without hesitation. Yet as weary as he was of life, he was not ready to kill himself…and if he marched into the Tower of Vigilance, that was exactly what he would do.

  Besides, he was sure those Mhalekite orcs were somehow connected to the omen.

  “Very well,” said Ridmark. “We’ll make our way back to town. If we start now we should arrive by midnight.” He looked at the dwarf. “I assume you have no trouble journeying in the dark?”

  Caius smiled, his odd blue eyes glinting in his gray face. “I was a son of Khald Tormen, and I did not see the sun until my twentieth birthday. Your moonlit nights are to me as a cloudless summer day is to you.”

  Ridmark frowned. “So what is a cloudless summer day to you, then?”

  Caius considered it for a moment. “Very bright.”

  “Indeed,” said Ridmark, glancing at the sky. It was not a cloudless summer noon but a late spring afternoon, and the sky was a patchwork of clear blue and harsh gray clouds. “Best we move. Even with your eyes, I wouldn’t enjoy finding my way through the hills back to the valley in the…”

  A shadow passed overhead, and Ridmark caught a glimpse of sunlight reflecting off something coppery.

  “Down!” he hissed.

  He pushed Caius against the boulder, and a drake landed a half-dozen yards away.

  The serpentine creature was the size of a large dog, through its bat-like wings stretched for a dozen feet in either direction from its slender body. Gleaming copper-colored scales covered the creature from its head to its pointed tail, and talons the color of sooty iron jutted from its paws. Its narrow head rotated back and forth on the end of its long neck, and its gleaming yellow eyes regarded Ridmark with an unblinking stare.

  Caius frowned. “Is that a…”

  “Drake. A fire drake, yes,” said Ridmark. “Spread out your hands. Make yourself look bigger, and start moving to the side.” He spread his arms, staff in his right hand, and moved to the left while Caius moved to the right. “And for God’s sake don’t run at it.”

  “Small little devil,” said Caius, and his deep voice turned the drake’s attention toward him. “One good blow from my mace should crush its skull.”

  “Aye,” said Ridmark, “and if you miss, you won’t get a second blow, because your head will be on fire.”

  “Do you think the orcs enspelled it,” said Caius, “and sent the beast to scout?”

  “Perhaps,” said Ridmark. The Magistri of the High Kingdom used their magic for defense, for knowledge, and for far-speaking, but the shamans of the pagan orcs possessed many strange powers. “There are nests of the drakes upon the Black Mountain. Occasionally bold knights will decide to make a name for themselves by slaying a few of the drakes…and usually they wind up cooked within their armor.”

  The drake had still not moved, its head rotating back and forth between Caius and Ridmark.

  “What is it doing?” said Caius. “Why hasn’t it attacked?”

  “Because,” said Ridmark, “drakes aren’t afraid of humans, but I doubt this one has ever smelled a dwarf before. It doesn’t know what to make of you.”

  “So he’s trying to decide,” said Caius, “whether or not to eat us.”

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. “Keep making yourself look larger, and back away around the boulder. If it decides we’re too much trouble, it will fly off. Probably try to kill one of the Mhalekites. But if it decides to eat us, we’ll have to fight it, and it will breathe fire.”

  “That would be bad,” said Caius.

  “Obviously,” said Ridmark. He squatted, scooped up a stone with his free hand, and kept backing away. “And if it misses, it will set those pine needles on fire. And if it does, the orcs in the Tower will see the fire…”

  “And come investigate and kill us,” said Caius. “So what do we do?”

  “Keep backing away,” said Ridmark. “If we can get behind the boulder, it…”

  The drake scuttled forward, its jaws yawning.

  “Down!” said Ridmark.

  Caius threw himself to the side, and the drake spat a jet of swirling yellow-orange flame. The fire splashed against the side of the boulder, and a patch of pine needles burst into flame, thick black smoke rising into the sky. Caius sprinted at the drake, mace in hand, and the beast opened its jaws for another blast of flame.

  Ridmark flung the stone in his left hand. It slammed into the drake’s head. The drake snarled and rotated to face him, and Ridmark surged forward. He swung his staff with all his strength, and the shaft struck with enough force to knock two fangs from the drake’s jaw. The creature staggered with a scream of pain, and Caius’s heavy mace slammed into the joint of its left foreleg. Ridmark heard the bones crunch beneath heavy dwarven steel, and again the drake screamed.

  The creature had had enough. It flung itself into the air, wings unfurling, and flew away towards the Black Mountain.

  The smoke from the burning pine needles followed it.

  Ridmark ducked behind another boulder, as did Caius, and saw the commotion atop the hill. The orcs were moving. They had seen the fire, and they would send at least a single patrol to investigate.

  “We had best move,” said Ridmark.

  “Sound counsel,” said Caius.

  Ridmark beckoned, pulling up the cowl of his cloak, and led Caius further away from the road, higher up the slope of the hill towards the Tower. He looked at the burning pine needles and muttered a curse. Despite his best efforts, they had left tracks near the boulder. If the Mhalekites had any skilled trackers among their numbers, the orcs would find their trail in short order.

  They needed to disappear.

  Fortunately, the sun was going down, and the ground grew rockier near the Tower of Vigilance itself.

  “This way,” said Ridmark. “Step only where I step.”

  He hurried across the stony hillside as fast as he dared, moving from boulder to boulder and stone to stone. Caius hopped after him, mace in one hand. With any luck, they would not leave tracks for the orcs to follow. Given that the Mhalekites clearly planned to attack Dun Licinia as soon as possible, Ridmark hoped they could lie low until the orcs departed. Then they could slip past their column and head for Dun Licinia.

  “There,” said Ridmark. They were getting closer to the Tower than he would like, and would need cover soon. “Follow me.”

  A pair of stubby pine trees jutted from a massive cracked boulder. Ridmark ducked under the trees, the fallen needles gritting benea
th his boots, and Caius followed suit. From here, they had a fine view of both the hillside and the road leading to the Tower’s southern gate. If any orcs came towards their hiding place, Ridmark would see them long before they saw him.

  “A good hiding place,” said Caius. He squinted at the curtain wall. “Though if they’re clever, I suppose they could mount a siege machine upon the wall and shoot us from a distance.”

  “If they have any siege machines,” said Ridmark, “they’re taking them to Dun Licinia. We’d best wait here until we see how they react to the fire.” He sat down with a sigh and pulled off his pack. “Do you have any food?”

  “Of course,” said Caius, lifting his own pack. “Hard biscuits and cheese. I wouldn’t venture into the Wilderland without supplies. And you stopped the orcs before they robbed me.”

  “I don’t suppose you have any wine,” said Ridmark, reaching for his waterskin.

  “I do,” said Caius, “but it is reserved for communion.”

  Ridmark nodded, retrieved some jerky from his pack, and began to eat.

  “How long do you intend to remain here?” said Caius.

  “Until nightfall,” said Ridmark. “Once it’s dark, we can make our way back down the hill and back to Dun Licinia.”

  “That’s another four hours, at least,” said Caius.

  Ridmark nodded. “Then I suggest that you make yourself comfortable.”

  Caius grimaced. “Small chance of that, I fear.”

  “Is not hardship good for the soul?”

  “True,” said Caius, “though, alas, the flesh is never as willing to…”

  A war horn rang out, and for an instant Ridmark thought that they had been discovered. But a second horn rang out, and then another, until dozens of blasts thundered over the foothills of the Black Mountain. Drums boomed from the Tower of Vigilance, and Ridmark heard thousands of orcs shouting.

  “Quite the racket,” said Caius.

  Ridmark peered up at the ruined castle. Orcs hurried along the base of the walls, gathering at the southern gate. In their midst he saw wagons pulled by mules, wagons laden with weapons and supplies.

  “They’re moving out,” he said. “And I would wager they are heading right for Dun Licinia.”

  “We must go at once,” said Caius.

  “We can’t,” said Ridmark. “If we leave now, we’ll get caught. Not even I can elude that many orcs in one place. We’ll wait until dark, or until enough of them leave.” He thought for a moment. “Then we can cut through the Tower of Vigilance itself and exit through its northern gate. Another road circles the base of the hill, and we can use it to reach Dun Licinia.”

  “Just in time to see the town besieged,” said Caius.

  “Perhaps,” said Ridmark. “The Mhalekites might take their time looting the countryside. But if the town falls under siege, we’ll head for Castra Marcaine. Dux Licinius needs to be warned, and he can call his Comites and knights to smash the Mhalekites.”

  He did not look forward to seeing Dux Gareth Licinius again, not at all, and he never wanted to return to Castra Marcaine. But the Dux of the Northerland had to be warned of what was happening in his lands.

  “I can think of nothing better to do,” said Caius.

  “Pity,” said Ridmark. “I was hoping you had a better plan.”

  They sat in silence. Ridmark watched the orcs moving around the base of the castle. A long column wound its way down the road, thousands of orcish warriors marching in a ragged line. The orcs lacked the discipline and the formations Ridmark had seen in the High King’s armies, or the baptized orcs allied with the High King. Yet the rage in the orcs’ blood let them strike harder and faster than a human man. Discipline always conquered individual valor and boldness, yet the orcs’ battle rage was unmatched…

  “How do you happen to know this countryside so well?” said Caius, cutting into Ridmark’s musings.

  He looked away from the marching column. “When Mhalek came, the Master of my…the Master of the Swordbearers sent out scouts. He wanted the countryside mapped thoroughly, didn’t want Mhalek to use the terrain against us.”

  “The Master of the Order at the battle?” said Caius. “That was old Armus Galearus, wasn’t it?”

  “Aye,” said Ridmark, remembering the fierce old man with his bristling white beard. He had been the image of a chivalric Swordbearer, devoted to his code…right up until Mhalek’s treachery killed him.

  “I suppose you benefited from the maps,” said Caius.

  “I did,” said Ridmark. He shook his head. “They said I won the Battle of Dun Licinia, but as I told you, I was hardly alone. I had a great deal of help.”

  “Up until the end, at any rate,” said Caius.

  “Yes,” said Ridmark.

  He did not want to talk about what had happened after the battle.

  They lapsed into silence. Caius lifted his crucifix and began to pray in silence, his bearded lips moving through the words. Ridmark settled against a tree’s trunk, held his bow and an arrow ready in his hands, and watched the orcish army march. He wondered why the Mhalekites had occupied the ruined castle. Mhalek himself had avoided it, claiming that dark magic even he could not control lurked within the ruins. Old Galearus had used Mhalek’s fear to keep the orcs from flanking the army of Andomhaim, and after Galearus had been killed, the battle had begun far south from the castle.

  So why occupy it now? And why abandon it so easily? With a little work, the orcs could have made the place impregnable.

  Ridmark sat and waited.

  After about two hours he got to his feet. The sun had sunk far to the west, filling the foothills with thick shadows.

  “Caius,” said Ridmark, and the dwarf looked up from his prayers. “They’ve moved on.” A long column of orcs and wagons moved down the road, and Ridmark had not seen anyone issue from the Tower of Vigilance for a while.

  “Foolish of them,” said Caius, standing with a grunt. “They could have held the castle. Or at the very least, they could have waited until dawn to march. Now they’ll have to camp in the open.”

  “Perhaps they plan to steal supplies from the freeholders near the town,” said Ridmark. “Or perhaps their commander is simply an idiot.”

  “One can hope,” said Caius. “If we must have enemies, let them be fools.”

  “We are rarely that fortunate,” said Ridmark. He watched the column for another moment, and then nodded. “Let’s go.”

  “Now?” said Caius. “There are still orcs on the road.”

  “Not as many,” said Ridmark, “and they’re all heading south. If we slip into the Tower and head for the north gate, we can make for Dun Licinia from the northwest.”

  He stepped out from the trees, staff in hand, Caius following. His heart pounded within his ribs, and he felt unseen eyes gazing at him. Every instinct screamed that the orcs were going to fall upon him, that the Mhalekites would attack.

  But the orcs had abandoned the ruins of the Tower, and their warriors marched south.

  “This way,” said Ridmark.

  He picked his way up the slope, keeping a wary eye on the road and the curtain wall, pausing every so often to let Caius catch up. But the orcs continued their march, and he saw no sign of movement within the ruined castle. By the time he reached the top of the hill, the orcish column had vanished around the road.

  Heading for Dun Licinia…and for the unprotected freeholders near the town.

  Ridmark could do nothing for them now. The sooner he crossed through the Tower of Vigilance, the sooner he could return to Dun Licinia and warn Sir Joram. Or to reach Castra Marcaine to warn Gareth Licinius of the threat to his lands.

  Or to rouse Dux Licinius to avenge the people of Dun Licinia.

  “Shall we walk to the gate?” said Caius, breathing hard.

  “No need,” said Ridmark, circling around the exterior of the curtain wall.

  The wall was thirty feet high, but it had crumbled into ruin in several locations. Ridmark scrambled
up a rubble heap, the broken stones providing easy handholds. He pulled himself to the rampart, helped up Caius, and looked over the ruined Tower of Vigilance. Once a half-dozen tall towers had stood in the center of the courtyard, connected by their own wall. Now only empty stone shells remained, and weeds and even small trees had pushed their way up through the flagstones.

  “This was a strong place,” said Caius.

  “Aye, but no longer,” said Ridmark. “Come. Another gate opens in the northern wall. From there we can…”

  He fell silent as a flicker of motion caught his eye.

  A party of orcs moved around the base of a ruined keep.

  “Go,” hissed Ridmark, gesturing at one of the towers in the outer wall. “Take cover, now.”

  Caius hurried into the tower. The door had rotted away long ago, the hinges leaving orange rust stains upon the stone. The tower’s interior had collapsed in a pile of moldering timber and broken stone, but the stairs still encircled the wall, and Ridmark braced himself upon the steps, near one of the narrow windows overlooking the courtyard. From here, no one in the yard could see him, but he could see the group of orcs.

  Soon the orcs came into sight. An orcish man wearing ragged trousers and a vest led them, his arms and chest tattooed with ritual symbols. At his side walked a tall orcish warrior, almost seven feet high, clad in armor of odd blue steel plates, the hilt of a greatsword rising over his shoulder.

  “That’s dark elven steel,” muttered Caius.

  Ridmark nodded. “He must have looted it from some ruin.”

  “Or slain a dark elven warrior and claimed his armor,” said Caius.

  That was a worrying thought. A dark elf could live for a millennia, could hone his skills with a sword to unmatched heights. An orc capable of slaying a dark elven warrior would be a dangerous foe.

  And if the shaman and the warrior cooperated in battle, they would make for deadly enemies.

  “Thirty of them, I think,” said Caius.

  “Odd they’re not leaving with the rest of the host,” said Ridmark.

  “I know,” said Caius. “I think that…” His eyes widened. “Look.”

  Two of the orcs carried a wooden pole, and a woman dangled from the pole, her wrists and ankles bound with heavy rope. She was naked, her face hidden behind long blond hair, and for a moment Ridmark thought she was dead, that the orcs had turned her into a macabre trophy. But he saw her struggling against the ropes, saw her chest rising and falling as she drew breath.