Frostborn: The False King

by Jonathan Moeller

Kurdulkar might have been twisted by his dark vision, but he wasn’t a fool. He would simply kill Ridmark without fuss and continue with his plan. Tarrabus Carhaine might have saved himself a lot of trouble if he had done so at Coldinium and Dun Calpurnia. Ridmark couldn’t break free of the manetaurs holding his arms. He couldn’t reach any weapons, and even if he could, the manetaurs would have overwhelmed him in short order. He could do nothing to escape the manetaur khalath striding towards him.

  Ridmark realized that he was about to die.

  He expected to feel dread, but instead a strange calm came over him, a feeling almost like relief, even detachment. Had Morigna felt this way when Imaria and the Weaver had killed her?

  Morigna…

  An almost-memory, like a forgotten dream, flickered across Ridmark’s mind.

  Morigna had said something. Something important. But what?

  Ralakahr drew back his hand, claws glittering on the end of his fingers as he prepared to tear out Ridmark’s throat. Ridmark remembered the Red King’s palace, remembered Curzonar and Kurdulkar glaring at each other with undisguised hatred. They were siblings, but they hated each other and were jealous of their father’s approval.

  And suddenly Ridmark understood.

  “Curzonar was right about you,” he said in a clear voice. “You are no longer Hunters.”

  Ralakahr froze, his eyes narrowing. “What did you say?”

  “You are no longer Hunters,” said Ridmark, meeting the towering manetaur’s gaze. “Curzonar was right about you.”

  “A foolish choice for last words, dog,” snarled Ralakahr, “since you will choke on your own blood when I…”

  “Hold,” said Kurdulkar. “What did you say?”

  His voice was calm, but his eyes had narrowed, and his breathing was coming faster.

  “He said,” said Ridmark, “that you had ceased to be Hunters, that you had become something worse and weaker.”

  “You understand nothing of what it is to be a Hunter,” said Kurdulkar.

  “Perhaps not,” said Ridmark, “but I understand enough to see that Curzonar was right. You are no longer a Hunter. You’re not even prey. You’re something worse, some twisted freak like the urvaalgs and the ursaars…”

  “You understand nothing,” said Kurdulkar, that strange, mad light in his golden eyes again.

  “Curzonar does,” said Ridmark, “and he said that you turned to the shadow of Incariel because you are too weak and too cowardly to run down prey with your own strength.”

  The others manetaurs went motionless, like lions preparing to spring upon their prey. Ridmark had just delivered a deadly insult to Kurdulkar and his warriors. Among the manetaurs, that would almost always result in a mortal challenge. From an outsider, it was unforgivable. If Ridmark could draw this out long enough …

  “You think yourself fit to judge a Hunter?” said Kurdulkar.

  “Tarrabus Carhaine turned to the shadow of Incariel to seize the throne of Andomhaim,” said Ridmark, “because he was too weak to take it with his strength. You are exactly the same, Kurdulkar, because you are the weakest get of your father. You cannot kill the Red King with your own power, and you are not even brave enough to face him, so instead you fled to the shadow of Incariel like a kitten running terrified to its…”

  Kurdulkar threw back his head and roared, the sound deafening. For a moment Ridmark was sure that he had goaded the Prince too far, that Kurdulkar was about to rip him limb from limb.

  Then Kurdulkar lowered his head, a cold, icy smile on his face, his eyes gleaming.

  “Curzonar is wrong,” he said. “You are wrong. It is not the Hunters who judge each other’s worthiness. Tell me, Gray Knight. Who is the truest judge of a Hunter’s worth?”

  “Who?” said Ridmark.

  “Why, the prey itself,” said Kurdulkar. “They decide. You presume to judge our worthiness as Hunters, Gray Knight? We shall give you the opportunity to decide for yourself.”

  “Give me the honor, my lord Prince,” said Ralakahr. “Let me teach this worm the meaning of fear.”

  “You shall have it, my friend,” said Kurdulkar. “Prepare him.”

  Two other manetaurs strode forward. They had already taken Ridmark’s weapons, and now they pulled off his dark elven armor and his gray cloak, their claws slashing his clothes to shreds until he stood naked between the two manetaurs, their hands like iron shackles around his arms.

  “And you presume to judge us,” said Kurdulkar. “Look at you. No claws, no fangs, no fur, your skin as thin as paper.” He dragged a claw across the left side of Ridmark’s chest, drawing blood. “Without your armor and your weapons, we see you for the weak and useless monkey that you are. So.” He stepped back and licked Ridmark’s blood from his claw. “Prove us unworthy Hunters, prey.”

  “Hard to do that,” said Ridmark, “if you won’t let me go.”

  “I am going to kill you,” said Ralakahr, “and I will do it slowly. I will rip you open and feast on your innards and leave you alive to watch.”

  “What are you waiting for, then?” said Ridmark. “Get on with it already.”

  Ralakahr smiled. “You will not be so defiant in a few moments.”

  “Ralakahr is going to hunt you down and kill you like the dog that you are,” said Kurdulkar. He gestured, and three other manetaur warriors stepped forward, bows in hand, and the two other manetaurs holding Ridmark released him. His armor and weapons lay in an untidy heap a dozen yards away, but they might as well have been in Nightmane Forest for all the good they did him. “Run into the Labyrinth. We are sporting, so you may have a head start of one minute. Then Ralakahr will run you down and rip you to pieces.”

  Ridmark hesitated, trying to think of something to do. There was no way he could outrun a manetaur, and running into the maze of the Labyrinth would get him killed anyway.

  “We shall depart for Bastoth to finish the plan,” said Kurdulkar. “Ralakahr, kill him quickly and then return. Oh, make sure to keep his head mostly intact. When the Keeper returns to Bastoth, I want to throw it at her. I want to see the expression on the troublesome bitch’s face when I do.”

  “As you command, lord Prince,” said Ralakahr.

  “And you, Ridmark Arban,” said Kurdulkar. “Run for your life. Run,” the manetaurs holding their bows took aim, “or stay here and die. Decide now.”

  Ridmark couldn’t see any way out of this.

  But if Kurdulkar was going to kill him, Ridmark would not give up his life without a fight.

  He turned and sprinted for the entrance to the Labyrinth.

  Chapter 18: Unarmed

  Ridmark ran through the white stone arch, the walls rough and dotted with ghost mushrooms, the white stone cool and smooth beneath his feet. He didn’t think there were any traps in the tunnel, but it was too dark to tell, and he didn’t dare slow down enough to look. Any moment Ralakahr was coming for him, and even with his armor and weapons, Ridmark would have a hard time defeating a manetaur in battle.

  Unarmed, naked, and alone, he had no chance.

  His only hope was to find one of the traps the dark elves had enjoyed so much and lure Ralakahr into it. Of course, it was possible that Ralakahr and Kurdulkar had explored the Labyrinth and knew its dangers, that they were laughing to themselves as Ridmark ran to his death.

  But that was his only chance, so he ran faster, his feet slipping on the smooth white stone of the floor.

  Ahead he saw a pale red glow. The dark elves had enspelled crystals to glow with a crimson light, using them for illumination in their underground tunnels. Their kingdoms might have fallen long ago, but the crystals remained. Likely that meant Ridmark was about to enter into a large hall or gallery, and that was bad. Ralakahr would overtake him quickly in such an empty space. Ridmark needed a narrow corridor, someplace that Ralakahr could not follow him, someplace he could stop and think and tend to that stinging cut upon his chest and maybe even come up with a plan…

  A thunderous roar rang out behind h
im, echoing through the tunnel. It was the hunting cry of a manetaur.

  He cursed and ran faster, and sprinted into a vast open hall of white stone, crimson light shining from rough crystals placed at the apex of the vaulted ceiling. Six different archways led off from the hall, opening into wide, broad corridors. A balcony encircled the walls of the hall, rising a good forty feet over the top of Ridmark’s head. Once Ralakahr caught up to him, Ridmark was finished.

  Except…

  Some of the white tiles of the floor had symbols upon them.

  Ridmark thought that he recognized the symbols. He had visited dark elven ruins more than he cared to remember. Almost certainly there was an elaborate mechanical trap within the hall, probably beneath the floor. If he stepped upon the wrong symbol, the trap would trigger, and he would be dead.

  At least that would be a quicker death than what Ralakahr would do to him.

  In some of these trapped rooms, a specific symbol marked the path to safety. Ridmark saw that symbol repeated on dozens of tiles across the floor. Of course, it was possible the builders of the Labyrinth had changed the meanings of the symbols just for their own amusement.

  Ridmark risked a glance over his shoulder. Ralakahr was loping down the corridor after him. Unlike Ridmark, he still had his armor and weapons. For all of Kurdulkar’s fine talk about the superior strength and resilience of the manetaurs, it seemed that the Hunter was permitted advantages and the prey was not.

  Ralakahr’s hands blurred, his bow coming up, and Ridmark cursed and threw himself to the side. The arrow clipped him, opening a line of blood across his left thigh, and Ridmark stumbled as a jolt of burning pain went through his left leg. The manetaur khalath yanked another arrow from his quiver, and Ridmark was out of options.

  He threw himself onto the nearest tile with the sigil for safety.

  A deep, metallic click went through the gallery.

  Ralakahr loosed a triumphant snarl and raised his bow again, drawing back the string.

  The floor shifted beneath Ridmark’s feet, and suddenly he realized he wasn’t standing on a tile.

  He was, in fact, standing on a pillar.

  The pillar shot up beneath Ridmark’s feet, even as dozens more square pillars rose from the floor. Ralakahr roared again and loosed his bow, but the pillars were moving too fast. The arrow struck the edge of the pillar and rebounded, the fletching brushing Ridmark’s arm as it tumbled away. The pillar continued its rapid ascent, and Ridmark struggled to keep his balance, even as he feared the pillar would crush him against the ceiling.

  There was another metallic click, and the pillar came to a halt about forty feet above the floor.

  Ridmark looked to the left, towards the balcony, and then down. Ralakahr had come to a halt, looking about in bewilderment. For the first time since blundering into Kurdulkar’s trap, Ridmark felt a flicker of hope. If the pillars had caught Ralakahr off guard, evidently Kurdulkar and his warriors had not explored the Labyrinth as thoroughly as Ridmark had feared.

  He dashed forward and jumped, covering the two yards between his pillar and the next one. Ralakahr snarled and raised his bow, snapping off a shot, but the arrow missed Ridmark. His feet slipped against the smooth white stone, and he almost fell, but he kept running and leaped again as Ralakahr pursued him.

  Ridmark leaped to another pillar, and a second metallic click went through the chamber.

  The pillar shivered beneath his feet, and he cursed, pushing himself faster. He leaped from the edge, aiming for the balcony, and just as he pushed off the pillar fell away beneath him. His leap did not have quite the power he wanted, and Ridmark slammed into the wall just below the stone railing. For an awful instant, he was sure that he would plummet to his death, but his fingers caught one of the stone balustrades in a death grip, and he hung there, his muscles straining as his legs scrabbled for purchase on the wall.

  He heard Ralakahr’s snarl of triumph, followed by the creak of a bow.

  That gave Ridmark a surge of desperate strength, and he heaved himself up, rolling over the railing just as Ralakahr released. This time, the arrow shot past his chest, the near-miss opening another shallow cut just below the one left by Kurdulkar’s claw. Again a bolt of pain shot through Ridmark, and he fell off the railing with a yelp, landing hard on his left hip and elbow. Instinct screamed at him to move, and he rolled towards the wall an instant before Ralakahr sent another arrow whistling between the balustrades, an arrow that would have transfixed his throat if he hadn’t moved.

  The manetaur was a dangerously good archer.

  Ridmark slammed into the wall and managed to sit up, breathing hard, his blood leaving a crimson smear upon the white stone of the floor. He heard the rasp of claws against stone as Ralakahr tried to climb after him, but the stone wall was too smooth for the manetaur. Ralakahr roared in frustration, and then Ridmark heard him running.

  He didn’t think that Ralakahr was retreating to join Kurdulkar quite yet.

  Ridmark rolled onto his stomach and crept forward, trying to ignore the pain in his chest and leg as they rubbed against the floor. He reached the edge of the balcony and peered into the trapped hall below. The pillars had retracted, and there was no sign of Ralakahr.

  The manetaur had likely ventured into the Labyrinth, seeking a way up to the balcony.

  Which meant that Ridmark had to move.

  He got to his feet with a grunt, looking down at his wounds. They stung, but they were not serious, and he didn’t think he would bleed out. The greater danger was the smell. He had no doubt that Ralakahr could smell his blood even through the odor of the ghost mushrooms, and that would draw the manetaur like a nail to a lodestone.

  Perhaps Ridmark could find a weapon somewhere in the Labyrinth. Or he could find a way out and rejoin Calliande and the others. He wondered if he could climb back down to the trapped hall now that Ralakahr had moved on, but one look proved that impossible. A single slip would send him plummeting to his death.

  He had to find another path.

  Three different corridors led off from the balcony, each one narrow and high, illuminated by the crimson crystals glimmering in the ceiling. The corridors stretched out of sight.

  One seemed as good as another. Ridmark shrugged to himself and picked the corridor on the left, walking as quietly and as quickly as he could.

  ###

  “Nothing, my lady Keeper,” said Tazemazar, shaking his head as purple fire danced around his fingers. “I fear I cannot sense anyone.”

  “Nor does the Sight,” rasped Antenora.

  “There are too many wards, and we’re too far underground,” said Calliande, blinking back a wave of dizziness. The Sight was powerful, but she couldn’t completely control it, just as a man couldn’t completely control his breathing. Whenever she sent the Sight into the Labyrinth, it was drawn off in one direction or another, pulled by the maze’s ancient wards. If she pressed harder, she caught glimpses of the Labyrinth’s past, of the generations of slaves who had died in fear and terror as they tried to escape. The Labyrinth was an old place, drenched in millennia of blood…and now Ridmark was alone within it.

  Or, worse, he might be in there with Kurdulkar and his warriors.

  If he was even still alive. A fall might have accomplished what Mhalek and Agrimnalazur and Paul Tallmane and Tymandain Shadowbearer had all failed to do. Fear choked Calliande at the thought, but she shoved it aside. Ridmark might be dead, or he might be alive, and there was one way to find out at once.

  She drew the dagger from her belt and cast the spell.

  Relief flooded through her.

  “That spell,” said Camorak. “What…”

  “A tracking spell,” said Calliande. She did not want to explain the story of the dagger to Camorak. “He’s still alive. Below us…and somewhat to the west, I think. He’s moving rapidly.”

  “Perhaps we should wait for him to return,” said Tazemazar.

  “No,” said Calliande. “We can’t.” She couldn’t. �
�The traps of the Labyrinth might kill him, and if Kurdulkar and his warriors are inside, he can’t fight them all alone.”

  “The Keeper is correct,” said Third in her cold voice. “The Queen commanded me to keep him safe. I will go in search of him, even if the rest of you stay behind.”

  “Our chances are better if we go together,” said Caius.

  “I shall certainly not stand back,” said Curzonar. “Yet how are we to enter the Labyrinth? The traps might kill us long before we can aid the Gray Knight.”

  “Fear not, lord Prince,” said Third. “I have some experience in these matters. Observe.”

  She stepped forward and vanished in a swirl of blue fire. An instant later she reappeared atop one of the stone tiles, blue fire burning in her veins and her eyes. Again Calliande heard the metallic click, and the tile started to swing open beneath Third’s feet.

  Calliande shouted a warning, but Third was already moving. She vanished in the flicker of blue fire and reappeared, again and again, flickering across cavern in a series of jumps. She opened a dozen trap doors in less than a minute, and as she did, she mapped a safe route across the tiles.

  “A useful power,” said Curzonar, blinking.

  “She used to be an urdhracos?” said Tazemazar.

  “Aye,” said Calliande.

  “I remember when she came to Nightmane Forest,” said Kharlacht. “She fought the Gray Knight for hours. He should have killed her, but he did not.”

  “Just as he should have killed Mara when it was the only prudent and safe thing to do,” said Caius. “But he did not, and the Anathgrimm warriors are the only thing that has kept the Frostborn from overrunning Andomhaim.”

  “I begin to see,” said Tazemazar, looking at Calliande, “why you all follow him so devotedly.”

  Third reappeared between Calliande and Antenora, the blue fire smoldering in her veins. “The path should be safe, so long as we stride upon tiles adorned with that glyph.” She pointed at one of the tiles. “Let us hasten.”

  Third led the way into the Labyrinth, and Calliande held to the Sight, seeking for Ridmark.