Frostborn: The World Gate

by Jonathan Moeller

  He did. They had a bad habit of doing this at the edge of danger, and it had almost gotten them killed in the Torn Hills. Of course, the only time they were ever alone was when they went scouting together. Ridmark wondered what it would be like to live with her in peace, to find somewhere quiet where they could dwell without rushing off to risk their lives.

  Then he didn’t think about anything else. Her kisses had that effect on him.

  At last Ridmark made himself pull away. Morigna looked up at him, her eyes smoldering.

  “What,” she whispered, “are you thinking?”

  “That the edge of an urdmordar’s forest is not the place for this,” said Ridmark.

  Morigna looked back at the trees. “Alas. You are likely right.”

  “Let’s go,” said Ridmark. “Have your ravens keep watch from any groups of arachar. I suspect the branches will obscure their sight, but a large band of arachar warriors should be visible.”

  “They will be,” said Morigna. “Many of the trees are dead and have lost all their leaves.”

  “All the better,” said Ridmark, and they headed back into the forest.

  There were no roads, but there were trails, paths the arachar and the spiderlings used when Rhogrimnalazur sent them forth to carry out her bidding. Ridmark spotted one such trail and followed it east, his eyes sweeping the trees and his ears straining for any signs of enemies. He suspected the failed attack at the hill had thrown the arachar in disarray, that Rhogrimnalazur would take a few hours to decide what to do next.

  So far, at least, his suspicion had proven correct.

  “Here,” murmured Ridmark, beckoning to Morigna as he stepped off the path. A dead tree stood there, wreathed in crumbling webbing, five withered corpses bound to its trunk. Ridmark pulled on one of the smaller branches and it came off in his hand. He looked around, spotted a stretch of ground free of plants and anything flammable, and dropped the branch in the center.

  “What are you doing?” said Morigna.

  “Making sure that I’m right,” said Ridmark, going to one knee next to the branch.

  “One suspects you are about to do something dramatic,” said Morigna. “I am reminded of the marsh gas you burned to deal with Rotherius and the assassins of the Red Family. Or the pine forest you burned when we tried to steal the soulstone back from Sir Paul Tallmane. ”

  “That,” said Ridmark, “was the best I could come up with at the time.” They had spent a lot of time trying to get that damned soulstone back, first from Paul Tallmane and then from Shadowbearer. Ridmark put his staff on the ground and drew his dagger and a piece of flint from his belt. “I’m hoping this will be a little more effective.”

  He struck a spark over the branch.

  The old webbing caught fire at once, wreathing the branch in flame, and the dried wood began to burn. Ridmark jumped back as the branch blazed with hot fire and then went dark, crumbling to ashes and hot coals.

  “That burned faster than it should have,” said Morigna.

  “The webbing,” said Ridmark. “Whatever substance that makes urdmordar webbing so sticky is also quite flammable.” He scratched his jaw. He really needed a shave, but there had not been time for such luxuries after they had left Khald Azalar in haste. “Probably it’s to keep the victims of the urdmordar from burning their way free from the webs. Light a web on fire and you’ll kill anyone entangled within it. We almost found that out the hard way at Urd Arowyn, when we freed Agrimnalazur’s captives from the central tower. The villagers from Aranaeus suggested that we burn the webs down, but Calliande remembered that urdmordar webbing burned so quickly. We might have killed most of the captives by accident otherwise.”

  “So what happens when Antenora begins flinging fire around the forest?” said Morigna.

  “If Antenora starts throwing fire around the forest,” said Ridmark, “it may be to our advantage. I need to see if the terrain will work for what I have in mind. Come on.”

  He retrieved his staff, returning the flint and dagger to his belt, and led the way to the east. Ridmark kept away from the path. If anyone came by, he and Morigna would have ample opportunity to hide. Twice he saw small groups of arachar warriors hurrying along, and he and Morigna vanished into the trees, taking cover until the orcs passed. The arachar seemed in some distress. Likely they were going to see if Ridmark and his companions still occupied the ruined hill fort.

  Knowing the lupivirii, the scouts would not return to report.

  The ground sloped downward, and the smell of the air started to change. The dying forest stank of musty webbing and rotting flesh, but now the wet smell of a living river came to Ridmark’s nostrils. He saw a small hill near the trail, and scrambled up to its top, looking above the treetops.

  The River Moradel stretched away to the east, Urd Cystaanl rising from its edge like the wreckage of a half-drowned ship. This far north, the river was not as wide as it would be when it reached Tarlion, but it was still a half-mile from bank to bank. A peninsula jutted into the water, and the ruined white walls and pale towers of Urd Cystaanl rose from the rocky land. The dark elves’ sense of aesthetics was alien to human minds, and to Ridmark’s eyes the ruin looked both beautiful and distorted, almost like a fever dream. Even ruined, the fortress possessed a terrible beauty and strange grandeur. Once the dark elves had believed themselves the masters of the world, but now the urdmordar ruled in the ruins of their grand empires.

  Ridmark considered the fortress. It was not large, at least compared to the other dark elven ruins he had seen, and a tall keep rose from the center of the fortress, small towers jutting from the crumbling curtain wall. Great breaches marked the wall, and the gates lay in broken wreckage. Entering Urd Cystaanl would not be a challenge.

  Getting out again would be harder.

  To the north of the ruins, along the river’s bank, Ridmark saw a large village. Most of the buildings were round houses of stone with conical thatched roofs, the preferred style of houses built by the orcs of the Wilderland. The trees around the village had been cleared, creating fields of crops, though the webbed trees surrounded the farmland. Ridmark wondered what it would be like for the orcish children to grow up in such a place, surrounded by the mummified corpses of Rhogrimnalazur’s victims, knowing that their urdmordar goddess might choose to consume them at any time.

  Perhaps he could free the arachar of that.

  Assuming they didn’t kill him first.

  “I do not think we should come any closer,” said Morigna, her voice a faint whisper, her breath hot against his ear. “Note the watchtowers at the edge of the fields. My ravens see guards within the towers. Any closer, and the arachar might see us.”

  “Or the spiderlings in Urd Cystaanl,” murmured Ridmark. He looked for a while longer, noting the terrain and fixing it in his mind. His plan would probably work, he decided. If Antenora and Calliande worked their spells at the right time, they could isolate Rhogrimnalazur from her servants and attack the urdmordar and the spiderlings without any interference.

  Of course, a plan often fell apart when confronted with an actual battle.

  “Good enough,” said Ridmark. “Let’s get back to the others.”

  Morigna nodded, and Ridmark led the way down the hill. Together they made their way through the web-choked forest, keeping away from the paths. Ridmark walked in silence, and Morigna followed suit, moving as quietly as a ghost over the uneven ground.

  She let out a little laugh as they approached the edge of the forest.

  “What is it?” said Ridmark, looking around.

  “It occurs to me,” said Morigna, “that whenever we are alone together, we always seem to be heading into some deadly danger.”

  Ridmark grunted. “We’ve been walking into deadly danger together from the moment we met. Coriolus’s pet undead were trying to kill you that first day.”

  “That was foolish of him,” murmured Morigna. “He spent years preparing me to serve as a vessel of his spirit. He could have lost
all that work if one of his undead ripped off my head.”

  “That was my fault,” said Ridmark. “Mine and Calliande’s. Shadowbearer wanted us dead and the soulstone recaptured. So he handed that task off to Coriolus. I suppose Coriolus’s fear of him was greater than his desire for immortality.”

  “He did not wish to fail Shadowbearer, it would seem,” said Morigna.

  “Failing Shadowbearer,” said Ridmark, “seems to be an excellent way to experience mortality. Or the terminal aspects of it.”

  Morigna snorted. “Such an elegant way of putting it. You have been listening to Caius far too much.”

  “As you like to tell Caius, this is neither the time nor the place for a theological debate,” said Ridmark. “Perhaps you should follow your own counsel.”

  Morigna laughed again. “So commanding, my love. So lordly. Little wonder we all listen to you.”

  “I have found,” said Ridmark, “that most people want someone to tell them what to do in a crisis. Why not me?”

  “Why not, indeed,” said Morigna. “I think you underestimate yourself, Ridmark.”

  “Considering this began as a discussion how we are always in danger when we are alone,” said Ridmark, “our talk has turned remarkably philosophical.”

  “Our discussions often do that,” said Morigna.

  “What I would like,” said Ridmark, “is to be alone together without having to worry about urvaalgs or Mhorites or malophages ripping us apart.”

  “So would I,” said Morigna, “but it is not as if we can rent a room at the inn. The accommodations of the Wilderland are not terribly comfortable, alas.”

  “A rented room,” said Ridmark. “Or a cabin of our own someplace.” He glanced back at her. “Once this is all over.”

  Morigna blinked. “Once what is over?”

  “What we are doing,” said Ridmark. “Our task, this quest. Once Shadowbearer is defeated and we keep the Frostborn from ever returning. Once Calliande is restored and acknowledged as the Keeper of Andomhaim. Our work will be done.”

  “If we live through this,” said Morigna.

  “If we live through this,” repeated Ridmark.

  “Then you are thinking about the future,” said Morigna, a peculiar hesitation in her voice. “About us.”

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. He glanced back at her. He wondered if that thought frightened her. She had lived alone in the Wilderland for years. Perhaps she wanted to do that again. “Don’t you?”

  “I have not given it any thought,” said Morigna.

  Ridmark took a deep breath. “If you want to return to the Wilderland, if you want to live alone in…”

  “What?” said Morigna. “Is that what you think? No, no. I want to stay with you. I want to go where you go.” She hesitated. “Is…that what you want?”

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. “Of course.”

  “Oh,” said Morigna. “Good. Not that I doubted it, of course. It is just…”

  “We’ve spent so much time running and fighting for our lives that we’ve never talked about it,” said Ridmark.

  “Aye,” said Morigna. “So. That leads to the logical question. What…do you want, Ridmark Arban? What do you want to do if we live through this, if we are victorious?”

  “I would like,” said Ridmark, “to live someplace quiet. A cabin someplace on the edge of the Wilderland, a place where we can trap and hunt, perhaps trade with some of the quieter towns and villages. Maybe the outer reaches of the Northerland or Durandis, perhaps. Or Caertigris…there are many empty lands there.”

  Morigna hesitated. “Is that truly what you want? It seems…less than I would have expected.”

  Ridmark shrugged. “What else could I do? I am an exile. It is not as if I could return to Andomhaim.”

  “I think,” said Morigna, “that Andomhaim needs you.”

  Ridmark shook his head. “I was banished. I cannot return.”

  “Ridmark,” said Morigna, “Tarrabus Carhaine pushed for your banishment…and Tarrabus Carhaine is the chief of the Enlightened of Incariel.”

  Ridmark opened his mouth to argue…and then fell silent.

  “That…had never occurred me,” he said.

  “You thought you deserved your banishment,” said Morigna. “Since you blamed yourself for Aelia’s death.”

  “Deservedly,” said Ridmark.

  “Do not start that again,” said Morigna. “Maybe you would blame yourself regardless. I know how that feels. But the crux of the matter is you did not deserve the banishment. Do you not see? Perhaps Tarrabus banished you in vengeance for Aelia, because she chose you over him. But he also banished you because you would have opposed him. He banished you because it gave him a freer hand to do as he wished.”

  None of that had ever occurred to Ridmark. First he had been too focused on blaming himself for Aelia’s death, seeking his own death in retribution. Then he had turned all his attention to helping Calliande, to discovering the secret of the Frostborn. Yet Morigna’s words rang true. Ridmark did not doubt that Tarrabus blamed him for Aelia’s death. He also did not doubt that Tarrabus had forced Ridmark’s banishment to rid the Enlightened of Incariel of a potential foe.

  He sighed. “What would you have me do?”

  “Return to Andomhaim,” said Morigna, “and take your rightful place among the lords of the realm.”

  Ridmark snorted. “I thought you detested the nobles of Andomhaim.”

  “Well, if they are all like Sir Arandar I could do without them,” said Morigna. “But that is why they need you. They have allowed the corruption of the Enlightened to fester in their ranks. Brother Caius, for once, was right.”

  “Really?” said Ridmark. He had never thought to hear those words come from her lips. “About what?”

  “Caius said that before you met, he preached a sermon in Tarlion chastising the nobles for pursuing wealth and power in lieu of their responsibilities,” said Morigna. Ridmark had forgotten that. “For once, he was more right than he knew. I merely thought the nobles of Andomhaim were greedy and stupid…”

  “Because Coriolus said so?” said Ridmark.

  “He did,” said Morigna, “but in this, was he wrong?”

  Ridmark said nothing for a while, picking his way over the root-tangled ground.

  “Not entirely,” said Ridmark. “There are good men among the nobles. My father and brothers – I would believe the sun rose in the west before they turned to the Enlightened. Dux Gareth of the Northerland and his son Constantine. Corbanic and Cortin Lamorus in Coldinium.”

  “But there are villains among them as well,” said Morigna. “Tarrabus Carhaine. Sir Paul Tallmane. The men holding Arandar’s son on a false murder charge. You heard Jager tell the tale of what Sir Paul’s father did. The Red Family has festered in Cintarra for centuries. Someone has to pay for their services, and the nobles of Andomhaim are wealthy. Shadowbearer himself said he founded the Enlightened to corrupt and poison the realm of Andomhaim. If we manage to kill him, we shall have cut the head off the snake, but the poison the snake’s fangs pumped into Andomhaim will still remain.”

  “So what do you suggest?” said Ridmark.

  “That you return to Andomhaim and take your rightful place,” said Morigna. “You said you wanted to help Calliande in her task. One imagines that Calliande shall need a great deal of help to root out of the Enlightened of Incariel.”

  “Is that the kind of life you wish?” said Ridmark.

  Morigna shrugged. “What I wish is to remain at your side. Do not forget I have a stake in this as well. Coriolus was a scion of the Enlightened and their teachings, and he murdered both my parents and Sir Nathan. I would seem them avenged and the Enlightened of Incariel broken.”

  “By having me become a powerful lord of Andomhaim?” said Ridmark. “With you at my side?” He frowned. “Is this about power?”

  Morigna shrugged again. “Of course it is. But you do not desire power for its own sake. Yet someone in Andomhaim must wield power, Ridm
ark, whether you will it or not. Such is the nature of men. Someone must always wield power. It could be someone like you, or even someone like Arandar. Or it can be someone like Tarrabus and Paul Tallmane.”

  Ridmark said nothing. He had never wanted to become a lord, only a knight in service to a worthy Comes or Dux. As the youngest son of Dux Leogrance, he had never thought to inherit Taliand. Yet if he had become the vassal of some Comes or Dux or powerful knight, he would have become a landed lord with benefices and villages of his own. Did Morigna want to become the wife of a powerful lord, whispering in his ear as he gathered allies against Tarrabus Carhaine and his supporters? He supposed it was a healthier craving than a longing for magical power.

  “Suppose I do not agree with you,” said Ridmark, “and I go back to the Wilderland once this is done. What then?”

  “Then I will go with you,” said Morigna, and for a moment there was a hint of a quaver in her voice. “You will not be rid of me so easily, Ridmark Arban.”

  He looked back at her. “Who says I want to be rid of you?”

  She blinked, and then smiled at him.

  “Ah,” said Ridmark. “Two smiles in a single day. Truly this is a day for bold deeds.”

  “One should not be so glib,” said Morigna. “And to restate my answer to your question, if you go back to the Wilderland, then I will go with you. But…I think that would be a waste of your abilities. I think that you know it would be a waste of your abilities. I think that you have finished your mourning for Aelia, and that you are ready to go back. And I finally think you would not leave Calliande and your father and your friends to face the Enlightened alone.”

  They walked in silence for a little while, the trees thinning around them. In the distance he saw the hill with the ruined ring fort.

  “All this is moot, of course,” said Ridmark, “if Rhogrimnalazur eats us, or if Shadowbearer kills us all.”

  “Simplicity itself,” said Morigna. “We shall just have to kill them first.”