Frostborn: The World Gate

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Mara?” said Dagma, blinking.

  “Yes,” said Jager. He took a deep breath. “Dagma, this…is my wife, Mara.”

  Mara offered Dagma a tentative smile. “It is good to meet you. Jager has told me a great deal about you.”

  For a moment Dagma looked utterly astonished.

  Dieter frowned. “She is human. Not halfling.”

  Mara shrugged. “Well.” She pushed back her hair to reveal her pointed ears. “Not entirely.”

  “It is…it is good to meet you, madam,” said Dagma. “I would not have expected my brother to get married, to be honest. Not after what happened in Caudea. I would have thought him the sort to carry on inappropriately with any number of women.”

  “Well,” said Jager, “that was before I met Mara. She would have objected rather strenuously after that.”

  “Truly,” said Mara.

  “How did you meet?” said Dagma.

  Mara and Jager shared a look.

  “She was hired to kill him,” said Morigna, who looked like she was enjoying this more than Ridmark thought was appropriate, “but apparently found his charms irresistible, so she married him instead. One thinks that a rather peculiar form of courtship, but…”

  “Ah,” said Dagma, “what do you do now?”

  Mara opened her mouth.

  “She is the Queen of Nightmane Forest,” said Morigna, “after having slain the Traveler in single combat.”

  “You, mistress,” grumbled Dieter, “are an appalling liar. Such outlandish stories!”

  Morigna favored him with a cold smile. “I never lie, Master Dieter. It is far too much work to keep my story straight, so I simply tell the truth. Much less effort.”

  “Enough,” said Ridmark. “Jager, you can tell your sister what you’ve been doing the last ten years later. Right now I need your help. You know as well as I do that Imaria is part of the Enlightened. If she’s left unguarded in the town during the battle God only knows what kind of mischief she could work. If I find proof I can bring to the Dux, perhaps he will have her imprisoned or at least guarded.”

  “He’s right, husband,” said Mara.

  “Go,” said Dagma. She smiled. “Come for the servants’ dinner after the feast tonight. I’ll bring Dieter and the children, and we can…we can trade stories.” She seized her brother in a hug. “I never thought to see you again, Jager. Look at you! Fancy armor and everything.” She gave him a gentle punch in the ribs, her hand bouncing off the plates of dark elven steel.

  “I’ll look forward to it,” said Jager.

  Dagma smiled once more, and then left with her husband. Dieter gave Jager one more doubtful look, and then followed Dagma to the keep.

  “God and the saints,” said Jager. “My sister. I never thought I’d see her again.” He shrugged to himself, and Mara took his hand. “Though I never thought we’d come out of Urd Morlemoch or Khald Azalar alive, either, so what do I know?”

  “Come,” said Ridmark. “Let us see if we can learn more.” He looked at Calliande. “Will you be all right here?”

  “Yes,” she said with a faint smile. “A few moments of rest would be welcome.” She glanced to the north, to the dark shadow of the Black Mountain against the sky. “It is likely the last rest any of us will have for quite some time.”

  Calliande headed for the keep, Caius, Kharlacht, and the Swordbearers following her. Ridmark left the courtyard, Morigna at his side, Jager and Mara following after him. The inn stood on the far side of the forum, facing the church, and Ridmark headed for it.

  “Are you going to tell her the truth?” said Mara.

  “About what?” said Jager.

  “About us,” said Mara. “About what we’ve done.”

  Jager snorted. “Well, you already showed them your ears. That surprised me.”

  “I’ve declared myself to be the Queen of the Nightmane Forest before Dux Gareth,” said Mara. “It’s not as if I can hide myself any longer. But what about you? Will you tell Dagma that you were the Master Thief of Cintarra?”

  “I don’t know,” said Jager. “I…my father would not have approved of the life I have led since Caudea. Not at all. My sister seems to have become an honest servant. My father would be more proud of her than of me.”

  “Your father was the perfect halfling servant,” said Mara, “and he was murdered for it. Perhaps he would be more proud of you than you think.”

  “I had not considered it in that light,” said Jager.

  “You may also wish to consider,” said Morigna, “that you have the personal enmity of Tarrabus Carhaine, as well.”

  “Obviously,” said Jager. “What does that have to do with Dagma?”

  “You escaped from Tarrabus in Coldinium, and you helped wreck the Iron Tower and recover the empty soulstone,” said Morigna. “One supposes a man like Tarrabus Carhaine takes his grudges personally.” That was a considerable understatement. “If he realizes that Dagma is related to you, he might try to harm her or her children to take vengeance upon you. Consider what he did to Sir Arandar and his son.”

  Jager frowned. “Then I have put her in danger simply by coming here?”

  “The town was already in danger,” said Mara. “Shadowbearer and the Mhorites would see to that.”

  “Then let us reduce the danger,” said Ridmark, “and prove to the Dux that Imaria is one of the Enlightened.” He stopped at the door to the Guesthouse. “If she opens one of the town gates during the battle, or poisons the water supplies, that could be disastrous.”

  “You think she is capable of that?” said Mara.

  “I think she is one of the Enlightened,” said Ridmark, “and that the Enlightened are capable of anything.”

  “Then lead on,” said Jager. He grinned. “We followed you into Urd Morlemoch. What is the inn of a backwater town by comparison?”

  Morigna rolled her eyes at that, and Ridmark pushed the door open. The common room was spacious and deserted, with rows of tables and benches and a pair of hearths. Ridmark supposed the local men gathered here to eat and drink at the end of the day. He took the stairs against the far wall, the others following, and climbed to the top floor.

  The stairs ended at a wooden door. Ridmark listened at it for a moment, but heard nothing. He started to ask Jager to open the lock, but realized that the door was already open.

  Odd, that.

  A search of the top floor turned up nothing. There was a sitting room, a dining room, a private lavatory, and six bedrooms. Ridmark and the others found no documents, no weapons, nothing incriminating. Only two of the rooms looked to have been used, and both looked as if they had been abandoned in haste.

  It was if…

  “They fled,” said Jager, turning over a pillow. “Look. Everything is in disarray. All the wardrobe doors are open, and all the desk drawers, too. I’ve seen this kind of thing before, and whoever was in these rooms has fled.”

  Ridmark tapped his fingers against his staff with frustration, thinking. If Imaria and the Weaver had fled, did that mean they intended mischief in the town right now? Or had they left to join Shadowbearer and the Mhorite host descending from the north?

  Ridmark walked a circle of the town, speaking with the men-at-arms at the gate and Sir Constantine himself. Some of the militiamen had seen Imaria Licinius and her white-robed priest leaving the inn, but none of the men-at-arms at the gates had seen her depart.

  Imaria and the Weaver had simply vanished…and Ridmark did not know what she intended.

  ###

  That night Ridmark and his friends dined with the Dux and his chief nobles in the great hall. Morigna sat next to Ridmark, keeping her silence as the nobles discussed the coming campaign. She did not entirely know what to make of the lords of the Northerland. Coriolus had told her that the nobles of Andomhaim were corrupt and lazy, fools more devoted to their comfort and power than the welfare of their people. These men, these lords of the Northerland, did not seem corrupt. They were about to risk themselves in battl
e against a powerful foe.

  Of course, if they knew what she really was, if they knew what she could do, they would demand that she join the Magistri or die.

  As the night wore on, Mara and Jager slipped away, no doubt to talk with Dagma and Dieter and meet their children. Jager seemed exactly the sort of uncle who would corrupt his nephews and nieces with tales of adventure and riches, so Morigna wished Dagma and Dieter luck. Antenora and Gavin sat together, talking quietly.

  Caius began telling tales of their adventures, and soon he had the rapt attention of the room. Morigna had to admit that Caius was an excellent orator. He told the story of the fight against the basilisks in Khald Azalar, how Ridmark lured the creature into a blast furnace.

  Eventually, Morigna retired for the night.

  Dagma had given her a room with Calliande. There were only so many rooms on the top level of the keep, so Caius, Kharlacht, and the Swordbearers had been housed together. Jager and Mara were husband and wife, so they got their own room. Ridmark had his own room. But since the Keeper of Andomhaim and the wild huntress from the Wilderland were both unmarried, they would share a room.

  That was not what Morigna had in mind.

  “Well,” said Calliande, “this is cozy.”

  The room was small, with a large double bed and a window overlooking the courtyard below. Morigna set her staff in the corner and stretched.

  “Yes,” she said. “Comfortable.”

  Calliande smiled. “It’s not quite what you had planned, is it?”

  “I am not sure what you mean,” said Morigna.

  Calliande laughed. “You’re entirely certain of what I mean.” She stepped towards the door. “The keep has a bathhouse, and I intend to avail myself of it. And if I return and this room happens to be occupied, I shall simply use Ridmark’s room. I am entirely sure Ridmark's room will be empty when I return, after all.”

  Morigna blinked. “Are you saying that you want me to…”

  “I am saying,” said Calliande, “that we are marching to battle tomorrow. I don’t know what will happen. I don’t know whether we will prevail or not. So…it might be the last chance to do some things.” Her smile was a little sad. “You shouldn’t let the opportunity pass you by.”

  She reached for the door.

  “Calliande,” said Morigna.

  The Keeper paused.

  “Thank you,” said Morigna.

  “You make him happy,” said Calliande. “Or as happy as a man like Ridmark can be.” She sighed. “Now, if you shall excuse me, I’ve been looking forward to a proper bath since we left Khorduk.”

  She departed without another word.

  Morigna put her pack in the corner, next to her staff, and set her bow and dwarven dagger with them. She wondered if she had time for a bath herself. It had been a long journey, and…

  The door swung open. Ridmark stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, and all thoughts of a bath fled from her mind.

  “Ridmark,” said Morigna. “I…”

  He crossed the room and kissed her long and hard upon the lips.

  A short time later he had her out of her clothing, and she was pulling at his belt and shirt. A moment later his clothes lay mingled with hers on the floor, and she grabbed his hands and drew him down to the bed after her. It had been a long journey, but it had not drained his stamina, and she enjoyed every minute of what came next.

  Later she lay curled against him, her eyes heavy with sleep.

  Calliande was right. Morigna did not know what would happen tomorrow. Her plans and hopes for the future seemed like idle daydreams, fantasies to consider if she lived.

  She fully intended to live…but Morigna could not guarantee it.

  But for now, all was right with the world.

  Chapter 11: Treachery

  Ridmark’s eyes opened.

  Disorientation swept over him. He lay naked in a soft bed, the eerie green light from six of the thirteen moons leaking through a window and playing across the beams of the ceiling. Bit by bit Ridmark’s brain caught up to his confusion, and he realized that he was in the keep of Dun Licinia, in a guest chamber at the top level.

  He must have been more tired than he had thought.

  Ridmark turned his head. Morigna lay curled on her side next to him, eyes closed, her black hair a tangled pool around her head. The light of the moons gave her pale skin a strange greenish cast, and for a moment he had the alarming idea that she had been drowned. Yet her chest shifted as she drew breath, and realized that the fear was unfounded.

  Yet was it?

  The strange sense of dread did not leave him.

  Ridmark sat up. As far as he could tell, their room was undisturbed. His clothes and armor and weapons lay scattered across the floor with Morigna’s. The rough soulstone rested in its pouch at his discarded belt. Ridmark felt a flicker of guilt. He ought not to be so careless with the thing. Shadowbearer migh not be able open a gate with it, yet Ridmark had no doubt that a wizard of sufficient power could use the thing to work mischief. Else Rhogrimnalazur would not have wanted the thing.

  He ought to lie down and go back to sleep. God only knew when he might next have the chance.

  The gnawing feeling that something was wrong refused to leave.

  Ridmark stood, the floor cold against his bare feet, and crossed the window. It was little more than an arrow slit, but it gave him a view of the courtyard and the forum below. Here and there he saw bonfires burning, illuminating the tents and bedrolls of the men camped throughout the town. Beyond he saw the lights of the watchmen upon the ramparts, and the stars and the six moons of differing colors scattered across the night sky. A vast expanse of the sky to the north was utterly dark where the Black Mountain blotted out the stars and the moons alike.

  The town was sleeping. Nothing was wrong.

  He turned and saw Morigna staring at him.

  “What is it?” she said.

  “I don’t know,” said Ridmark. “I think something is wrong.” He looked out the arrow slit again. “The town sleeps. There is no sign of alarm. Yet my mind is not at rest.”

  “Of course it is not,” said Morigna. “Is it ever the night before battle?”

  “Perhaps not,” said Ridmark. She was right, he knew, but the feeling of alarm did not leave him.

  “Ridmark,” murmured Morigna, her voice low and soft. She rolled onto her back, her weight resting upon her elbows. She arched her back a little, as if presenting herself to him. “Come here and I will make you so tired you will sleep till dawn.”

  That was a compelling thought. That was a very compelling thought. Ridmark almost headed towards the bed, intent on taking her in his arms. When they lay together, he forgot about everything else, forgot all his worries and fears and regrets.

  Yet it felt…it felt almost as if someone was watching him, right here and now.

  “I’m going to have a look around,” said Ridmark. Morigna gave him a disappointed look. “Something feels wrong, the way it did when I traveled alone in the Wilderland and some predator watched my camp. I have not lived that long by ignoring that feeling.”

  “Very well,” said Morigna. She rolled over and got to her feet in a single bound, which Ridmark had to admit he enjoyed watching. “I shall come with you.”

  “You should rest,” said Ridmark.

  “So should you,” countered Morigna, locating her clothing. Ridmark pulled on his trousers, and then his boots. “But if one insists upon wandering about in the dark, one should not go alone. Perhaps we should take someone with the Sight as well. Just in case your feeling of dread comes from some magical source.”

  “Calliande, then,” said Ridmark.

  “Antenora,” said Morigna, pulling her shirt over her head. “The woman has not slept in fifteen centuries, so one restless night will do her no harm. Or at least no additional ill.”

  “Very well,” said Ridmark, reaching for his belt. “I…”

  He stopped. The feeling of unease had co
me to him many times over the years, usually right before a fight. It had also come to him in the ruins of Thainkul Dural when the invisible dvargir had stalked them through the terraces. The dvargir could cloak themselves in shadow, making themselves invisible to human eyes. Some of the Enlightened had possessed a similar ability as well.

  Did that mean someone cloaked in shadows was watching them right now?

  Was someone invisible with them in this very room?

  “Morigna,” said Ridmark, keeping his voice calm. The nearest weapon was his dwarven axe, still hooked to his belt. “Remember the spell you cast in Thainkul Dural?”

  “Of course,” said Morigna with some asperity, her shirt hanging around her hips as she reached for her trousers. “I…”

  He saw her understand.

  She straightened up and cast the spell, purple fire flickering around her fingers, and her black eyes went wide.

  “Ridmark!” she shouted, pointing. “In the corner! There…”

  Shadows writhed and flickered in the corner of the room. When they cleared, Imaria Licinius stood there, her white smile shining in her face in marked contrast to the shadow twisting around her fingers. Ridmark lunged for his axe. He had never, ever thought that he could lift a weapon against a member of Aelia’s family, against Aelia’s own sister, but he was utterly certain that Imaria had come here to kill them.

  He would not let her hurt Morigna.

  Before Ridmark could move, Imaria thrust her hands, and a veil of shadows exploded from her, filling the room with gloomy haze. The shadows wrapped around Morigna in a gauzy shell, and she went rigid, every muscle locking in place. The same shadows coiled around Ridmark, filling him with a terrible chill, and he found himself unable to move, unable even to speak. Shadowbearer had done something similar in Khald Azalar, using the shadow of Incariel to hold them motionless. There, Ardrhythain’s staff had protected Ridmark, allowing him to move.

  But now Ardrhythain’s staff stood propped in the corner behind Imaria.

  “Oh,” murmured Imaria, her eyes bright and feverish. “Oh, I’ve been waiting for this. Truly, the shadow of Incariel is a mightier god than the Dominus Christus. I prayed to the Lord for vengeance, and received nothing. I pledged myself to Incariel…and my greatest enemy and his rutting bitch are mine to do with as I please.”