Frostborn: The Eightfold Knife (27 page)

He led the way into one of the narrow streets, the others following.

“Where are you going now?” said Philip.

“Out of here,” said Ridmark, “and back to the forest.”

“Will you take me with you?” said Philip.

“If you want, yes,” said Ridmark.

Philip frowned. “If I want? Why in God’s name would I want to stay here?”

“Morwen holds those assemblies every night?” said Ridmark. 

Philip nodded. “She doesn’t kill someone every time. But every night she insists we all gather so she can preach at us about great Agrimnalazur and all that rot. Why would I stay for that?”

“Because I am going to come back tomorrow night,” said Ridmark, “and I am going to free all the slaves, or I’m going to die in the attempt.” 

Philip blinked. “How?”

“Distractions,” said Ridmark. “Once the arachar and the slaves have gathered in assembly, I’m going to kill the guards and let some allies through the gates. Then we’ll start fires. Agrimnalazur has supplies stored throughout the ruins, and it will be a shame to let them go to waste. While the arachar are running around putting out the fires, we’ll get the prisoners out of the gates and to safety. Agrimnalazur and the spiderlings will be furious, but it will be a while before they can organize a pursuit.”  

Or they would all be killed. But if Ridmark did nothing, if he turned his back on these people and continued his journey to Urd Morlemoch, then they would all die anyway. No other help would come for them. Many would fall to the hunger of the spiderlings and their mother, and those that survived would spend their lives in slavery to Agrimnalazur.

And their children would be raised to worship her. 

Ridmark would not allow that, not if he had a chance to prevent it.

“That is mad,” said Philip. “Utterly and completely mad.”

“It is,” said Ridmark. 

“But if I stay here,” said Philip, “it has a better chance of working, doesn’t it?” 

Ridmark nodded.

Philip hesitated, and Ridmark waited. If he asked, Ridmark would take him along. But he saw the doubt on Philip’s face, the hesitation. The young man felt a responsibility to his neighbors. He could not leave them in good conscience, just as Gavin could not.

“Very well,” said Philip, taking a deep breath. “I will stay.” He grinned at Gavin. “And if you are fighting to free us, I can hardly fail to do the same.”

Gavin grinned back. “Anything you can do, I can do twice as well.” His smile faded. “And I have to make my father pay for his crimes. All those people Morwen murdered, that blood is on my father’s hands.”

“You warned us,” said Philip. “You said something other than the beastmen had taken those people. We should have listened.” 

Gavin shook his head. “It wouldn’t have mattered. My father and Morwen poisoned everyone against the truth. All those years, he lied to us.” His hands curled into fists. “He lied to me. My mother. He said she died of a fever, but did he kill her? Did he feed her to…”

“Keep your voice down,” said Ridmark. Gavin nodded and stared at the ground. Ridmark turned back to Philip. “I will return after dark tomorrow. Be ready to act. I want to set at least a dozen fires within in the walls of Urd Arowyn once Morwen’s assembly begins.”

Philip nodded. “I will see it done. There are a few men I can trust among the slaves, Bardus and Mallen and Rosanna's father and others. We should be able to do it.” 

“Good,” said Ridmark. “You had best resume your work before the arachar notice anything amiss. Where do you sleep?”

“In the southern slave barracks,” said Philip. “Not far from the gate.”

Ridmark nodded. “We will see you there tomorrow. Go with God.”

“And you, Gray Knight,” said Philip.

He hurried through the street, dodging past a statue of a robed dark elf upon a plinth.

“Come,” said Ridmark. “The sooner we are gone from here, the better.”

###

Gavin had thought sneaking past the male urdmordar had been bad.

Doing it again was much worse.

The hulking creature had moved to a different position, though it remained motionless, its eyes closed. It took every bit of Gavin’s self-control to keep from sprinting through the hall. He could not escape the feeling that the male urdmordar would awake at any moment, that the creature would wrap him in its webs and leave him helpless and paralyzed as it feasted upon his entrails.

But the urdmordar remained motionless, Gavin did not touch the web, and soon he, Ridmark, and Kharlacht stood below the waterfall at the base of the cliff. 

“To my astonishment,” said Kharlacht, “we appear to be alive.”

“Aye,” said Gavin. “I was sure we would die a dozen times over. Truly Agrimnalazur is not a fool.”

“She is not,” said Ridmark. There was a strange, keen light in his cold eyes, like a hunter fixed upon the trail of his prey. “But her servants may be. They have not fortified Urd Arowyn as well as they should have. They built those ballistae upon the walls, aye, but their efforts would have been better spent repairing the gates. And the arachar spend all their time guarding the slaves, not their warehouses. Every single storehouse we saw was unguarded when the arachar went to assembly. Urd Arowyn is a strong fortress, but they are not using its strength properly.”

“Likely that is Morwen’s doing,” said Kharlacht. “I doubt that either she or Cornelius know much of the arts of battle.”  

“That seems likely,” said Ridmark.

“Those allies you mentioned to Philip,” said Gavin. “Who are they?”

“The lupivirii,” said Ridmark.

Gavin blinked. “The beastmen?”

“They’ll do whatever Calliande tells them to do,” said Ridmark. “And even if they would not, their women and young are locked up in the central tower. They’ll fight to get them back.”

“So,” said Kharlacht. “Your plan is to creep past the male urdmordar, set a dozen fires in the ruins, kill the guards, let the beastmen inside, and then sneak the prisoners out in the chaos?”

“Essentially,” said Ridmark. “No plan of battle survives the first clash of swords, of course, and we shall have to adapt. But my goal is to get the prisoners out, all of them.” 

“That,” said Gavin, “forgive me, sir, but that…that is an utterly mad.”

Kharlacht snorted. “You should have been there when we got Calliande out of the village of the Blue Hand.” 

“It worked.” Ridmark thought about it. “Barely.”

“Barely?” said Gavin. “We shall follow this mad plan?”

“Do you have a better one?” said Ridmark. “If you do, I would be glad to hear of it.”

Gavin had to shake his head. 

“And if we do nothing,” said Ridmark, “the people of Aranaeus will die in Urd Arowyn. They will die when Agrimnalazur and her daughters feast upon them. Or they will die of old age in a slave’s chains, and their children and grandchildren will grow up worshipping Agrimnalazur as a goddess. If we act, aye, we might die. But if we do nothing, then they all will surely die.” 

“You’re right,” said Gavin. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to make sense of the storm of emotion raging through him. His fury at his father’s betrayal, the pain of what had happened to the people of Aranaeus, his love for Rosanna, the fact that she preferred Philip…it was all too much. “Forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” said Ridmark. “You are young, and have endured more than many men thrice your age. And I fear the worst is yet to come.” He looked into the valley. “We should get back to the camp.”

He led the way from the waterfall, and Kharlacht and Gavin followed him.

But Gavin’s thoughts turned to his father, remembering the empty expression on his face as he led those two screaming children in Agrimnalazur’s larder. The urdmordar was responsible for all the evils that had befallen both Aranaeus and Rakhaag’s kin. 

Yet Cornelius had made all of those evils possible. He had sold the people of Aranaeus to Agrimnalazur. He had been married to Morwen for nine years, and for all that time, he must have known the truth about her. 

Perhaps he had even killed Gavin’s mother to make room for Morwen.

Gavin vowed to make his father pay for all his crimes.

His hand tightened against his sword hilt.

Chapter 17 - A Plan of Battle

“I’m sure they will return soon,” said Caius. 

Calliande gazed at the darkened hillside, the light from the moons throwing patches of pale blue light and black shadow across the forest floor. She wanted to climb the hill and watch for their return. Ridmark had done many bold and mad things in the short time she had known him.

But walking into the lair of an urdmordar was the boldest yet.

Caius stood nearby. Rosanna and Father Martel sat huddled in cloaks on the ground. It was cold out, and lighting a fire so close to Urd Arowyn was too great a risk. From time to time she saw a darker shadow among the trees. Rakhaag and his packs, prowling among the trunks. 

Any arachar that came too close would meet claws and fangs.

“You’re not sure they will return soon,” said Calliande. “You pray they will return.”

Even in the gloom she saw Caius’s smile behind his graying beard. “And is not prayer the faith in things unseen?”

Calliande laughed. “Ever the pastor.” 

“A man must hold to his calling,” said Caius. 

Calliande gazed at the hill for a moment longer, thinking.

“Why are you here?” said Calliande.

“Because if Father Martel and I discuss any more theology,” said Caius, “I fear poor Rosanna will never get any sleep.” 

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” said Calliande. “Why are you here, with us? Not that I am ungrateful for your help. Far from it! But why did you come with me when I went to find Ridmark?”

Caius shrugged. “Perhaps it is my calling.” 

“I thought your calling was to be a friar, to proclaim the word of the Lord in your travels,” said Calliande.

“Oh, it is, I doubt that not,” said Caius. “Perhaps if we succeed in freeing the prisoners as Ridmark plans, those who worshipped Agrimnalazur will turn from their false goddess. The Dominus Christus promises freedom, not slavery and death as the urdmordar do.” 

“A noble purpose,” said Calliande, “but why follow Ridmark? He is hardly a worshipper of the urdmordar, or the orcish blood gods, or the great void of the dark elves.”

Or the Incariel that Sir Paul Tallmane had mentioned, the name and interpretation they had given to the void.

“He is a baptized son of the church,” said Caius, “but I fear he is frozen in despair.”

“Because of Aelia,” said Calliande. 

“He blames himself for her death beyond all reason,” said Caius, “even when her father and said that her death is upon Mhalek’s hands.” 

“Is that why you follow him?” said Calliande. “Because you want to convince him to forgive himself?”

“No.” Caius was silent for a long time. “I follow him because I fear what he may do.”

“Why?” said Calliande, baffled. “He saved your life. He has saved all our lives, and he is about to put himself at great risk to save people he barely knows. Why would you fear him?”

“Because,” said Caius. “He reminds me of another man I knew, centuries ago. A dwarf. A bolder and braver warrior I never knew, save Ridmark Arban himself. And this dwarven warrior followed the creed of the gods of stone and silence, of proud and unyielding despair. He won great victories against the dvargir and the dark elves, but in the end his despair, his indifference to his own fate, led him and his warriors to destruction.” He shook his head, beard rustling against his robes. “If Ridmark wished it, he could seize the throne of Andomhaim and become High King. It is within his talents. You saw how the men of Dun Licinia followed him. How we follow him now. Yet…his despair drives him. That is why I follow him. To turn his mind from despair, if I can.” He shrugged. “And he did save my life, as you said. I owe him a debt, and I will aid him if it is within my power.”

Calliande nodded. “I can understand that.”

“So why do you follow him?” said Caius.

“Because of the Frostborn,” said Calliande. She took a deep breath. “And everything that you said is true. He is a warrior without peer. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. But with Ridmark…with his help, I have the best chance of finding the answers.” 

“I think you are correct,” said Caius.

“You’re right. He could have made himself the Comes of Dun Licinia, after he killed Qazarl,” said Calliande. “I think Sir Joram would have stepped aside for him, gladly even. But he didn’t. He is going to find proof that the Frostborn are returning and a way to stop them, if possible. And I was part of the Order of the Vigilant. I have a responsibility, and Ridmark’s help is the best way to fulfill that responsibility.” 

“We will find our answers,” said Caius, “and we will find a way to stop the return of the Frostborn.”

“Yes,” said Calliande. When Caius said it, she could almost believe it. Perhaps she would find Dragonfall and learn the truth of herself, and Ridmark would discover a way to stop the return of the Frostborn.

Or Agrimnalazur would simply kill them all.

A shadow flowed out of the darkened trees, and Calliande tensed. 

But it was only Rakhaag. The lupivir stood, his body shifting back into its half-human, half-beast form.

“Staffbearer,” said Rakhaag in Latin. She had asked him to speak Latin for the benefit of Rosanna and Father Martel, and he had complied, if grudgingly. 

“Rakhaag,” said Calliande. The lupivir alpha and all the beastmen regarded her with a cross of fear and superstitious awe. Rakhaag never stopped questioning Ridmark, but he never challenged her. 

What had she done to make the beastmen fear her so much?

“The gray warrior returns,” said Rakhaag. 

“And the others?” said Calliande. “Are they with him?”

“The orc and the whelp have returned with him,” said Rakhaag. “They are alive, and unhurt.” 

“It seems God has heard our prayers after all,” said Calliande.

A moment later Ridmark walked into the camp, Kharlacht and Gavin behind him. She saw the gears turning behind Ridmark’s eyes, and knew at once that he had a plan. Kharlacht remained as impassive as ever, but Gavin looked furious.