Frostborn: The Eightfold Knife (8 page)

“I know,” said Ridmark. “Nevertheless, I wish you had stayed behind.”

“Why?” said Calliande again, and the answer clicked. “Ah. It’s because of Aelia.”

She regretted the words the instant they left her mouth. Ridmark’s expression did not change, but his blue eyes went cold and hard and dangerous. She wondered if the eyes of the Frostborn had looked like that.

“You talked to Sir Constantine, I see,” said Ridmark, “after the battle.”

“I did,” said Calliande. “Perhaps it was wrong of me…but, Ridmark, you are a valiant and bold man. Why was such a man expelled from the Order of the Soulblade and given a coward’s brand? I could not make sense of it.”

“And now you know,” he said. 

“You didn’t deserve it,” said Calliande. “Constantine and Joram told me how Tarrabus Carhaine had a grudge against you, how he forced the Master to expel…”

“You’re wrong,” he said. “I did deserve it. It was my fault.”

“No, it wasn’t,” said Calliande. “You did everything you could. You couldn’t have known that Mhalek would link his blood to…”

“That’s enough,” said Ridmark. “It was my fault. I was the commander of the army that fought against Mhalek. I was Aelia’s husband. His defeat and her safety were my responsibility. And I failed.” His voice was harsh, metallic. “I failed and she died. I deserved what happened to me. I deserved more. I deserved to die for it, and someday I will.”

“Mhalek killed her, not you,” said Calliande. But the words felt feeble. His wife’s death was a wound in his soul, an infected dagger pumping poison into his mind and heart, and it would take more than words to heal it. “Your friends don’t seem to think it was your fault. Even Aelia’s father and brothers do not blame you.”

“Their kindness blinds them,” said Ridmark. “And if you ever meet Aelia’s sister Imaria, she will tell you the truth about me. She, at least, can see that it was my fault.” 

“Even if it was your fault, which I doubt,” said Calliande, “they have forgiven you. Can you not forgive yourself?”

“What I did is unforgivable,” said Ridmark.

“You are a baptized son of the church,” said Calliande. “Does not the Dominus Christus forgive the sins of all who truly repent? And you are contrite, Ridmark. I have never seen anyone more…”

“Enough,” said Ridmark. His tone was soft, but there was iron beneath it. “If you want to follow me, fine. But we will not discuss this. Not now, not ever. Do you understand?”   

Calliande nodded. “I’m sorry. I…perhaps I should not have said anything.”

“No. You told me the truth.” He almost smiled. “Better to get it off your chest now, I suppose, rather than discuss it at a more inconvenient time.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Like when we are inevitably attacked by misinformed beastmen?”

“Something like that,” said Ridmark. He smiled. It was a faint smile, but it was there. “I suspect you are ravenous. I’ve heard that magic is hungry work.”

“It is,” said Calliande. She realized that her belly felt like an empty void. “And I am.” 

He nodded. “Let’s get some food.” He paused. “Calliande.”

“Yes?” she said, trying to read his face.

“I would not have wished for you to come, but I am glad you are here,” said Ridmark. “Your aid will be welcome.” 

Calliande shrugged. “You have saved my life so many times. Perhaps I will get the chance to return the favor.”

“You did at Dun Licinia,” said Ridmark, turning back towards the others, “when you broke the spells around Qazarl. Otherwise he would have killed us all with that staff he dug out of the burial mounds.”

That staff…

Calliande hesitated, gazing at the sky. Of the thirteen moons, only three of them were visible tonight. Pyrrhus, the moon of fire, shone with a sullen yellow-orange glow, while the Tempus, the moon of storm gleamed with silver light and Kronos, the moon of time, had a pale golden glow. Their position altered and influenced the power and potency of certain spells. 

For some reason that made her think of Dragonfall, and for a moment the memory seemed closer, but she could not pull it out of the mists of her past.

“What’s wrong?” said Ridmark.

“Ridmark,” said Calliande. “In your travels. Have you ever heard of Dragonfall?” 

Ridmark shook his head. “No. What is it? A name?”

Calliande nodded, frustrated. 

“The name of what?” said Ridmark.

“A place, I think,” said Calliande. The Watcher had asked her not to reveal his existence to anyone, but he had said nothing about Dragonfall. “I left…I left something important there, I think.”

“Do you know what?” said Ridmark.

“A staff,” said Calliande. “I think I left a staff there. But I can remember nothing else about it.”

“I have never heard the name,” said Ridmark, “but there are many miles between here and Urd Morlemoch. We can ask questions as we travel.”

“If we do find it,” said Calliande, “we have to be careful. Shadowbearer is looking for it, too…and he can never find it. Never. If he does, something terrible will happen. I am certain of it.” 

“Then,” said Ridmark, “we’ll just have to make sure we get there first.”

He led her back to the fire.

“Some food, Magistria,” said Caius, handing her a biscuit wrapped around a sausage. Calliande took it gratefully. “I trust you are well?”

“Quite,” said Calliande. She looked at the curly-haired boy, who watched her with wide eyes. “Forgive me, but I have been rude. My name is Calliande, and I am grateful for the help you gave us at the ford.” 

Gavin managed a good imitation of a proper bow. “Ah…it was my pleasure, my lady. I am Gavin of Aranaeus. My father is the praefectus of the village. You are truly a Magistria?”

“To the best of my knowledge,” said Calliande, which was entirely true. 

“Then we are grateful for your help,” said Gavin. “Something sinister is happening here, I am sure of it.”

“I look forward to meeting your father,” said Calliande.

The skin around Gavin’s eyes tightened. “Yes. I am sure.”

“Tomorrow,” said Ridmark. “The rest of you should get some sleep. I will take first watch.”

Chapter 6 - Aranaeus

The next morning they broke camp and took the half-overgrown trail to Aranaeus.

Gavin watched his new companions as they walked. 

He had never met anyone quite like them. 

Ridmark Arban was like a Swordbearer out of the songs, or even one of the knights of the High King Arthur’s Round Table in the legends of Old Earth. The coward’s brand upon the left side of his face had unsettled Gavin at first, but then he decided that Ridmark must have been unjustly accused. No coward could fight with such skill and ferocity. Kharlacht strode after Ridmark like a silent shadow. Gavin had seen orcs before, of course. Sometimes orcs came to the village to trade. Yet he had never seen an orc fight so fiercely.

And he had never seen a dwarf, either. Or a dwarven friar. Friars passed through Aranaeus occasionally, heading north to spread the gospel among the pagan orc tribes. They never returned. 

And Gavin had never seen a woman quite so beautiful as Calliande.

Well. Second after Rosanna, of course.

Thinking of Rosanna sent the familiar twinge of regret and anger through his heart, and Gavin pushed it aside.

A few hours later they emerged from the trees and into the cleared fields around Aranaeus. The fields stood empty and deserted, the furrows spotted with the stubble from last year’s harvest. Gavin had spent most of his springs and summers in those fields, helping to sow the crop and harvest it before the winter came.

“Where is everyone?” said Kharlacht. “This late in the spring, the planting should be well underway.” 

“They’re all afraid, sir,” said Gavin. “Ever since the disappearances started, the beastmen attack anyone who goes too far from the walls.”

A few moments later Aranaeus itself came into sight, and Gavin looked upon his home. 

The village housed about seven hundred people, and it sat upon a wide hill, with taller hills rising to the north. A strong wall of stone encircled the village, men standing guard on the ramparts and the gate. Even before the beastmen had grown hostile, the Wilderland had been a dangerous place. Gavin’s father and the elders had told stories of pagan orcs seeking slaves, of the sorcerous beasts of the dark elves rampaging through the fields while the villagers huddled behind their walls. Gavin knew his ancestors had come here to escape the rule of the High King, to live their lives as they pleased without paying taxes to the Dux of the Northerland.

But he could not help but think that the protection of the Dux of the Northerland, and his Swordbearers and Magistri, would have been helpful.

Ridmark came to a stop, frowning. “I had forgotten about that.”

“About what?” said Gavin.

“Tell me,” said Ridmark. “If you live in the shadow of that, why does your father think the beastmen are responsible for the disappearances?”

He pointed at the hill rising behind Aranaeus.

More specifically, at the white shapes atop the hill.

A dozen slender, gleaming towers of white stone crowned the hill, surrounded by a crumbling wall. Gavin disliked looking at the ruins. The ancient towers were beautiful, but…wrong. Their angles and shapes had been designed to please the eyes of dark elves, not humans. Looking at the ruins for too long gave Gavin a headache, so he ignored them. 

As did everyone else in Aranaeus.

“Urd Dagaash,” said Ridmark. “Once the seat of a minor dark elven lord, destroyed in the war with the high elves long before humans ever came to Andomhaim. I had forgotten this was here.” He looked at Gavin. “Almost certainly whatever took the villagers is inside Urd Dagaash.”

“Perhaps, sir,” said Gavin. “The ruins…the elders have always said they are cursed, that evil things dwell within. Yet those evil things never come forth. The elders say if we leave the ruins alone, the evil things within will not trouble us.”

“Perhaps that was true once,” said Ridmark, “but you recall the omen twenty days ago? Maybe the creatures within the ruin have changed their minds.” 

That had not occurred to Gavin. The thought of some horror of dark magic creeping out of Urd Dagaash was not a pleasant one. Would Philip be able to keep Rosanna safe it that happened? Philip was a blacksmith, true, and stronger than Gavin. Yet he rarely ventured outside the walls of Aranaeus. What did he know about the dangers of the Wilderland?

Of course, what did Gavin know, compared to Ridmark and Calliande and the others?

He thought of the undead kobolds he had fought.

After that, he knew more than anyone else in Aranaeus.

“When we get to the gate, sir, let me do the talking,” said Gavin. “The men on watch know me, and they’ll listen. You’re rather…well, outlandish for strangers, and they might not react well.”

Calliande smiled at him, and Gavin felt himself flush. “So a human, a dwarf, an orc, and a Magistria do not walk up to the gates of Aranaeus every day?” 

“It is the first time I can recall, my lady,” said Gavin. 

He led the way through the fields, up the side of the hill, and to the village’s closed gate. Four men stood atop the gate, fingering hunting bows, their eyes moving back and forth over Ridmark and his companions.

“Stop,” said one of the men, middle-aged with a graying beard, “and identify yourself. Strangers are not welcome in Aranaeus just now.”

“Mallen!” said Gavin, looking at the elder. “You know me. My father has me help you make chairs in your shop during the winters.”

“Gavin ran off yesterday,” said Mallen. “Disappeared from sight. You could be one of the beastmen, taking Gavin’s form to beguile us.”

“If I was,” said Gavin, “would I know about the still in your cellar? The one your wife doesn’t know about, since she thinks you stopped drinking?”

The other men upon the wall chuckled, as did Caius. 

“Aye,” said Mallen, “and you had best keep your mouth shut, if you know what’s good for you.” He peered at Ridmark and the others. “And who are these? A brigand, an orc, a noblewoman, and…a short gray fellow?”

“Good sir,” said Caius, “I am Brother Caius of the order of mendicants, and twenty years ago I heard the word of the Dominus Christus and believed in his good news. I have since come north to preach the gospel to the pagan tribes of the Wilderland. After some peculiar misadventures,” Kharlacht snorted, “I have come to the gates of your fair village, and beg your permission to enter.”

“Indeed. Where did you find them, Gavin?” said Mallen. 

“I was making for the ford,” said Gavin. “I wanted to go to Castra Marcaine, to ask the Dux of the Northerland for help against whatever creatures are taking our folk.”

“Your father’s going to be wroth, boy,” said Mallen.

His father was always wroth, but Gavin knew better than to say so.

“The beastmen chased me,” said Gavin. “I think they would have killed me, but Ridmark and his companions arrived to stop them.”

He did not mention the undead kobolds. At best, Mallen simply would not have believed him. At worst, he would refuse to open the gate. 

“There you go,” said Mallen. “That’s proof, then, boy. The beastmen are taking our folk, just like your father and Morwen said.”

“No,” said Gavin. “I wasn’t finished. Someone’s taking the females and young of the beastmen. They think we’re doing it.”

Mallen snorted, and the other guards laughed. “Why? What would we do with them? They’re too feral to be beasts of burden, and they carry fleas, too.”

“But…” said Gavin.

“Enough,” said Ridmark, his voice low. “You don’t have to convince him. It’s your father you’ll have to persuade.”

He was right. 

“Let us in, Mallen,” said Gavin. “My father will want to talk to the newcomers.”

“Aye,” said Mallen. “Your stepmother, too.” Gavin scowled. He did not want to talk to his stepmother. Mallen pointed at Ridmark. “But you had best behave, aye? The men of Aranaeus are peaceful folk, but we can defend ourselves.”

Ridmark spread his arms, staff in his right hand. “By my sworn word, Mallen of Aranaeus, no harm will to you from my hand unless you break trust with us first.”