Frostborn: The First Quest (8 page)

“So here you are,” said the urdhracos in Latin, her voice melodious and eerie. “This is the game we are to play, then?”

“You guard the elven bladeweaver Rhyannis?” said Lancelus, pointing his soulblade at her. 

The urdhracos laughed, her wings flexing behind her. “You know well what I guard.” 

“Release her to us,” said Lancelus, “and this need not end in bloodshed.”

Again the urdhracos laughed, mingled glee and rage filling her voice. “Is that so? Shall you demand that I stop the thirteen moons in their courses, perhaps, or reach into the heavens, pluck down the sun, and present it to you on a platter of silver?” 

“Nothing so dramatic,” said Lancelus. “Release the bladeweaver to us, and we shall go on our way. If not, then we will fight.”

The woman grinned, her fangs long and sharp. “Then we fight.”

She opened her mouth and took a deep breath. 

“Move!” shouted Lancelus, shoving Ridmark to the side.

Ridmark realized what was happening. 

Dragons breathed fire.

He flung himself to the floor as the woman breathed out a blast of searing yellow-orange flame. The fire billowed across the chamber, and Ridmark felt the terrible heat of it washing over his face and hands. But fire could not burn upon white stone, and it winked out a moment later. Ridmark rolled back to his feet and charged the urdhracos, Heartwarden fueling his speed.

The woman laughed and jumped, her wings beating at the air. Ridmark slashed at her, but his sword missed the bottom of her feet by a few inches. She soared to the top of the dome and hovered there, wings beating, one hand braced against the apex of the dome.

Her other hand pointed at Ridmark, and ghostly blue fires began crackling around the steel talons. 

Like the mutated orcs, she could use magic. 

The blue flames turned black, and she thrust her hand. Ridmark raised Heartwarden, calling upon the sword’s power to ward him. A blast of shadow fire burst from the clawed fingers and slammed into Ridmark. He staggered back with a grunt of pain, the black fire raging against Heartwarden’s light, frost forming in a circle around him as the dark fire sucked the warmth from the air. The urdhracos was strong, much stronger than the magic-using orc Ridmark had fought outside the ruins, but Heartwarden held against her power. 

The spell ended, the flames vanishing, and Ridmark considered his next move.

He could try throwing the dagger at his belt, but normal steel would not harm an urvaalg, and the urdhracos was far more powerful. Any missile weapon he found to use against her would have the same limitation. He had to close and land a blow, but with her wings and magic, she could stay ahead of him. 

Unless Ridmark found a way to distract her.

Ridmark realized he was standing too close to Lancelus. One good blast of flame could kill them both. Ridmark dashed to the center of the chamber, and the urdhracos turned to follow him. She grimaced, pushed away from the dome, and swooped to the far wall, her black wings folding behind her. Ridmark turned, watching her for any signs of flame or magic.

Why hadn’t she stayed hovering? She could have rained fire and spells down upon them with impunity. Perhaps hovering simply took too much effort. Even supernatural strength had its limitations.  

She began to advance, one step at a time, her clawed hands held low and ready at her sides.

“I’ll take the right,” said Ridmark. “You take the left. Stay far apart so she cannot strike us both with her fire at once.”

Lancelus gave a curt nod and did as Ridmark asked, moving to the left. Ridmark advanced towards her, Heartwarden ready in his clenched fists. The urdhracos looked back and forth, pale lips pulled back from her fangs in a snarl. He did not know how long it would take before she could breathe fire again. Part of him wanted to charge and strike before she reacted. But she would be fast, at least as fast as the urvaalgs, and she might well intercept his attack.

“What a pathetic game this is,” said the urdhracos. “A pitiful farce, unworthy of my time.” Her dark eyes turned to Ridmark. “Better to lie down and die, foolish boy. It is better than the fate that awaits you here.” She laughed. “Bathe in the light of my fire, and you shall never know pain again.”

“A gracious offer,” said Ridmark, “but I fear I must decline.”

“Then your fate is upon your own head,” she said.

Lancelus sprinted forward, soulblade raised, and the urdhracos’s head snapped around to stare at him. Ridmark took the opening and charged, Heartwarden augmenting his speed. At the last minute the urdhracos saw the threat and spun to meet him, her steel talons rising to deflect his swing. She was slender, and Ridmark stood a foot tall than her, but she blocked his strike without difficulty.

The urdhracos roared in fury, orange-white light flaring to life inside her mouth. 

Ridmark sidestepped and swung Heartwarden down, aiming for her legs. The urdhracos saw the blow coming and dodged, her mouth opening as she prepared to spit fire upon him. Ridmark pivoted, and brought his boot down onto the back of her knee. Superhuman strength or not, the urdhracos stumbled, and Ridmark tripped her.

She landed upon her back, the fire blasting from her mouth to lash at the domed ceiling overhead. The terrible heat of it forced Ridmark back, the glare stinging his eyes. The fire winked out, and Ridmark lunged, hoping to land a blow before the urdhracos recovered her balance. Lancelus attacked with a shout as the urdhracos regained her feet, and she ducked under his swing with the sinuous grace of a serpent. Her backhand caught him in the belly with enough force to throw him to the floor. 

She started to turn, but Ridmark was already moving. Heartwarden came down and sliced deep into her left wing. The urdhracos screamed in fury and pain, and Ridmark tried to rip his sword free. The creature proved faster, her fist slamming into his chest. The power of the blow threw him backward, Heartwarden still clenched in his grasp. He caught his balance as the urdhracos thrust out her hands, dark fire crackling to life around her fingers.

He called upon Heartwarden, catching the black flame upon the sword’s glowing blade. The force of it hammered at him, yet Ridmark drove himself forward, moving closer to the creature. She snarled, fingers hooked, and poured more power at him. Heartwarden shuddered in Ridmark’s grasp, the sheer strength of the urdhracos’s magic threatening to tear the blade from his hand. 

But he kept moving.

Then the creature’s spell ended.

Ridmark threw himself forward, Heartwarden blurring. The blade bit into the urdhracos’s slender neck and took off her head in a burst of black blood. The body twitched, jerked, and collapsed atop its wings. 

Silence fell over the domed chamber. 

Ridmark let out a long breath, fighting a wave of exhaustion that passed through him, and hurried to Sir Lancelus’s side. He feared the older knight had been slain. But Lancelus coughed and sat up, blinking as he wiped blood from his mouth.

“God!” he said. “She hit hard. I thought I was done for.” He blinked, and took the hand Ridmark offered to help him stand. “You…you killed her. You actually killed her. I thought urdhracos were only legends, but…my God, you killed her.” He shook his head. “You have deprived the Warden of a valuable servant this day.”

Ridmark shrugged. “She was trying to kill us.”

“Her wings,” said Lancelus. “How did you know to strike at her wings?”

Ridmark shrugged again. “It seemed the wisest choice when fighting a creature with the power of flight. And I suspected…”

“Suspected what?” said Lancelus, staring at the corpse.

“That she relied overmuch upon her flight,” said Ridmark. “It is a common fallacy. The Magistri rely too much on their magic, I think, and neglect to keep themselves fit. A swordsman will rely too much upon his blade, and forget to train himself with other weapons. If I kept her upon the ground, I thought, she would make a mistake and I could defeat her.”

“And you were right,” said Lancelus. The older Swordbearer grinned and laughed loud and long again. “What a warrior you are, Sir Ridmark of the House of the Arbanii! You ought to have perished a dozen times since you set foot within the ruins. Yet here you are, storming the tower of the Warden. What a tale you shall have to tell, if you live to return!” He rubbed his beard. “A most remarkable destiny must await you. Yes. I am sure of it.” 

Ridmark frowned, uneasy at the older man’s sudden mood swing. Still, men reacted in many different ways when faced with death, and the urdhracos had almost killed them both. “We have not been victorious yet. It is a foolish commander who claims a triumph before the knights have even saddled their horses.” 

“Yes, yes, quite right,” said Lancelus. All trace of levity vanished from him, and he was grim once more. “Yes. One more test awaits us. One more. Shall we face it?”

Ridmark nodded, and they walked to the door on the far side of the domed chamber.

Chapter 8 - An Eye of Stone

The door swung open, and Ridmark and Lancelus stepped into a domed chamber filled with statues of gray stone.

Ridmark saw more of the strange, gray statutes, the statues that Lancelus suspected had once been living men. There were orcs, men and women both, their expressions full of fear and horror. He also saw halflings, their eyes bulging with terror. There were dwarves and beastmen, manetaurs and trolls, dwarves and kobolds, hundreds of statues standing in successive rings. 

“This is ghastly,” said Ridmark.

“Aye,” said Lancelus. “The Warden seems like the sort of man to enjoy making an example of his enemies.” 

“It’s worse than that,” said Ridmark. “Kill a man to make an example of him. But this…this is monstrous. To keep these people imprisoned forever as statues…that is an appetite for cruelty beyond anything human. I have never seen a dark elf, but both our histories and Ardrhythain said they delighted in cruelty. It seems they were right.”

“Perhaps,” said Lancelus, looking at a statue of an orc.

Ridmark moved through the statues with caution, watching for any sign of attackers. More urvaalgs or urshanes might wait among the statues. And if Lancelus’s suspicions were right, if the statues had originally been men and women of flesh and blood, whatever creature had turned them to stone might lurk here. Ridmark had never heard of such a creature, but there were legends in the books of Old Earth, tales of the Medusa and the Gorgons, and he had heard that both the halflings and the dwarves told tales of similar creatures.

Then he heard the voice.

A woman’s voice, one of otherworldly beauty. Was it another urdhracos? But the urdhracos’s voice had been full of amused contempt and cold hunger. 

Fear and terror filled this voice.

“I heard you!” said the voice, speaking in Latin. “You must…you must be men of Andomhaim, yes? Humans? Or another trick of the Warden’s magic? Another one of his games?” She started to weep. “God, God, I don’t know. Please, if you’re real, please don’t leave me here, please, please…”

Ridmark hurried through the statues and came to the center of the chamber.

A round dais rose there, topped by a stone throne. The gray statues surrounded the dais like supplicants approaching the seat of a king. A young woman, clad in only a shift of thin white cloth, sat upon the stone throne, chains binding her wrists and ankles. She had the alien features and glimmering golden eyes of the high elves. 

She looked at Ridmark and Lancelus in wonder.

“Who are you?” said the high elven woman. “Are you a dream? If you are one of the Warden’s phantasms, you are strange, for I have never seen men such as you before.”

Lancelus snorted. “Such high praise.” 

“We are real, I assure you,” said Ridmark. “I am Ridmark Arban, a Knight of the Order of the Soulblade, and this is Sir Lancelus Tyriar, a knight of the same Order.” He paused. “And I assume that you are Rhyannis, a bladeweaver of the high elven city of Cathair Solas?”

The woman blinked, tears in her golden eyes. “Yes. I…I am. But how do you know me?”

“The archmage Ardrhythain sent us to rescue you,” said Ridmark.

Rhyannis started to weep. “I was a fool. Such a fool. I should never have come here. I should have listened. I should…”

“My lady, you can rebuke yourself later,” said Ridmark. “First, we must escape while we still can. We…”

He stepped towards the dais, intending to cut her free.

“Stop!” said Rhyannis. “Don’t come any closer!”

Ridmark froze. “You are guarded by a spell?”

“No,” said Rhyannis. “Something worse. One of the Warden’s fell creatures.”

“Ridmark,” said Lancelus. “Look. There. Around the top of the dais.” 

Ridmark stopped, frowning. He saw a faint blur, a ripple, around the top step of the dais, and he wondered if an urvaalg waited there. But the blur was too long and too slender for an urvaalg. It wrapped around the entirety of the round step. A magical trap? Heartwarden might have the power to pierce it. Ridmark moved to the side, hoping to get a better look…

And then, all at once, he saw it.

A massive serpent lay coiled around the top step of the dais, its scales blurring and rippling to match its surroundings. The thing was as thick as Ridmark’s thigh, and as motionless as one of the undead orcs. He saw its unblinking yellow eyes watching him.

“What is it?” said Ridmark.

“The creature is called a sthanos,” said Rhyannis. “The dark elves brought them to this world long ago. Most were wiped out in the war with my kindred, but some of the creatures yet remain, and the Warden keeps a few as pets. The serpent’s bite turns its victims into stone.”

“Hence all of this,” said Ridmark, waving at the gray statues. 

“Yes,” said Rhyannis. “Sometimes when men and women of the lesser kindreds dare to enter Urd Morlemoch, the Warden amuses himself by having his sthanos turn the trespassers to stone.” She looked at one of the statues and shuddered. “And the Warden has dwelled within Urd Morlemoch for a very long time.”

“Then let us slay the serpent,” said Ridmark, lifting Heartwarden, “and be on our way.”

“No!” said Lancelus and Rhyannis in unison.

Ridmark frowned.

“Do not,” said Rhyannis. “I beg of you, do not. The creature is faster than you can imagine, faster that you can move. Only a single scratch from its fangs is enough to turn you to stone.”

“Then why has it not already struck?” said Ridmark.

“Because it does not think for itself,” said Rhyannis.

“Like the undead orcs,” said Lancelus.

“Aye, sir knight, you say it true,” said Rhyannis. “The sthanos is a mindless beast, and acts only as the Warden’s spells compel it. If you try to free me, it will strike. If you attack it with a drawn weapon, it will strike.” She shook her head. “Do you have any magic? Other than in the swords you carry?”

“None,” said Ridmark. “We are not Magistri.”

“Then you cannot free me,” said Rhyannis. “Go, quickly, before the Warden discovers you are here.”

“No,” said Ridmark.

“Perhaps she speaks sense,” said Lancelus. “We cannot free her. Better that we escape than that all three of us die here.”

“Heed your elder’s wisdom, I beg of you,” said Rhyannis. “Let my folly bring punishment upon my own head. Do not compound it by staining my hands with your blood.”

“If we die, the blood will be upon the hands of the Warden, not you,” said Ridmark. He stepped away from the dais, trying to think. “And I will not leave anyone in this foul place. Not when I can still save them.”

“But you cannot save me,” said Rhyannis.

She had a point.

But to have come so far, to have defeated so many obstacles, only to turn back within sight of the woman he had come to rescue? Ridmark could not allow that.

Lancelus laughed again, high and wild, and Rhyannis gave him an odd look.

“What now?” said Ridmark.

“You truly are inexorable, Sir Ridmark,” said Lancelus. “You set your mind to free this woman, and you will not turn from your course, though all the hosts of hell should bar the way.” 

“I am a Knight of the Order of the Soulblade,” said Ridmark, “and I told Ardrhythain that I would rescue Rhyannis from Urd Morlemoch or learn of her fate. A Swordbearer should keep his word.”

“And you have learned of her fate,” said Lancelus. “It is time to withdraw.”

“No,” said Ridmark. “Go if you want, but I shall remain.”

Lancelus scowled. “And do what? Try to think of something clever and join these other statues? Or stand here until the Warden comes and kills us all?”

“Hopefully,” said Ridmark, “neither.”

“Young fool,” said Lancelus with a shake of his head. “So certain of your invincibility, so certain that you will find a way.”

“Every man dies,” said Ridmark.

“Yes, but you do not believe it,” said Lancelus. “Not in your bones. Not yet.”

Ridmark scowled. “Unless you have something useful to say, be silent and let me think.”

Lancelus snorted, but stopped talking.  

“Please,” said Rhyannis, “you must…”

“No,” said Ridmark. “Let me think.”

He stepped away from the dais, looking over the hundreds of statues of orcs and dwarves and manetaurs in armor, weapons in hand. He stepped closer a the statue of an orcish warrior holding a massive double-bladed axe over his head, frozen in mid-swing, the warrior’s mouth yawning in a silent, eternal battle cry. Odd that both the warrior’s armor and weapons had been transmuted to stone along with him. Perhaps the sthanos’s power extended to everything its victim touched, creating these eerie, lifelike statues.

Lifelike…

Some of these statues must have been here for centuries. Yet they did not look even the slightest bit eroded. He saw every line and wrinkle in their faces, the bulge of veins in their temples and hands, the individual rings of chain mail.

And the edge of the weapons.

Ridmark frowned, returned to the statue of the orc with the double-bladed axe, and brushed a finger against the weapon's edge.

It was still razor-sharp.

Ridmark looked at the sthanos, and then back at the axe, and an idea came to him.

“Sir Lancelus,” said Ridmark, sliding Heartwarden into its sheath. “Help me move this statue.”

Lancelus grunted. “Why?”

“Because,” said Ridmark, grasping one of the statue’s arms. “I’m going to tip it over onto the sthanos and kill it with that axe.”

“That won’t work,” said Lancelus. He blinked, rubbing his beard. “Will that work?”

“I…I do not know,” said Rhyannis.

“If I stand behind the statue and push it so the axe lands upon the sthanos,” said Ridmark, “the serpent will not see it as an attack. Or if it does, it will try to bite the orc…”

“And since the orc is already stone,” said Rhyannis, her golden eyes widening, “the sthanos cannot harm him further. I don’t know if it will work, I…”

“Let’s find out,” said Ridmark. 

“This is folly,” said Lancelus. “We…”

“Just help me move the damned statue,” said Ridmark, tired of arguing with the older knight. “I can push it over by myself, but I can’t move it. Once I get it in position, you can stand back and I will push it. If the sthanos turns me to a statue, you can tell me that you were right.”

“Little pleasure that will bring me,” said Lancelus, “since you will spend eternity as a statue and cannot hear me.” He sighed and stepped forward. “But if you are set upon this, I will not gainsay it.” 

Lancelus slid his soulblade into its scabbard and helped Ridmark wrestle the statue forward. At last they stopped about nine feet from the dais, the serpent rippling atop the step. Ridmark looked at the motionless sthanos, at the head of the battle axe, and gauged the distance. If he shoved the statue over, the axe ought to land right behind the snake’s head.

Or so he thought.

It was time to find out. 

“Stand back,” said Ridmark. 

Lancelus took several hasty steps back.

“Sir Ridmark,” said Rhyannis, trembling. “I thank you for this. You are putting yourself in grave peril upon my behalf.”

“Don’t thank me,” said Ridmark, gripping Heartwarden’s hilt, “until we see if this works or not.”

He took a deep breath, drew on Heartwarden for strength, and then shoved his hands against the small of the statue's back, his arms and legs straining.

For a moment the statue did not move. Then it started to tip forward, slowly at first. Ridmark strained, gritting his teeth. 

Then the statue fell.

It happened so fast he barely saw it. One moment the statue was wavering. Then it struck the floor with a mighty crash, the axe slamming into the dais. The entire coiled body of the sthanos snapped like a cord under pressure, and its head tumbled through the air, yellow eyes still staring. 

The head vanished into the forest of statues, and the long body stopped its thrashing.

Ridmark let out a long breath.

“My God,” said Lancelus, stunned. “It worked. It really worked.” He laughed his wild laugh. “Truly, you are a worthy warrior, far worthier than I expected.”

“The sthanos must not have seen the falling statue as an attack,” said Ridmark, still surprised. He shook his head. “The Warden must have failed to foresee the possibility.” 

Lancelus frowned. “Not even the Warden can foresee everything.”

“You did it,” said Rhyannis. She rose from the stone throne, as beautiful and as graceful as a queen despite her simple shift. “You did it, Sir Ridmark. You saved me. Oh, come and take me from this terrible place.” 

She looked beautiful, so beautiful. The lines of her face and pointed ears were alien, yet they had an otherworldly beauty. Ridmark felt his heart beat faster, his pulse rushing through his ears. He took a step towards the dais, and Rhyannis smiled and spread her arms, inviting him to embrace her. He wondered what her lean body would feel like in his arms, what her lips would feel like against his.

“What happened to the chains?” he said instead.

“Chains?” said Rhyannis, her golden eyes blinking. “What chains?”

“You were chained to that throne, wrist and ankle,” said Ridmark. “But they’ve vanished.”

“They must have been part of the spell,” said Rhyannis. “They vanished when you slew the sthanos.” 

“Why would they be part of the spell upon the sthanos?” said Ridmark. “That doesn’t make any sense. For that matter, why chain you to the throne at all? You couldn’t have gotten past the snake. And how long have you been here? What have you eaten? Where did you relieve yourself?”

“For God’s sake, boy!” said Lancelus. “You rescued the damned elven girl! Now take her and let us escape before the Warden realizes that we are here!” 

“Take me,” said Rhyannis. “I am yours, my knight. Take me from this evil place, and I will serve you for the rest of your days.”

“Very well,” said Ridmark. “Come to me and we shall depart.”

Rhyannis hesitated. “Please, sir knight. Take me from here. Please.”

Ridmark drew Heartwarden.

“What are you doing?” said Lancelus. “Have you gone mad? All this effort to rescue her, and you are going to strike her down?”