Frostborn: The Master Thief (13 page)

“Then she was the woman you lost?” said Jager, taking a guess.

He regretted speaking at once. Tarrabus did not move, did not even blink, but his shadow grew even darker, and Jager swore the room grew colder. For an awful moment it seemed as if there was indeed a creature of nightmare wearing Tarrabus’s face, that it would rip its way free and devour Jager. 

“Ridmark has come into the possession of an empty soulstone,” said Tarrabus, some of the unnatural aura fading away as he calmed. “Or, more precisely, he is traveling with a madwoman named Calliande who carries such a stone. They are wandering from village to village through the Wilderland on Ridmark’s mad quest to atone for his grief. You are going to find them, steal the soulstone, and bring it back to me.”

“How will I even find them?” said Jager. “I’m a thief, not a ranger of the wilds.”

“In a few days Ridmark will pass near a small village called Vulmhosk,” said Tarrabus. “Likely he will stop for supplies. You will draw near to him, take the soulstone, and return it to me.”

“And in exchange,” said Jager, “you’ll give me my freedom.”

Tarrabus smiled, the first genuine smile Jager had seen on the Dux’s cold, masklike face. 

Somehow that terrified him even more.

“Is that what you think we are discussing?” said Tarrabus. “Your freedom. Not at all. Sir Paul!” He turned his head to the door. “You may rejoin us.”

Sir Paul Tallmane returned to the cell, flanked by two men-at-arms, and Jager’s breath caught in his throat.

Mara walked between them, clad only in a dirty gray smock. She had a gag in her mouth and an iron collar around her neck, a man-at-arms holding the collar’s chain like a leash. Her hands were bound behind her back, and a chain around her ankles forced her to take small steps. Oddly, her jade bracelet still glinted upon her left wrist. Jager thought they would have taken it.

Her green eyes met his, full of pain and fear, and Jager tried to go to her. But the chains jerked and held him fast.

Paul’s laughter filled the cell. “Look at him. Like a lovesick puppy. A pretty little thing like her is wasted in a worm like him.” 

“She has so far been unharmed,” said Tarrabus. “Well. Mostly unharmed. I confess my men did strike her when we took you captive, but Imaria sometimes carries out my instructions with too much enthusiasm. But other than that, she has not been harmed in any way, and we have kept her safe and fed.”

“Why?” said Jager, his voice a rasp. 

“Because,” said Tarrabus, “you are going to steal the empty soulstone for me.”

“Or you’ll kill her,” spat Jager. 

“What?” said Tarrabus. “I’ll do nothing of the sort.” That terrifying smile returned. “I’ll simply give her to Sir Paul.”

Jager’s blood went cold. 

“I understand that he has something of a grudge against you,” said Tarrabus.

“Well,” said Jager, trying to keep his voice from cracking, “I hate him right back.”

“True,” said Tarrabus, “but he has the woman you love. She’s perfectly safe now. And if you don’t return with the soulstone…I will let Sir Paul do whatever he wants to her.” He leaned closer, his eyes glittering in the bloody light. “You saw what he did to the freeholders of his father’s benefice. Those were people he was sworn to protect and defend. What do you imagine he will do to the lover of a man he hates?”

Jager knew full well what Paul would do to Mara. 

“Fine,” said Jager. “I’ll steal that damned stone for you.”

Tarrabus glanced at Mara. “For her sake, I hope so.”

###

Tarrabus’s men gave him his clothes and equipment and shoved him out the gates of the Iron Tower, and Jager set off for Vulmhosk.

And so he stood on the stern of Smiling Otto’s boat, watching as Ridmark spoke with Brother Caius and Azakhun. Jager had never expected a noble of Andomhaim to risk his life so freely. But he supposed Ridmark was an outcast.

Like Jager.

Like Mara.

Mara, who languished in the dungeons of the Iron Tower unless Jager returned to save her.

His hands tightened into fists. Calliande had to have the soulstone near her. Perhaps in one of the pouches on her belt, or in the pack she never left out of arm’s length. Jager just needed an adequate distraction, and then he could take the soulstone.

He found himself impressed by Ridmark…but that would not stop him from stealing the soulstone. It would not stop him from saving Mara.

In chaos there was opportunity, and in chaos Jager would find a way to save Mara. 

No matter what he had to do.

Chapter 8 - Coldinium

Three days after leaving Vulmhosk, Smiling Otto’s boat reached Coldinium. 

Ridmark stepped to the railing and looked at the northern city of the realm.

Fifty thousand people lived in the High King’s city of Tarlion, and a hundred thousand in the Prince’s city of Cintarra, but only ten thousand within Coldinium’s grim gray walls. Yet it was the largest city in the northern half of Andomhaim, and the largest settlement this close to the Wilderland. Of necessity, therefore, the city sat in a defensible location, between the northern and southern branches of the River Moradel. Watchtowers studded the city’s strong stone wall, and Ridmark saw the flash of armor as men-at-arms and militiamen patrolled the ramparts. The round towers of Castra Coldinium had been built into the western wall, the High King’s banner flying from the battlements. The fortress had once been a stronghold of the Eternalists, and after their defeat, the city had grown up around the castra. 

In the narrow space between the walls and Coldinium’s harbor lay a ramshackle maze of inns, warehouses, and taverns. Reputable merchants would pay to store their cargoes inside the city. But if a man wished to avoid the eyes of the militia and the Comes, he could take his chances outside the walls.

The deck creaked as Calliande stepped to his side.

“Coldinium,” he said.

Calliande gazed at the city. “I don’t think I’ve ever been here before.”

Ridmark shrugged. “I doubt Coldinium was here when you went into the long sleep.”

Calliande peered at the walls for a moment. “There are guards at every gate.”

“Aye,” said Ridmark. “They keep watch to make sure no brigands sneak into the city. Or worse things.”

“How are we going to manage it?” said Calliande. “Your brand is…noticeable, and it will be obvious if you wear a mask.”

“We’re not going into the city,” said Ridmark. He pointed at the sprawl between the walls and the harbor. “We’re going to the Outwall, the district…”

“Outside the walls, yes,” said Calliande. “Why would anyone live outside the walls when Coldinium is so near to the Wilderland?”

“It’s cheaper,” said Ridmark, “and has less oversight from the militia and the city’s magistrates.”

“If Coldinium ever comes under siege,” said Calliande, “the Outwall will burn.”

“Aye,” said Ridmark, thinking of the freeholders near Dun Licinia, men who had lost everything first when Mhalek had invaded and again when Qazarl attacked five years later. “Life this close to the Wilderland is not for the faint of heart.”

“You know an apothecary in the Outwall?” said Calliande.

“A man named Rodinius,” said Ridmark. “He is eccentric, but knows his business. And he keeps his mouth shut.” Water splashed against the hull as the boat maneuvered to an open dock, the captain shouting orders to the sailors. “Go have Caius and Gavin bring up Kharlacht. The sooner we get to Rodinius, the better.” 

She headed below as the boat pulled alongside the quay. Morigna walked to Ridmark’s side, leaning on her staff. She looked the worse for wear, dark circles under her black eyes. Her stomach had settled down after the second day, but she had eaten very little since. 

“Mortal man,” said Morigna, “was not meant to travel on boats.”

Ridmark shrugged. “It was either that or carry Kharlacht all the way here ourselves.” 

“Azakhun and his lackeys feel they owe you a debt,” said Morigna. “Perhaps we could have prevailed upon them to carry him.” 

She fell silent, staring at the city.

“So many people,” she said at last.

Ridmark started to say that Cintarra and Tarlion were larger by far, but stopped himself. Morigna had spent her life within seventy-five miles of Moraime, and fifteen hundred people lived in the town. 

“You said you wanted to see the rest of the realm,” said Ridmark. 

“I do,” said Morigna.

“This is just the beginning,” said Ridmark. “If we live through this, if we go to Urd Morlemoch and stop the Frostborn, you’ll see much more than this.” 

One of her rare smiles went over her stern face. It made her look almost radiantly pretty. “I know.” The boat came to a stop, the sailors tying the lines in place. “Well, let us begin with the docks. No doubt one can find wonders and splendors in such a malodorous place.”

“Undoubtedly,” said Ridmark, and joined the others as they climbed down the gangplank to the stone dock. Caius and Gavin carried Kharlacht’s litter, Calliande hovering over them. Ridmark drew the cowl of his gray elven cloak over his face. Even in the Outwall, walking through the streets carrying an unconscious Vhaluuskan orc would draw attention. The sooner they got to Rodinius’s shop, the better. And if anyone tried to stop them or collect Tarrabus’s bounty, Ridmark would simply have to dissuade them.

Hopefully without bloodshed. 

“We part ways here, Gray Knight,” said Azakhun, his helmet tucked under one arm, his warriors waiting behind him. “I will return to the Dwarven Enclave with the relics we obtained from Khald Azalar, and inform the elders and the Taalkaz of the Enclave of the death of our kin at the hands of the Mhorite orcs, alas. Thank you again for coming to our aid.”

“And thank you again for assisting us,” said Ridmark as Caius and Gavin maneuvered Kharlacht on the litter. “We would not have reached Coldinium without your aid. You may consider any debt owed to me repaid in full.”

Azakhun bowed. “Thank you.” His strange eyes glinted. “I cannot fathom why your own people branded you a coward. The debt may be repaid, but let there be friendship between us. My men and I shall remain in Coldinium for a few days before we return to Khald Tormen. If you have need of aid, come to the Enclave, and if it is within my power I shall grant it.” 

“Thank you,” said Ridmark. “And if you have need of my aid, you have only to ask.”

They bowed to each other, and the dwarves marched into the Outwall, their armor drawing surprised stares from the porters and fishermen going about their business. Jager stepped after them, gazing at the walls with a distant expression. 

“Farewell,” said Jager. “I wish you good fortune, Gray Knight. I suspect you will need it.”

“Why do you say that?” said Calliande.

Jager looked at her. “The Gray Knight seems the sort of man who collects powerful enemies.”

Morigna tapped her staff against the quay and grinned. “They are welcome to try, Master Jager.” 

Jager snorted. “After seeing you in battle, perhaps I should wish them good fortune instead, simply to make it sporting. Farewell, Gray Knight. Perhaps we shall meet again.” 

The halfling strolled into the Outwall and vanished into the streets. 

“What do you suppose he wanted?” said Calliande at last.

“If I were to guess,” said Ridmark, “I would say he was a spy. Probably for Tarrabus Carhaine. Tarrabus wants me dead, and I disappeared into the Wilderland after Mhalek’s defeat. When I turned up at Dun Licinia during Qazarl’s attack, the Dux likely sent out spies to find me.”

“Or Paul Tallmane told him,” said Calliande.

Ridmark nodded. Paul Tallmane had attacked him in the smoldering ruins of Aranaeus, aided by two assassins from the Red Family of Cintarra. Ridmark had killed both assassins and all of Paul’s men-at-arms, but he had let Paul live. From Paul he had learned of the existence of the Enlightened of Incariel, though thankfully Paul had not employed the strange shadow-magic that Jonas Vorinus had used. 

“I wonder if the Dux killed him for his failure,” said Ridmark. “Well, Tarrabus was never the forgiving sort.” He glanced at Caius, saw the dwarven friar gazing after his departed kindred. “Did you successfully preach the gospel to them?”

“I fear not,” said Caius. He sighed. “Azakhun and his warriors remain committed to the gods of stone and silence.”

“They do not laugh as much as you do,” said Gavin, shifting his grip on the litter.

“No,” said Caius, and for a moment he looked as melancholy as Ridmark had ever seen him. “The gods of silence frown upon mirth and despair both.” 

“We have more immediate problems,” said Morigna. “I suggest we find this apothecary and depart Coldinium at once. If our charming Master Jager is indeed a spy for your old friend the Dux, we shall find foes upon our tail soon enough. Perhaps more assassins from the Red Family.”

“Sound counsel,” said Ridmark, and he led the way into the Outwall.

###

Morigna could not stop staring at everything around her.

There were just so damned many people. 

She had known, of course, that thousands of people lived in Coldinium, had spoken with merchants and adventurers who had visited the city. But seeing it with her own eyes was something else entirely. 

They walked through a market below Coldinium’s western gate, and Morigna saw more goods for sale than she had seen in her entire life. Women sold fish, fresh-caught from the lake and the River Moradel. Men sold pots and pans and hats and knives and dozens of other things. She saw even saw orcs and the occasional dwarf among the merchants and their customers. Halflings scurried through the crowd, clad in the livery of their masters as they went about their masters’ business. Their downcast eyes and diffident expressions were a marked contrast from Jager’s swaggering and Smiling Otto’s cold confidence. 

“How do they live like this?” said Gavin, gazing about in wonder. To his credit, he showed no signs of fatigue from carrying the litter. 

“Like what?” Morigna said. 

“Like…ants in a hill, I suppose,” said Gavin. “All packed in together. And so many smells.” He was right about that. The Outwall smelled of fish and rotting meat and sweat and waste. “It must drive them mad.”