Frostborn: The Master Thief (2 page)

At least if he came for her this morning, she would be alone.

“Morbid thought,” muttered Calliande.

Well, work was the best cure for worry. She brushed down the donkeys and made sure they were fed, and then turned to the fire. Kharlacht and Morigna were confident they could bring back a deer, and the fresh venison would be welcome. Still, they had an ample supply of sausages from Moraime, and Calliande could fry them up with the mushrooms Gavin had found last night.

She turned back to the donkeys, intending to retrieve a pan, and Ridmark appeared out of nowhere.

The man could move like a ghost through the woods. And his gray cloak had been given to him by the high elven archmage Ardrhythain himself, in gratitude for saving the bladeweaver Rhyannis from the pits of Urd Morlemoch. 

“Ridmark,” said Calliande.

“Did I startle you?” said Ridmark. “I fear stealth is a hard habit to unlearn.”

She smiled. “Only a little.” 

He did not smile back. He hardly ever smiled. He was tall and strong, with close-cropped black hair and eyes like shards of blue ice, cold and unyielding. The brand of a broken sword marred the lines of his left cheek. He did not deserve that, no more than he deserved the burden of guilt he carried, but it was there nonetheless. 

“Where are the others?” he said. “Is something amiss?” 

“Nothing,” said Calliande. “Morigna’s ravens spotted a deer. She and Kharlacht thought they could catch it, and Caius and Gavin went with them.”

He frowned. “They left you alone?”

Calliande shrugged. “I am safe enough. As safe as I can be, I suppose. With my magic I can defend myself better than any of us. If Shadowbearer comes for me, I don’t think it will matter if I am alone or not.”

“Nevertheless,” he said, his frown unwavering, “they should not have left you alone.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You are one to talk. Where did you wander off?” He opened his mouth, and she pointed at him. “And don’t tell me you know what you are doing. I might have stayed in the camp alone, but you are the one who has walked into a nest of drakes, challenged an urdmordar, lured a mzrokar into a trap, and God knows what else.”

He snorted. “I suppose I cannot argue that. I wanted to have a look around. This section of the forest is too quiet for my liking.” He rubbed his chin. “It heartens me that Morigna’s birds saw a deer.”

“You think something like an urvaalg frightened the animals away?” said Calliande. 

“Perhaps.” Ridmark shrugged. “Or maybe I am overcautious. That reminds me.” He reached for the pouch at his belt. “I have something for you.”

“Really,” she said. 

“Have you ever had a stoneberry?”

Calliande shook her head. “Not that I recall.” She sighed. “Which is hardly conclusive. But I don’t remember having eaten one.” 

“Not surprising,” said Ridmark, drawing a number of red berries from the pouch. “They mostly grow in the south, along the banks of the River Moradel near Tarlion and Taliand. I have never seen one this far north. Try one – they’re quite pleasant.”

Calliande gave the berry a dubious look. “It does not look…healthy.”

To her surprise, Ridmark laughed. “They do look poisonous. But I imagine that’s to scare off scavengers.” He ate one of the berries. “Try it. I suspect you will like it.”

“You only suspect? You’re not sure?” said Calliande, but she grinned as she said it. “Very well.” She took one of the berries from his callused hand and popped it into her mouth. The sweet, sharp taste flooded her tongue. “That’s…not bad. It would…”

She staggered back, her eyes widening.

“Calliande?” said Ridmark. He grabbed her arm. “What’s wrong?” 

“I…” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper, “I…”

Images burned through her mind, a memory ripped from the past. It often seemed that her memory was a landscape cloaked in a thick mist that never lifted. Sometimes Calliande caught glimpses of shapes from her past, like mountains draped in fog, but never more than outlines. It often frustrated her to the point of rage. 

But now, for just an instant, she remembered things.

The River Moradel lapping at its blanks, broad and wide as it flowed into the southern sea.

White towers rising on the far side of the river, the High King’s proud citadel upon its crag, the red Pendragon banner flying from its ramparts. 

A middle-aged man, his face kindly and seamed from the sun, a coil of rope in his hand and a set of scaling knives at his belt. 

She sat next him on a dock, her feet dangling in the water as they ate berries together…

The very same berries she now tasted upon her tongue.

“Ridmark,” whispered Calliande. She grabbed his arms for balance and looked up at him. “I…I remember these…”

“From before, you mean,” he said. 

“Yes,” said Calliande. “My father…I think he was a fisherman. The…the stoneberries, I would pick them for him, and then…and then…”

She closed her eyes, trying to pull more from the mist choking her memory.

Nothing came. She remembered her father, the berries, the dock as they ate together.

But nothing else. 

“That’s it,” she said. “That’s all I can remember. My father’s face.”

“I’m sorry,” said Ridmark.

“No, don’t be,” Calliande said. “I can remember my father’s face. Ridmark, I couldn’t remember anything else before.” She let out a deep, shuddering breath. “If I can remember that…maybe I can remember more.”

“The berries,” said Ridmark. “They must have been a strong memory for you. Enough to pull the recollection from your mind, regardless of what has happened to you.” 

Calliande nodded, for a moment too overcome to speak.

Her father’s face. How could she have forgotten that? She had done it to herself, or so the Watcher claimed. But how could she had forgotten something so important? 

“If the berries triggered a memory,” said Ridmark, “then in time perhaps other things will recall additional memories to your mind.”

Calliande worked moisture into her dry mouth. “Maybe I ought to wander around the forest eating things at random.”

A faint ghost of a smile flickered over his lips. “I would not recommend that.” 

Calliande laughed. “Nor would I. But, Ridmark…thank you.”

“For what?” said Ridmark. “The memory? That was not my doing.”

“But you brought me the berries,” said Calliande. “That was…that was kind of you, even if you could not know what would happen. And I can remember my father’s face again. I had lost everything…but I can at least remember a piece of my past now. Thank you.”

“You will get your memory back,” said Ridmark. “After we return from Urd Morlemoch, after we stop the Frostborn. We will find Dragonfall and your staff.”

“I have more confidence of that now,” said Calliande. 

She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, the stubble rough beneath her lips. 

Ridmark stared down at her without blinking.

She realized that she was still holding on to his arms, that he had not released her either. They were alone in the camp, and the others would likely not return for some time. 

And as her heart hammered against her ribs, she realized that none of those things troubled her.

“Ridmark,” she said, her voice a faint whisper, and then he pulled her close and kissed her.

Calliande went stiff, and then melted against him, her lips parting to accept the kiss. Her heart beat faster, a warmth spreading from her chest and into her arms and legs. Some small part of her mind realized that this was a bad idea, that Ridmark was poisoned with grief from his dead wife, that for all Calliande knew she had a husband and children asleep beneath some other ruined tower.

But right now she did not care about anything but the taste and feel of his mouth against hers.

She broke away from him with a little gasp, still breathing hard. Ridmark stared down at her.

“Calliande,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I…”

She never found out what he intended to say.

A harsh metallic scream drowned out his words. 

For a furious, irrational moment Calliande wanted to curse in frustration.

And then her mind caught up to her ears, and she realized that they were likely in deadly danger. 

Ridmark was already moving, his staff in hand as he turned in a slow circle. Calliande summoned power, preparing spells to ward against harm or to drive off creatures of dark magic, her hands glimmering with white light.

Again that terrible brassy scream rang out, farther away than before.

“Fool,” muttered Ridmark, “fool, fool, fool.”

For a moment she was stung, and then realized that he was rebuking himself. 

“I should have realized,” he said, looking at the sky, “that’s what scared all the animals away. They have better noses. Smelled it a ways off.”

Again the metallic scream filled Calliande’s ears. “Is that a drake?” she said, remembering the fire drakes on the slopes of Black Mountain and the swamp drake they had fought near Moraime. The drakes’ cries had sounded a bit like the metallic screams.

“No,” said Ridmark. “Not a drake.”

“Oh, that’s good,” said Calliande, watching the trees for any sign of movement. 

“A wyvern,” said Ridmark.

Calliande blinked. Wyverns were some of the most dangerous predators of the Wilderland, and preyed upon both humans and orcs with ease. Even the dark elves had not always been able to tame wyverns and use them as war beasts, and more than one proud dark elven wizard had met his end beneath the talons of an irritated wyvern. 

“That’s much worse,” said Calliande. 

“Aye,” said Ridmark. “Helped kill a wyvern, once. Hunting party from Castra Marcaine, when I was still a Swordbearer in the Dux’s court.” He shook his head. “The beast took down three men before we killed it. And that was only a young male.” 

Calliande heard another shriek, so close she looked over her shoulder, fearing that the wyvern had somehow crept up behind her. “What do we do?”

Ridmark looked at the sky again. “They only scream when trying to flush out prey.” The donkeys stirred, tugging at their tethers as they tried to flee. “It likely scented the donkeys. Get ready to run. Once a wyvern decides to take a kill, it kills anything that gets in its way. The pack animals are not worth your life.”

 “And if it decides to come for us instead of the donkeys?”

“Then we’ll have to fight,” said Ridmark, one hand straying to the orcish war axe slung at his belt. “We’ll have only one chance. Eyes and the throat are its weak points. The scales get stronger as it ages. If I can’t kill it immediately, we’re finished.”

Calliande nodded. “I will use a spell to enhance your speed, and…”

A black shadow fell over the clearing, and the wyvern soared overhead. 

The creature was enormous. The fire drakes nesting upon the Black Mountain had been the size of large dogs, and the swamp drake near Moraime had been horse-sized. The wyvern dwarfed them both. Its body had the bulk of an adult ox, the limbs heavy with muscle and topped with razor-edged talons. Its wings spread like the sails of a ship, and fierce yellow eyes gazed from a head crowned with a bony crest. Its greenish-black scales looked as tough as steel, and the wyvern’s long, thick tail ended with a barbed stinger glistening with black slime. A wyvern’s poison was one of the most lethal substances in the world, and could kill a strong man in moments. Though given the creature’s size, strength, fangs, and talons, the poisonous stinger seemed redundant. 

At least the wyvern could not breathe flames as a drake could.

The beast swooped over the clearing and rose higher, its massive wings flapping. Calliande wondered why Ridmark had not tried to put an arrow into the creature, and then realized her folly. His arrow could not penetrate the thick scales. The wyvern might not even notice the attack. 

Or the arrow would just draw its attention. 

The wyvern screamed again and banked over the clearing, moving with terrible speed as the donkeys brayed in terror. Ridmark tensed, and Calliande expected the wyvern to swoop upon the donkeys. Yet the beast flew away to the east, its head turning back and forth upon the long, serpentine neck.

And it kept going. 

“Why didn’t it attack us?” said Calliande, puzzled. “We would have been easy prey. The donkeys are even tethered.”

“Because,” said Ridmark, watching the wyvern’s receding shape, “it must have spotted something else. Something easier. They’re predators, but they’re not above scavenging. Or driving wolves or cougars away from their kills. It must have smelled blood. Fresh blood, and…”

She came to the realization at the same time that he did. 

“Morigna’s deer,” said Ridmark.

“She shot it, the wyvern smells the blood, and it’s coming after them,” said Calliande. 

“We’d better run,” said Ridmark, and he ran into the trees, Calliande following.

Chapter 2 - Venom

Ridmark cursed himself as he dashed through the trees, Calliande behind him.

He should not have wandered off on his own. He had realized that danger was near, even if only by instinct, and he should have remained near the camp. Then he could have stopped Kharlacht and Gavin and the others from going off on their hunt. 

And then he would not have kissed Calliande.

That had been a mistake. He admired her bravery and kindness, and she was unquestionably lovely. But she did not know who she truly was. As Calliande had pointed out, she might have a husband sleeping in some ruin of the Order of the Vigilant. And Ridmark was the Gray Knight, outcast and branded as a coward, a fate he deserved for what had happened in Castra Marcaine.

He did not deserve Calliande.

He deserved death. 

But it had been a long time since he had kissed a woman. It had set off a fire in his blood, and if not for the wyvern’s arrival, Ridmark doubted he could have stopped himself. He did not think Calliande would have wanted him to stop. 

Just as well that he had come to his senses.

Though he would have preferred a less stern reminder than a wyvern.

Ridmark kept running. Kharlacht and Morigna knew how to move without leaving a trail, but neither Caius nor Gavin were very good at it, and their tracks were as clear as letters upon a page to Ridmark. Would they have split up? No, if Morigna could follow the deer with her ravens, they would have kept close to her…