Frostborn: The Eightfold Knife (16 page)

A horrible suspicion started to form in Calliande’s mind. She had heard about Ridmark’s past exploits from Joram Agramore and Constantine Licinius, how he had gone to Urd Morlemoch and returned, how he had untaken feats of daring and boldness.

How he had defeated a female urdmordar in single combat.

“Did I?” said Ridmark. “I imagine your mother desires vengeance for her sister, then.”

“What?” said the woman. “No. It was her own fault, for being foolish enough to let a herd animal kill her.” She tapped her thin lips with a bony finger. “If a cow tramples a farmer, do you blame the cow? Or the farmer, for being careless?” 

“We’re not talking about cows,” said Ridmark. “You’ve been taking villagers from Aranaeus and beastmen from the forests, haven’t you?”

The woman grinned, her eyes glinting like disks of jade. “We did. Mother commanded it.”

“Why?” said Ridmark. “Is your mother simply hungry?”

The woman’s grin widened. “Always, and so are her daughters. But the great culling is coming, Gray Knight. A winter without end, a world choked in ice. The herd animals shall starve and die in vast numbers, and Mother and her sisters shall go hungry. But Mother has foreseen the return of the cold ones and their freezing darkness. And so…”

“She is preparing a larder,” said Ridmark, “to feed herself throughout the winter.”

“You understand,” said the woman. “Mother has foreseen the return of the freezing darkness. It cannot harm a goddess, of course, but it will kill the herds. She will prepare a larder to last the coming centuries of winter, rather than go needlessly hungry. In a few thousand years the great winter will end, or the goddesses will travel to a new world of herd animals. The larders shall sate our hunger until then.”

And with those words, Calliande’s suspicions hardened into cold certainty.

She began to shape her summoned power into a spell. 

“You’ve been remarkably forthcoming,” said Ridmark. “You’ve just told me your entire plan. I could do dangerous things with that knowledge.”

The woman laughed. “You cannot stop Mother. And Mother would like to meet you.”

“She would?” said Ridmark. “Why? So she can kill me with her own hands?”

“So you can serve her, of course,” said the woman. “You have distinguished yourself beyond the common animals of the herd, and you would make a worthy servant.” She shrugged, her skin taut against the bones of her shoulders. “Humans must all serve something greater than themselves. It is your nature. Why should you not serve Mother?”

Ridmark barked a short, harsh laugh. “Why not, indeed? What better master than a creature that regards you as a meal?”

The woman’s mad grin sharpened. “Why do you care for the other herd animals? They cast you out. Mother can make you immortal. Mother can give you magic that makes a Soulblade look like a toy.”

“Until she gets hungry and bites off my head,” said Ridmark. 

“I don’t understand,” said Gavin, looking from the gaunt woman to Ridmark and back again. “Who is she? And who is this mother she keeps talking about?”

“You see?” said the woman. “You see how weak and stupid they are? Just like all herd animals. You are stronger and smarter, worthy to serve Mother.”

“She’s not human,” said Ridmark. “She’s a spiderling, the daughter of a human father and a female urdmordar.”

Kharlacht whispered a prayer, and Gavin’s eyes grew wide.

“An urdmordar?” he said. “Here?”

Ridmark nodded. “Yes. I’ve seen it happen before. This urdmordar knows that the Frostborn are returning, that they will choke the world in ice. So she has sent her daughters and her servants to collect food, men and women and children she will put into a deep sleep with her venom. The venom of an urdmordar will keep them alive and asleep for centuries. Like a woman storing up salted meat and dried vegetables in her cellar. The urdmordar has decided to harvest the people of Aranaeus and the beastmen of the forest to stock her larder.”

“God have mercy,” said Gavin.

“Your god of sheep does not exist,” said the spiderling with a mocking smile, “and he cannot protect you.” Her unsettling green eyes turned back to Ridmark. “You are mostly correct. Mother will put many of the herd animals into the death sleep with her venom, and feed upon them over the centuries. But the rest we shall keep awake so they may breed, to foster new generations of herds. Mother does not intend to spend the millennia of the coming winter subsisting on starvation rations. No, she shall feast, as shall her loyal daughters.” 

“No,” said Gavin. “You will not do this to the people of Aranaeus!”

The spiderling laughed, long and wild. “Young fool! Mother has already done it. Your village of Aranaeus has been her herd for centuries, and she has feasted upon many of your ancestors.” 

“That’s impossible!” said Gavin. “We would know if you killed villagers. We are not so blind!”

The spiderling tittered. “Apparently you are.” She looked back at Ridmark. “Do you not see? How blind they are, how foolish! They are fit to be bred and consumed as cattle, nothing more. Enough talk. Come with me, and I shall bring you to Mother. She shall be pleased to receive your service, and she will reward you with power.”

Ridmark laughed again. “No.”

The spiderling titled her head to the side. The motion reminded Calliande of a mantis contemplating its prey. “No?”

“Instead, we will do this,” said Ridmark. “You are going to release all your prisoners to me.” His face had the same hard determination Calliande had seen in the village of the Blue Hand. “Then you shall depart Aranaeus and never trouble it again.”

The spiderling laughed. “Foolish man! Aranaeus belongs to Mother! She brought the herd animals here, so that they might worship her undisturbed by your Swordbearers and Magistri. Why should she abandon what is hers?”

“Because,” said Ridmark, “if she does not, I will stop her.”

“You?” said the spiderling. “Unlikely.”

“I slew Gothalinzur,” said Ridmark. 

“You were a Swordbearer then,” said the spiderling. “Now you have no magic to wield. You are a man with a stick. Superior to the rest of the herd, true, fit to serve Mother as her servant…but still just a man with a stick. One last chance, Gray Knight. Serve Mother, and she will reward you well. Refuse…” The spiderling shrugged again. “Refuse, and I will kill you, and your companions shall go into Mother’s larder.” 

“Try,” growled Kharlacht, pointing his greatsword.

“Your kindred once worshipped Mother and her sisters as goddesses,” said the spiderling. “You can serve her again, and she will protect you.”

“I have turned away from both the blood gods of the orcs and the worship of spider-devils,” said Kharlacht, “and I follow the Dominus Christus and his church.”

“Pity,” said the spiderling. “Ah, well. Mother would have rewarded me for bringing you to her, but she will also reward me for slaying the killer of Gothalinzur.” 

The spiderling stepped towards Ridmark, and Calliande began casting a spell.

###

Ridmark took his staff in both hands, preparing himself. 

“Beware,” he called to the others. “A spiderling is both stronger and faster than a normal woman.”

“Indeed,” said the spiderling. “And we have a few other tricks as well.”

She took another step towards him, and her body changed.

Crimson claws sprouted from her toes and fingers, each three inches long and razor sharp. Her mouth changed, growing wider and deeper, long, insect-like pincers jutting from either side of her lips. Six additional eyes, like hard green crystals, gleamed upon her forehead.

The spiderling shrieked in glee, lunged forward, and spat a gobbet of green slime at Ridmark. 

But he had anticipated the attack, and he dodged. The poison struck the stone floor with a hiss, bubbles rising from the slime. The spiderling tried to catch her balance, and Ridmark struck, swinging his staff with both hands. The length of heavy wood slammed into her stomach, and the spiderling doubled over, breath exploding from her pincers. Ridmark brought the staff up and slammed it against her back.

He brought the staff down in another blow, but this time the spiderling’s right hand caught the weapon in an iron grip. She snarled and tried to wrench the staff from his grasp, but he kept his grip, letting her pull him forward, and drove the heel of his boot into her knee. The spiderling shrieked in pain and hopped back, releasing his staff, and Ridmark jabbed it into her stomach again. 

She jumped back, moving faster than a human could manage, and raised her clawed hands. Black fire crackled around her talons. The female urdmordar could wield the mightiest spells of dark magic with the ease of a hawk taking to the air, and some of that ability passed to their half-breed children. 

Ridmark charged forward, hoping to reach the spiderling before she finished her spell.

A blast of white fire slammed into the spiderling and knocked her back. She shrieked in fury, whirling to face Calliande. The Magistria strode forward, her face stern, white fire dancing around her fingers. Both women cast spells at each other, shadow flames contesting against the white fire. 

Caius sprinted past the spiderling, mace gleaming in hand. The mace impacted against the spiderling’s left knee, and Ridmark heard the crack of breaking bone. The spiderling stumbled with a scream, her left leg collapsing beneath her as she raked at Caius. The dwarven friar hopped out of the spiderling’s reach as a shadow fell over her.

Kharlacht brought his greatsword down upon her neck.

The spiderling’s head rolled off her shoulders, the pincers clicking against the stone floor. Blackish-green slime bubbled from the stump of her slender neck, running in dark rivulets down the pale skin of her chest. The body twitched, and then collapsed.

Ridmark let out a long breath and lowered his staff.

###

Gavin stared at the beheaded spiderling, his mind spinning. 

He had never seen a naked woman before. Of course, the thing dead at Kharlacht’s feet had not really been a woman at all. She had been spiderling, a hybrid of urdmordar and human. Human women bled red.

They did not bleed the black, stinking slime that trickled from the spiderling’s head.

It did not look like blood, but the ichor from a crushed spider

“Was she telling the truth?” said Gavin.

The others looked at him. 

“About the village,” said Gavin. “How it always belonged to her mother.”

“Gavin,” said Ridmark, “do you know why your ancestors left Andomhaim and came to the Wilderland?”

Gavin shrugged. “My father always said it was because they resented the High King’s authority.” 

“Or,” said Calliande, voice gentle, “was it because they worshipped an urdmordar, and wanted to get away from the Magistri and the Swordbearers?”

“No,” said Gavin, “no, that’s impossible.”

“It’s not,” said Ridmark. “There are villages like that hidden throughout the Wilderland. When the urdmordar warred against Andomhaim, before the archmage Ardrhythain taught the Keeper to create Soulblades and train Magistri, many men despaired of hope. And some thought it would be better to live as the herd animals of the urdmordar rather than perish. So they turned their backs upon the church and the Dominus Christus and worshipped the urdmordar as goddesses. But after the Magistri and the Swordbearers were founded, after the urdmordar were defeated, those cults remained. Some were hunted down and destroyed as traitors to the High King. Others went underground and remained hidden. And some fled into the Wilderland to worship the urdmordar undisturbed…and to offer up their fellows as sacrifices to the spider-devils.”

“I do not worship the urdmordar!” said Gavin. He could not imagine anyone doing such an evil thing.

“I don’t believe you do,” said Ridmark. “But it explains a great deal, does it not? Why Aranaeus was founded in the shadow of Urd Dagaash. Why the villagers seem indifferent to the church, as if so many of them have given their souls to something else. And how unconcerned many of the villagers are with the disappearances. As if they knew why those people had vanished.”

“But I would know!” said Gavin, his mind spinning. “I’ve spent all my life in Aranaeus. I would…I would know if they prayed to the urdmordar.” 

“Not if they kept it a secret,” said Ridmark.

“I would know,” Gavin whispered, but his words sounded hollow.  He had never gotten along with his father. Philip and Rosanna had been his only friends growing up. Few others seemed interested in listening to Father Martel’s teachings about the church and the Dominus Christus. 

And a darker thought occurred to him.

Did his father know the truth? Had he know it all along? He would not put it past Morwen to worship the urdmordar, but his father? That seems beyond anything Cornelius would do.

But he had been the praefectus of the village for years.

If there was a cult of the urdmordar in Aranaeus, he would know about it. 

Had his mother known? Had she prayed to the urdmordar?

Or had she been sacrificed to them? A fever, Cornelius had said she died of a fever, but if he had lied about the urdmordar, what else might he have lied about?

Gavin closed his eyes and shivered.

“I’m sorry,” said Calliande. “I know this is hard.”

Gavin nodded, unable to trust himself to speak. 

“We should get back to the village,” said Ridmark. “As soon as possible.”

“Why?” said Gavin. “Won’t they just lie about it?”

“Probably,” said Ridmark, “but I’ve seen this sort of thing happen before, and I know what comes next.” 

He was always grim, but a hard note in his tone shook Gavin out of his stunned grief.

“Why?” said Gavin. “What happens next?”

“The urdmordar know the Frostborn are returning,” said Ridmark. “And they’re not stupid. They may not have heard the parable of the lazy grasshopper and the diligent ant, but this urdmordar is acting as if she did. She’s been putting food away for the winter. Probably a few villagers here and there over the last few decades. But now the omen of the blue fire has filled the sky. The return of the Frostborn is imminent, and dangerous strangers have arrived in Aranaeus, asking questions. If she views Aranaeus as her herd, then it is time to butcher the cattle and salt the meat for winter.”