Frostborn: The Eightfold Knife (19 page)

Ugrazur toppled to the dirt, his blood soaking into the soil as Ridmark ripped the axe free. 

He looked around, seeking more foes, but the fighting was over.

Kharlacht put his foot upon the chest of a dead orc and wrenched his sword loose. Caius looked back and forth, his mace spattered with orc blood and more of that peculiar dark fluid. Calliande lowered her hands, the white fire fading, and Ridmark felt his enhanced speed fade, the glow of wards fading from the others. Gavin stood in the midst of the carnage, blinking, blood dripping from a cut in his temple. 

“I’m still alive,” said Gavin. He sounded astonished.

“You are,” said Ridmark. The boy had good instincts. Some men, when facing combat for the first time, froze up, or panicked and ran. Gavin had kept his head, had even managed to kill two of the orcs. 

The boy was a natural fighter.

“Here,” said Calliande. “I’ll tend to that cut.”

She stepped toward Gavin and whispered a spell, her hand glowing as she ran it over his temple. When she left it the cut had vanished, leaving only an angry red welt.

“That will leave a scar,” she said, “but it will not putrefy.”

Gavin nodded, still gazing at the dead orcs. “I killed them.”

“You did,” said Ridmark. “If you feel guilt over it, remember that they burned your home and carried your neighbors into captivity, and they would have killed you.”

“Raising the sword is always a grave matter,” said Caius, “but to do so in self-defense is permissible in the eyes of God. It is a serious thing we have done, and you are right not to take it lightly. But you need not reproach yourself for it.”

Gavin closed his eyes, bit his lip, and nodded again. “I think…I think we should search the church, sir. To see if anyone has survived.”

“A sound idea,” said Ridmark. Calliande handed him his staff, and Ridmark took it, returning the axe to its loop on his belt. “Keep a watch out for any other orcs. Gavin, take his sword.”

Gavin blinked. “His sword, sir?”

“The fighting chewed up your club,” said Ridmark, “and if we run into trouble again, you’ll need a better weapon. Take it. And the scabbard so you don’t cut off your own leg.”

“You needn’t hesitate,” said Kharlacht. “That arachar has no need for it.”

“Arachar?” said Ridmark. 

“Those orcs drank the blood of an urdmordar,” said Kharlacht. He pointed at the dark streaks in the green blood. “The blood gave them superhuman speed.”

“They drank the blood of an urdmordar?” said Calliande, disgusted. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“They urdmordar rarely permit it,” said Kharlacht. “Their blood can drive a mortal insane, but it can bestow great power. For their most loyal followers, the truly devoted, they grant the gift of their blood.”

“It sounds like a blasphemous parody of communion,” said Caius.

“Given that the urdmordar think of themselves as goddesses,” said Calliande, “it was likely intended that way.”

“So I don’t think you need feel any guilt about taking the sword,” said Ridmark, “and you will need it, before this is done.” 

Gavin hesitated, nodded, and took the dead orc’s sword and belt. He buckled it around his waist, sliding the sword into his scabbard, and followed Ridmark and the others across the square. Ridmark examined the doors of the church for a moment, then pushed. The sound of wood scraping against stone filled his ears.

“Help me get the doors open,” said Ridmark. “Someone piled the benches against them.” 

Kharlacht, Caius, and Gavin helped him push again the doors, and they swung open with a groan. Inside a pile of benches stood heaped against the doors, and Ridmark kicked them aside. The church had not been as badly damaged as he feared. The thatched roof had burned away, but the charred timbers had not collapsed into the sanctuary, and the stone walls still stood. 

“Which way to the crypt?” said Ridmark.

“There, behind the altar,” said Gavin.

Ridmark crossed the sanctuary. A wooden trapdoor rested upon the floor behind the altar. Ridmark knelt, gripped the iron handle, and pulled the heavy door open.

He heard a click and saw the flash of steel, and found himself staring at the point of a crossbow quarrel. The crossbow itself rested in the arms of Rosanna, her green eyes wide and terrified. 

“You’re Gavin’s friend,” she said, her voice shaking. She was sweating and sooty, but otherwise unhurt. “Oh, thank God. Thank God.” 

“Rosanna!” said Gavin. “You’re safe!”

“Gavin,” came Father Martel’s voice, and Ridmark saw the old priest moving in the darkness of the crypt. “It is good to see you. I feared you had been killed outside the walls.” 

“Who else is with you?” said Gavin. 

“No one, I fear,” said Martel. The old priest hobbled into the light from the trapdoor. He looked exhausted, his robes scorched, a half-congealed gash along the side of his face. “Only us. When the orcs and the human bandits arrived, I…I tried, I tried to get the praefectus to listen, but…”

He staggered, and collapsed to the floor of the crypt.

“Father!” said Rosanna, putting down the crossbow and running to him.

“Help me get him to Calliande,” said Ridmark. He scrambled down the ladder, Gavin and Caius following. Together they carried the old priest to the sanctuary and laid him upon the church floor. Calliande knelt alongside him and whispered a spell, the white light around her hands closing the gash in his face. She winced as she did it. Ridmark had once carried Heartwarden, and he had used its magic to heal. He knew that to heal wounds, Calliande had to feel the pain as if the injuries had been inflicted upon her own flesh. 

Yet she bore the pain without complaint. 

“He’ll live,” said Calliande when she finished. She sighed and rubbed her face. “But he lost a lot of blood.” She pointed at the dark stains on his robe. “If he makes it through the night, he should be fine.” Calliande straightened up and brushed some dust from her trousers. “What about you, child? Are you injured?”

“I’m fine,” said Rosanna, arms wrapped around herself. Gavin hesitated, took a deep breath, and put his hand on her shoulder. Rosanna let out a sob and slumped against him, and a looked of mingled relief and misery flashed over Gavin’s face. “I’m fine. I’m…I’m…”

“Rosanna,” said Ridmark. She blinked and looked at him. “Tell me what happened here.”

She wiped her face on her sleeve. “It was…it was in the morning, right after you left. The orcs and the human bandits with the spider-scars came to the southern gate, demanded to be let inside. They said we were now the slaves of something called…Agra…Agrad…”

“Agrimnalazur,” said Ridmark.

Rosanna nodded. “Yes, that was it. The praefectus came to the gate, and we thought he would tell them to go away. Instead…”

Gavin flinched. “Instead? What did he do?”

“Gavin, I’m sorry,” said Rosanna. “I know you didn’t like him, but…”

“What did he do?” said Gavin. 

“He opened the gates to them,” said Rosanna. “He and Morwen both. They said that we belonged to Agrimnul…whatever it was, that we had always belonged her. There was shouting and fighting, and the scarred orcs started burning the houses. Father Martel tried to take us to the church, to hide in the crypt. Philip was with me, but we got separated.” She looked up at Gavin, her eyes pleading. “Did you see him?”

“No,” said Gavin. “I’m sorry. I think the orcs took him captive with the others.” 

Rosanna started to cry again.

“But we did not see his body,” said Gavin. “He was a blacksmith. They wouldn’t have killed him. Blacksmiths are too valuable.” 

“Here,” said Calliande. “Why don’t you sit down? Poor Martel will be upset if he wakes up and finds that you fell over and cracked your head on the floor.”

She and Gavin guided her to one of the steps below the altar. Kharlacht stood over them, keeping watch. Ridmark turned away, gazing at the clear blue sky through the charred beams of the roof. 

After a moment Caius walked to his side.

“Ridmark,” he said, voice quiet, “this is even graver than we thought.”

“Aye,” said Ridmark. “It seems clear that both Cornelius and Morwen had high rank in the cult. Morwen’s was higher, I think. Likely Agrimnalazur told them that the time had come to slaughter the herd, so they were more than happy to cooperate.”

“The scriptures command a man to honor his father and mother,” said Caius, looking at Gavin and Rosanna, “but it seems Cornelius has indeed earned Gavin’s contempt.” He looked back at Ridmark. “But what are we going to do about it?”

“They won’t have killed the captives,” said Ridmark. “Not yet, anyway. Agrimnalazur will take some of the captives and put them into the death sleep, and keep others alive to breed new meals for her to eat in a few decades.”

“Where?” said Caius. “Urd Dagaash?”

“No,” said Ridmark. “Urd Dagaash is too small, too indefensible if the Frostborn do return and come after Agrimnalazur. That’s what she’s really afraid of – not the High King and the two Orders, not the other urdmordar, but the Frostborn.” He rubbed his chin, thinking. “It would have to be another dark elven ruin, one with access to the Deeps. Agrimnalazur needs food to keep her slaves and servants alive, and she can harvest mushrooms and fish and murrag meat from the Deeps to feed her slaves.” He snapped his fingers. “Urd Arowyn.”

“Where is that?” said Caius.

“About three or four days north of here, in the hills,” said Ridmark. “The archmage Ardrhythain told me about it.”

Caius snorted. “It is strange how you speak of figures from history with such ease.”

“Urd Arowyn is essentially a fortified hilltop,” said Ridmark. “That must be where Agrimnalazur has her lair. She would have enough room to keep her prisoners, and Urd Arowyn’s dungeons open into the Deeps. A perfect refuge for an urdmordar to spend a few millennia of winter. And even if I’m wrong, so many arachar and their prisoners will have left a clear trial. If we set out tomorrow before the weather changes, we can follow them, and we’ll know if they went somewhere other than Urd Arowyn.” 

“So you mean to go after them?” said Caius.

“Of course,” said Ridmark. “Why would we not?”

“Because your purpose is to go to Urd Morlemoch, to question the Warden about the Frostborn,” said Caius. “Because one could argue that the villagers brought this woe upon themselves by forsaking the true God for a spider-devil.”

“One could, but I will not,” said Ridmark. “I will not abandon these people to their fate. Not if I have the power to aid them.” 

And he did not care whether he lived or died, but he would not admit that to Caius. For one, the dwarven friar already knew. And while Ridmark did not care if he died, he also did not care to endure another one of Caius’s interminable sermons on the topic.

And if by risking his life he could help the villagers, why not do it?

He deserved to die anyway for what had happened to Aelia.

To his surprise, Caius smiled. “Good. Our journey to Urd Morlemoch may have greater urgency, but it would not sit well with me to leave so many people at the mercy of a female urdmordar. Even the cultists, who may be surprised to learn their goddess regards them not as disciples but as food.”

“You came north to convert the pagan orcs to the church, Brother,” said Ridmark. “Perhaps you have the chance to convert some worshippers of Agrimnalazur instead.” 

“Perhaps,” said Caius, and his smile faded. “But she is an urdmordar. Have you given any thought how to fight her? Magic is the only thing that can hurt a female urdmordar, and I fear Calliande’s power alone will not be enough.”

“No,” said Ridmark. “It won’t.” He had slain an urdmordar by himself ten years ago, but luck had played a far greater role in that than skill. Usually it took teams of veteran Swordbearers and experienced Magistri to defeat an urdmordar, and even then, they often failed. “The urdmordar are mighty. But I hope we can free the prisoners without ever facing her.” 

He walked to where Calliande sat with Rosanna and Gavin.

“You look as if you are going somewhere,” said Calliande.

“I am,” said Ridmark. “Tomorrow, I intend to pursue the arachar and free their prisoners.” He looked at Rosanna and Gavin. “I hold no bond of command over you. You may stay here, follow me, or go elsewhere as you wish.”

“Of course I shall come!” said Gavin.

“Decide tomorrow,” said Ridmark. “Kharlacht, Caius, Calliande. Stay here and watch over Father Martel and Rosanna. I am going to have a look around the village, see if I can find any other survivors, along with additional food and water for us.”

“Be careful,” said Calliande. 

“I am always careful,” said Ridmark.

Caius snorted. “Telling lies is a sin, you know.”

Ridmark left the church.

He walked through the square, staff in hand, his eyes and ears seeking for any sign of foes. He saw none, and the only sound was the low roar of the flames devouring the remains of the village, the air hot and smoky. Ridmark decided to make his way to the wall and walk a circuit of the ramparts. From there he could see if any of the villagers were still within Aranaeus, or if they had taken refuge outside the walls.

Or if any of the scarred orcs were returning. 

He took another step, saw the flash of steel, and turned.

Sir Paul Tallmane stood before Aranaeus’s southern gate, his armor gleaming, his sword in hand. His men-at-arms followed him, carrying maces and shields. 

“Ridmark Arban,” said Paul. “I would have killed you simply for the pleasure of it. That the Dux and his new friends in the Enlightened of Incariel shall reward me merely makes it all the sweeter.”

Chapter 12 - The Enlightened

“What in God’s name are you talking about?” said Ridmark.

“You haven’t figured it out yet?” said Paul with an amused sneer. “The great Ridmark Arban, the mighty Hero of Dun Licinia, the fearsome Gray Knight, doesn’t know that we’re about to kill you?” He shared a laugh with his men. “I marvel that you are bright enough to put on your boots in the morning, let alone survive all these years.”

“I understand well enough,” said Ridmark. “Dux Tarrabus Carhaine hates me, has always hated me, and will kill me if he gets the chance. You are a spineless toad exiled to the Iron Tower for incompetence.” Paul’s sneer hardened into a scowl. “But you see a way to buy your way into the Dux’s favor with my head. So when you heard about Qazarl, you came here to kill me.”