Frostborn: The Eightfold Knife (24 page)

Rakhaag stopped, and Ridmark held up his hand. The others came to a halt around him. Gavin went to their side, picking his footfalls carefully. The slope of the hill was littered with dead leaves and twisted roots and dozens of other things to make stealthy movement difficult. 

He saw motion at the base of the hill. 

Seven orcs came into sight, clad in leather armor. The orcs carried swords at their belts and axes slung over their shoulders. The shape of the strange eightfold scar marked their faces, the lines curving over their temples and along their jaws. All seven looked like hardened warriors, and while they did not move with much stealth, Gavin saw the wary tension in their posture. 

He wondered if they had killed anyone at Aranaeus.

“Gavin,” said Ridmark, voice low. “Stay here and guard Lady Calliande. She’s going to be busy in a few moments.” 

Calliande nodded and raised her hands. 

Ridmark said something to Kharlacht and Caius, and then descended the hillside.

Gavin watched in surprise as Ridmark strode to meet the orcs.

###

Ridmark felt the eyes of the arachar upon him. 

He strode to the bottom of the hill and stopped, the orcs watching him. They stared at him with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. Most likely they did not see the staff in his right hand as a threatening weapon.

They would soon learn otherwise.

“What have we here?” said the leader of the orcs, a hulking warrior with a net of old, faded scars beneath his ritual scarring. “Some wanderer who’s about to have a very bad day, eh?”

His men chuckled. 

“I’ve come to join you,” said Ridmark. 

“Oh, you have?” said the orc leader, stepping closer. There was no sign of battle rage in his eyes yet. “Why is that?”

“I’ve seen the truth,” said Ridmark. “I saw what you did at Aranaeus and the other villages.”

The leader chuckled. “And you want vengeance, is that it?”

“No,” said Ridmark. “I want to join you. I see what’s happening. The blue fire was a sign. Something big is about to happen.” He shrugged. “Where better to shelter from the storm than in the service of Agrimnalazur?” 

“So you know the name of the goddess?” said the orc. “Do you think to impress me?”

“No,” said Ridmark, “but I wish to enter her service.”

The orc sneered. “Then you will leave behind the crucified god of the humans and worship the goddess?”

“I can see who is going to be victorious,” said Ridmark. “An urdmordar can protect her children. The High King and his knights cannot.” 

He did not dare look at the hillside. Yet he thought that Kharlacht and Caius would be in position by now, that Calliande would have her spell ready.

Perhaps he could yet get more useful information out of these arachar.

“What do you know of great Agrimnalazur and her servants, human?” rumbled the orc. He drew his sword with an iron rasp. 

“I know that she is immortal and invincible,” said Ridmark. “I know that she has foreseen the return of the Frostborn, how they shall choke the world in ice and bring the winter that never ends. I know that she is preparing a larder, and herds of slaves to sustain herself during the frozen centuries. And I know that her loyal arachar, orcish and human both, are rewarded well for devoted service. You have been kidnapping humans from the nearby villages, and beastmen from the wandering packs, to stock her larder.” Ridmark spread his hands, keeping a tight grip on his staff. “I see three fates for mankind – to perish when the Frostborn return, to serve as cattle for the urdmordar, or to become a chosen servant of the goddess. Between the three, I choose the latter.” 

The arachar said nothing.

“You know,” said the orc leader at last, “rather more than you should, human.”

“Perhaps we should let him join us,” said one of the arachar. “If he truly wishes to serve the goddess.”

“Bah,” said a third orc. “He is a renegade. Look at the brand upon his face. Even the High King of Andomhaim does not tolerate cowards. He is an exile and an outcast, and thinks to buy his way into the High King’s favor by spying upon the goddess. I say we kill him and continue on our way.”

“The daughters of the goddess said we needed more fighters,” said a fourth arachar. 

“No,” said the leader at last, raising his sword. “The daughters said we were to report anything unusual. They will wish to know about this stranger. Cripple him and take him back to Urd Arowyn. The daughters can question him, and once he has shared his secrets, he will make a fit offering to the goddess’s hunger. Take him!”

The arachar advanced, and Ridmark lifted his staff.

The branches rustled, and Caius emerged from the trees on Ridmark’s right and Kharlacht from the trees on his left. A pale white glow flickered around both men. Calliande had placed spells upon them, making them faster and stronger, and the Magistria herself waited in concealment, maintaining the spells. 

Rakhaag crouched next to Kharlacht, and two lupivirii prowled alongside Caius.

“A trap!” snarled the arachar leader, his eyes shining with the red haze of battle fury. 

“No one need die today,” said Ridmark. “Lay down your weapons, and …”

“Kill them all!” roared the orcish leader. “Kill them in the name of Agrimnalazur!” 

The arachar roared and charged. Kharlacht shouted a battle cry and ran to meet them, moving with the superhuman speed granted by Calliande’s magic. Caius followed suit, his mace a bronze blur in his fist. The lupivirii snarled and sprang into the fray. Kharlacht and Caius held the attention of the arachar, but the lupivirii circled around the edge of the fight, snarling and snapping, drawing tainted blood from the orcs. But the arachar hardly seemed to care. Their orcish battle rage, combined with the taint of Agrimnalazur in their veins, seemed to render them immune to pain and fear.

They would fight to the death. 

The arachar leader charged Ridmark with a roar, shield on his left arm, sword in his right fist. He swept the blade in a vicious swing, and Ridmark jumped back, the sword whistling a few inches past his chest. Ridmark sidestepped, bringing his staff around in a two-handed swing, and the heavy wood smacked into the orc’s left leg with a crack. The arachar leader staggered, and thrust with his shield. The plane of wood and iron struck Ridmark across the torso, and now it was his turn to stagger. 

Ridmark thrust his staff as he stumbled, the tip of the weapon striking the orc’s right wrist. The arachar’s blow went amiss, the iron blade missing Ridmark’s chest. Ridmark jabbed again, the staff striking the orc in the belly. The arachar stumbled, and Ridmark raised the staff over his head and swung.

His staff smashed into the arachar’s face with bone-shattering force. The orc toppled backwards, and Ridmark’s next blow connected with the leader’s temple. The arachar struck the ground, twitched a few times, and went still.

Ridmark ran to join the others.

###

Gavin waited, his fingers tight against his sword’s hilt.

He wanted to join the attack, but once Calliande began her spells, Gavin saw why Ridmark wanted her guarded. She closed her eyes, her mouth shaping silent words, white fire glimmering around her fingers. The effort of maintaining a spell, Calliande had told him, was like carrying an armful of bricks. It was well within her strength, but just as a man carrying an armful of bricks was vulnerable to an attacker, so was Calliande vulnerable while the bulk of her magic went into holding the spells.

So Gavin guarded her and watched the fighting.

Kharlacht and Caius moved in a blur. Two of the orcs went down almost at once, while the rest fell into a defensive line. The lupivirii circled around the melee, snapping and snarling, keeping the orcs off-balance. Kharlacht’s blue greatsword gashed the right leg of an orc, sending the arachar stumbling.

Two lupivirii sprang upon the warrior, driving him to the ground as their jaws ripped open his throat. Ridmark struck down the arachar leader and rushed to join the others. Calliande had not put any spells upon Ridmark.

Perhaps he simply did not need them. 

The surviving arachar fled.

“Don’t let them get away!” shouted Ridmark. 

The lupivirii pursued, as did Ridmark and the others, and Gavin saw an orc scrambling up the hill towards Calliande. 

The arachar’s right leg had been wounded by a beastman’s talons. His red-gleaming eyes fixed on Calliande, and his mouth twisted in an enraged snarl. He sprinted at her, raising his mace to strike.

Gavin’s world narrowed to that orc. 

He ran to meet the orc’s attack. Gavin raised his shield, bracing himself as Ridmark and Caius had taught, and caught the orc’s blow. The shield shuddered beneath the impact, the shock sending vibrations up Gavin’s arm and into his chest.

God, but the orc could hit hard! The arachar snarled and went on the attack, hammering at the shield. Gavin fell back a step, the orc striking again and again with the mace. Gavin feared that his shield would splinter beneath the furious assault, or the impacts would break the bones in his forearm.

Then the orc stumbled on a root.

Gavin saw his chance and thrust, dropping his shield just long enough to stab with his sword. The blade struck the orc in the belly, drawing a gash through the leather armor. The orc bellowed in rage, black eyes flickering with red light, and came at Gavin again. He raised the mace high and brought in down with both hands. The power of the impact almost drove Gavin to his knees, but the orc raised the mace again, and Gavin saw the opening. 

He hammered his shield against the orc’s chest and thrust his sword with all his strength. The blade plunged into the orc’s torso, sinking in just beneath his lower rib. The orc’s furious eyes went wide and he coughed, green blood spattering across his yellowed tusks. Gavin twisted the sword and ripped it free. He raised the weapon, preparing to strike again, but the orc fell to his knees, and then upon his face.

The sword must have hit his heart. 

Gavin lowered his sword, breathing hard. He looked around and saw that the others had slain the remaining arachar. Gavin knelt, cleaned his sword as Ridmark had taught him, and sheathed the blade. He felt calm, strangely calm. Why did he not feel anything else? He had just killed a man, again. But the orc had been trying to kill him, and would have killed Lady Calliande.

It was a terrible thing to kill, but it would have been worse to let the arachar kill Calliande.

The Magistria sighed, the light fading from her hands, and opened her eyes. 

“Gavin,” she said, and she blinked when she saw the dead orc. 

“Magistria,” said Gavin. “Are you all right?”

“So I am,” said Calliande, “and it appears I have you to thank for it.”

Gavin bowed, and they went to join Ridmark.

###

Calliande looked at the dead orcs and wondered why Ridmark had fought them.

There seemed no point. He had questioned them, and they had revealed nothing useful. It seemed a poor reason to risk their lives.

She opened her mouth to ask, and then stopped. 

Ridmark walked in a circle around the dead arachar, examining them.

“Couldn’t you have left this one in a single piece?” he said to Rakhaag.

The lupivir alpha growled. “When the hunt ends, the True People kill the prey quickly.”

“Plainly,” said Ridmark. “Well, these should work.”

“What are you doing?” said Calliande.

“I think I know a way into Urd Arowyn,” said Ridmark, “and I need a disguise.”

Chapter 15 - Daughters of the Goddess

Ridmark held still as Calliande painted his face. 

He wore a dead arachar’s leather jerkin, along with the arachar’s ragged woolen cloak. A search through the woods had revealed some berries and roots that Calliande mixed to produce a thick paste, one that looked remarkably like a fresh scar when applied to human skin. 

Between that and the cloak, Ridmark could pass as one of the human arachar.

“You really think there’s a secret entrance to Urd Arowyn,” said Calliande, squinting as she applied the paste to his forehead.

“Almost certainly,” said Ridmark. “The dark elves always constructed their strongholds with a secret exit.”

“And you know where it is?” said Calliande.

“No,” said Ridmark, closing his eyes as her paste-smeared fingers brushed his temples. “I suspect it’s in a cave at the base of the waterfall. The archmage Ardrhythain told me about Urd Arowyn when I went to Urd Morlemoch nine years ago.”

“What exactly did he say?” said Calliande.

“That it was a dangerous place and I should avoid it,” said Ridmark. “But if I ever found myself there, the dark elves always built their strongholds with a secret exit, and the exit was usually concealed behind a prominent natural formation. Such as a waterfall.”

He opened his eyes, and saw Calliande frowning at him.

“So that was your plan all along,” she said. “To take the prisoners out through a secret tunnel.”

“If we can manage it,” said Ridmark.

“Then why didn’t you say so?” said Calliande. 

He looked at where Gavin stood talking with Rosanna, the paste creating the illusion of a hideous eightfold scar across his face. 

“Because,” said Ridmark, “the only thing more demoralizing than having no hope is having false hope snatched away.”  

Gavin had insisted upon accompanying Ridmark and Kharlacht into the secret entrance. Ridmark would have preferred leaving him with Caius and Calliande, but Gavin would be useful. He knew all the villagers of Aranaeus, and while they would not listen to Ridmark, they might heed Gavin. And the boy had courage. He would have made an excellent knight, perhaps even a Swordbearer. If they lived through this, Ridmark would send him to Castra Marcaine to serve as a squire and learn the knight’s skills. Surely Sir Constantine would take the boy as a squire, perhaps even the Dux himself, once they heard of Gavin’s deeds.

Assuming they lived through this, of course.

“You are right,” said Calliande, glancing at Gavin. “As you often are. You are wise, Ridmark Arban, about everything save yourself.”