Frostborn: The Eightfold Knife (28 page)

She wondered what he had seen in Urd Arowyn.

“You’ve returned,” said Calliande.

Ridmark nodded. “It was close, but we were able to escape.”

“Did you see Philip?” said Rosanna, scrambling to her feet alongside Father Martel. 

“I did,” said Gavin. “He’s alive. The arachar have him helping to build ballistae on the wall. So long as he’s useful to them and he doesn’t make trouble, I don’t think they’ll hurt him.”

Rosanna frowned. “Couldn’t you have brought him out?”

“We could have,” said Ridmark, “but he chose to stay behind.”

“What?” said Rosanna. “Why?”

“He would not abandon his neighbors,” said Martel. “Philip was always a brave young man.”

“He stayed,” said Ridmark, “because tomorrow night we are going to go back and get him, along with all the others.” 

“How?” said Calliande and Caius in unison.

“The females and the young of the True People,” said Rakhaag. “Did you see them?”

“No,” said Ridmark, “but I know where they are. Agrimnalazur keeps her larder within the central tower of the ruins. Likely they are there, her venom keeping them in the death sleep.” 

Rosanna hesitated. “Your father. Is he…”

“He’s alive,” said Gavin with a grimace, “and he’s helping the spiderlings. Morwen seems like she’s in charge. Oh, and she’s a spiderling, too.”

Rosanna’s hands flew to her mouth, and Martel said a quiet prayer. 

“All those years she lived with us after my mother died,” said Gavin. “The entire time she was a spiderling. And he knew. They were planning to do something like this all along.”

“I think,” said Caius, “Cornelius might have gotten in over his head.”

They looked at him.

“The omen of blue fire three and a half weeks past,” said Caius. “That forced Agrimnalazur and Morwen to act. When Cornelius first became praefectus, I suspect he thought he could play along, offer a villager up to the urdmordar’s appetite every so often, and keep the peace. Then the omen happened, and Cornelius found himself forced to become a traitor.” 

“He was always a traitor,” said Gavin, “and he deserves to die for what he has done.” His hand curled into a fist, hovering near the hilt of his sword. “I will make sure he is called to account for what he has done.”

“You said you would go into the ruins to rescue the villagers and my kindred,” said Rakhaag, showing his teeth. “I assume you have a plan, something crafted of lies and deceit?”

“I do,” said Ridmark, “but we shall deceive the arachar and the daughters of Agrimnalazur. I assume you have no qualms about this?”

“None,” said Rakhaag. “The urdmordar and their daughters are death. The True People have always fled them, but if we are to get our females and young back, then we must fight.”

“What is your plan?” said Caius. “Something bold, most likely.”

“It is,” said Ridmark. “But Cornelius and Morwen have given us the opportunities for boldness. I suspect Agrimnalazur does not trouble herself with the day-to-day business of Urd Arowyn, and leaves those tasks in the hands of Cornelius and Morwen. And neither of them appear to know much of war.”

“They’re building those ballistae,” said Caius.

“To what use?” said Ridmark. “If an army comes against Urd Arowyn, it won’t be for years. Meanwhile they have not bothered to repair the gates, and the arachar spend most of their time guarding the slaves rather than watching the walls.”

“They trust in the power of Agrimnalazur to protect them,” said Caius.

“Perhaps they are right to do so,” said Kharlacht, “for an urdmordar has great power.”

“Agrimnalazur does,” said Ridmark, “but they are wrong to trust to it. Her slaves and servants are only food and tools to her, and unless she is personally threatened, she may not rouse herself to act. We cannot overcome an urdmordar…but we can overcome her servants.”

“How?” said Rakhaag. “You have no magic, and the Staffbearer has said her magic cannot slay an urdmordar.”

“We will create chaos,” said Ridmark, “and use that chaos to escape with the captives.”

Rakhaag took a step closer to Ridmark, baring his fangs. “How?”

“Every night, an hour after sunset, Morwen calls the slaves and the arachar together in the central courtyard,” said Ridmark. “Then she catechizes them about the glory of Agrimnalazur.”

Caius snorted. “A compelling sermon, I'm sure.”

“But while she does this,” said Ridmark, “all the arachar withdraw to the courtyard. Only the guards on the gate are left, I believe. This, then, is my plan. Tomorrow night, when Morwen calls the assembly, I will sneak past the urdmordar in the secret entrance…”

“Wait,” said Calliande. “There was an urdmordar in the secret entrance? Agrimnalazur herself? How are you still alive?”

“A male urdmordar, one of Agrimnalazur’s mates,” said Ridmark. “And he was asleep. So long as we do not disturb his webs, we can get past him.”

“A male urdmordar,” said Calliande, shaking her head. Again she marveled at how lightly he dismissed the most terrible of dangers. 

But as Caius had said, Ridmark’s bravery had a darker edge, founded in his despair.

“Once I am inside Urd Arowyn,” said Ridmark, “I will kill the guards, and then start setting fire to the supplies scattered around the ruins. Eventually that will draw the attention of Morwen and her arachar, and they will hurry to put out the flames. But by then,” he looked at Rakhaag, “you and your kindred will have seen the fires.”

“And done what?” said Rakhaag. “You expect us to put them out?”

“No,” said Ridmark, “since the gate will be unguarded, I expect you to enter and attack the arachar.”

Rakhaag loosed a low, rumbling growl. “We are hunters, not warriors. The tainted orcs have steel.”

“And they will be scattered in dozens of small groups fighting the flames,” said Ridmark. His smile was as hard and mirthless as his eyes. “They will not be warriors, but your prey.” 

“The streets in Urd Arowyn are narrow,” said Calliande, “and the ruins will offer plenty of shadows to hide. Your kin can see better in the dark, and have sharper ears and noses than the orcs.” She shook her head. “You’ll turn Urd Arowyn into a slaughterhouse.”

Ridmark’s plan was mad, but it was brilliant. Loosing the lupivirii into those narrow streets, as chaos and flames raged…the lupivirii would indeed turn the ruins into a slaughterhouse. 

If the plan worked.

“What of our females and young?” said Rakhaag. “Will we leave our own kin to fill an urdmordar’s belly?”

“No,” said Ridmark. “I will go to the central tower with Calliande and wake them. Her magic can nullify the urdmordar’s sleeping venom, and they will recognize her as the Staffbearer. While I do that, Philip and some of the other trustworthy men from the village will get the prisoners to the gates. Then we will all flee Urd Arowyn together.” 

“What about Morwen?” said Gavin. “She has dark magic, and she will try to stop you.”

“She might,” said Ridmark. “But the fires could hold her attention. And if she tries to stop us, she will face Calliande. I suspect a Magistria will prove something of a challenge to her powers.”  

Calliande nodded. She hated to see magic abused. Whatever had happened to her in the past had filled her with a hatred for magic users who wielded their power for selfish ends, leaving ruined lives in their wake.

And few magical powers were as destructive as the black sorcery of an urdmordar. 

“What happens if you are wrong?” said Rakhaag. “What if the urdmordar chooses to involve herself?”

“Then we will all die,” said Ridmark.

Rakhaag tilted his head to the side. Clearly he had not expected that answer. 

“I said I would not lie to you, Rakhaag,” said Ridmark, “and I will not. I have no way to defeat an urdmordar. If Agrimnalazur joins the fight, she might well kill us all.” He spread his hands, the tip of his staff scraping through the dead leaves. “But if we do nothing, everyone in Urd Arowyn will die. Agrimnalazur and her daughters will consume them, or they will die of old age in chains. And your kin will die one by one over the centuries as Agrimnalazur wakes and devours them.” 

He fell silent, the others staring at him. Calliande held her breath. She could ask Rakhaag to help, and she knew he would do it. But she would not command him to do it, would not command him to risk so much.

At last Rakhaag growled, the deep noise rumbling around the trees.

“We fight,” he spat.

Ridmark nodded. “I thought you might. Now get some rest, all of you. Rakhaag, make sure the bellies of your kin are full. Tomorrow we will have hard fighting.”

###

The next afternoon, Gavin prepared for battle. 

He sharpened and oiled the blade of his sword as Kharlacht had shown him, and then returned the weapon to its sheath. He tightened the straps of his shield, and donned the chain mail hauberk Ridmark had taken from one of the dead men-at-arms in Aranaeus. It was a bit long for Gavin, but the spiderlings fought with poison, and he welcomed the extra protection.

Then he stretched, shifting the unfamiliar weight of the armor, and looked around. 

Ridmark and Kharlacht had gone to watch the walls of Urd Arowyn, making sure the arachar made no unexpected moves. Rakhaag and the lupivirii had vanished to hunt prey, which relieved Gavin. He knew the creatures were on their side, but they still made him uneasy. Caius, Martel, and Rosanna were all praying, asking God for aid in the coming battle.

He hoped that God was listening, that he had not turned his back upon the people of Aranaeus.

“Gavin.”

Gavin shook out of his thoughts as Calliande walked towards him, a pot of paste in her right hand.

“I need you to paint my face,” said Calliande.

Gavin blinked. “Ah…isn’t that the sort of thing that’s easier to do yourself?”

“It is,” said Calliande, “but only if you have a mirror. I don’t.” 

“Oh.” Gavin set the pot upon the branch of a nearby tree. “Certainly. You’re going to be disguised as an arachar, then?”

Calliande nodded.

Gavin dipped a finger into the pot, wincing at the clammy feel of the paste. “But none of the arachar are women.”

“No, but in all this,” she gestured at the leather jerkin and wool clothing she wore beneath her heavy cloak, “it’s not obvious that I am a woman. And by the time any of the arachar get close enough to see, we’ll be fighting for our lives.” She tied back her blond hair, pushing it away from her forehead and temples. “It’s easiest to start with the forehead.”

Gavin nodded, and Calliande closed her eyes. 

For a moment he hesitated, struck by her beauty. For she was beautiful, even in her dusty traveling clothes. For a moment he entertained the wild fantasy of courting her, maybe even daring to lean forward and steal a kiss. Rosanna loved him, he knew, but as a brother, and she would never love him as he loved her. 

Perhaps it was time to move on.

But he pushed aside the absurd fantasy. Calliande was a Magistria, with powers he did not understand. And there was something uncanny about her. She had not told him her story, but from what the others had said, he suspected that she was hundreds of years old. Such a woman was well beyond his reach of someone like Gavin.

Anyway, she was obviously in love with Ridmark.

But Aranaeus was ashes, and Rosanna would wed Philip. If they survived the coming battle, what would Gavin do with the rest of his life?

Calliande opened one blue eye, and Gavin wondered if she had guessed his thoughts.

“Sorry,” he said. “My mind wandered.”

She nodded and closed her eyes. “A lot has happened to you in a very short time.”

“Aye,” said Gavin. He started to draw the fake scar upon her forehead. “More than I would like.” He drew the spider’s body, and then traced the legs across her left temple. “I’m going to kill my father.”

“I see,” said Calliande.

“Are you going to try and talk me out of it?” said Gavin. He felt his voice grow angry, but he did not care. “After all the people he killed? After he kept that spiderling in our house for years? He probably murdered my mother so he could marry Morwen.”

“I know,” said Calliande. “And I won’t try to talk you out of anything.” He finished the legs on her left temple and started upon the right. “I have no right to give you commands. You ought to forgive him, true, because the Dominus Christus commands it and otherwise your hatred will eat you out from the inside. But if any man deserves death for his crimes, it is Cornelius.”

“Then you think I should kill him?” said Gavin, reaching into the pot for more paste.

“No,” said Calliande. “You should let Ridmark or Kharlacht do it.”

“Why?” said Gavin. “My father betrayed me and everyone else in Aranaeus.”

“Because if you kill him,” said Calliande, “I think you’ll become like Ridmark.” 

Gavin frowned, finishing the legs upon her temples. “Is that bad? He is a great knight and warrior.”

“He is,” said Calliande. “Has he told you anything about his past?”

Gavin shook his head and then remembered that she could not see him. “No.”

“He lost his wife,” said Calliande, “and he blamed himself for her death, even though it was not his fault. He has never forgiven himself for it, and believes he deserves death. So he drives himself on, putting himself in greater and greater danger.”

“What does that have to do with me?” said Gavin, painting the lines upon her jaw. “I want to kill my father, not…”

“You want revenge,” said Calliande, “but it won’t end with your father. Ridmark puts himself in danger because he believes he deserves to die. Your father does deserve to die. But killing him will not quench the fury in your heart. So you’ll look for someone else who deserves to die, and someone else, and someone else, and it will consume you the way guilt and despair have consumed Ridmark.” 

Gavin said nothing as he painted the rest of the fake scars. He remembered the day his father had wed Morwen, remembered the cold smirk upon her red lips. He remembered the tired, dull look upon Cornelius’s face as he gave the dead woman to the spiderlings. 

And he remembered Ridmark’s icy, hard eyes.