Frostborn: The Eightfold Knife (38 page)

Read Frostborn: The Eightfold Knife Online

Authors: Jonathan Moeller

Tags: #Fiction, #Fantasy, #Epic

BOOK: Frostborn: The Eightfold Knife

10.02Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Read Book Download Book

Ridmark blinked, and the others laughed.

“Well spoken, Gavin,” said Caius.

“God have mercy, Gavin,” said Ridmark, “you’re as mad as they are.”

Calliande laughed again. “Said the man who fought an urdmordar and lived, twice, and is now going to Urd Morlemoch.”

Ridmark ignored the tease. “So. I have said what I intend to do. And knowing all that, do you still want to follow me?”

“Yes,” said Gavin.

“So be it,” said Ridmark. “Then gather your possessions and come. I want to make at least another ten miles before nightfall.”

“I will not disappoint you, sir,” said Gavin.

Ridmark almost smiled. “I don’t think you will. Though you will do the cooking tonight.”

###

Ridmark Arban turned his face to the west.

Urd Morlemoch awaited.

And within the darkness of the Warden’s stronghold, perhaps he would find the answers that both he and Calliande sought.

Epilogue

In the great hall of the Iron Tower, Sir Paul Tallmane knelt before the dais and told his tale. He did not bother to lie, did not paper over his failures in Aranaeus. The creature standing atop the dais would know if he lied.

Paul realized that he was going to die.

Actually, death was probably more than he could hope for.

Considering what the creature atop the dais could do to him.

Considering the inhuman screams he often heard echoing from the dungeons of the Iron Tower.

“And then I returned here, Master,” said Paul, still not daring to lift his eyes. His broken wrist throbbed in its splint.

“So I observe,” said the Master.

The Master’s voice was…wrong. It was deep and resonant and commanding, yet carried an eerie echo. A resonance that made Paul’s head hurt and sent a shiver down his spine.

As if two creatures were trying to speak through the same mouth at once.

“Look at me,” said the Master.

Paul shuddered, swallowed, and lifted his eyes to the Master, the creature that some called Shadowbearer.

The Master was a high elf, clad in a black tunic, trousers, and boots beneath a long black-trimmed coat the color of blood. The wizards of the high elves wore coats like that, though Paul was not sure that the Master was still a high elf. His skin was the grayish-white of a corpse, and black veins threaded beneath his face and hands. The irises of his bloodshot eyes were the color of quicksilver, and Paul saw his reflection in them.

The Master stepped closer, and Paul flinched. A hearth burned in the wall to Paul’s left, throwing his shadow to the right. Yet the Master’s shadow pointed at Paul, like a serpent ready to strike.

Paul knew what would happen if that shadow touched him.

“So,” said the Master, “the Dux sent you to kill his old enemy. Instead the Gray Knight slew all your men, and in a fit of mercy let you live. Is that the sum of it?”

“Yes, Master,” said Paul. “The failure is mine.”

The Master glanced at the ceiling, as if distracted.

“Perhaps,” said the Master, “the fault is mine.”

Paul had not expected that. He started to speak, and then realized that keeping quiet was a good idea.

“I knew that word would reach the Dux about the Gray Knight,” said the Master, “and the Dux would send someone after him. The Dux never forgiven him for that dead girl in Castra Marcaine.” He shook his head. “So the Dux sent you…and Ridmark Arban prevailed. That is not surprising. The man is a lion, and you, Sir Paul, are not. As well send a mouse to slay a cat.”

Paul started to protest, his anger rising. Then sanity reasserted itself and he clamped his mouth shut. One did not question the Master.

“Remain here,” said the Master, descending from the dais. He strode past Paul without a glance, his shadow sweeping after him like the wings of a hunting raptor. “I shall have duties for you soon enough.”

He left the great hall without another word.

A scream echoed up from the dungeons, faint and full of despair.

Paul let out a long breath, marveling at his survival.

The anger returned, partly at himself.

But mostly at Ridmark Arban.

The Enlightened of Incariel did not tolerate weakness, but Paul had been given a second chance. He would prove himself strong, would prove himself worthy to reign with the Enlightened in immortality forevermore.

And to do that, he need only kill Ridmark Arban.

###

The creature that some men called Shadowbearer stood upon the ramparts of the Iron Tower, gazing to the north. Behind him stretched the rippling water of the Lake of Battles. The lords of Andomhaim had given the lake its name from the numerous battles against the pagan orcs fought upon its shores. But many battles had been fought here, long before the humans had even come through the gate from Old Earth.

Many, many mortals had died here.

And many more would, before Shadowbearer was done.

Time had not run out yet. He still had a year before the conjunction of the thirteen moons passed.

And he had more servants other than the idiots of the Enlightened of Incariel.

Shadowbearer closed his eyes and sent his will ranging north.

A few moments later he touched the mind he sought. It was ancient by the standards of the humans, nearly two centuries old, though that was but a drop in the ocean of years Shadowbearer had seen.

And a drop in the endless abyss of the howling black power filling him.

“Master?” said the mind, its words brushing against Shadowbearer’s thoughts. “It has been a long time.”

Shadowbearer opened his eyes and smiled.

“It has,” he said. “But I have a task for you. You proved the strongest, and therefore you are worthy. Soon a man and a woman shall pass near your home.” He sent an image of Calliande of Tarlion and Ridmark Arban, of his old enemy and her newfound protector. “They carry an empty soulstone. Kill them both and bring the soulstone to me. Do this, and I shall reward you with power beyond anything you can imagine.”

For a moment there was silence.

Then the mind answered, its words filled with confidence.

“It shall be as you say, Master. They both will die.”

THE END

Thank you for reading FROSTBORN: THE EIGHTFOLD KNIFE. If you liked the story, please consider leaving a review at your ebook site of choice.

Ridmark Arban and his companions will return in early 2014 in FROSTBORN: THE UNDYING WIZARD. To receive immediate notification of new releases,
sign up for my newsletter
, or watch for news on my
Facebook page
.

About the Author

Standing over six feet tall, Jonathan Moeller has the piercing blue eyes of a Conan of Cimmeria, the bronze-colored hair a Visigothic warrior-king, and the stern visage of a captain of men, none of which are useful in his career as a computer repairman, alas.

He has written the DEMONSOULED series of sword-and-sorcery novels, and continues to write THE GHOSTS sequence about assassin and spy Caina Amalas, the COMPUTER BEGINNER'S GUIDE series of computer books, and numerous other works.

Visit his website at:

http://www.jonathanmoeller.com

Visit his technology blog at:

http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/screed

Contact him at:

[email protected]

You can
sign up for his email newsletter here
, or watch for news on his
Facebook page
.

Other books by the author

The Frostborn Series

Frostborn: The Gray Knight (Frostborn #1)

Frostborn: The Eightfold Knife (Frostborn #2)

Frostborn: The First Quest