Frostborn: The Gorgon Spirit (4 page)

The troll merely seemed annoyed.

“Get out of the way!” Morigna’s voice rang over the clearing, and Gavin sprang to the side. Morigna gestured again, and a sphere of writhing gray mist rolled over the fallen troll. It touched the troll’s wounds, which spat and sizzled as the acidic mist flowed into them. The troll’s frantic twitching stopped as the mist rolled into its head. Gavin turned as Morigna cast her spell again. Kharlacht, Arandar, Caius, and Jager jumped back, and Morigna’s mist rolled over the thrashing troll, hissing and snarling. Ridmark snatched a burning brand from the campfire and drove it into the mouth of the troll he had struck down. The troll went motionless, and he retreated as Morigna rolled a cloud of acidic mist over the troll.

The mist faded, and silence fell over the clearing. 

Ridmark looked around, nodded to himself, and drew the dwarven war axe from his belt. The Taalkaz of the Dwarven Enclave of Coldinium had given the enspelled weapon to him. Ridmark buried the axe blade in the chest of the nearest troll, yellowish slime bursting forth, and raised the weapon for another blow. 

“What are you doing?” said Calliande. 

“Making sure they don’t heal and attack us from behind,” said Ridmark. “I’ll take the hearts. Kharlacht, remove the heads. Once you have them off, throw them in the fire. It’s the only way to make sure they don’t heal.”

Kharlacht nodded, raised his greatsword, and went to work.

###

Perhaps ten minutes later Ridmark tossed the final heart into the fire and wiped his hands clean upon the grass. God and the saints, but the stench of burning troll flesh was hideous. 

“What now?” said Calliande, looking at the flames.

“We go,” said Ridmark, “and make our way to Khorduk. Avoid the trolls if we can, and fight our way clear if we cannot.” 

“If we can,” said Calliande. 

“We went into Urd Morlemoch and we came out alive again,” said Ridmark. “After everything we have endured, I don’t intend to let some trolls or even Mara’s father stop us.”

She smiled. “You cheer me.”

“Let us hope my optimism is not delusional,” said Ridmark.

They left the clearing and headed northeast into the forest.

Chapter 2: Prey

Ridmark led the way through the forest. 

Morigna was a few paces behind him, her bow in hand. Of all the others, she was the only one who could keep up with him while remaining stealthy. Though in truth, it was more of a question of whether or not he could keep up with her. She moved like a ghost through the trees, sometimes so quietly that he lost track of where she was. He had learned hunting and tracking as a squire at Castra Marcaine, skills that had been refined by five years wandering the Wilderland. Morigna had spent years living alone in the wilderness as a child, and stealth and tracking were woven into her very bones. 

Mara was almost as good, though.

The power of her dark elven blood let her travel short distances in an instant. She could cover twenty or thirty yards in the blink of an eye, vanishing and reappearing in a swirl of blue flame. The flame could draw notice, of course, but Mara had a knack for choosing locations that blocked the light of the fire, bushes and patches of trees and boulders. The use of her power taxed her, and Ridmark would not have had her use it under normal circumstances. 

Moving through a troll-haunted forest was not a normal circumstance. The trolls were six hundred pounds of muscle and talons, but for all their bulk they moved with terrifying stealth. It would have been a cruel fate for Calliande to have survived the Frostborn and her long sleep and Shadowbearer only for some passing troll to kill her.

He intended to see her to Dragonfall alive. Between Morigna’s ravens and Mara’s abilities, he should be able to keep any trolls from ambushing them. As a Swordbearer of Dux Gareth’s court, he had often led men into battle, and he had never possessed such capable scouts before. Hopefully he would never have to face an army with scouts like Morigna and Mara.

Ridmark pushed the musings away and looked back. The others were in a loose line behind him. Kharlacht brought up the front and Arandar the back, ready to attack should any trolls show themselves. Calliande walked between Caius and Gavin, both of them ready to defend her if attackers appeared. Though she was hardly defenseless herself, given the power of the magic she could bring to bear. Jager strolled next to her, as calmly as if he had been walking through the forum of Coldinium. Enemies tended to overlook him in a fight, which made it easier for him to hamstring them or stab them in the back.

The ground grew steeper and rockier. Most of the forests of Vhaluusk were oak and maple, towering and old, but the heavy trees thinned, replaced by pines and sturdy bushes. They were entering the foothills, and the village of Khorduk was not far. Another day, Ridmark thought, and they could shelter behind walls before making the final journey to the Vale of Stone Death and the gates of Khald Azalar. 

He did not like this terrain. The slope meant that any enemies would have the high ground, and the small valleys and ravines of the hills provided ample places for an ambush…

Blue fire flickered in front of Ridmark, and Mara reappeared, breathing hard. 

“What is it?” he said. She wouldn’t have come back unless she had seen something.

“Fighting ahead,” said Mara, the others catching up to Ridmark. “A group of orcs, six or seven, and a pair of trolls. I don’t think the orcs will last long without help.”

“What manner of orcs?” said Ridmark. “Vhaluuskan?”

Mara shrugged. “I think so. They wore fur and leather, had a lot of scars and tattoos. I suspect they would not hesitate to attack us if they thought they could prevail.”

“If we aid them,” said Kharlacht, “they may tell us news of the trolls, and perhaps of the Traveler and his army.”

“Or,” said Morigna, “they shall cut our throats by way of thanks.” 

Kharlacht shrugged, unruffled as ever. “Perhaps. But I doubt that. All the fanatics of Vhaluusk perished with Mhalek and Qazarl at Dun Licinia. The remaining orcs of Vhaluusk are pragmatic. If we save their lives, they will likely not assail us. Perhaps they are even baptized and follow the teachings of the Dominus Christus.”

Morigna snorted, but said nothing else. 

“Very well,” said Ridmark. “Let us aid them, and see what we might learn.”

“It’s this way,” said Mara. “In a small valley about a quarter mile up the slope.”

“Lead on,” said Ridmark.

###

Calliande’s magic could not harm the trolls. She was a Magistria, wielding the power of the ancient Well in Tarlion’s heart, and her magic could heal, defend, and seek. It could not harm or kill another living mortal, and the trolls were living creatures. 

That did not mean her magic would be useless in the coming fight.

She took deep breaths as they walked, gathering her power and focusing her will. At last she was ready, and she lifted her hands and cast the first spell, white light pulsing from her fingers. The glow sank into the others, a spell to turn aside harm and armor them from blows. It would not make them invincible from harm, but it would provide some protection. 

Then she cast another spell, more white light sinking into her companions. This spell made them faster and stronger. It would not make them as fast and strong as Heartwarden and Truthseeker made Arandar and Gavin, but it would give them an edge nonetheless. Battles were chaotic, terrifying things, and the smallest thing could decide victory or defeat. She would give her friends every advantage in her power, and she concentrated on the effort of holding the spells in place. 

Only to discover that it was not as much of an effort as she expected. 

Holding a spell in place was like carrying a bucket of water up a flight of stairs. She could do it without much difficulty, and the longer she did it the more tired she became. Yet it was much easier than it had been. The amount of magic she had used at the Iron Tower during the desperate battle against the Artificer had made her stronger…and the amount of power the Warden had used within her flesh had magnified her strength further. Once holding two spells in place like this had been an effort. Now it was no more onerous than carrying a pair of daggers. 

Perhaps she had gotten stronger…or perhaps the power of the Keeper was asserting itself.

That thought disturbed her. Maybe it shouldn’t have. The Keeper was who she really was. Calliande wondered again what kind of woman she had been.

She pushed the entire mess out of her mind. A battle was not the place for such contemplations. 

But by the time they reached the valley, the battle was over. 

Mara might have seen six or seven orcs, but a dozen orcs carpeted the ground, some of them still moaning. A pair of trolls moved over them, their hides rippling green to match the carnage on the ground. The blood of orcs was dark green, and the talons and the fangs of the trolls glistened as they feasted.

A hideous scream of agony came to Calliande’s ears.

They were eating the orcs alive.

Calliande took a deep breath, focused upon the spells. Ridmark, Arandar, Gavin, and Kharlacht started forward. Morigna came to Calliande’s side, trading her bow for her sigil-carved staff, while Caius and Jager moved in front of them, ready to shield them should the trolls recognize the danger of Morigna’s magic and attack. Mara walked to Jager’s side, a short sword of dark elven steel in her right hand. 

The trolls looked up and let out a coughing, wheezing laugh.

“What folly is this?” said the nearest troll in orcish with a thick accent. A memory stirred in Calliande’s mind, something she had learned before she had gone into the long sleep below the Tower of Vigilance. The trolls had their own secret language, one never shared with others. “Humans, a dwarf, and an orc, all traveling together?” It clicked its jaws, its serrated fangs making a rasping sound as they rubbed against each other. “A most peculiar meal, but I shall not object.” 

“You’re a long way from your mountains,” said Ridmark. “Perhaps you ought to return to them before you try to eat something that disagrees with you.”  

“The world is about to change,” hissed the troll. “The great power stirs below the mountains, and the demons in the deep awaken.” Calliande blinked at that. Did it mean the Keeper’s staff? “The stench of the change fills my nostrils. This world shall change, and we shall feast upon you and your kindred.”  

“Why don’t you tell me about that?” said Ridmark.

The troll’s blunt features twisted into a sneer. “You lesser kindreds. You require so many words. Such fools you are! Do you not understand? The hunger is the one true master, and we shall devour you! Your screams shall…”

Blue fire flickered, and Mara appeared behind the troll, the short sword flashing in her hands. The troll’s diatribe ended in a furious scream, and it whirled as Mara disappeared, reappearing next to Calliande in the usual swirl of blue flame. 

“A splendid rebuttal, my dear,” said Jager.

“Why, thank you,” said Mara.

In the troll’s moment of confusion, Ridmark, Arandar, Gavin, and Kharlacht charged, weapons raised. The second troll roared in fury and broke into a run, its hide rippling, and Kharlacht went left and Gavin went right. Kharlacht’s massive greatsword, a broad length of gleaming blue dark elven steel, ripped through the troll’s leg. Gavin slashed, Truthseeker glowing in his fist, and the soulblade pierced the troll’s thick scales like cloth. The troll stumbled forward, its heavy claws raking for Arandar. The High King’s bastard son snapped his shield up, and the claws rebounded from the oak and steel. Heartwarden blurred in his fist. The blade pierced the troll’s skull, and the creature went into a twitching dance. Arandar ripped the soulblade free, and Kharlacht stepped past him, raising his greatsword and bringing it down like a man chopping wood. The troll’s head rolled away, the jaw still working, and the slime-coated stump of its neck bubbled as a new head started growing from the damaged flesh. 

“Morigna,” said Calliande, but the sorceress was already moving. A ball of mist rolled over the stump of the troll’s neck, burning the wound, and the half-formed head burst into flames. Kharlacht went to work opening the troll’s chest and taking out its heart, while Gavin and Arandar ran to aid Ridmark. The Gray Knight wheeled around the troll, dodging its furious blows and landing strike after strike with his black staff. The troll’s right leg looked misshapen from the barrage, a shard of slime-coated bone jutting from the damaged limb. Ridmark stepped back, and Gavin and Arandar attacked. The troll roared and reached for Gavin, and the young Swordbearer dodged, causing the troll’s injured leg to buckle beneath it. The troll stumbled, and Arandar plunged Heartwarden into its chest. Ridmark slammed the end of his staff against the side of the troll’s skull. There was a crack, and the troll went limp, the wounds on its leg and chest already healing. 

Arandar brought Heartwarden down, taking off the troll’s head. At once Morigna cast her mist over the spurting stump of its neck, and Ridmark drew his dwarven axe and started opening its chest.

Calliande let out a sigh and released her spells.

The fighting was over. She suspected they would encounter trolls again, perhaps this very day. So far no one had taken injuries in the fighting, but Calliande doubted that would last. The trolls had been overconfident, and they had so far encountered only small groups of trolls. 

Could they take ten at once? Twenty? 

Calliande hoped they would not have to find out. 

She stepped forward, looking at the fallen orcs. She wondered if any of them were still alive, if…

Then her eyes saw their faces, and she froze in alarm. 

###

Ridmark wiped yellow slime from his axe and returned the weapon to his belt. More of Morigna’s mist swirled over the fallen trolls, making sure that they would not rise again. Ridmark stepped towards the fallen orcs, wondering if any of them had survived. 

It didn’t look as if any of them had, which was likely a mercy. The trolls had been taking bites from the orcs almost at random, like fat merchants sampling a platter of appetizers. Some of the orcs had been reduced to nothing more than mangled piles of bloody meat. 

Ridmark stopped, blinking in surprise. 

One of the orcs had a scarred face. That was not unusual. Kharlacht had scars. So did Ridmark. Yet this warrior’s scars had been carved into the shape of a stylized skull that covered his face. The green skin of his head had been tattooed red, which made it seem as if the warrior’s face had been covered with a crimson skull. 

A crimson skull was the symbol of the orcish god Mhor, the blood god of death and slaughter. That meant that the dead orc had been a Mhorite, a fanatical follower of Mhor from the mountains of Kothluusk to the southwest. 

Ridmark had encountered those orcs before.

“Mara,” he said, and she stepped to his side. “These orcs. Do you know who they are?”

She shrugged. “Vhaluuskan pagans, I assume.”

“You’ve never seen Mhorites, then?” said Ridmark.

“Mhorites?” said Mara with alarm. “These are the orcs Jager told me about? The ones that tried to kill you at Vulmhosk and Coldinium?” 

“You were with the Red Family,” said Ridmark. “They worship Mhor, too. I’m surprised you’ve never encountered the Mhorites.” 

Mara shook her head. “The Matriarch kept me away from them. I suspect she feared I would try to take control of them.”

“A far more pertinent question,” said Morigna, “is why there are Mhorite orcs of Kothluusk in the forests of Vhaluusk.” 

“We are a long way from Kothluusk,” said Caius, frowning at the mutilated dead. 

“Aye,” said Morigna. “Perhaps there is an alliance between the Mhorites and the orcs of Vhaluusk.”

“No,” said Kharlacht and Arandar at once. They glanced at each other in surprise, and Arandar gestured for Kharlacht to continue. “The orcs of Vhaluusk worship many gods, but the Kothluuskans hold Mhor supreme. Furthermore, they are murderous fanatics, and think nothing of killing and enslaving other orcs.”

“When they cannot raid in Durandis and Rhaluusk,” said Arandar, “they turn against other orcish tribes.” 

“But to come this far?” said Kharlacht. “It seems unlikely.”

“Perhaps they came here for the same reason that the Traveler has come here,” said Calliande, her voice tight. “To claim the power in Dragonfall.”