Frostborn: The Undying Wizard (12 page)

“I think Shadowbearer stole it,” said Calliande. “The Mhalekites wanted to use it on me when they tried to kill me atop a dark elven altar.”

Morigna considered this in silence for a moment.

“Whatever you do,” she said, “do not tell the Old Man about it, and do not let him sense it.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” said Calliande.

“He might try to steal it, if he thinks he can get away with it,” said Morigna. 

“And you won’t?” said Calliande.

Morigna shrugged. “Believe what you like. But I know my limitations. That is too much magical power for me to control. If I tried anything with the soulstone, I would likely burn myself to ashes. But the Old Man has no such limitations. Better not to wave raw meat in front of a dog.”

“I see,” said Calliande. “Thank you.”

She climbed out of the tub and got dressed.

###

Ridmark stood alone upon the monastery’s curtain wall and looked into the darkness.

He saw lights in the great hall behind him. Gavin and Kharlacht and Caius were eating heartily, and no doubt Caius was regaling the monks with tales from their travels. The dwarven friar knew how to spin a tale. 

Ridmark himself had little taste for companionship. He would have gone to Urd Morlemoch alone, if he could have managed it. He deserved to die, but no one else did.

Still, without Calliande’s help, he would have perished at Urd Arowyn. 

He heard the scrape of a boot against the rampart and turned, hand tightening against his staff.

But it was only Calliande, as if his thoughts had summoned her. She had bathed and put on clean clothing, a wool shirt and trousers and a leather jerkin and boots, her cloak pulled tight against the chill of the spring night. 

“Shouldn’t you be at dinner?” said Ridmark.

Calliande shrugged. “The monks are not comfortable around women. So I availed myself of their bath instead. Why aren’t you there?”

“Because hearing Caius recount the glorious tales of my valor,” said Ridmark with a scowl, “grows tiresome. And I wish to think.”

She nodded, but did not leave. To his surprise, he did not mind. He sometimes tired of her constant lectures about letting go of the past, about forgiving himself. But she understood him, and she knew when not to push him too far. 

And she, too, saw the dangers of the return of the Frostborn.

They stood in silence. A few lights shone here and there in the town, but none on the wall. The watchmen would want to preserve their night vision. 

“What are you thinking about?” she said at last.

“It does not make sense,” said Ridmark.

“Morigna’s story?” said Calliande.

“No. She makes perfect sense,” said Ridmark, and Calliande frowned. “But of all this,” he waved a hand over the battlements, “does not.” 

“The undead, you mean?” said Calliande.

“Yes,” said Ridmark. “Why raise the undead? Why attack Moraime?”

She shrugged. “Perhaps there is no purpose. Wielders of dark magic are rarely rational in their decisions.” 

“There is always a purpose,” said Ridmark. “Qazarl raised the undead to attack Dun Licinia. Agrimnalazur and Morwen used the undead as guards. Yet I cannot see the reason here. Does someone hope to drive the people of Moraime behind their walls to prepare for an attack? If so, it would be better to wait until the crops are in the ground.” 

“Our foe may not have a sound grasp of tactics,” said Calliande. “Morwen did not.”

“No,” said Ridmark. “Yet her actions still had a purpose. Here, I cannot see the purpose, not yet.” He looked north. “Perhaps this Old Man of Morigna’s shall know more.”

“Morigna,” said Calliande. 

There was a wary note in her voice. 

“I don’t think you should trust her,” said Calliande.

“I won’t,” said Ridmark. “But trust is not necessary. I understand her.”

“So quickly, then?” said Calliande with a bit of doubt.

“The Old Man, whoever he is, raised her,” said Ridmark. “So all her arguments are, I expect, merely recitations of things the Old Man had told her over the years.” 

“I thought as much,” said Calliande.

“But she is young,” said Ridmark.

“Younger than me, you mean,” said Calliande.

“We all are,” said Ridmark, “but I mean she is younger than all of us, save for Gavin. She is clever, and strong with magic, but has little experience of the world beyond the marshes. So she has the arrogance of youth coupled with considerable power.”

“A dangerous combination,” said Calliande. 

“But tempered by loss,” said Ridmark. “Apparently she and Nathan Vorinus were lovers. He disregarded her counsel and got himself killed by an urvaalg, and Michael and Jonas blame her for his death.”

“Perhaps they are right to do so,” said Calliande. 

“I don’t think so,” said Ridmark. “Either she is a convincing actress, or she blames herself for his death. Which is, I suspect, why she is helping us. Why she was going to Moraime in to warn the townsmen against the undead. It is what Nathan would have wanted her to do.” He shook his head. “I don’t trust her, but I believe I understand her.”

“Which is why you are talking her with us to speak with the Old Man,” said Calliande. “She could be luring us into a trap.”

Ridmark nodded. “I know. But if she is with us, she cannot work any mischief against the town.”

She seemed angry. “Maybe there is another reason.”

“Oh?” said Ridmark. 

“She looked at you with her dark eyes and swayed you,” said Calliande.

Ridmark blinked. “Ah. You think she has charmed me, is that it?” 

Calliande folded her arms. The words seemed to pain her, but she kept speaking. “She seems quite taken with you. And it is not unusual for a man to be swayed by the admiration of a pretty young woman.” 

“The same could be said of you,” said Ridmark.

“What?”

“I intended to head to Urd Morlemoch alone,” said Ridmark. “I promised I would help find the truth of your memory, and I meant it. But I could do that alone. Yet it is a month later, and here we both are.”

“You said my help was valuable,” said Calliande.

“It was, and it is,” said Ridmark. “But I intended to risk my life and no others. Yet here you are. You have a knack for getting your way, Calliande.”

She laughed. “I suppose I do. Ridmark. Forgive me. What I said…that was unworthy of you.”

He waved his hand. “It doesn’t matter.”  

“It does.” She gripped his hands, her fingers cold against his. “You are a good man, Ridmark Arban.”

“Thank you,” he said. 

“I know you are humoring me,” she said. “But you are. Regardless of what you think of yourself. Regardless of the things for which you unjustly take the blame.” He sighed, but she kept speaking. “You are a good and brave man.”

He looked down at her and said nothing. She was lovely in the dim moonlight, and if he leaned down and kissed her, he suspected she would not protest. For just a moment he wondered what it feel like to have her lips against his, her body pressed against his…

He dismissed the thought.

Aelia’s death was his fault. No matter what anyone else said, no matter who forgave him for it, Tarrabus Carhaine had been right. The Order had been right to expel Ridmark, take his soulblade, and brand him as a coward. He deserved no less. He deserved much worse. 

And neither he nor Calliande knew who she really was.

He lifted her hands to his lips, kissed her fingers, and then released them.

“And you are a brave and valiant woman,” he said.

For just an instant she looked disappointed, but then she smiled. 

“I am not,” she said. “I have wanted to run screaming ever since I awoke beneath the Tower of Vigilance.”

“But you did not,” said Ridmark, “and you stood against the wrath of an urdmordar without fleeing. Few among the Magistri could do the same.” 

Calliande sighed. “Let’s hope an urdmordar isn’t behind these undead.”

“I think we may be safe in that hope,” said Ridmark. “If an urdmordar showed herself so openly, Moraime would already be ashes.” He remembered the smoke rising from the ruins of Aranaeus. “And the Old Man seems like a survivor. If an urdmordar laired anywhere near his dwelling, he would flee.”

Calliande nodded. “I’m going to get some sleep.” She turned, paused. “Ridmark?”

“Aye?” he said.

“Thank you,” said Calliande.

“We’ll find the secret of the Frostborn yet,” said Ridmark, “and the truth of who you are.”

Or they would both die in the attempt. But there was no reason to say it.

She already knew that.

Chapter 8 - Scouts

The next morning, Ridmark and the others left Moraime and headed north. 

Ridmark walked at the front, Kharlacht and Morigna at his side. Of Ridmark’s companions, Kharlacht had spent the most time in the wild, and knew how to track. Morigna was familiar with the countryside around Moraime and knew its dangers. 

That, and she was the only one who knew where the Old Man lived.

Calliande followed, Gavin and Caius at her side. Gavin alternated between watching the countryside and scowling at Morigna, as if he believed her to be a greater threat than the swamp drakes or the undead.

He might not be wrong.

One way or another, they would know by the end of the day. 

“We will have to head into the marshes,” said Morigna. 

“That’s east, not north,” said Calliande. 

“Aye,” said Morigna, “but it is the only way to reach the Old Man’s home. He lives upon one of the rockier hills. From the north, the east, and the west, it is inaccessible, and the only open path is from the south. And that path begins in the marshes.”

“A solid defensive choice,” said Kharlacht, “forcing any visitors to wade through the swamp.”

“Though it means we shall have to pass through the marshes again,” said Gavin. 

“I am sure,” said Morigna with a smirk, “that a strapping young lad like you is ready for the challenge.” 

“Let’s go,” said Ridmark, hoping to cut off yet another argument. “Where shall we head first?”

“The ruined fortress where we first met, Gray Knight,” said Morigna, brushing a bit of hair from her forehead as she looked at him. “From there we can head due north to the Old Man’s hill.”

“How many orcish burial mounds are in the marshes?” said Ridmark.

“Many,” said Morigna. She glanced at Kharlacht. “Your kindred warred amongst themselves so enthusiastically that the tribes here wiped each other out, and only the burial mounds remain.” 

“Which means,” said Caius, “there will be plenty of opportunities to fight more undead.”

“If the necromancer raised more,” said Ridmark. There had been no attacks in the night, and none of the night watchmen had seen any undead moving outside the town. It was as if the necromancer had raised enough creatures to cause an upheaval, and had then stopped. 

But why?

“I will keep my spells in place,” said Calliande, “watching for any sign of dark magic.”

She looked at Morigna as she said it, but the black-haired woman only smiled. 

“I can help with that as well,” said Morigna, and she snapped her fingers, a pulse of purple fire flaring around her hand. 

A moment later a pair of large black birds fell out of the sky and perched upon the shoulders of her tattered cloak, looking at Ridmark with beady black eyes. 

“Crows?” said Gavin. “You can command crows?”

“Ravens,” said Morigna. “Much smarter than crows. And villagers of the Wilderland, for that matter.” She stroked one of the birds with a finger. “I can see their thoughts with a spell, and bid them to keep watch. If they see any undead, or any other foes, they will return to warn me.” 

“Dark magic,” said Gavin.

“Only if it used against a mortal mind,” said Calliande, though she sounded reluctant. 

“I suppose I could employ the spell upon you, dear Gavin,” said Morigna, “but, alas, where would be the challenge?” 

Ridmark expected Gavin to insult her back, but the boy only shook his head. “I saw an urdmordar conjure shadows and green fire. After that, a trick with a pair of birds is hardly frightening.”

“Ah,” said Morigna. “You’re getting better at his.”

She snapped her fingers again, and the ravens flew off in silence. 

“I imagine,” said Kharlacht, “that was a useful skill while hunting.”

Morigna blinked in surprise, and then laughed. “Yes, it was. Easier to find a deer through the eyes of a raven instead of a mortal man. Nathan said…” She shook her head. “We had best be on our way, Gray Knight, if you want to speak with the Old Man before dark.” 

“Then let us be off,” said Ridmark. He beckoned with his staff, and they left Moraime. 

He led them to the marshes, and they took the old causeway, picking their way over the rocks and the tangled roots. The marshes were silent around them, save for the occasional splash of water or cry of a bird. It was still too early in the year for insects, God be praised. Soon they came into sight of the domed mud hut of the swamp drake’s nest, and…

Ridmark stopped.

“What’s wrong?” said Calliande. “I don’t sense any magic.” 

“I haven’t seen anyone approach,” said Morigna.

“Something’s missing,” said Ridmark.

“What?” said Kharlacht. 

Caius realized the answer first. “The swamp drake. Where is its carcass?” 

It had vanished.

Patches of dried blood marked the causeway, a faint metallic odor clinging to them. Ridmark saw the indentations on the grass where the drake’s carcass and severed head had lain, but the animal was gone.

“Scavengers must have gotten to it,” said Caius, but there was doubt in the dwarf’s deep voice.

“Scavengers would have left a mess,” said Ridmark. “Stay back so I can have a look at the ground.” 

He paced forward, examining the damp grass and wet rock. There were no other tracks upon the causeway, save the ones they had left during the battle yesterday. The dead swamp drake had been as heavy as a horse, and would have taken a team of strong men to move. He supposed wolves or other scavengers could have done it, but only by ripping the carcass to shreds. Certainly they would not have bothered to move the armored scales and heavy bones of the dead drake.