Frostborn: The Undying Wizard (13 page)

He considered the ground, but no tracks or traces presented themselves. That made even less sense. The carcass could not have been moved without someone leaving tracks. Of course, the sides of the causeway were hardly ideal for preserving tracks, but surely some trace would have been left.

“So the carcass,” said Calliande, “simply disappeared.”

Ridmark straightened up. “It would appear so.” He looked at Morigna. “Are there any creatures in the marsh that could make a swamp drake’s carcass vanish?”

“None that I have ever encountered,” said Morigna. She, too, looked troubled. 

“Maybe the trolldomr took it,” said Gavin. “Perhaps he can make things disappear into the ground with him.”

“Why would Rjalfur take the carcass of a swamp drake?” said Caius, but Gavin only shrugged. 

“No matter,” said Ridmark, looking at Calliande. “Keep your sensing spell active, and warn us if you sense anything.” She nodded and Ridmark turned to Morigna. “Keep your eyes open. All six of them, it seems.” 

“I shall,” said Morigna. 

“The rest of you, be on your guard,” said Ridmark. “Something strange is happening, and I will not be at ease until we discover what.”

Caius snorted. “When have you ever been at ease?”

“Not recently,” said Ridmark. 

Not since he had heard the Warden warn him against the return of the Frostborn nine years ago. Ridmark had wed Aelia, had hope to live in honor and peace as a Swordbearer of the Dux’s court, but in the back of his mind, the Warden’s warning had lingered. 

And then Mhalek had come.

Ridmark led the way from the causeway to the ruined fortress. To his relief, they saw no additional undead near the ruins or the burial mounds. All of the mounds had been opened, the dead within having risen as undead, but nothing moved through the ruins. 

Perhaps the previous attack had emptied the graves.

The undead they had destroyed still lay strewn across the ground, the bones moldering, the weapons rusting away in the dank of the swamp. 

“Lady Calliande,” said Gavin. “After they are destroyed, can the undead be raised once more?”

“It depends upon the spell used,” said Calliande. “Some forms of dark magic devour the corpse after the spell is broken, leaving only ashes and embers in its wake. But others are more subtle. I fear these undead could well be raised again.”

“A grim thought,” said Kharlacht, “that we might have to fight them all over again.” 

“Which way?” said Ridmark.

“Due north,” said Morigna. 

They headed north from the fortress and the burial mound, picking their way across the grassy patches and around the trunks of the massive, mossy trees. Fortunately, the ground soon grew firmer, though rockier. Massive gray boulders jutted from the earth, weathered and mantled with lichen. The terrain tilted upward, and Ridmark saw that they walked upon a wide spit of rocky land that rose from the swamp like an island. 

The perfect place for a renegade sorcerer to make his lair. 

Ridmark looked over the mossy ground and stopped.

“Hold a moment,” he said.

“What is it?” said Calliande. “I don’t sense anything.”

“Footprints,” said Ridmark. “A large group of men passed this way. Recently. Perhaps even a few hours ago.” 

“Truly?” said Morigna, peering at the ground. “I saw the Old Man four days past. These tracks were not here then.”

“Does the Old Man often have visitors?” said Ridmark. 

“Rarely,” said Morigna. “Sometimes one of the townsmen will get desperate and visit him, but not often.” She seemed almost concerned. “No one else would dare.”

“Your ravens have seen nothing,” said Ridmark.

“No,” said Morigna. “They overflew his cottage on their last flight. No one is on the hills.”

“An ambush, then,” said Kharlacht. “I dislike these rocks, Gray Knight.” He waved a fist at the tangled gray boulders covering the side of the hill. “Too many places for an ambush.” 

“Agreed,” said Ridmark. 

“I wish to go ahead and scout,” said Kharlacht. “If an ambush awaits us, perhaps we can repay our foes in kind.”

“Go,” said Ridmark. “Be careful.”

The orc’s lips split in a hard grin, his tusks rising like daggers before his face. “I shall be as careful as you are.”

“That’s hardly reassuring,” muttered Calliande. 

Kharlacht strode into the maze of boulders. Despite his bulk and his armor, he moved without sound, and soon disappeared. 

“You let him go off alone?” said Morigna.

“Kharlacht knows what he is doing,” said Calliande.

“He does,” said Ridmark. “I left Dun Licinia alone, and I have spent years wandering the Wilderland. I know how to move without leaving a trail. Yet he tracked me nonetheless.”

Morigna shrugged, her tattered cloak rippling around her. “As you say.”

Dark shapes moved overhead, and Ridmark raised his staff. But it was only Morigna’s ravens, and they dropped upon her shoulders. Her eyes closed, darting back and forth behind the lids as she communicated with the birds.

“Anything?” said Ridmark.

“Nothing,” said Morigna, her voice tight. “The Old Man’s cottage is still there, and they saw smoke rising from the chimney. But…”

She fell silent. 

“What is it?” said Ridmark. 

Her eyes shot open, and the ravens took flight.

“I need to speak with you,” said Morigna. She glanced at Calliande. “Alone.” 

“Why?” said Calliande.

“So I can plot to bewitch him with dark magic, of course,” said Morigna. 

“Of course,” said Calliande, her scorn apparent. 

“But you could sense any spell I worked,” said Morigna. “And I simply do not wish to share with you what I have to say.”

“Very well,” said Ridmark. “Be quick about it, though.” 

He strode a dozen paces away, close enough that he could see the others if anyone attacked, but far that Morigna would not be overhead. 

“What is it?” said Ridmark. 

“The place I told you about,” said Morigna in a low voice. “The circle of standing stones where…”

“Where Sir Nathan Vorinus died,” said Ridmark.

She gave a sharp nod. “It is atop a hill about a half-mile north of the Old Man’s cottage. Something is moving around within the circle.” 

“Could the ravens see what it was?” said Ridmark.

“No,” said Morigna. “The ravens won’t go anywhere near the stones. They…sense the dark magic about the place, I think. Even with magic, I can’t force them to approach it.” 

Ridmark nodded. Most animals avoided the dark elven standing stones. Most people, as well.

At least those with good intentions. 

“Have the ravens circle this hill again,” said Ridmark. “See if they can find anything.”

Morigna gave a sharp nod, her face strained, and then she laughed. 

“What is it?” said Ridmark.  

“Look at me,” said Morigna. “Jumping at your commands, as if I was one of your ragged little collection of outcasts.” 

“Do you have a better plan?” said Ridmark. “Then, please, I am eager to hear it.”

She scowled. “Are you mocking me?”

“No,” said Ridmark. “If you have a better plan, I shall be glad to put it into motion.” He shook his head. “Perhaps we are merely chasing shadows. Or perhaps deadly foes lurk in the boulders. If so, if I make the wrong decision, we all shall die, and I shall have more deaths upon my conscience. So I would be glad for a better plan.”

She said nothing for a moment.

“Who are you?” said Morigna. 

Ridmark grunted. “Have you forgotten my name already?”

“That is not what I meant,” said Morigna. “An orcish warrior of Vhaluusk, a dwarven friar, and a proud Magistria, and they all obey your every word. And you bent Sir Michael and the abbot to your will. They are stubborn old fools. I thought they would sit and argue as the undead swarmed over them.” She shook her head again. “Why are you even here?”

“I told you,” said Ridmark. “I’m going to Urd Morlemoch to wring answers from the Warden.” 

“You should not be,” said Morigna. “You ought to go back to Andomhaim and rule. You could if you wanted to. You are the strongest man I have ever met.” She looked toward the hill and grimaced. “Though the men I have met were either ancient wizards, elderly monks, or idiots like Michael or Jonas. The bar for comparison is not high.”

“Or Nathan,” said Ridmark, voice quiet.

She looked at him, pain flashing across her face. “He was different. You…remind me of him, a little. Though I do not think you would be so foolish as to charge into a circle of dark elven standing stones.”

“You misjudge me greatly, then,” said Ridmark, remembering the day he had rescued Calliande. 

“Perhaps not,” said Morigna. “You are strong enough to take whatever you wish, yet you seem ready to throw your life away on this mad quest to Urd Morlemoch.” 

“It is necessary,” said Ridmark.

“Is it?” said Morigna. “You could have whatever you want. Instead you are wandering the wilderness with a pack of outcasts and helping others with problems that are not your responsibility. Why?”

“The same reason,” said Ridmark, “that you were planning to warn the town against the undead.”

“Oh?” said Morigna. “And what reason is that? Can you read my mind? Perhaps Calliande ought to direct her fears about dark magic to you.”

“Because,” said Ridmark, “it’s what Nathan would have wanted you to do.”

Again he saw the pain flicker across her face.

“Michael would not have believed me,” said Morigna. “Maybe I just wanted the satisfaction of telling him he was wrong after the undead overran Moraime.” 

“I am sure you would have enjoyed that satisfaction,” said Ridmark, “but that is not the main reason you did it.”

“No,” said Morigna. “I suppose it is not.” She fell silent for a moment. “Is that why you are doing this? Because your dead wife would wish it of you?”

Ridmark had never considered the question in that light. Aelia had believed him when he spoke of the return of the Frostborn, but had never seemed concerned. His wife had been a practical woman, more concerned with the welfare of Castra Marcaine than a far-off threat about which she could do nothing. Perhaps she had trusted him to take care of the Frostborn, if they ever returned.

Just as she had trusted him to save her from Mhalek five years ago. 

“Ah,” said Morigna. “Have you no answer for me at last?” 

“Did Calliande tell you about her?” he said.

“No,” said Morigna. “Only a little. That your wife died in front of you.”

“Killed,” said Ridmark. “She was killed.” 

“And you could not save her,” said Morigna. “I suppose that explains much about you.”

“Then you do understand,” said Ridmark, “why I am doing this.”

She said nothing for a long moment.

“Perhaps I do,” said Morigna at last. 

“Tell your ravens,” said Ridmark, turning back toward Calliande and the others. “Have them keep watch on the hill with the dark elven standing stones. If they do not wish to look at the stones, I cannot blame them. But they should have no such qualms about the hillside itself.”

“I should have thought of it myself,” said Morigna.

Ridmark rejoined Calliande and the others.

“What was that about?” said Calliande. She was calm, but Ridmark could see her distrust of Morigna. 

“Dark magic and witchery, of course,” said Morigna. “I put a spell of evil sorcery upon the Gray Knight, and now he will dance upon my strings like a puppet.” 

Caius snorted. “Certainly that was the least spectacular piece of dark magic I have ever seen.”

“There is a hill north of here with a dark elven stone circle,” said Ridmark. Calliande shuddered, no doubt recalling unpleasant memories of the stone circle upon the foothills of the Black Mountain. “Something is moving there.”

“Perhaps an animal that wandered into the circle,” said Caius.

“Or something worse,” said Ridmark. “The ravens will keep watch. We…”

He heard the rasp of a boot upon stone and turned, raising his staff. But it was only Kharlacht.

The orcish warrior did not look pleased.

“Foes?” said Ridmark.

“Worse,” rumbled Kharlacht. “A mystery. I followed the tracks halfway up the slope, to a wide ledge. And then nothing.”

“Nothing?” said Ridmark. “The trail vanishes?”

“It does,” said Kharlacht, “and it should not.”  He gave an irritated shake of his head. “The footprints simply vanish. There is enough loose sand and dirt upon the hillside that I should have been able to track their passage, but I could not. It as if they were simply plucked off the hill.”

“Perhaps you missed the tracks,” said Morigna. 

“This is possible,” said Kharlacht. “But I do not think so. Something else is afoot.” 

“Some trick of the Old Man’s magic?” said Gavin.

“A logical conclusion,” said Morigna. “But he’s never done anything like that.”

Ridmark considered, drumming his fingers against his staff. Footprints that disappeared, imprinted upon the hillside of a renegade wizard. He liked this less and less. Some of the creatures of dark elves could take a human form and yet use their wings to fly – he had fought an urdhracos in the ruins of Urd Morlemoch. Perhaps one lurked near the circle of standing stones.

He opened his mouth to ask if Morigna’s ravens had seen any other flying creatures, and then stopped. 

Kharlacht’s footprints led down the side of the hill, and a half-dozen more sets of tracks followed his.

Footprints, Ridmark was utterly certain, that had not been there a few moments ago. 

“Give me a moment to think,” said Ridmark, his heart hammering against his ribs. 

He kept tapping his fingers against his staff, but his eyes swung back and forth. The footprints broke off and moved along the sides of the wide path, and then came to a stop encircling Ridmark and his companions. 

As if they had just been surrounded by a band of invisible men.

Some of the dark elves’ creatures could blend with their surroundings, and the dvargir could use shadow to conceal themselves almost perfectly. Yet the dvargir preferred to leave the Deeps at night, and Ridmark saw none of the telltale rippling that marked the presence of an urvaalg. For that matter, an urvaalg would have left clawed paw marks upon the ground.