Frostborn: The Undying Wizard (2 page)

He stopped, hand tightening against his heavy staff.

“Something else?” said Calliande. “More marsh gas?”

“No,” said Ridmark, pointing with his staff. “Trouble.”

A small dome of dried mud and sticks sat between two of the thick trunks, a single opening in its side.

“What’s that?” said Gavin. “It looks like a hut.” 

“A nest,” said Ridmark. 

“Swamp drakes?” said Calliande.

Ridmark nodded. “The females only build nests after laying eggs. And they never go far from the nest until the hatchlings are strong enough to fend for themselves. That explosion should have drawn the mother’s attention.”

“Perhaps the nest is already abandoned,” said Caius.

Ridmark shook his head. “It’s too new. See? The mud is still wet in places. That explosion ought to have brought the female down on our heads. But why would she abandon her eggs?” He scratched the stubble on his chin, thinking. “She wouldn’t, unless…”

Unless something had killed her. 

Or something had driven her from the nest. 

But what could frighten away a female swamp drake from her eggs? Ridmark could think of several possibilities, and he wanted to fight none of them. 

“Wait here,” he told the others.

“This might be one of those times,” said Calliande, flexing her fingers, “when you should explain your mind.” 

“I’m going to check if there are any eggs in that nest,” said Ridmark. “If there aren’t, we’re safe. If there are, we may be in trouble. Keep your weapons ready.”

Kharlacht grunted and drew his massive greatsword, the blue blade glinting. Caius lifted his mace, and Gavin drew his orcish sword. Ridmark strung his bow, hung it from his shoulder, and started down the side of the causeway. Massive boulders jutted from the sides of the causeway, and more stood amongst the trees, their gray sides spotted with lichen. Likely the orcs of Vhaluusk had piled the boulders there long ago at the behest of their dark elven masters, to aid the dark elves’ endless war against the high elves. 

Or, more likely, the orcs’ halfling slaves had toiled to construct the road. If Ridmark dug into the causeway, he suspected he would find the bones of uncounted generations of halfling slaves. 

He stepped around a boulder and scrutinized the nest. It was six feet tall and twelve wide, a dome built about of mud and branches. Within the female drake kept her eggs warm, driving off and sometimes incinerating any predators while the male hunted for food. An opening yawned in one side of the nest, and Ridmark looked inside.

Seven white eggs lay within, packed in mud. Each was about the size of his fist, their white shells marked with dozens of green spots.

There was no sign of the female drake. 

Ridmark stepped back, thinking. A female drake would not abandon her eggs, not while she was still alive. 

“Ridmark!”

Calliande’s voice rang over the marshes.

He whirled, staff coming up, and saw a dark form racing across the causeway.

Unlike fire drakes, swamp drakes could not fly. But fire drakes rarely grew beyond the size of a large dog. The swamp drake racing toward Calliande and the others was the size of a knight’s war horse, all serpentine speed and movement, its tail lashing back and forth behind its barrel-shaped body. It was armored in brown and gray scales, and a ridged crest ringed its head. Ridmark saw its maw open wide, saw the flames glimmering to life behind its dagger-like teeth.

He dropped his staff, raised his bow, and released an arrow. The shaft slammed into the creature’s neck. The scales turned the force of the arrow, but the drake stopped and roared, shaking its head. It glared at Ridmark, its black-slit yellow eyes unblinking, and spat a gout of flame at him.

Ridmark sprinted to the left, dodging the fire. The flames washed over one of the trees, the bark crackling and hissing as it burned. Ridmark pivoted, raised his bow, and sent another arrow at the drake. This time the steel-tipped head sank into the creature’s neck, and the drake reared up on its hind legs with a brassy bellow of fury. 

Caius and Kharlacht and Gavin took the opportunity to strike.

White light glimmered around them as Calliande worked a spell, using her magic to enhance their speed. Caius struck first, his mace slamming into the drake’s right hind leg as Ridmark seized his staff and ran for the causeway. Gavin landed a blow next, his orcish sword cutting through scales to bite into flesh. The drake screamed again and lashed with its tail, and the blow knocked Gavin off his feet. Yet he had cut deep into the drake’s leg, and the beast stumbled, losing its balance.

That was all the opening that Kharlacht needed.

The orcish warrior moved with speed and power, the dark elven greatsword a blue blur in his hands. The massive blade struck the drake behind its ridged crest. The creature shuddered, its claws digging chunks of grassy dirt from the causeway, and Kharlacht ripped his blade free and swung again.

The drake’s head fell from its neck in a burst of coppery blood and rolled away. The body went into a mad, thrashing dance, tail whipping back and forth, and then went still. Kharlacht let out a long sigh and lowered his sword, while Calliande rushed to Gavin’s side as the boy sat up with a groan.

“How is he?” said Ridmark, climbing the side of the causeway.

“Sore,” muttered Gavin. 

“He’ll be fine, I think,” said Calliande. “Just bruised.”

“Good,” said Ridmark. He looked at Kharlacht. “Good swing, by the way.”

“Good shot,” said the big orc. “I have never been anything but mediocre with a bow.”

“Nor was I,” said Ridmark, “but when it is your only means of filling your belly for weeks at a time, you have the motivation to learn.” 

“Indeed,” said Kharlacht.

Ridmark stepped past the drake’s carcass and joined Calliande and Gavin. “A good strike.” 

“It was my fault,” said Gavin. “I should have paid closer attention during our lessons.” Kharlacht had been teaching him the sword, and Caius the mace, and Ridmark the use of his shield. 

Caius snorted. “Yes, the lesson was to duck faster.”

“You did fine,” said Ridmark. “That drake could have killed us all, but it didn’t, and we are alive.”

“And it seems our worries were unfounded,” said Caius. “The explanation is simple enough. The drake detected us meddling with her eggs, and she came to their defense.”

“That’s not what happened,” said Ridmark.

“Why not?” said Caius.

“Because,” said Ridmark, prodding the crest of scales ringing the severed head with his staff, “this is a male drake.” He lowered his staff. “The females don’t have crests.”

“Like kobolds,” said Calliande with a shudder.

“Like kobolds,” said Ridmark. “And the male drakes never fight to defend the nests.”

“Perhaps this one was simply…chivalrous?” said Gavin. 

“No,” said Ridmark. “The male wasn’t defending the nest. He was running from something to the north.” 

“What could scare a monster like that?” said Gavin, looking at the carcass. 

“Well,” said Caius, “what is north of here?”

“The Wilderland,” said Calliande.

“The mountains and hills of Vhaluusk,” said Kharlacht. “My old homeland.”

“Dark elven ruins,” said Ridmark. 

They shared a look. They knew the sort of things that could lurk in the ruins of the dark elves. 

“Ruins of Vhaluusk, too,” said Kharlacht. “After the High King and the Two Orders overthrew the urdmordar, the orcs of Vhaluusk warred among themselves, and every chieftain tried to make himself High King of the orcs in imitation of the High King of Andomhaim. Many fortresses were raised, and many burned, and the orcs of Vhaluusk war against each other to this day.” He shook his head, his tusks throwing dark shadows over his hard face. “To this day. Mhalek killed many orcs before he came south.”

“Mhalek killed many after he came south,” said Ridmark, remembering.

He looked north. 

“You’re think of investigating, aren’t you?” said Calliande.

Ridmark nodded.

“Urd Morlemoch is west,” said Caius.

“We’re less than a day from the monastery of St. Cassian and the town of Moraime,” said Ridmark. “Anything that could frighten a swamp drake is a threat to the town.”

Calliande frowned. “You don’t know that. It is an unnecessary risk…”

Ridmark opened his mouth to continue their old argument, but a new voice cut him off.

“You speak the truth, man of water.” 

The voice spoke Latin, but no human, orc, halfling, dwarf, or elf had a voice like that. It was deep, so deep that it sounded like a note from one of the ancient war horns housed in the High King’s stronghold of Tarlion. If a mountain could speak, it would have a voice like that.

He turned, and saw that one of the gray boulders near the nest stand up.

“What in God’s name is that?” said Gavin, lifting his sword.

The boulder seemed to take the shape of a towering old man of rough-hewn stone. Caius’s skin looked like gray granite, but this creature actually was made of rock, but rock that flowed and moved as easily as flesh. Golden light glimmered in the creature’s eyes, and Ridmark thought its expression looked solemn.

Even sad.

That did not reassure him. Likely it could pound them to a pulp while looking solemn and sad.

“It’s a trolldomr,” Ridmark heard himself say.

“One of the giants of stone and rock,” said Caius. The dwarven friar sounded awed. “They live in the Deeps, and shun the company of all others. They visit the dwarves, but only rarely.”

“You speak truly, son of the khaldari,” said the trolldomr. “This one has wandered far from the dark places beneath the earth.” 

“Do you mean us harm?” said Ridmark. He had heard of the trolldomr, but had never before seen one. Few men of Andomhaim had. He glanced at Calliande, wondering if she might know more, but she seemed just as surprised as he did. 

And even if she knew something of the trolldomr, she might have forgotten. 

“Does this one mean you harm, man of water?” said the trolldomr. The creature appeared to consider for a moment. “This one does not mean anyone harm. But many mean you harm, it would appear.” The glowing golden eyes wandered over them. “So many different kindreds traveling together. Many must mean you harm.” 

The trolldomr did not seem hostile. Yet from what Ridmark understood, the trolldomr rarely left the Deeps, and shunned company. 

Why was this one here? Surely not to collect swamp drake eggs.

“My name is Ridmark Arban,” said Ridmark. He gestured with his staff at the others. “This is Calliande of the Magistri, Kharlacht of Vhaluusk, Gavin of Aranaeus, and Brother Caius of the Order of Mendicants. Might we know your name?”

The trolldomr considered this. “You may. But our tongue does not translate easily to yours. You may know this one as Rjalfur.” 

“Rjalfur,” said Ridmark with a bow. “Might I ask why you have sought us out? While we certainly do not find your conversation disagreeable, it is nonetheless remarkable.”

“This is so,” said Rjalfur. “This one wished to stop and speak with you because I found you remarkable.” He pointed at Caius. “Specifically, you, child of the khaldari.”

“Me, sir?” said Caius. “I fear I am altogether unremarkable.”

“You are a child of the khaldari,” said Rjalfur, “and your kindred worship the gods of stone and silence, of inevitable death and stern duty. Yet you wear a symbol of the god the humans brought to this world.”

“You mean this?” said Caius, touching the wooden cross that rested against his chest. 

“Yes,” said Rjalfur. “This one found it curious, and wishes to know why you wear such a symbol.”

“Several years ago a missionary came to Khald Tormen,” said Caius, “and shared the word of the Dominus Christus. I was convinced and baptized, and came forth to share the word with others.”

“Interesting,” said Rjalfur. The golden eyes shifted to Ridmark. “And you are right, man of water. There is something wrong here. Dark magic stirs to the north, and it comes for you.”

“For me?” said Ridmark. He shared a glance with Calliande. Had Shadowbearer found her at last? 

“For you,” said Rjalfur, “and the Magistria. The dark magic comes for you. This one will bid you farewell now, and thanks you for the knowledge.”

The trolldomr sank into the earth so fast that he almost seemed to disappear. A ripple went through a patch of grass, one of the stagnant pools splashed, and then Rjalfur was gone. 

Ridmark let out a breath. 

“I take it,” said Gavin, his voice a bit unsteady, “that was a trolldomr?”

Ridmark nodded.

“What exactly is a trolldomr?” said Gavin. 

“A kindred,” said Caius, “utterly alien to all of ours. Orcs and dwarves and humans have much in common, despite our differences. But the trolldomr are alien to all of us. They require neither food nor drink, and do not have blood…hence we are all ‘men of water’ to them. They wield magical control over earth and stone as easily as a fish swims or a bird flies…”

“Or as an urdmordar commands dark magic,” said Ridmark.

“Aye,” said Caius, “but the trolldomr are not malicious, not the way the urdmordar are. They are simply…indifferent. They keep to themselves, and only rarely interact with other kindreds. For one to speak is rare. For one to come to the surface and speak is…well, I have never heard of it happening, and the records of our stonescribes go back thousands of years.”

“He warned us,” said Ridmark. “Dark magic to the north. I think we know what frightened the drakes now.”

He met Calliande’s eyes, and saw the fear and determination there.

“Shadowbearer,” she said. “Or more of his creatures hunting for us.” 

“This dread wizard, my lady,” said Gavin. “Could he have hunted you to the Wilderland?” 

“He could,” said Calliande. “His power is great. Greater than anything I have sensed…since I awakened. Though that is not very long.” 

“It could be more of his creatures,” said Caius. “Like the undead kobolds.” 

“If so,” said Ridmark, “then we shall take the fight to them. If not, they will pursue us to Moraime, and I would not bring death upon the heads of the townsmen.”