Frostborn: The Gorgon Spirit

by Jonathan Moeller

  He was very glad she was on their side. Though he did wonder what Jager had done to charm her.

  “What kind of problem?” said Ridmark.

  “I think my father is coming here,” said Mara.

  It took a few moments for that to sink in.

  “The Traveler,” said Ridmark. “He’s coming to Vhaluusk.”

  Mara nodded, her face tight. “He might be here already.”

  “How do you know?” said Calliande.

  “I can hear him,” said Mara. “No, that’s not quite right.” She searched for the words. “Since my…change started, I’ve been able to sense the auras of powerful dark elven lords and wizards.” Ridmark and Gavin nodded. “My mind interprets it as a song. A beautiful, compelling song. That’s why the urvaalgs and the ursaars and the other creatures of dark magic have to obey the dark elven lords. They hear the song…and it makes them want to obey. They do it willingly. Joyfully, even. I have my own song now, which is why they cannot compel me.” She shook her head, frowning, and Jager stepped to her side and took her hand. “But I wander from the point. The Traveler’s song, my father’s song, has been changing.”

  “Changing how?” said Calliande.

  “I wasn’t sure at first,” said Mara. “I’ve only been able to hear the songs since I escaped from the Iron Tower. And in that time, the songs I could hear – the Matriarch, the Warden, the Artificer, and my father – they stayed in the same place. Then my father’s song started to change. I thought he was casting a spell, or working some great sorcery. When you came back to the camp just now, Gray Knight, you were talking…”

  “And my voice changed as I drew nearer,” said Ridmark.

  “Then I understood,” said Mara. “The Traveler’s song changed because it wasn’t really a song. It was an aura, and he was moving. He’s coming closer, and I think he’s coming here.”

  “For you?” said Ridmark.

  “Perhaps he simply wishes to meet his new son-in-law,” said Jager.

  “The Warden failed to recognize what you were,” said Arandar, “and that undid all his work. Perhaps the Traveler has not made the same mistake.”

  Mara shook her head. “I doubt he even knows that I am still alive, and he would not care if he did. Something else has brought him forth.”

  “It must be something of grave import,” said Arandar. “In all the history of the High King’s realm, the Traveler has never ventured forth from his stronghold of the Nightmane Forest.”

  Jager snorted. “Yes, such a long history the High King’s realm has.”

  Arandar scowled, but Caius spoke first. “If you will forgive Master Jager’s flippancy, sir knight, he does have a point. Malahan Pendragon came to this world from Old Earth a thousand years past. My own kindred have dwelled here for thirty times that. And the high elves and the dark elves…who can say how long they have warred? You heard what the Warden shouted at Ardrhythain during their duel. A hundred thousand years, or perhaps longer. Who can say what the Traveler has done in the past?”

  “True,” said Mara. “But Sir Arandar has a point. My father is a coward.” She said it without rancor. “He will never put himself at risk if he can help it. That is why he has ringed Nightmane Forest with warding spells and surrounded himself with an army of orcs and urvaalgs. He has not left Nightmane Forest in the last millennia because he fears the outside world. Something dire must have driven him forth at last.”

  “If not you, then what?” said Ridmark, but Mara only shrugged.

  “Dragonfall,” said Calliande, her voice tight. “My staff. The power of the Keeper. That has to be it. Why else would the Traveler come to Vhaluusk? He must have realized that Dragonfall and the staff of the Keeper are within Khald Azalar.”

  “Not even Shadowbearer knew where you had concealed your staff,” said Ridmark.

  “The Warden knew,” said Mara. “Maybe the Traveler figured it out as well.”

  “He must not claim it,” said Calliande. “That power cannot fall into his hands.”

  “He won’t,” said Ridmark. “Not if we get there first. Then the Traveler can beware.”

  “Of what?” said Calliande.

  “Of you,” said Ridmark.

  Calliande blinked.

  “The power of the Keeper,” said Arandar. “The chronicles of the High King speak of how the Keepers dueled dark elven princes, how they could defeat urdmordar with their spells. Ardrhythain did not create the Two Orders until five hundred years after the realm was founded, when Andomhaim stood on the very edge of defeat. Before that, the Keeper’s strength held the dark powers at bay. If you recover yourself, my lady Calliande, you shall have that kind of power once more.”

  Calliande nodded, though Gavin thought she looked uneasy.

  “Whether the trolls or the Traveler are after us,” said Ridmark, “the sooner we are gone from here, the better. Let’s…”

  He stopped talking, frowning as he looked at the trees to the west.

  At the same time Morigna’s head snapped in the same direction, and four dark shapes shot overhead. Ravens, their wings flapping.

  “Ridmark!” said Morigna. “They’re…”

  “Trolls!” said Ridmark. “Defend yourselves!”

  Gavin turned, drawing Truthseeker from its sheath, and saw nothing at all.

  The soulstone embedded at the base of Truthseeker’s hilt shone with a pale white light, but the sword did not react as it did in the presence of dark magic. Gavin’s eyes swept back and forth over the clearing as the others raised weapons or began magical spells. He saw nothing strange, nothing out of place.

  Then a branch snapped across the clearing, and the air in front of the trees rippled, changing colors like cheap paint dissolving beneath water.

  And suddenly, all at once, Gavin saw the trolls.

  There were three of the creatures, their scaly hides changing colors to match their surroundings as they raced forward. They looked like a cross between a towering man and a hunting lizard. Long claws tipped their fingers and toes, and their tails coiled back and forth behind them like whips. Gavin would have expected them to have long snouts like lizards, but instead they had short, blocky heads with enormous fang-lined jaws, their necks corded with muscle like mastiffs. Those jaws would let them take devastating bites, ripping chunks of flesh from their prey. Their nostrils were black slits, and their eyes were yellow and divided by vertical black slashes, like the eyes of a serpent.

  Gavin lifted Truthseeker, calling upon its power, and the sword answered. Strength flooded through him, and suddenly he felt faster, felt as if he could cut down an oak tree with a single blow. He started forward, shield upon his left arm, Truthseeker grasped in his right.

  Morigna was faster.

  She swept her staff before her, purple fire flickering from the sigils carved into the wood. A twitch went through the ground, and thick masses of roots erupted from the earth, reaching up to coil around the trolls’ muscled legs. The creatures came to a staggering halt, snarling with fury, and slashed at the roots binding their legs. Their claws parted the roots as if they were slender threads.

  But the roots had slowed them long enough for Gavin and the others to attack.

  He struck before the first troll recovered. The creature straightened up as its claws shredded through the roots, and Gavin brought Truthseeker down in a vicious slash. The soulblade sheared through the troll’s wrist, the talon-tipped hand falling to the earth. In lieu of blood, thick yellowish slime spurted from the stump of the hand. The troll loosed a deafening, brassy roar, its thick head coming down, its jaws yawning wide. Gavin stepped back, snapping his shield up. The troll’s fangs, like massive serrated daggers, slammed into his shield. The impact staggered him a step, but the troll leaned forward, its remaining hand coming up. That movement gave Gavin an opening, and he brought Truthseeker up and down again, all his strength and the sword’s power driving the blow.

  The soulblade split the troll’s skull. The creature went into a weird
, jerking dance, and fell backwards. As it did, Gavin caught a look at its wrist.

  Its right hand was already growing back, the scales slick with yellowish slime.

  It was such a grotesque sight that Gavin froze for an instant, but only an instant. His training and his experiences screamed at him, and he snapped his gaze back and forth, taking stock of the battlefield, half-expecting that the other two trolls were about to attack him.

  But the fighting was almost over.

  Arandar, Kharlacht, Caius, and Jager had taken one of the trolls. Jager had somehow gotten behind the creature and hamstrung it with the sword he had taken from the Warden’s armory. As the troll stumbled, Arandar, Caius, and Kharlacht landed blow after blow, driving the troll to the ground.

  Ridmark fought the final troll all by himself.

  Gavin blinked in astonishment. He was competent at the art of fighting, but if he could sketch a decent picture, Ridmark could have painted an entire fresco by himself. The black staff of Ardrhythain blurred and flickered in his hands, and he landed blow after blow upon the troll, dancing around the creature’s raking claws and snapping fangs. The staff did not penetrate the troll’s hide, but Gavin heard the snap and crack as the troll’s bones broke. At last the troll fell with a rasping bellow of fury, and Ridmark brought the butt of his staff down with both hands.

  The crack of the troll’s skull collapsing sounded like a thunderclap.

  Gavin stepped back just as the troll he had struck down started to move. It sat up, its cloven head oozing back together, yellow slime dripping down the distorted face and across its muscled chest. He struck with Truthseeker again, driving the soulblade into the troll’s chest and again into its skull. The creature slumped back to the ground, but already its wounds shrank. Gavin had never seen anything heal that fast. Calliande’s healing magic worked quickly, but he had seen the price she paid to work the spell, the pain that filled her face and her eyes as she worked the spell.

  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 Qaza
rl 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.