Frostborn: The Eightfold Knife

by Jonathan Moeller

  “They would have killed me,” said Gavin. “Thank you.” He took a deep breath. “Might I know your name, sir?”

  “Ridmark Arban,” said Ridmark. Gavin showed no sign of recognition. “This is Kharlacht of Vhaluusk, a baptized orc.”

  Gavin looked at the wooden cross resting against Kharlacht’s dark elven armor. “I see.” He drew himself up. “My name is Gavin, and my father is Cornelius, the praefectus of the village of Aranaeus.”

  “I’ve met him,” said Ridmark. Nine years ago, when he had passed through Aranaeus on his way to Urd Morlemoch, Cornelius had been a tall, plump, unpleasant man with a tendency toward avarice. Gavin seemed to take more after his mother, fortunately for him. “I visited Aranaeus about nine years ago.”

  Gavin blinked. “Ridmark Arban…you’re the Gray Knight! The peddlers who sometimes visit the village talk about you. They say to avenge your lady love you hunt creatures of the darkness, that you…”

  Ridmark looked at him, and Gavin fell silent.

  “The lupivirii,” Ridmark said, “seem to believe that men and orcs from Aranaeus kidnapped their women and children. What do you think of that?”

  “We did not!” said Gavin. “There have always been packs of beastmen near the dark elven ruins in the hills, but they kept to themselves, and we did not trouble them. But the blue fire came a fortnight ago, and then people started disappearing…”

  “Wait,” said Ridmark. “You men people disappeared from the village?”

  Gavin bobbed his head. “At first the shepherds and the woodcutters, people who spent most of their time outside the walls and away from the fields. My father said that perhaps pagan orcs took them,” he shot a nervous glance at Kharlacht, “or maybe one of the creatures lurking in the ruins claimed them. But then more and more people disappeared, some from inside the village. My father said the beastmen did it.”

  Ridmark considered this. “You don’t believe it.”

  “No, sir,” said Gavin.

  “Why not?” said Ridmark.

  “Because the wolfmen are like you said, sir,” said Gavin. “They’re…Father Martel says they have souls, but that they think with their bellies and their fangs, not their heads. I could see them taking a man outside the walls, if they were starving. Like wild wolves do. But the village has strong walls and a stout gate, and my father posts men at watch every night. How could the beastmen get into the town and kidnap people? Especially without raising an alarm?”

  “They couldn’t,” said Ridmark. “Not unless they had help. Or something else took those people.”

  “That is what I thought,” said Gavin. “And the beastmen say that we took their women and their children. But why would we do that?”

  Kharlacht shrugged. “Among the dark elven princes, they keep packs of enslaved wolfmen as war beasts. Some of the pagan orcish chieftains do, as well.”

  “Well, we of Aranaeus are neither dark elves nor orcish kings, sir,” said Gavin. “We mind our own business, and if others do the same we repay them in kind. No one in Aranaeus took the beastmen. Why would we?”

  “Indeed,” said Ridmark. “How do you know that the beastmen think you took their children?”

  “Their packs have been circling the walls for days,” said Gavin. “A few of the elders in the village know orcish. The wolfmen shout out threats, we shout threats back, and nothing is accomplished.”

  “So the beastmen think you took their children,” said Ridmark, “and the villagers think the beastmen kidnapped the missing people.”

  Gavin nodded. “That is the sum of it, sir.”

  “It seems more likely,” said Ridmark, “that someone else took both the beastmen and the villagers undetected, and that you and the beastmen blame each other for it.”

  “I think that is it!” said Gavin, waving his club. Kharlacht took a prudent step back. “Something has taken both the beastmen and the villagers, and we are blaming each other for it! Perhaps something is even playing us for fools, turning us against each other.”

  “Such things,” said Ridmark, “have been known to happen.”

  “What could have done it, sir?” said Gavin.

  “Any number of creatures,” said Ridmark. Pagan orcs, perhaps. Or kobolds raiding out of the Deeps. Or dvargir in need of slaves. Or, worse, a dark elven prince in need of slaves. Or one of the dark elves’ creatures of black magic. Some were ferocious predators, like the urvaalgs and the ursaars, while others were cunning and powerful and delighted in suffering, like the urshanes. “Though that does bring a specific question to my mind.”

  “What is that, sir?” said Gavin.

  “People have gone missing from your village,” said Ridmark. “The beastmen think you kidnapped their kin. You think that something else took those people.” He pointed at the boy. “So why the devil are you wandering around outside the walls by yourself?”

  Kharlacht grunted. “That is a very good question.”

  Gavin opened his mouth, closed it, a flush of color going into his cheeks. “I went to get help."

  “Help,” said Ridmark.

  “My father,” said Gavin, “my father is…he will not see! He is convinced that the beastmen took our people, yet he will not lift a finger to try and save them. He says that if we wait inside our walls long enough, the beastmen will run out of food, go in search of easier prey, and leave us in peace.”

  “An odd position for him to take,” said Kharlacht, “if he believes that the beastmen have entered your walls.”

  “That is what I told him!” said Gavin. “But he would not listen to me! Rosanna said I should heed his wisdom, that he was older and wiser, but…”

  “Who is Rosanna?” said Ridmark.

  “A girl,” said Gavin. “I know her. She lives in the village.”

  “Ah,” said Ridmark. “So why were you outside the walls? Seeking whatever is truly behind the disappearances?”

  “No,” said Gavin. “I am going to Castra Marcaine in the Northerland to ask the Dux Gareth Licinius for help.”

  Ridmark had not expected that. “You are?”

  Gavin nodded. “Whatever we face, I fear it is a creature of dark magic, some horror wrought by the dark elves, or some nightmare out of the Deeps. We cannot face such a thing on our own. We need the help of the Magistri and the Swordbearers, so I went to ask them for help.”

  “Gareth Licinius is the Dux of the Northerland,” said Ridmark. “This is the Wilderland. Aranaeus is not part of the High King’s realm. You are on your own. The Dux has no obligation to help you.”

  “But we are all sons and daughters of the church,” said Gavin. “Father Martel says so. And I hoped that I could persuade the Dux. The peddlers who come to the village say he is a good man.”

  “He is,” said Ridmark. If the Dux heard of Aranaeus’s plight, he would send Swordbearers and Magistri to help. Ridmark had undertaken such a quest once, a task that had taken him to Urd Morlemoch, and after he returned he had been betrothed to the Dux’s daughter Aelia.

  He felt the weight of the gold ring upon his left hand.

  No, he did not want to think about that now.

  “The Dux would send help,” said Ridmark, “but those beastmen would have killed you.”

  “I know,” said Gavin. “You saved my life, sir.”

  “But you couldn’t have known that we would be here,” said Ridmark. “For all you knew, there were only beastmen outside the walls. Yet you went outside anyway. Why?”

  “Because,” said Gavin. “Because, well…because it had to be done, sir. Someone had to do it. My father won’t do it. He thinks if we close our eyes and cover our ears, eventually the beastmen will go away. Father Martel would do it, but he is too old and cannot run for long. But if no one did anything...it would get worse, sir. People would keep disappearing, and eventually it would come to a battle with the wolfmen. I had to get help.” He shrugged. “And I thought I could get to the ford before the beastmen caught me.”

  “Evidently not,�
� said Kharlacht.

  “No,” said Ridmark. “You knew you would likely die, but you went anyway?”

  Gavin nodded.

  “That,” said Ridmark, “was very brave.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Gavin.

  “Stupid,” said Ridmark, “but brave.”

  Kharlacht grunted. “In the two weeks I have known you, you have riled up a nest of drakes to attack an orcish warband, walked alone into a kobold village, enraged a pack of a hundred spitfangs, and accepted Qazarl’s challenge to single combat when you knew he would try to kill you. It hardly seems fair to lecture the boy.”

  Ridmark scowled. He had risked his life time and time again, and because of chance and skill, or perhaps the whims of God, he had come out alive. But he had been looking forward to death, knowing that he deserved it for what he had done. But Gavin was young, could marry and have children, could live a long and prosperous life.

  Assuming the lupivirii did not kill him first.

  But Ridmark could not find the words to say that, so he looked back at Gavin.

  “That was brave,” he said. “And perhaps fortune or God has favored you, for we are making for Aranaeus.”

  “You are?” said Gavin. “Did Dux Licinius send you to aid us?”

  “No,” said Ridmark. “We are just passing through. I had hoped to stop in Aranaeus to purchase supplies, but I will look into these disappearances.”

  “You are a knight, then?” said Gavin. “A Swordbearer? But…ah, your brand. I don’t…”

  “I am neither a knight nor a Swordbearer,” said Ridmark, “but I will still see if I can discover who has taken your missing neighbors, if I can.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Gavin. “And you will have my aid.”

  “No,” said Ridmark. “You will return to your father.” He recognized the gleam in the boy’s eye, the gleam of a young man eager to prove himself. It would get Gavin killed, and Ridmark wanted no more deaths on his account. “Let us set out for Aranaeus. We…”

  He frowned, looking at the trees.

  “What is it?” said Kharlacht, reaching for his sword, while Gavin hefted his club.

  “Something’s coming,” said Ridmark, turning to the east.

  “More beastmen?” said Gavin.

  “No,” said Ridmark. “Something with hooves.”

  A moment later a mule burst into the clearing, breathing hard. Laden packs dangled from its sides, and the beast looked wild with terror. Despite its exhaustion, the mule kept running, galloped past Ridmark, and vanished into the forest.

  “Was that your mule, sir?” said Gavin.

  “No,” said Ridmark, frowning. “The poor beast was out of its mind with terror. It must have caught scent of the lupivirii.”

  Or of something else.

  He saw a white flash to the east, and then another, the distant sounds of fighting coming to his ears.

  Chapter 4 - Spell and Staff

  Calliande’s next blast of white flame struck two of the undead kobolds, the creatures falling motionless to the ground. She stood in a ring of kobold corpses, Caius battling before her. His mace smashed skulls and shattered ribs, the white fire of Calliande’s magic jumping from his weapon to destroy the dark magic binding the kobolds.

  But more of the creatures came at them.

  Calliande’s arms trembled with exhaustion. Magic took as much of a physical toll on the body as strenuous exercise, and she had called a tremendous amount of power to fight the kobolds. White stars flickered and danced before her vision, and she felt the world spinning around her. Her strength would not last much longer.

  And then the kobolds would have her.

  And, worse, the empty soulstone would fall into Shadowbearer’s grasp once more.

  She did not know what the renegade high elven wizard intended with the stone. Whatever it was, she knew, would cause a great deal of harm. Certainly more harm than the loss of her life.

  “Caius!” rasped Calliande. “They’re after me, not you. Take the soulstone from my belt and run.”

  “I will not abandon you, Magistria!” said Caius, sending another kobold to the ground. He was breathing hard, a sheen of sweat covering his forehead, his robes slashed from the claws of the kobolds.

  “Take the soulstone and go!” said Calliande, throwing out another sheet of white flame. The power of the spell drove back a half-dozen kobolds, but the effort almost brought her to her knees. “Shadowbearer cannot have it! You must take it and run!”

  Caius managed a harsh laugh. “I cannot get away from them.”

  “I will use the last of my power to clear a path,” said Calliande. “Then you must take the soulstone! Find Ridmark and give it to him. Don’t let anyone else have it, no even another one of the Magistri.” She could not take the chance of the soulstone falling into the hands of someone like Alamur. “Take it and go!”

  Caius crushed the jaw of another kobold. The creature fell in a limp heap at his feet. “I will not abandon you. When I stand before the judgment seat on the last day, how will I answer for it?”

  “If the soulstone falls into the hands of Shadowbearer,” said Calliande, “then how will you answer for that?”

  She blasted down another kobold. A wave of gray washed over her vision, more severe than before.

  Caius did not turn from the kobolds, kept striking creature after creature with his mace. Calliande supposed she could have no more asked him to leave her than she could have commanded him to stop breathing.

  The kobolds closed around her.

  ###

  “That sounds like fighting!” said Gavin. “Can you hear it?”

  “Aye,” said Ridmark. “From the ford, I think.” But who was fighting at the ford? Ridmark did not think anyone, friend or foe, had followed him from Dun Licinia. Of course, Kharlacht had found him, and others could have done the same.

  Or was someone fighting Rakhaag’s beastmen?

  “Perhaps,” said Kharlacht, “we have discovered the kidnappers.”

  “Maybe,” said Ridmark, lifting his staff. “Let’s find out.”

  Gavin nodded. “I will come with you.”

  “You will not,” said Ridmark, pointing his staff. “Go back to the village at once.”

  But a single look at Gavin’s expression told Ridmark it was futile. He could have overpowered they boy and dragged him back to Aranaeus, but nothing short of that would work.

  “You saved my life, sir,” said Gavin, “and I am bound by honor to assist you.”

  “Honor,” said Ridmark. He, too, had once cared a great deal about honor. “Very well. Follow me if you will, but you will do exactly as I command, is that understood?”

  Gavin nodded, and Ridmark strode from the clearing without another word, the boy and the orcish warrior following him. He moved with as much haste as he could manage while maintaining stealth. Both Kharlacht and Gavin made more noise than he liked, but Gavin was reasonably quiet. Likely the boy had spent a great deal of time hunting in the woods.

  Hopefully he knew how to use that club. If it came to fighting, Ridmark would prefer the boy stay out of it, but no man could predict the course of a battle.

  The sounds of fighting drew nearer, accompanied by flashes of white light. That kind of light usually accompanied the spells of a powerful Magistrius. A deep, rolling voice boomed over the clatter, calling upon God and the archangels to lend his arm strength and vigor.

  And Ridmark had heard that voice before.

  ###

  “God and St. Michael!” said Caius, his backhand flinging a kobold into the charging mass. “God and St. Gabriel! God and St. Raphael!” In his battle fury, Caius had abandoned Latin and reverted to the dwarven tongue, and Calliande found that she understood him.

  Apparently she knew that language, too.

  An undead kobold lunged at her. Calliande leveled her palm and summoned magic, unleashing a burst of white fire. The kobold fell atop the others. Calliande spun, white fire crackling around her finger
s, ready to unleash another burst of magic.

  And she kept spinning.

  She stumbled and fell to one knee, her head swimming, her ears ringing.

  Every Magistria had her limits, and she had just reached hers.

  The kobolds lunged at her in a swarm of dead, scaly flesh. Caius struck down two, but the rest flowed past him, reaching for Calliande.

  ###

  Ridmark burst from the trees and saw the fighting upon the riverbank.

  “God preserve us,” said Gavin. “What are those things?”

  “Kobolds,” said Ridmark, his hands tightening around his staff.

  “In daylight?” said Kharlacht, baffled. “They never come out during the day.”

  “They do,” said Ridmark, “if they’re dead.”

  Because the kobolds were dead.

  He had fought kobolds before, and they screeched and hissed in battle, hoping to distract their opponents. These kobolds fought in silence, surging towards their targets. And kobolds hated to fight hand to hand, preferred to attack from a distance with ambushes and poisoned arrows.

  And Ridmark saw the faint blue glow in the undead kobolds’ eyes, the glow of dark magic.

  “They’re dead,” said Gavin. “All of them.”

  “Aye,” said Ridmark, dropping his staff. A heavy orcish war axe hung from his belt, its iron blade angled to keep from cutting into his leg. “You can turn back, if you want.”

  Gavin gave a sharp shake of his head, his eyes wide.

  “Then follow us,” said Ridmark, drawing the axe. “The only way to destroy those things is either through magic or by chopping off their heads. We don’t have any magic, and you have a club. Aim for their legs, try to cripple them, and Kharlacht and I will finish them off. Understand?”

  Gavin nodded again, and the raging mass of undead kobolds parted for just a moment.

  Ridmark’s eyes widened.

  The undead fought atop a ring of kobold corpses. Brother Caius stood in their midst, dwarven mace in hand, its flanged head shining with white fire. He fought with skill and vigor, shouting in the dwarven tongue as he crushed skull after skull. Yet the kobolds were about to overwhelm him.