“Enough,” said Paul. “I did not come all this way to listen to you quote peasant proverbs. Why are you here, exile?”
“You saw the omen of blue fire?” said Ridmark.
Paul snorted. “I could hardly miss it. Everyone in Coldinium saw it.”
“It is a sign of the return of the Frostborn,” said Ridmark. “They will return, though I know not when or how. I am going to Urd Morlemoch to confront the Warden, to force him to tell me more.”
Paul threw back his head and roared with laughter, and his men followed suit. Calliande glared at them, but they ignored her.
“Still this nonsense, exile?” said Paul. “The Frostborn are returning? The Frostborn are extinct, you ragged fool. You talked about the Frostborn even before you slew Aelia. We all laughed at you for your obsession. Now I see it for what it really is. The last, desperate attempt of a pathetic, broken man to find some scrap of redemption.”
“The Frostborn are returning,” said Ridmark, still showing no flicker of emotion, “and how you and I or anyone else feels about it is irrelevant. They are coming back, and I need to find the truth of it.”
Paul sneered. “Chase your fantasies, if you wish. It is no concern of mine.”
“Perhaps not,” said Ridmark. “What are your concerns, Sir Paul? What brings the honored Constable of Iron Tower to a village in the Wilderland?”
Paul glanced at his men, and then back at Ridmark.
“A hunt,” he said. “A wyvern has been terrorizing the freeholders near Coldinium. The Comes of Coldinium posted a great bounty upon the beast’s head. Naturally, I had to uphold the honor of the Dux, Caerdracon, and the Iron Tower.”
“Naturally,” said Ridmark.
Paul scowled. “I wounded the beast near the Iron Tower, and it fled north. I followed it to Aranaeus. I suspect the wyvern has gone to ground in the hills, perhaps in the dark elven ruin that lent its name to this charming hovel of an inn. Tomorrow I shall resume my pursuit.”
“A curious coincidence,” said Ridmark.
“What is?” said Paul.
“That both the folk of Aranaeus and the beastmen claim the other kidnapped their kin, and then you arrive a few days later,” said Ridmark.
Paul bristled. “Dare you to insinuate that I had something to do with this?”
“Did you?” said Ridmark.
“Of course not,” said Paul. “I only just arrived in Aranaeus yesterday afternoon. I spotted packs of the beastmen vermin prowling through the forest, but they knew better than to attack a knight of Andomhaim and his men-at-arms. The village was abuzz with rumors about these mysterious disappearances.” He smiled. “Perhaps the wyvern is to blame.”
“Perhaps,” said Ridmark. “An adult wyvern has a body the size of an ox and a fifty-foot wingspan. I am sure such a creature could enter the village undetected and make off with its victims without raising an alarm.”
Paul scoffed. “And I suppose you intend to find whatever is behind these disappearances, exile? I am not surprised. You were ever the fool, running after every mud-stained freeholder than came to you with a tale of woe.”
Calliande bristled. Ridmark’s penchant for running after every mud-stained freeholder with a tale of woe had saved her life, kept the empty soulstone from falling into the hands of Shadowbearer, and had saved the town of Dun Licinia. However much Ridmark hated himself, he did not deserve to have this preening jackass insult him.
But Ridmark answered before she could speak.
“Innocent people may be dead,” said Ridmark. “Would you have me abandon the rest of them to their fate?”
Paul shrugged. “Do whatever you like, exile. But these people left Andomhaim. They chose to forsake the protection and wisdom of our High King. We are not obliged to defend them.” He smiled. “Frankly, if the inn caught fire, I would not cross the street to piss upon the flames.”
“They are still sons and daughters of the church,” said Ridmark.
“Have you seen the church’s state of repair?” said Paul. “Or talked to that senile old priest? These villagers care nothing for the sacred traditions of the faith. It would not surprise me if that red-haired bitch led them to a circle of dark elven menhirs to sacrifice to the blood gods of the orcs.” He grinned. “Or maybe they’re looking for the Frostborn, too, like a certain pathetic coward with a stick and a brand…”
“Enough,” said Calliande. Paul looked at her, blinking in surprise. “The Frostborn are returning. The realm must prepare itself to face the danger.”
Paul and his men laughed. “Who is this, exile? Some tart dressed up in men’s clothing?” He stepped towards her, grinning. “Your whore, perhaps? Your prostitute that…”
A heartbeat later Paul was on the floor, his eyes wide, blood streaming from his nose. The men-at-arms shouted and drew their swords. Ridmark remained calm, though he grimaced as he shook his fist.
Agnes hooted with laughter, took another drink of her beer, and closed her eyes.
“Apologize,” said Ridmark.
“You hit me!” said Paul. He sounded more astonished than angry.
“Apologize,” said Ridmark again. “This woman is a Magistria of the Order, and you have insulted her. Apologize, now, or I will challenge you to a duel.” His eyes were flinty. “And if I do, you will not leave Aranaeus alive.”
Paul growled and got to his feet with a clatter of armor, and Calliande was sure he would throw himself at Ridmark. Ridmark stared at him without blinking, and the anger drained from Paul’s face, replaced by a hint of fear.
He made a stiff bow in Calliande’s direction. “Forgive me, my lady. My words were…ill-considered. I apologize.”
“For God’s sake,” said Calliande. “Hold still.”
Before Paul could react, she reached over, pinched his nose shut, and cast a spell. The power of the magic washed through her, and for a moment she felt the pain of his broken nose as if it were her own. White light flashed from her fingers, and his nose healed with a crackling sound.
She released him, and Paul stepped back, blinking.
“You…you truly are a Magistria?” he said. “I didn’t…I didn’t…”
“You didn’t know?” said Calliande. “You thought I was helpless and harmless, and you could do whatever you wished to me? Did not the Dominus Christus say that whatever you do for the least of your brothers, you do for him? Perhaps the priest charged with your education as a child neglected to mention that? Or did you sleep through it?”
“I apologize,” said Paul with a curt nod. His eyes fell back to Ridmark. “I won’t forget this, exile.” He smiled. “You know that the Dux Tarrabus has never forgiven you for the death of Aelia? He still has a price on your head. If I brought back your corpse, he would give me lands and riches…and an office even higher in honor than the Constable of the Iron Tower.”
“The Dux,” said Ridmark, “has no power to pronounce a capital sentence upon a man not of Caerdracon.”
“The Dux Tarrabus Carhaine,” said Paul, “has more power than you think. Your arrogant fool of a father and that senile wretch of a High King are going to learn…”
He trailed off, as if he had said too much.
“They’re going to learn what, pray?” said Ridmark, lifting his eyebrows. “Please continue, sir. I am your eager pupil.”
“Bah,” said Paul. “I have wasted enough time speaking to you. You had best take care. I promised that whipped cur of a praefectus and his termagant wife that I would commit no violence within the walls of Aranaeus, and Sir Paul Tallmane is loyal to his given word.” His grin had a nasty edge to it. “But if I find you outside the walls of Aranaeus…why, it would be a tragedy if I mistook you for a wyvern and shot you with my crossbow. A tragedy indeed.”
“Indeed it would,” said Ridmark. “A tragedy for Tarrabus, since his knights are stupid enough to mistake a man for a wyvern.”
Calliande laughed.
Paul scowled. “Come!” He beckoned to his men-at-arms, and they fo
llowed him from the common room, leaving Calliande alone with Ridmark.
“Did you really have to hit him?” said Calliande.
“Of course.” He looked surprised. “A knight must defend the honor of a lady. I am not a knight any longer…but habits die hard, I suppose.”
“Were all your friends so truculent?” said Calliande.
“We never friends,” said Ridmark. “We were squires together.”
“Do you think his story is true?” said Calliande.
“Not in the least,” said Ridmark. “If he had come north chasing a wyvern, the villagers would have noticed the beast. The lupivirii would have, certainly. Though…”
“What is it?” said Calliande.
“Did he seem surprised to see me?” said Ridmark.
“No,” said Calliande. “Now that you mention it, no. I think he was expecting you. Someone must have seen you coming and told him.”
“So quickly?” said Ridmark. “I suppose we spent enough time in the church. But not many of the villagers would recognize me. And of those that did, would any of them think to tell Sir Paul?”
“I don’t know,” said Calliande. “So if Sir Paul expected to find you here…why come to Aranaeus? Just for you? Or for some other reason?”
“Good question,” said Ridmark.
He walked towards the wall, where Agnes sat watching them from her bench.
“Mistress,” said Ridmark. “Might I ask you a question?”
“Why, isn’t he polite?” said Agnes to Calliande. “I like polite young men. They’re so rare, you know.” Her hazy eyes shifted back to Ridmark. “And, yes, you can take me to the harvest dance. Though I don’t think you could keep up with me!”
“I shouldn’t like to try,” said Ridmark. “That knight I spoke with…”
“The one you punched,” said Agnes with her hooting laugh.
“The one I punched,” said Ridmark. “Can you tell me anything about him?”
“He is not a polite young man,” said Agnes with a disapproving shake of her head “Children ought to be respectful to their elders, don’t you think?”
“I do think that,” said Ridmark. Though Calliande was likely older than Agnes by at least a century and a half. “How was he disrespectful?”
Agnes smacked her lips. “Well, he kept talking about the ruins of the dark elves. That’s a bad place, you know. Sometimes a village boy gets it into his head that he’s going to go digging, find some shiny gem to impress his sweetheart. He never comes back.” She cackled again. “The things in the ruins, you know, they’re always hungry. Like babies! But what was I talking about?”
“The knight I punched,” said Ridmark. “The impolite one.”
“Hmm? Oh, yes, him,” said Agnes. “Said his master wanted something from within the ruins. Some treasure. Said his master the duck would reward him well, if he found the treasure. Though why would any man serve a duck?”
“Men do not serve ducks,” said Ridmark, “though they might serve a Dux.”
“Yes, that was it,” said Agnes. “A Dux.” She took another drink of her beer. “I tried to warn him. But he told me to be off or he would have me beaten. So disrespectful! I was already old when his father first lusted after his mother. His grandfather, most likely! It will serve him right when the devils in the ruins eat him.”
“Truly,” said Ridmark. “Thank you.”
But Agnes had already forgotten him, and started humming to herself again.
“What shall we do now?” said Calliande.
Ridmark shrugged. “We’ll tell Kharlacht and Caius that we have rooms.”
###
Later that night Ridmark sat alone in the common room of the White Walls Inn by the hearth, a clay mug of beer in his hand.
A dozen villagers had gathered to drink and size up the strangers. Fortunately, Caius had their full attention. The dwarven friar held the villagers rapt with his tales of their adventures near Dun Licinia. Calliande had gone to bed, still tired from their ordeal at the ford, and he had sent Kharlacht to keep watch outside her room. He would not put it past Paul Tallmane to kill her for embarrassing him. But there was no sign of the knight, and Ridmark assumed he had gone back to his room.
Ridmark thought about the disappearances, about the white ruins on the hill. He thought about the dilapidated, ignored church. In villages of this size, the church was commonly the most used building. Why did most of the villagers seem to ignore it?
He thought about Aelia, again and again.
But, then, he always thought about her.
Caius finished one of his stories to a gale of laughter and a round of applause, and the dwarven friar bowed.
“A moment, my friends!” he said. “A moment to wet my throat. Then I shall tell you of the siege of Dun Licinia, and how the valiant men of the town stood fast against the Mhalekite tide!”
Bardus handed Caius a cup of beer, and the dwarf joined Ridmark.
“You make it sound more pleasant than it really was,” said Ridmark.
Caius shrugged. “It is still true. There was blood and death and misery, aye…but there was still valor and courage and bold deeds. Have you decided what we shall do tomorrow?”
Ridmark frowned. He was an outcast and an exile, and one of the most powerful men in the realm wanted him dead. He had no authority, no right to command anyone.
Yet Caius and Calliande and Kharlacht would still do whatever he told them.
“We’re going to Urd Dagaash tomorrow,” said Ridmark.
“Is that wise?” said Caius. “Dark elven ruins are hardly known for their welcoming nature, and this one seems worse than most.”
“Likely not,” said Ridmark, “but whatever is behind these disappearances is most probably lurking up there. And I suspect Tarrabus Carhaine sent Sir Paul to get something from Urd Dagaash. The omen of blue flame, the disappearances, and Sir Paul all arriving so close to each other is too much of a coincidence.”
Caius nodded. “Very well. I think we should bring young Gavin along.”
Ridmark grunted. “Why? He’ll just get in the way.”
“The boy can handle himself in a fight,” said Caius. “You saw that at the ford.”
“There is more to it than that,” said Ridmark. “You always have your reasons, Brother Caius. If we merely needed strong arms, we could hire a few of the village men.”
Caius smiled. “I’ve known you less than a month, but already you know me too well. Yes, I think we could use his help, but I think we could help him as well.”
“How?” said Ridmark.
“The lad is a rare sort,” said Caius. “Bold and fearless, but without any malice in his heart. Consider how he was willing to help us against the kobolds, and did not ask for any reward. I fear his father is a craven, and his stepmother cold and scheming. That he has been strong enough of will to fight their influence is remarkable.”
“Perhaps he did so in rebellion against them,” said Ridmark.
“Virtue performed for the wrong reason is still virtue,” said Caius. “And he’s in love with that young woman, the one betrothed to the blacksmith’s apprentice.”
“So?” said Ridmark. “He loves her, but she loves the blacksmith. He’ll get over it.”
“Or he won’t,” said Caius. “Perhaps you’ve seen that sort of thing before.”
“Or he won’t,” said Ridmark, remembering. Tarrabus had been in love with Aelia, for years. She had regarded him as a friend, at least until she had seen his true character.
That had not ended well.
“If he wants the girl,” said Ridmark, “he’ll have to court her. And if she rejects him, he’ll simply have to accept it and move on.”
“I think he is strong enough to do that,” said Caius. “But in ten years? In twenty years? That sort of rejection can fester. Enough to twist a man’s character, to make him consider things he might have never contemplated in his wiser days.”
“Then,” said Ridmark, “you want to take
a boy into a dark elven ruin so he doesn’t murder a romantic rival in twenty years?”
“There’s more than that,” said Caius. “I think Gavin has the potential to become a remarkable man, a knight without peer. In all frankness, I think he would be wasted if he stayed here.”
Ridmark drummed his fingers on the side of his cup. “Father Martel put you up to this, didn’t he?”
Caius laughed. “Am I that transparent? Yes, he did. Father Martel was quite well-educated before he left the realm – familiar with the Latin and Greek authors of Old Earth, the histories of Andomhaim, even a translation of the Chronicle of the Nine Kingdoms written by the stonescribes of my kindred. Gavin soaked it up like a sponge. Martel wants what is best for the boy, and I agree with him that it would be better if Gavin left Aranaeus and sought his fortune elsewhere.”
“Fine,” said Ridmark. “What does Gavin want? Other than Rosanna, that is.”
“A snide reply does not become you, Gray Knight. Consider. Gavin was willing to travel alone through the Wilderland to ask for aid from Dux Gareth,” said Caius. “I think you know what he wants.”
“To do great deeds and win renown as a knight of the realm,” said Ridmark, “as young men do.”
“You’re twenty-eight,” said Caius. “Hardly an old man. To me you all seem like children. Well. Except Calliande. And we don’t know how old she is.”
“I don’t feel young,” said Ridmark. “Not for years, now.” Not since Aelia had died in a pool of her own blood before her father’s seat.
“But you remember it, I think,” said Caius, “and when you were fifteen years old, if some peril had threatened your home, what would you have done?”
Ridmark sighed. “I would have fought it. Very well. The boy can come. Though God forbid we get him killed. I don’t want to explain his death to his father.”
“I fear,” said Caius, “that is why he must come with us. I don’t think either his father or his stepmother would mind very much if he died.”
###
Frostborn: The Eightfold Knife Page 9