Frostborn: The Eightfold Knife

by Jonathan Moeller

  “I’m sure there is,” said Ridmark. “And I’m equally sure that the mechanism for disarming the trap is in the corridor on the far side of the hall. Why build a trap your foes can disarm from the outside?” He looked at the dead orc. “But those orcs got in somehow, and they got past the trap.”

  “Perhaps someone let them in,” said Kharlacht.

  “Maybe,” said Ridmark. “But if there were any guards in here to disarm the trap, they would have noticed us by now. We haven’t exactly been quiet.”

  “Maybe something like a…a key?” said Gavin. “Or a token that would keep the trap from activating?”

  “Then we’ll have to track down one of the orcs and take it,” said Ridmark. “We…”

  “Magic,” said Calliande, blinking.

  They all looked at her.

  “You have a spell to get us past the blades?” said Ridmark.

  “I don’t, but maybe the dark elves did,” said Calliande. “Look.”

  She raised her hands and whispered a phrase, white light flaring around her fingers. The air in the chamber blurred, and for a moment each of the tiles shone with a blue glow of its own. Then Calliande lowered her hands, and the blue glows vanished.

  “There’s a spell on every single one of the tiles,” said Calliande. “I think if anyone other than a dark elf steps upon a tile, or anyone without a proper protective spell, the trap activates.”

  “But it is a mechanical trap,” said Caius. “Not magical.”

  “Made by the dvargir for the dark elves,” said Ridmark. “And the dark elves were wizards. Paranoid, mistrustful wizards. They would not let the dvargir build a trap that the dvargir could bypass.”

  “Hence, the spells,” said Caius. “Quite devious.”

  “But that would mean,” said Gavin, “that whoever took those missing people can cast spells.”

  “Aye,” said Ridmark. “That is exactly what it means. We face a dangerous foe.”

  “But first,” said Caius, “a more immediate problem. How do we get to the other side of the chamber?”

  “I can cast the proper ward,” said Calliande. “The spells of a Magistrius take three forms – defense, communication, and knowledge. And I can cast a spell that will mask you as a dark elf, that will let you step upon the tiles unscathed.” She paused for a moment. “I think.”

  Kharlacht frowned. “You are uncertain?”

  “I am,” said Calliande. “I think it will work. But I’ve never cast this spell before. Or if I have, I don’t remember it.” She took a deep breath. “I won’t know for certain until I try.”

  “You won’t,” said Ridmark. “Cast it on me. I’ll test it.”

  “But you could be killed,” said Calliande.

  That did not trouble him in the least. But he could see that it troubled her.

  “I’ll do it,” said Calliande. “I am the one casting the spell. I should test it."

  “This is true,” said Ridmark. “But if the blades wound me, you can likely heal me with your magic. I cannot do the same for you.”

  She opened her mouth, closed it, and then sighed. “Damn you for being right. Hold still.”

  Ridmark nodded, and she took a deep breath and began whispering, light flaring around her fingers. She put her hands upon his temples, her fingers warm against his cheek. The white light around her hands pulsed, and a strange sensation washed through him, a mixture of an icy tingle and a warm shudder, a sensation he had felt before.

  The magic of a Magistrius.

  Calliande stepped back, looking up at him.

  “God be with you,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper.

  Ridmark nodded, turned, and stepped upon the nearest tile. For a brief instant the tile pulsed with a blue glow beneath his boots.

  Nothing else happened.

  The glow faded from the tile.

  Ridmark let out a long breath.

  “It worked,” he said.

  “Good,” said Calliande. A little quaver of relief went through her voice. “Try another.”

  Ridmark nodded and stepped to the tile. Again he saw the brief pulse of a blue glow, but nothing else happened. The blades remained tucked into their slots. Calliande’s magic had worked – her spell had fooled the magic upon the tiles into believing that he was a dark elf.

  “Wait a moment,” said Ridmark. “I will see if I can disarm the trap.”

  He crossed the chamber, pausing only long enough to examine the dead orc in the center of the floor. Unfortunately, the blades had thoroughly mutilated the corpse, and Ridmark could learn nothing from the remains. However, he was sure the orc had been dead for at least a month. That meant the orcs had taken up residence in the ruins before the omen of blue fire.

  As if they had known it had been coming.

  But how?

  He shook his head, putting aside the mystery for now.

  Ridmark crossed to the other end of the chamber. Another narrow corridor led deeper into the ruins, and he saw a staircase descending into the earth, lit by the same glowing red crystals. A lever of bronze-colored metal jutted from the wall. Ridmark pulled it, expecting resistance, but the lever slid along its tracks as smoothly and as easily as if it had just been greased. A deep, resounding click came from the trapped chamber.

  “Kharlacht!” he shouted. “Test one of the tiles.”

  The orcish warrior nodded and pick up a rusted sword. Kharlacht pressed the dulled weapon against a tile, gently at first, and then harder. At last he discarded the ruined sword and stepped onto a tile. There was no blue flash, but no blades erupted from the floor.

  The lever had disarmed the trap.

  Calliande went first, flanked by Kharlacht and Caius. Gavin took a deep breath and hurried after them, wincing at the stench from the dead orc. They joined Ridmark by the metal lever.

  “You can release the spell now, I think,” said Ridmark. “So long as no one touches the lever, the room is safe.”

  Calliande shrugged. “Actually, I don’t need to maintain the spell. It will dissipate of its own accord at the next sunrise. In the meantime, you will appear as a dark elf to any warding spells.” She looked at the stairs. “Given what other horrors we might find down here, that could prove useful.”

  Ridmark nodded, and beckoned the others forward.

  The stairs went deeper into the earth. Ridmark suspected they were well below the base of the hill by now. Water glistened on the white walls, cold and damp. Ridmark spotted a dark spot on the wall, and paused to examine it.

  He tugged away a clump of wet, musky fur, and held it up for the others to see.

  “Lupivir fur,” said Ridmark, letting it fall to the ground. “With a bit of blood on it. I think the kidnapped females and young were taken this way.”

  “We must keep going,” said Gavin. “If they’re down here, we can rescue them, along with any of the villagers.”

  Ridmark kept walking. The stairs ended in a rough tunnel that looked like a natural cavern, though the floor had been smoothed. After twenty yards, the tunnel widened into a vast cavern. It looked natural, though more of the red crystals gleamed in the walls, and the floor likewise had been leveled. A cold, clear lake occupied the far end of the cavern, covering a third of the floor.

  The remained of the cavern had been converted into a campsite. The remains of cooking fires dotted the floor, and rough blankets had been laid to create bedrolls. A dozen crude wooden pens stood against the far wall, and Ridmark saw scraps of rope and a few pieces of rusty chain inside the pens.

  They had been built to hold captives, and recently.

  “There must have been dozens of them,” said Gavin.

  “At least fifty,” said Ridmark. “Maybe more.” He examined one of the blankets and saw a few strands of long black hair. “Orcs. And some humans, too.”

  “Renegades, maybe,” said Caius. “Hunting for slaves to sell to the dark elves and the pagan orcs.”

  “How did they get all this down here without anyo
ne noticing?” said Gavin, looking at the pens. “Those planks are fresh-cut. Surely we would have noticed someone cutting down trees below the ruins.”

  “Do you feel the breeze?” said Caius. “I don’t think the planks came from the trees below the village. Look.”

  In the far wall of the cavern, near the edge of the lake, Ridmark saw another tunnel vanishing into the darkness.

  “Another cave,” said Caius. “The dark elves of old likely kept it as an escape route, if they were ever trapped. I suspect our mysterious orcs and their human allies came into Urd Dagaash through there, and then withdrew with their captives through that tunnel.”

  Ridmark paced back and forth, examining the ground. “You’re right. All the tracks go in that direction.”

  “Likely that tunnel links up to the Deeps,” said Caius. “I fear we have solved our mystery. Those orcs and their human allies were slave raiders, taking captives to sell to the princes of the dark elves or the dvargir cities of the Deeps.”

  “Aye,” said Ridmark. He rubbed his chin, considering. He did not think the campsite had been abandoned for very long. And the twisting, turning nature of the tunnels and caverns of the Deeps prevented fast travel, especially while burdened with captives…

  “If you are thinking of pursuing them,” said Caius, “we will need to go back to Aranaeus to acquire additional supplies. We are not equipped for an expedition into the Deeps.”

  “We survived the trip near the village of the Blue Hand,” said Kharlacht.

  “That was a close thing,” said Ridmark. “And Brother Caius is right. We need more supplies before we venture in the Deeps. And we also need to return Gavin to Aranaeus.”

  “But those are my neighbors!” said Gavin. “I cannot turn my back on them.”

  “No,” said Ridmark. “You are brave, Gavin, but the Deeps are dangerous beyond anything you have ever faced. We will return to the village and purchase supplies, and you will…”

  A low moan interrupted him. For an absurd moment Ridmark wondered if Gavin had started crying, but then he heard it again.

  It was coming from the shadows of one of the pens.

  The sound sent a surge of alarm through Ridmark.

  “Someone’s still here!” said Gavin. “They left someone behind!”

  He started to run forward, but Ridmark blocked the boy’s path.

  “Wait a moment,” said Ridmark.

  “But…”

  “I said,” said Ridmark, his voice hard, “to wait!”

  “Gavin?” said the voice. It was a woman’s voice, cracked and full of pain. “Is that you? Gavin?”

  “Rosanna?” said Gavin.

  A figure staggered out of the pen, clad in a filthy, bloodstained shift. Rosanna’s hair hung in greasy strings against her shoulders, her face and arms thin and emaciated from long starvation. Her eyes glittered with fear, but they widened with hope when she saw Gavin.

  “Gavin!” moaned Rosanna, holding out her thin hands. “Oh, Gavin, please, come and save me! Come and save me!”

  “Let me go!” said Gavin, but Ridmark caught Gavin’s arm, and twisted it behind his back.

  “Listen to me!” said Ridmark.

  Rosanna kept speaking. “Philip couldn’t save me, Gavin! He wasn’t strong enough. It was you. It was always you.” She started to cry. “Please, please, get me out of here, take me home…”

  “Rosanna!” said Gavin, ripping free of Ridmark’s grasp.

  Ridmark hit him.

  It was not a hard blow, not hard enough to break bone or even to leave a bruise, but it knocked the boy back. Gavin stared at him, mouth open in shock, and then grimaced and brought up his club.

  “Look at her,” said Ridmark. “Stop thinking with your heart and look at her. You saw her this morning before we left Aranaeus, didn’t you?”

  “I…I did,” said Gavin. “I…”

  Some of the madness faded from his eyes.

  “Look,” said Ridmark. “She’s half-starved. The girl you talked to this morning was healthy and happy. Even if the orcs had taken her the moment you left, she couldn’t have gotten in this state so quickly.”

  Gavin blinked. “Then…then how did she get here…unless…”

  “Think about it,” said Ridmark.

  Gavin shuddered. “Unless that’s not really Rosanna.”

  Rosanna snarled at him, her lips peeling back to reveal needle-like fangs.

  Kharlacht raised his greatsword and Caius his mace. Calliande caught Ridmark’s eye and nodded, and began casting a spell.

  “God and the saints!” said Gavin, stepping away from Ridmark and raising his club. “What are you?”

  “Your death, mortal worm,” hissed Rosanna, her voice mewling and inhuman.

  “She’s an urshane,” said Ridmark. “Do you know the word?”

  Gavin gave a sharp shake of his head.

  “Mortal,” purred Rosanna in that alien voice. “Do you not desire me?” She blinked, and her green eyes became golden, with vertical black pupils.

  The eyes of a snake.

  “A creature wrought through the sorcery of the dark elves,” said Ridmark. “They used the urvaalgs and the ursaars as hunting beasts, the urvuuls as siege creatures. But the urshanes were spies, infiltrators. Shapechangers. They can read your mind, take the form of the person you love the most...and then laugh as they tear out your throat.”

  “So wise, mortal,” said Rosanna. A pointed tongue flickered over her fangs and disappeared again. “But you would have been wiser to stay away from the goddess’s lair. For you are not a Swordbearer, and earthly steel cannot touch me. You have no weapon that can harm me.”

  “No,” said Ridmark. “I don’t.”

  “Then perish!” shrieked Rosanna, and she changed.

  One moment she wore the form of the half-starved village girl. The next she looked like a hideous combination of woman, serpent, and hairless cat. Black scales sheathed her from head to foot, and wicked hooked claws tipped her fingers and toes. A long black tail with a poisoned barb swayed back and forth behind.

  She charged, claws reaching for Ridmark’s throat.

  Calliande cast her spell.

  And again her power charged Ridmark’s weapon, as it had during the fight against the undead kobolds. The staff glowed white in Ridmark’s hands, the power of Calliande’s magic trembling up his arms, and he remembered carrying Heartwarden into battle.

  But the urshane was upon him, and there was no time for introspection.

  The creature made no move to defend herself. She believed that Ridmark carried no weapon that could harm her. So her surprise was absolute when Ridmark smashed the staff into her forehead and cracked her skull. The urshane staggered to a halt, her limbs and tail twitching, and Ridmark raised the staff and brought it down upon the top of her head.

  The creature fell to her knees, and Ridmark gave her one final blow.

  The urshane collapsed dead to the floor, and the glow faded from Ridmark’s staff.

  Calliande swayed for a bit and let out a long breath.

  “Are you all right?” said Ridmark.

  “Fine,” said Calliande, opening her eyes. “A bit tired. I had to put all my power into the spell. Otherwise that thing would have killed us all.”

  Gavin stared at the corpse, wide-eyed.

  “And you,” said Ridmark. “Are you all right?”

  “I would have listened to her,” said Gavin in a small voice. “I would have done anything she asked of me. And…God have mercy upon me, she wasn’t Rosanna, but that filthy demon wearing her face.” He shook his head. “You were right to want to leave me behind. I am a fool.”

  “You are too hard on yourself,” said Calliande.

  “And you are too kind, my lady,” said Gavin.

  “She’s right,” said Ridmark. “I have seen men so utterly convinced by an urshane that they turned against their comrades when the creature commanded it of them. It wore the form of the woman you loved. Believe me, that is
a hard thing to face.”

  A flash of sympathy went over Calliande’s expression.

  “Perhaps the urshane was commanding the orcs,” said Caius.

  “Perhaps,” said Ridmark, “but I doubt it. Urshanes prefer to hide in the shadows and never reveal their existence. We had best…”

  “Oh, you killed Mother’s pet. Mother shall be ever so irritated.”

  It was a woman’s voice, melodious and sensual.

  Ridmark whirled just as a woman emerged from the lake, water glistening on her pale skin.

  Chapter 10 - The Woman in the Lake

  Calliande drew upon the magic of the Well, preparing power for a spell.

  Kharlacht pointed his dark elven greatsword, both hands wrapped around the hilt. Caius gripped his mace and slid into a ready stance. Gavin’s fingers tightened against the handle of his club, the boy’s face set and determined.

  Ridmark moved a few steps closer to the lake, face expressionless.

  The woman walked towards him, head titled to the side.

  She was naked, and looked about twenty or so, with long red hair and eerie green eyes. She was lean and sinewy, almost half-starved, and Calliande saw the outline of her ribs, the bones pressing against the skin of her hip. The strange woman stopped twenty feet from Ridmark, her head still titled to the side.

  “It is a strange thing,” she said in Latin, “strange and unusual.”

  “A naked woman found alone in a cave?” said Ridmark. “Yes, very strange.”

  “Breathing,” murmured the woman. “It’s not necessary, you know. Not for us. But the prey…the prey has to keep breathing. At least once for every six to eight heartbeats. If the prey stops breathing, they die. And cold meat is simply deplorable. Mother says so.”

  “Your mother seems to have demanding tastes,” said Ridmark.

  “Oh, she does, she does,” said the strange woman. “She knows you.”

  “Really,” said Ridmark. “I am afraid I cannot recall the honor of making her acquaintance.”

  The woman grinned. It gave her face a manic cast. “She takes an interest in herd animals that stand above their origins. The Gray Knight, the branded exile, the outcast Swordbearer. You slew one of her sisters.”