Ridmark frowned, and then nodded. “Ah. You think I led you false? You cannot find the trail of your kindred because the arachar took them through the Deeps. There is an entrance to the Deeps below Urd Dagaash, and most likely one below Urd Arowyn as well.”
“Then why did they not take the humans through the caverns?” said Rakhaag.
“Because,” said Ridmark, “the Deeps are cramped and full of dangers. Would you want to herd seven hundred humans through a narrow, dark cave while spitfangs and kobolds and worse things attack?”
Rakhaag considered this. “No. For many reasons.”
“And if the arachar had moved your females and young through the forest, you would have been able to find them,” said Ridmark. “Instead, they took them into Urd Dagaash and then underground through the Deeps. That’s why you thought they disappeared.”
It was devilishly clever. And the urdmordar were always diabolically clever. Gothalinzur had come within a hair’s breadth of destroying the village of Victrix before Ridmark had stumbled into her plan ten years ago.
And Agrimnalazur had already destroyed Aranaeus.
But perhaps it was not too late to save the villagers and Rakhaag’s kin.
“Of the True People,” Ridmark asked Rakhaag, “how many have come at your call?”
“Several packs. Perhaps two hundred total,” said Rakhaag. “They remain out of sight around the valley.” He bared his teeth in the lupivirii equivalent of a smirk. “Not even the eyes of the tainted orcs can spot us. But we will need to act soon. There is not enough game here to support us, and we will need to move on.”
“We shall,” said Ridmark. “Have your kin keep watch over the valley. If any additional arachar arrive, or if any arachar leave Urd Arowyn, tell me at once.”
“I shall do as you ask,” said Rakhaag, “but only because the Staffbearer wishes it of us.”
He melted back into the trees.
Ridmark sighed. Rakhaag had never stopped challenging him since they had left Aranaeus, usually two or three times a day. Ridmark could hardly blame him for that. The lupivirii thought in terms of dominance and submission, and the dominant male had to fend off challengers to his position. If he could not, he was no longer fit to be the dominant male, and that was that.
“I don’t think,” said Gavin, “that he likes you very much.”
“Like and dislike have nothing to do with it,” said Calliande. “Ridmark forced him to submit when he rescued you. So now Rakhaag will do what Ridmark says. But he will never stop testing Ridmark to see if he is fit to be dominant.”
“There’s a reason,” said Ridmark, “most lupivirii males do not live to reach thirty years. They wind up killing each other in these endless challenges.”
“God gave men and orcs and dwarves rational faculties for a reason,” said Caius, “to help us govern our passions. I fear he chose not to bestow similar faculties upon the lupivirii, though I know not why.”
“Perhaps they have a wisdom we do not see,” said Martel. “The beastmen may kill each other, but they do not lie, cheat, steal, betray, or commit adultery. Too often we use our rational faculties to justify the most grievous evils.”
“I am not sure which would be better,” said Kharlacht, “to live as the beastmen do, or to live as we do and know betrayal.”
“Perhaps the beastmen did not fall as mankind did,” said Caius, “and learn the knowledge of good and evil.”
“I do not care what they know,” said Rosanna. “I want for us to live in peace in the village, and for the beastmen to live in peace in the woods, and for both of us to leave the other alone.”
“A noble goal,” said Caius. “Perhaps we shall yet…”
Ridmark ignored them as Caius and Martel launched into another one of their theological discussions. Gavin listened, his head moving back and forth as they talked. Should they live through this, the boy would receive quite an education. But Ridmark’s concerns were more practical. He looked at the cliff below Urd Arowyn’s southern wall, following the white line of the waterfall as it fell to the churning stream.
At the pile of rocks at the base of the cliff, the water splashing against them.
“You do have a plan,” murmured Calliande, coming to his side.
Ridmark turned his gaze from the waterfall. “Oh?”
“And it has something to do with that waterfall, doesn't it?” said Calliande.
“I don’t know for certain,” said Ridmark. “I will have to look before I know. But…”
“Ridmark!” said Gavin.
Rakhaag reappeared, loping on all fours. Ridmark lifted his staff, wondering if Rakhaag had decided to challenge him, but the lupivir stopped a few feet away and blurred into his half-human, half-bestial form.
“What is it?” said Ridmark.
“Tainted orcs moving through the woods near here,” said Rakhaag. “They left Urd Arowyn, and travel south.”
An idea flashed through Ridmark’s mind. “How many of them?”
“Seven,” said Rakhaag.
“Scouts, I deem,” said Kharlacht. “Likely Agrimnalazur’s minions have abducted slaves from villagers other than Aranaeus. No doubt the purpose of the scouts is to watch for anyone coming to rescue the prisoners.”
“Like us,” said Ridmark. Perhaps they ought to conceal themselves and wait for the scouts to pass. On the other hand, the scouts might present a useful opportunity. “Did they have food?”
“Food?” said Gavin, frowning. “We have enough supplies.”
Ridmark ignored the question. “Could the True People smell if they carried food?”
“They stank of the taint in their blood,” said Rakhaag, “of the foul poison of the spider they drank. They also smelled of wheat and oil and salt and old meat.”
“Jerky and hard bread,” said Ridmark. “Rations, for a long time away from Urd Arowyn.”
“So if we kill them,” said Kharlacht, “no one may notice for a few days.”
“Precisely,” said Ridmark. “Calliande, Kharlacht, Caius, come with me. We’ll need to deal with these arachar…”
“Sir,” said Gavin, “I would like to come with you, if I may.”
“I would prefer that you watch over Rosanna and Father Martel,” said Ridmark.
“The beastmen will ensure that no one draws near to them, sir,” said Gavin.
“The whelp speaks truth,” said Rakhaag. “These tainted orcs and their human allies lumber through the woods like cows. A year-old cub could track them with ease.”
“This is my father’s fault,” said Gavin. “I need…I should do something to make it right. Anything.”
Ridmark started to say that Gavin might get killed, that Ridmark would have to answer to his mother and father.
But Gavin’s mother had been dead for years, and his father had likely tried to have him killed. Would Cornelius have spared Gavin? He wouldn’t have been able to convert Gavin to the worship of Agrimnalazur. Would he have fed his own son to an urdmordar?
There were many ways a man could respond to that kind of betrayal. Most of them weren’t good.
“Very well,” said Ridmark. “Come along.”
###
Gavin followed the others through the forest, trying to keep his footfalls quiet.
Rakhaag darted through the trees, moving with fearful speed and silence. Ridmark followed, almost as fast and as silent, the others moving after him. Gavin came last, the arachar orc’s sword in his right hand, a shield taken from one of Sir Paul Tallmane’s men-at-arms on his left arm. He felt bad carrying a shield taken from a dead man. Or, at least, he had felt bad, until Caius had pointed out that the man-at-arms had tried to murder Ridmark in cold blood.
That made the shield easier to carry. Gavin practiced with it every night as they stopped, both Ridmark and Caius instructing him in the proper use of weapons.
Rakhaag stopped, and Ridmark held up his hand. The others came to a halt around him. Gavin went to their side, picking his footfalls caref
ully. The slope of the hill was littered with dead leaves and twisted roots and dozens of other things to make stealthy movement difficult.
He saw motion at the base of the hill.
Seven orcs came into sight, clad in leather armor. The orcs carried swords at their belts and axes slung over their shoulders. The shape of the strange eightfold scar marked their faces, the lines curving over their temples and along their jaws. All seven looked like hardened warriors, and while they did not move with much stealth, Gavin saw the wary tension in their posture.
He wondered if they had killed anyone at Aranaeus.
“Gavin,” said Ridmark, voice low. “Stay here and guard Lady Calliande. She’s going to be busy in a few moments.”
Calliande nodded and raised her hands.
Ridmark said something to Kharlacht and Caius, and then descended the hillside.
Gavin watched in surprise as Ridmark strode to meet the orcs.
###
Ridmark felt the eyes of the arachar upon him.
He strode to the bottom of the hill and stopped, the orcs watching him. They stared at him with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. Most likely they did not see the staff in his right hand as a threatening weapon.
They would soon learn otherwise.
“What have we here?” said the leader of the orcs, a hulking warrior with a net of old, faded scars beneath his ritual scarring. “Some wanderer who’s about to have a very bad day, eh?”
His men chuckled.
“I’ve come to join you,” said Ridmark.
“Oh, you have?” said the orc leader, stepping closer. There was no sign of battle rage in his eyes yet. “Why is that?”
“I’ve seen the truth,” said Ridmark. “I saw what you did at Aranaeus and the other villages.”
The leader chuckled. “And you want vengeance, is that it?”
“No,” said Ridmark. “I want to join you. I see what’s happening. The blue fire was a sign. Something big is about to happen.” He shrugged. “Where better to shelter from the storm than in the service of Agrimnalazur?”
“So you know the name of the goddess?” said the orc. “Do you think to impress me?”
“No,” said Ridmark, “but I wish to enter her service.”
The orc sneered. “Then you will leave behind the crucified god of the humans and worship the goddess?”
“I can see who is going to be victorious,” said Ridmark. “An urdmordar can protect her children. The High King and his knights cannot.”
He did not dare look at the hillside. Yet he thought that Kharlacht and Caius would be in position by now, that Calliande would have her spell ready.
Perhaps he could yet get more useful information out of these arachar.
“What do you know of great Agrimnalazur and her servants, human?” rumbled the orc. He drew his sword with an iron rasp.
“I know that she is immortal and invincible,” said Ridmark. “I know that she has foreseen the return of the Frostborn, how they shall choke the world in ice and bring the winter that never ends. I know that she is preparing a larder, and herds of slaves to sustain herself during the frozen centuries. And I know that her loyal arachar, orcish and human both, are rewarded well for devoted service. You have been kidnapping humans from the nearby villages, and beastmen from the wandering packs, to stock her larder.” Ridmark spread his hands, keeping a tight grip on his staff. “I see three fates for mankind – to perish when the Frostborn return, to serve as cattle for the urdmordar, or to become a chosen servant of the goddess. Between the three, I choose the latter.”
The arachar said nothing.
“You know,” said the orc leader at last, “rather more than you should, human.”
“Perhaps we should let him join us,” said one of the arachar. “If he truly wishes to serve the goddess.”
“Bah,” said a third orc. “He is a renegade. Look at the brand upon his face. Even the High King of Andomhaim does not tolerate cowards. He is an exile and an outcast, and thinks to buy his way into the High King’s favor by spying upon the goddess. I say we kill him and continue on our way.”
“The daughters of the goddess said we needed more fighters,” said a fourth arachar.
“No,” said the leader at last, raising his sword. “The daughters said we were to report anything unusual. They will wish to know about this stranger. Cripple him and take him back to Urd Arowyn. The daughters can question him, and once he has shared his secrets, he will make a fit offering to the goddess’s hunger. Take him!”
The arachar advanced, and Ridmark lifted his staff.
The branches rustled, and Caius emerged from the trees on Ridmark’s right and Kharlacht from the trees on his left. A pale white glow flickered around both men. Calliande had placed spells upon them, making them faster and stronger, and the Magistria herself waited in concealment, maintaining the spells.
Rakhaag crouched next to Kharlacht, and two lupivirii prowled alongside Caius.
“A trap!” snarled the arachar leader, his eyes shining with the red haze of battle fury.
“No one need die today,” said Ridmark. “Lay down your weapons, and …”
“Kill them all!” roared the orcish leader. “Kill them in the name of Agrimnalazur!”
The arachar roared and charged. Kharlacht shouted a battle cry and ran to meet them, moving with the superhuman speed granted by Calliande’s magic. Caius followed suit, his mace a bronze blur in his fist. The lupivirii snarled and sprang into the fray. Kharlacht and Caius held the attention of the arachar, but the lupivirii circled around the edge of the fight, snarling and snapping, drawing tainted blood from the orcs. But the arachar hardly seemed to care. Their orcish battle rage, combined with the taint of Agrimnalazur in their veins, seemed to render them immune to pain and fear.
They would fight to the death.
The arachar leader charged Ridmark with a roar, shield on his left arm, sword in his right fist. He swept the blade in a vicious swing, and Ridmark jumped back, the sword whistling a few inches past his chest. Ridmark sidestepped, bringing his staff around in a two-handed swing, and the heavy wood smacked into the orc’s left leg with a crack. The arachar leader staggered, and thrust with his shield. The plane of wood and iron struck Ridmark across the torso, and now it was his turn to stagger.
Ridmark thrust his staff as he stumbled, the tip of the weapon striking the orc’s right wrist. The arachar’s blow went amiss, the iron blade missing Ridmark’s chest. Ridmark jabbed again, the staff striking the orc in the belly. The arachar stumbled, and Ridmark raised the staff over his head and swung.
His staff smashed into the arachar’s face with bone-shattering force. The orc toppled backwards, and Ridmark’s next blow connected with the leader’s temple. The arachar struck the ground, twitched a few times, and went still.
Ridmark ran to join the others.
###
Gavin waited, his fingers tight against his sword’s hilt.
He wanted to join the attack, but once Calliande began her spells, Gavin saw why Ridmark wanted her guarded. She closed her eyes, her mouth shaping silent words, white fire glimmering around her fingers. The effort of maintaining a spell, Calliande had told him, was like carrying an armful of bricks. It was well within her strength, but just as a man carrying an armful of bricks was vulnerable to an attacker, so was Calliande vulnerable while the bulk of her magic went into holding the spells.
So Gavin guarded her and watched the fighting.
Kharlacht and Caius moved in a blur. Two of the orcs went down almost at once, while the rest fell into a defensive line. The lupivirii circled around the melee, snapping and snarling, keeping the orcs off-balance. Kharlacht’s blue greatsword gashed the right leg of an orc, sending the arachar stumbling.
Two lupivirii sprang upon the warrior, driving him to the ground as their jaws ripped open his throat. Ridmark struck down the arachar leader and rushed to join the others. Calliande had not put any spells upon Ridmark.
Pe
rhaps he simply did not need them.
The surviving arachar fled.
“Don’t let them get away!” shouted Ridmark.
The lupivirii pursued, as did Ridmark and the others, and Gavin saw an orc scrambling up the hill towards Calliande.
The arachar’s right leg had been wounded by a beastman’s talons. His red-gleaming eyes fixed on Calliande, and his mouth twisted in an enraged snarl. He sprinted at her, raising his mace to strike.
Gavin’s world narrowed to that orc.
He ran to meet the orc’s attack. Gavin raised his shield, bracing himself as Ridmark and Caius had taught, and caught the orc’s blow. The shield shuddered beneath the impact, the shock sending vibrations up Gavin’s arm and into his chest.
God, but the orc could hit hard! The arachar snarled and went on the attack, hammering at the shield. Gavin fell back a step, the orc striking again and again with the mace. Gavin feared that his shield would splinter beneath the furious assault, or the impacts would break the bones in his forearm.
Then the orc stumbled on a root.
Gavin saw his chance and thrust, dropping his shield just long enough to stab with his sword. The blade struck the orc in the belly, drawing a gash through the leather armor. The orc bellowed in rage, black eyes flickering with red light, and came at Gavin again. He raised the mace high and brought in down with both hands. The power of the impact almost drove Gavin to his knees, but the orc raised the mace again, and Gavin saw the opening.
He hammered his shield against the orc’s chest and thrust his sword with all his strength. The blade plunged into the orc’s torso, sinking in just beneath his lower rib. The orc’s furious eyes went wide and he coughed, green blood spattering across his yellowed tusks. Gavin twisted the sword and ripped it free. He raised the weapon, preparing to strike again, but the orc fell to his knees, and then upon his face.
The sword must have hit his heart.
Gavin lowered his sword, breathing hard. He looked around and saw that the others had slain the remaining arachar. Gavin knelt, cleaned his sword as Ridmark had taught him, and sheathed the blade. He felt calm, strangely calm. Why did he not feel anything else? He had just killed a man, again. But the orc had been trying to kill him, and would have killed Lady Calliande.
Frostborn: The Eightfold Knife Page 19