Frostborn: The Eightfold Knife

by Jonathan Moeller

  ###

  The wounded spiderling hissed, ichor leaking from the ghastly wound Philip had left in her chest. But the creature showed no signs of pain as she drove at Gavin. Again and again he raised his shield, her crimson talons raking at the wood. Her claws dug splinters from the shield, but it held beneath her onslaught.

  She stepped back, and Gavin realized what was coming next.

  He lowered his shield, hoping to lure her in.

  Her pincers yawned wide, and a gob of poison burst from her mouth. Gavin jerked his shield up at the last moment, the venom spattering against it. A few drops arced over the rim to land against his chain mail, but the poison missed his eyes and mouth.

  And for a moment, the spiderling was vulnerable.

  Gavin thrust his sword. The orcish blade stabbed into the wound Philip’s hammer had left, and he felt the shudder of the spiderling’s heartbeat through the hilt. She howled in fury, black ichor bubbling around her lips, and Gavin ripped his sword free and stabbed against before she recovered.

  The spiderling toppled to the ground.

  Gavin turned. Part of him, most of him, wanted to run at Cornelius, to kill his father for what he had done. But the rest of his mind, the part that had grown colder and harder over the last few days, told him to look at battle. Philip still lay stunned upon the ground, his eyelids twitching as he regained consciousness. Ridmark and Kharlacht and Caius fought against the remaining two spiderlings. Calliande stood ablaze in an aura of white light, flinging spells against Morwen.

  Dead men raced from the tower, charging at Calliande.

  Ridmark had said the urdmordar often raised their victims as undead guardians.

  Morwen had called them forth to kill Calliande.

  Gavin attacked the undead, shielding Calliande as he had during the fight in the woods. He struck the first corpse, a towering beastman, across the face with his shield. The undead staggered, and then Gavin swung his sword once, twice, three times. On the third blow he took off the beastman’s head, and the gaunt corpse collapsed to the ground. No blood came from the stump or the severed head.

  Likely Agrimnalazur had drank it all.

  The undead closed around him, and Gavin fought to keep them away from Calliande.

  ###

  Ridmark jabbed his staff into a spiderling’s belly. The creature doubled over with a wheeze of breath, pincers clacking in front of her face. Kharlacht raised his sword over his head and brought it down. The blade sheared through the spiderling’s neck in one smooth motion, and the creature collapsed, dark slime pooling beneath her body.

  The final spiderling fell back, dodging the swings of Caius’s mace and the thrusts of Kharlacht’s heavy sword.

  Ridmark risked a look around.

  Morwen and Calliande stood locked in magical battle, white fire and black shadows snarling back and forth between them. A score of undead charged from the tower, and Gavin fought to keep them from Calliande, and the boy falling back the growing mass of animated corpses. Ridmark saw Morwen’s strategy at once. She and Calliande were equally matched in power. But if Morwen held Calliande’s attention, the undead could strike her down.

  Unless Ridmark intervened.

  A plan formed in his mind, and he shifted his staff to his left hand, drawing his orcish war axe in his right. He charged across the courtyard, leaving Kharlacht and Caius to finish the final spiderling, and bellowed at the top of his lungs.

  Morwen spotted him as he dashed up the stairs. He swung his staff for her head, and she caught it, holding it in place with her inhuman strength.

  “Foolish Gray Knight,” she hissed, shadows whirling around her. “I am worthy of Agrimnalazur, and you shall perish!”

  She ripped the staff from his hand. Ridmark let her, the movement yanking him forward, and he buried the axe’s blade in her side.

  Her mouth yawned in a sudden cry of pain, and the shadows around her flickered and faded. Ridmark ripped the axe free, got both hands around the haft, and drove the weapon into her neck.

  Morwen fell, her features going slack.

  “You should have listened,” he said.

  A pulse of shadow went out from her and vanished, and the animated corpses collapsed. Ridmark retrieved his staff, leaving his axe in Morwen. Cornelius cowered against the arch, staring at him with wide eyes, and Ridmark ignored him.

  He turned as Kharlacht and Caius cut down the last spiderling. The white fire faded from around Calliande as she released her magic, and Gavin helped Philip to his feet. The fires blazed ever brighter through the ruins of Urd Arowyn, and over the stench of spiderling ichor Ridmark smelled the harsh bite of smoke. The dark shapes of the lupivirii raced into the plaza, Rakhaag at their head.

  Ridmark walked to the base of the steps, and Rakhaag ran to join him.

  “Ridmark son of Leogrance,” said the lupivir alpha, his claws and fangs stained with orcish blood.

  “Rakhaag son of Balhaag,” said Ridmark, the others gathering around him. “You are victorious?”

  Rakhaag bared his fangs. “We hunted the tainted orcs from street to street, and left them to drown in their own poisoned blood. They may have been warriors, but they were not hunters. Most were slain, ambushed in the streets, and the rest have fled.”

  “What of the villagers?” said Ridmark.

  Rakhaag shrugged, an odd gesture in his beast form. “They fled as well. Most have obeyed your commands and gathered with the priest and the female. Others have fled into the woods. They are safe now, as you wished.” He growled. “Will you heed your word and help us rescue our females and our young?”

  “I shall,” said Ridmark. “Likely they are within.” He pointed at the tower’s entrance with his staff. “We shall enter and investigate.”

  “I will come with you,” said Calliande.

  Ridmark wanted to refuse her, but he knew better. If his guess about Agrimnalazur had been wrong, if the urdmordar awaited them in the tower, Calliande’s magic would be the only chance of escape.

  “Very well,” said Ridmark.

  He paused long enough to wrench his axe from Morwen’s corpse. The dark elven dagger lay near her right hand, the blade still burning with black fire. It seemed the dagger remained charged with dark power, even if the rest of Morwen’s magic had dissipated with her death. Ridmark would have to ask Calliande to dispel it before they departed Urd Arowyn.

  “Kharlacht, Caius,” said Ridmark. “Help the older villagers from the plaza, and then search the rest of the ruins for anyone still hiding. Rakhaag, have your hunters aid them.”

  Rakhaag snarled.

  “I would be grateful if you would do as he asks, Rakhaag,” said Calliande.

  “As you will, Staffbearer,” said Rakhaag.

  “Philip, Gavin,” said Ridmark. “Go outside of the ruins and take charge of the camp. Bardus and Mallen and Richard and the others will need aid. Calliande and I will return once we have freed Rakhaag’s kin.”

  Or Agrimnalazur would kill them all. Or perhaps Ridmark had been right and the urdmordar had abandoned the ruins once victory had eluded Morwen.

  Gavin stepped to Ridmark’s side, his eyes empty, his face hard.

  “There is one thing,” he said, “that I have to do first.”

  Without another word he stepped towards his father, sword in hand.

  “Gavin!” said Calliande, but the boy ignored her.

  Gavin stopped a few paces from Cornelius, and for a moment father and son stared at each other. Gavin remained expressionless, while Cornelius wept, his face trembling.

  “I did it for you,” whispered Cornelius. “All of it, I did it to save you. She would have killed you, if you had not cooperated.”

  “The same way,” said Gavin, “you killed my mother?”

  “Yes,” said Cornelius. “She was so brave, Gavin. She was the bravest man or woman I have ever known. You are…you are so like her. If she had known the truth, she would have done just as you did. Gone off with a sword to save us all fro
m Agrimnalazur.” He shook his head. “But it didn’t matter, did it? Aranaeus is gone. I did it to save you, to save Aranaeus…but you didn’t need me to save you, and Aranaeus is ashes.”

  He slumped against the wall, defeated.

  “You should kill me,” said Cornelius. “I deserve it for what I’ve done.” He closed his eyes and titled his head back, exposing his throat. “Just…just make it quick. I don’t deserve that, I know, but…”

  He fell silent, and Gavin lifted his sword.

  But the boy did not strike, and Ridmark saw tears sliding down his face. His arm trembled, and at last he turned away.

  Cornelius opened his eyes.

  “I can’t do it,” whispered Gavin. “I want to do it, he deserves it, but…but I can’t. You should kill him.”

  Ridmark nodded. “Aye, but I won’t. Once the villagers of Aranaeus elect a new praefectus, we will hand Cornelius over to him. The villagers can decide what to do next.”

  Gavin nodded and said nothing else.

  “Tie him up and leave him here,” said Ridmark to Philip. “We’ll deal with him later.” He looked at Calliande and Rakhaag. “Let’s go.”

  He turned towards the tower entrance, and then a woman’s voice rang out, confident and melodious and beautiful beyond belief.

  And oddly familiar.

  “No need to trouble yourself,” said the woman in perfect Latin. “None of that will be necessary.”

  Ridmark turned, the hair standing up on the back of his neck.

  Old Agnes walked across the plaza, her cane tapping against the ground, her black gown rippling around her withered frame.

  “Oh,” said Ridmark as he understood at last.

  But too late.

  Chapter 21 - Before the Ice

  Calliande watched as Ridmark strode towards Agnes, axe and staff in hand.

  The old woman stopped twenty paces from him, both hands resting upon the handle of her cane. The confusion, the dreamy obliviousness, had vanished from her face. Her expression was sharp and focused…and amused.

  Her eyes flickered with a faint green glow.

  Did that mean Agnes was another spiderling? Another creature with the power of dark magic?

  Calliande flexed her fingers, preparing a spell.

  Agnes titled her head to the side, her wispy white hair blowing in the hot wind rising from the burning storehouses around the plaza. The lupivirii encircled, dozens of them ready to spring, but Agnes seemed utterly unconcerned.

  “Look at you all,” murmured Agnes. “How you struggle! You live and die like flies. So quickly, over and over again. Blink and the span of your lives has passed. And yet you fight to keep the pathetic few years you have left.” She shook her head. “I wonder why you don’t lie down and die.”

  Still Ridmark said nothing, standing motionless as the hot wind tugged at his cloak.

  “No,” said Cornelius, staggering to his feet. He hobbled down the stairs, his hands raised in supplication. “No, please, great one. Show mercy. Please, show mercy. I…I did as you commanded, we all did. Spare us, please, I…”

  Agnes did not look at him. She lifted one hand from her cane and waggled a finger.

  Calliande felt the surge of dark magic, and invisible force threw Cornelius into the wall of the tower. He slumped against the stairs and started to sob, the high, keening sound of a man gripped by absolute terror.

  Why was he so afraid of Agnes?

  Calliande worked a simple spell, one to sense the presence of magic.

  She recoiled in shock.

  Agnes was a nexus of dark power, of black sorcery beyond anything Calliande had ever sensed. Or, at least, she must have sensed it before, long ago, because the memory rose up from the mists of her mind.

  Agnes was an urdmordar.

  “You,” said Calliande. “You’re her. You’re Agrimnalazur.”

  An alarmed ripple went through the lupivirii, and some of them stepped back a few paces.

  The glimmering green eyes turned towards her, a faint smile appearing on the thin lips.

  “Yes,” she said, and this time Calliande felt the telepathic force behind the words, a power much stronger than the male urdmordar in the tunnels. “What a clever child you are.”

  But her attention turned back to Ridmark.

  She seemed intrigued by him, almost fascinated.

  ###

  Ridmark watched Agnes.

  Or Agrimnalazur, wearing the form of the old woman Agnes.

  “You killed Agnes and took her place,” said Ridmark. Agrimnalazur raised an eyebrow. “Wait. There never was an Agnes, was there? Not ever.”

  “Clever boy,” said Agrimnalazur. “The ancestors of my cattle came to Aranaeus two hundred years ago, after the Keeper and the Dragon Knight drove the Frostborn from this world. I did not expect that, I admit. I thought the Frostborn would exterminate most of you and enslave the rest. But instead the Dragon Knight and the Keeper destroyed them. In the chaos, it was easy for my herds to slip away from the High King’s realm, to a place where the Magistri and the Swordbearers would not trouble them.”

  “And when they left Andomhaim,” said Ridmark, “there was an old woman named Agnes with them, was there not?”

  She smiled, some of the deep wrinkles in her face vanishing. “Indeed. One more widowed old woman, in such bloody times…why, no one noticed. No one ever realized.” She laughed, her beautiful voice ringing off the plaza. “They prayed to Agrimnalazur, and sent sacrifices to her daughters in Urd Dagaash…but they never even suspected that their goddess walked among them.”

  “You’re Agrimnalazur?” said Gavin, his face white with shock. “But…but I’ve known you my entire life. That’s not…that’s not…”

  “I really should have killed your grandmother before she whelped,” said Agrimnalazur. She was getting younger before Ridmark’s eyes, the wrinkles fading, her white hair growing thicker. “A willful, rebellious woman. My servants kidnapped travelers who stayed at the inn, to offer up as sacrifices to me, but sometimes your grandmother would help them to escape.” She shook her head. “Traits she passed to her mother, and then to you. No matter. You will not pass those vexing flaws to another generation of my cattle.”

  “We are not your herd!” said Gavin.

  She smiled, her hair starting to go from white to gray. “But you are, my willful child. All of you are. That is your purpose. We are the urdmordar and you are our prey. Our herds, to cull as we will.”

  Gavin stepped forward, raising his sword, but Ridmark stopped him. Gavin had no weapon that could hurt the urdmordar.

  None of them did.

  At least the villagers of Aranaeus had gotten away. Ridmark wished he could have freed Rakhaag’s kin.

  “The why haven’t you killed us all?” said Ridmark. “We’ve freed your slaves and killed your servants.”

  Agrimnalazur scoffed and waved a hand. “No matter. I can collect new cattle at my leisure, and if my servants were weak, they deserved to die. The reason that I haven’t killed you all, my clever boy, is because of you.”

  “Me?” said Ridmark, surprised. “Why? Ah. Vengeance for Gothalinzur, I suppose?”

  Agrimnalazur cackled as if he had said something funny. “If Gothalinzur had wanted to live, she should not have let you kill her!” She shook her head. Her hair was more gray than white now. “No. I knew you at once, the moment you stepped foot into the village. Ridmark Arban, the Swordbearer who single-handedly slew an urdmordar.”

  “Why didn’t you kill us then?” said Ridmark.

  “Wasteful, wasteful,” said Agrimnalazur. “You could make fine additions to my larder, even to my servants. And I was curious. It is so rare for one of the herd animals to slay us in single combat. You were not at all what I expected. A ragged wanderer with a coward’s brand and a staff? How did you kill Gothalinzur? Fortunately, there was a test close at hand.”

  “Paul Tallmane and his assassins,” said Ridmark. “Did you arrange that?”

  “
I?” said Agrimnalazur. “Not at all.” She smiled. “I am just an old, old woman, confused and helpless. How could I arrange such a thing?” She shrugged. “The knight and his red-clad fools were merely convenient. A test for you.”

  “And your daughters in Urd Dagaash?” said Ridmark.

  “The same,” said Agrimnalazur. “Another test for you. You passed them both. And now all this,” she waved a hand at the flames encircling the plaza, “all this with nothing more than a staff and the band of failures and outcasts that follow you.” Her green eyes shifted over the others. “The Magistria who lost her mind, the orc that lost his family, the dwarf who lost his gods, and the boy that lost his mother. All following the man who lost his sword and his wife.” She cackled again. “It’s poetic, really. Tragic.” She grinned. “Certainly it shall have a tragic ending.”

  “This is the ending,” said Ridmark. “Let us go, and release the lupivirii from their imprisonment in the tower. Then we shall go on our way.”

  It was a threat, but he had nothing he could use to back it up. Agrimnalazur had to know that. But the minds of the urdmordar were alien, fortresses of invincible pride and seething contempt for all other kindreds. She could slaughter all the villagers and the lupivirii. Or she could decide it was simply too much trouble and let them all go.

  Ridmark rather doubted that she would make the second choice.

  But the longer he delayed, the longer the villagers had to get away. And when the fighting began, that would give the others more time to escape.

  But he could not face her and live, not when he had no weapon that could hurt her.

  He regretted that he had brought Calliande here, that he had brought Kharlacht and Gavin and Caius and Gavin and Philip to die.

  “Let them go?” said Agrimnalazur, laughing. She looked middle-aged now, her hair thick and iron-gray as it blew around her shoulders. “Let them go?” She laughed as if it was the funniest thing she had ever heard. “Why should I do that? No, I’ll round them up and put them into the death sleep. I will hibernate, and wake up every few decades to sate my hunger. Maintaining them as a live herd would have been pleasant, but it would draw unwelcome attention.” She waved a hand at him. “Like you. Where you came, others might follow…and they might carry Soulblades.”