Frostborn: The Gray Knight (Frostborn #1)

by Jonathan Moeller

  The lines in the dwarf’s gray-skinned face deepened. “I see.”

  “Do you know who I am?” said Calliande.

  “I fear not,” said Caius. “I have never seen you before, nor have I heard your name. I shall ask Ridmark when he returns.”

  “If he returns,” said Calliande. She had watched him fight against the orcs…but even he could not prevail against so many.

  “I think he will, with God’s grace,” said Caius. “He is…not what I expected. I had heard the name, of course. Ridmark Arban, the coward who fled the field against Mhalek. But I think…I think that was a slander. A calumny raised by his enemies. I have rarely seen a human so bold, and I think the hand of God may be upon him. If he…”

  Ridmark sprinted through the cavern entrance.

  “You’re alive,” said Caius. To Calliande’s astonishment, he had not even been wounded.

  “Not for much longer,” said Ridmark, “if we don’t keep moving. Go!”

  Calliande looked into the cavern. “I’m not sure that is a good idea. There’s…some magic here, I think, like the stone circle.”

  “If we stay here, Kharlacht will kill us,” said Ridmark.

  He started forward, and Calliande followed him with Caius.

  “Won’t we need a lantern?” said Calliande.

  “No need, madam,” said Caius. “The upper levels of the Deeps tend to…provide their own illumination, as it were.”

  The darkness of the cavern closed around them…but Calliande saw a pale blue glow ahead. The tunnel twisted, turned, and then opened into a high gallery of stone. Stalactites dangled from the ceiling overhead, wet and glistening in the blue glow. The light came from hundreds of enormous mushrooms scattered around the floor, each about the size of a child. The blue glow shone from beneath the mushrooms’ veined, translucent caps, transforming them into strange lanterns.

  “What are those things?” said Calliande.

  “Ghost mushrooms,” said Ridmark. “But the dwarves of the Three Kingdoms call them…”

  “Lukhaldenmorr,” said Caius. He chuckled. “Which translates, in Latin, to ‘spirit mushroom’, more or less.”

  Ridmark crossed the gallery, walking around the clusters of glowing mushrooms. A pool of clear water glimmered in the center of the floor, and rough rock ledges rose along the walls. On the far end of the cavern, Calliande saw a narrow tunnel sinking deeper into the earth.

  Into the maze of the Deeps themselves.

  “Here,” said Ridmark, gesturing towards the far opening. “Through here, quickly. If the tunnels beyond branch off, we can hide until Kharlacht gives up. If he doesn’t, we can hold off the orcs here easily enough.”

  “Perhaps we can make this Kharlacht see reason,” said Caius.

  “He won’t stop,” said Calliande. “Qazarl is all the kin he has left, and his sense of obligation to his blood drives him.”

  “Then it can drive him to his grave,” said Ridmark.

  She followed Ridmark and Caius across the gallery, the floor cold and wet. Her feet ached horribly from the barefoot run across the hills, yet already she felt better, the pain fading with every step, the ache draining from her calves and hips. She lifted one foot, expecting to see a mess of bloody cuts…but the skin of her heel was unmarked.

  She was healing, and she did not know how.

  But that was a distant concern.

  Something about the cavern felt horribly wrong. She sensed the presence of eyes upon her flesh. The orcs staring at her had been bad enough. This was worse. She felt as if something malevolent was watching her, something that wanted to rip her to shreds and watch as she screamed.

  Then she heard voices.

  “Get behind me,” said Ridmark, standing before the tunnel. “We’re out of time.” Caius raised his mace, and Calliande stepped behind them.

  The clatter of armor rang through the cavern, and Kharlacht strode into the gallery, seven orcs following him. He looked back and forth, his greatsword in both hands, and nodded when he saw Ridmark.

  “So,” he said. “The Gray Knight. I had heard my kin speak of a gray ghost that haunted the wilderness, a gray ghost that did deeds of daring. It seemed their tales hold true.”

  Ridmark nodded. “I am pleased you think so.”

  “You fought well,” said Kharlacht, “but the chase is over. You cannot prevail against all of us, worthy though you are. Hand over the woman and return the soulstone, and we shall let you live.”

  Ridmark barked a harsh laugh. “Do you think I will accept that?”

  “No,” said Kharlacht. “Which is why I shall simply shoot you.”

  Ridmark gestured at the tunnel. “We can take cover easily enough. And if you come after us, you will have to fight us one by one. You’ve already lost many of your warriors. Do you want to lose the rest?”

  “If I must, then I must,” said Kharlacht. “All men die. Better to do so in service of our obligations, rather than of old age in bed.”

  The chill against Calliande’s skin deepened. A violent shiver went through her, and she had to grab at the cavern wall for support. Caius glanced at her, but she shook her head.

  And as she did, she saw the rippling before the pool.

  The waters were utterly still, yet a patch of air rippled over them. The ripples moved, heading right towards Kharlacht and his warriors. Calliande wondered if exhaustion and pain had caused her to see things…and then a memory rose up from the mist choking her mind.

  Before they had been enslaved by the urdmordar, the dark elves had used their black magic to create hideous, mutated beasts, ghastly fusions of animals and the various slave kindreds under their control. Such creatures were stronger and faster than normal animals, and usually impervious to all weapons, save for magic and flame.

  And sometimes they had the ability to blend with their surroundings.

  “Ridmark! Kharlacht!” shouted Calliande, pointing. “Look!”

  She pointed, and both Ridmark and the orcs looked.

  And as they did, the blur faded away to reveal a hideous, misshapen creature. The beast looked like a ghastly, deformed hybrid of a bear and an ape, its long limbs and narrow body corded with heavy muscle, its ragged fur standing in greasy spikes, its eyes glowing like sullen coals.

  Its claws and fangs were like daggers.

  The dark elves called the creatures ursaars, and had once fielded vast armies of them. After the urdmordar had enslaved the dark elves, and the High King and the Magistri and the Swordbearers had smashed the urdmordar, the surviving creatures of the dark elves had scattered to the lonely places of the world.

  All that flashed through her mind in an instant.

  And then she realized they were going to die. They had neither magic nor enough fire to harm the ursaar, and one of the beasts had the strength of a dozen men.

  The ursaar loosed a terrible howl and charged at the orcs, and two of the warriors died in a heartbeat, their heads ripped from their shoulders.

  ###

  A dozen plans flashed through Ridmark’s head.

  Part of him wanted to take Caius and Calliande and flee into the Deeps. Perhaps Kharlacht and the orcs would distract the ursaar long enough for them to escape. But he knew the ursaar would not let them go. After it finished with the orcs, it would follow them.

  And they had no weapon that could harm it.

  Once Ridmark had been a Swordbearer, a Knight of the Soulblade, and he had carried the ancient soulblade Heartwarden. With that sword, he had struck down the creatures of the dark elves, had even slain an urdmordar. With Heartwarden, he could have dispatched the ursaar with a single blow.

  But he had failed Aelia, and Heartwarden had been taken from him in disgrace. Now all he had was a staff of wood and steel, useless against an ursaar.

  Unless he did something clever.

  “Get through the tunnel,” he said. “Now!”

  The ursaar bellowed and killed another orc.

  Caius lifted his mace. “But…
”

  “Go!” said Ridmark, shoving him towards Calliande. Caius was heavier than he looked, and barely stumbled. But he nodded and urged Calliande to motion, and the two of them vanished down the tunnel.

  Ridmark raced into the gallery as Kharlacht dueled the ursaar. The weapons of the other warriors did not slow the ursaar, but Kharlacht’s blue greatsword caused the hulking creature some discomfort. Perhaps there was enough of the dark elves’ power in the weapon to wound the ursaar. The creature killed another orc, and Kharlacht struck, tearing a gash down the ursaar’s flank. Black slime oozed from the cut, and the ursaar whirled, striking with a paw. The blow caught Kharlacht across the chest. His armor turned aside the claws, but the power of the strike drove him to the ground.

  The ursaar loomed over him for the kill. The surviving three orcs stabbed at it, but the creature ignored their attacks.

  Ridmark slammed his staff across the ursaar’s muzzle with all his strength. The creature flinched from the blow, and Ridmark landed two more hits in rapid succession. The ursaar roared and turned to face him, and Ridmark jumped back as Kharlacht scrambled to his feet. He saw the muscles in the ursaar’s legs tense, saw it prepare to leap.

  He threw himself to the side as the ursaar threw itself forward in a dark blur. It hit the wall with terrific force, so hard that the floor shook beneath Ridmark’s boots, a few pieces of stone falling from the ceiling.

  Ridmark looked at the narrow entrance to the tunnels, and a wild idea filled his mind.

  “Kharlacht!” he yelled. The big orc looked at him, his black eyes glowing with orcish battle rage. “Get in the tunnel!”

  The ursaar shook itself and regained its feet.

  Kharlacht turned towards the ursaar, raising his sword.

  “Go!” said Ridmark. “You can’t kill it. Stay here and die, or follow me and live.”

  The ursaar wheeled, its claws a blur, and tore the head from another orcish warrior. Of the thirty that had gone to the stone circle, only Kharlacht and two others remained.

  Kharlacht hesitated, and then nodded. “You heard him! Move!”

  The two warriors ran for the tunnel, followed by Kharlacht. Ridmark struck the ursaar across the neck. The beast roared and turned to face him, and Ridmark swung his staff with both hands, slamming the weapon into the creature’s knee. His staff could not harm the ursaar, but the impact of the weapon forced the creature’s leg to buckle. The ursaar loosed a hideous shriek, and Ridmark sprinted for the far wall.

  He stopped next to the entrance of the tunnel.

  The ursaar growled, eyes blazing in its hideous, misshapen face.

  Ridmark braced himself, sweat dripping down his jaw, his heart hammering against his ribs. For an absurd moment he wanted to laugh defiance at the ursaar. He had danced with death hundreds of times in the five years since Mhalek’s defeat.

  But he had never thought he would die quite like this.

  Then the ursaar threw itself forward in a dark blur, and Ridmark dodged to the left.

  He was just fast enough.

  He stumbled into the tunnel as the ursaar rammed into the wall with the force of a catapult’s missile. The wall creaked and groaned, and he heard the crack of splintering stone overhead.

  The tunnel began to collapse around him.

  He saw the orcs staring at him in shock, and a piece of stone landed upon one of the orcish warriors, turning his head to mush.

  “Run, damn it!” said Ridmark.

  Kharlacht and the remaining orc sprinted forward, more stones falling around them. A piece of rock clipped Ridmark’s jaw, and another struck his shoulder, dust falling into his face. But he kept running. He saw another gallery ahead, saw Caius and Calliande standing in the mushrooms’ pale blue glow. Just a little further…

  Ridmark threw himself forward as the ceiling gave way.

  He stumbled and fell into the gallery, Kharlacht at his side, and the tunnel collapsed behind them.

  They had gotten away from the ursaar.

  But they were trapped in the Deeps.

  Chapter 10 - A Pact

  Ridmark sat up.

  Calliande was at his side a moment later, helping him to his feet. He was surprised that she was still conscious, that she hadn’t collapsed from a combination of dehydration, exhaustion, and exposure. Or simple blood loss, if she had cut her foot on a particularly sharp rock.

  Yet her grip was steady. Dust caked her face, and droplets of sweat cut paths through the grime.

  “You’re alive,” she said, releasing him.

  “Surprisingly,” he said.

  “Indeed,” said Caius. “You are as mad and bold as the tales claim, Gray Knight.”

  “There are tales about you?” said Calliande.

  “Exaggerated stories told by drunken freeholders,” said Ridmark, turning towards the collapsed tunnel.

  And towards Kharlacht.

  Kharlacht was on one knee next to the second orc. A splinter of stone had pierced the orcish warrior’s neck, killing him at once. Kharlacht stared for a moment, then shook his head and stood.

  “Farewell, Ulazur,” he said. “I suppose you will not get that reward after all.”

  He turned to face Ridmark, greatsword in hand.

  “Well,” said Ridmark, lifting his staff. “Shall we finish this?”

  “It appears we must,” said Kharlacht. “You have fought boldly.” He shook his head, tusks gleaming in the pale blue glow. “Thirty of us, and I am the only one left. Little wonder you threw down Mhalek. But I cannot relent.” He took a deep breath. “I must…you must hand over the woman to me.”

  “So you can butcher her upon that altar?” said Ridmark.

  “So Vlazar can,” said Kharlacht.

  “Vlazar’s dead,” said Ridmark.

  Kharlacht shrugged. “Then I must return her to Qazarl.”

  Ridmark looked at the pile of rubble blocking the tunnel. “That will be quite a feat.”

  Kharlacht shrugged. “The hills below the Black Mountain are riddled with entrances to the Deeps. I shall find another.”

  “Assuming you don’t wander until you starve or die of thirst,” said Ridmark.

  Kharlacht growled. “The difficulties do not matter. I am bound to blood by Qazarl.” He drew himself up. “You will surrender the woman to me, or I will kill you and take her by force.”

  “Try,” said Ridmark, raising his staff.

  Kharlacht started forward, and Ridmark moved to meet his attack, but Calliande stepped between them.

  “Stop!” she said. “Both of you! Stop!”

  Kharlacht froze, as did Ridmark.

  “You do realize,” said Caius, “that the orc intends to take you back to the standing stones.”

  “How, exactly?” said Calliande. She pointed at the collapsed tunnel. “He can’t dig through those stones with his greatsword. And you’re right – if he travels the Deeps alone, with me as a prisoner, we’ll wander until we starve. Or we’ll wander until something kills us.”

  “So what do you suggest?” said Ridmark.

  “A truce,” said Calliande, looking from him to Kharlacht and back again. “We set aside our differences until we return to the surface. Then we go our separate ways.”

  Ridmark frowned. “And you’ll go with Kharlacht?”

  “No,” said Calliande. She looked at the tall orc. “If you object, I’m sure Ridmark and Caius would disagree.”

  Kharlacht said nothing, his face expressionless. Ridmark wondered how the orc would react. Would he agree to a truce? Or would he risk everything on a fight?

  Or would he agree to a truce…and then betray them later?

  “It seems,” said Kharlacht at last, “that I have been defeated.” His mouth twisted, and he gave a sharp shake of his head. “Vlazar was a fool. I warned Qazarl…but he would not listen.”

  “Then you will agree to a truce?” said Calliande. “At least until we escape our current danger?”

  “I will,” said Kharlacht.

&n
bsp; “Before I agree,” said Ridmark, “I have some questions.”

  “Very well,” said Kharlacht.

  “A moment, Gray Knight,” said Caius. “I have a question first.”

  Ridmark nodded, and the dwarf stepped forward, returning his mace to its loop on his belt.

  “You wear a cross,” said Caius. “Are you baptized, or is that a trophy taken from a slain victim?”

  “No,” said Kharlacht. “I am baptized. Does that puzzle you? I am told there are entire kingdoms of orcs loyal to the Church and the High King in the south.”

  “Aye, there are,” said Caius, “and I have traveled through them. But baptized orcs are rare this far north.”

  “Though not as rare are baptized dwarves,” said Kharlacht, pointing at Caius’s crucifix.

  “Indeed,” said Caius, “but we are not talking about me. You say you are baptized, but one of our Lord’s commands is to have no other gods before him. Yet you were willing to help Vlazar sacrifice an innocent woman to the blood gods of the orcs. Why?”

  Ridmark had to admire Caius’s cleverness. Perhaps could learn Kharlacht’s intentions…and, more importantly, what Qazarl planned to do.

  “Because I am bound by ties of blood,” said Kharlacht.

  “Explain,” said Calliande. “If I was to have been slain, I would like to know the reason why.”

  “That is only fair,” said Kharlacht. “Qazarl is my kin, my cousin. My father was a follower of the blood gods, but my mother was baptized. She tried to impress her faith upon me, and I had little interest until…until I suffered some losses. Qazarl is more than a follower of the blood gods. He believed Mhalek was a god incarnate…and even his death at your hands failed to dissuade him.”

  “Hard to believe a Mhalekite would accept a baptized orc in his service,” said Ridmark.

  Kharlacht shrugged. “Qazarl and I are the only kin the other has. And I am not unskilled with a sword. If I were weak or cowardly, Qazarl would have had me killed long ago.”

  “Why take service with him?” said Ridmark.

  “Because I have nowhere else to go,” said Kharlacht.