Frostborn: The Gray Knight (Frostborn #1)

by Jonathan Moeller

  Kharlacht growled. “Do not startle me like that. I almost cut off your head.”

  “Then pay better attention,” said Ridmark.

  “Did you find her?” said Caius.

  “I believe so,” said Ridmark. He examined the wall, and then walked towards a cluster of red-glowing mushrooms. “She’s likely in the shaman’s cave, which overlooks the village proper.”

  “How many kobolds are in the village?” said Caius.

  “Hundreds, certainly,” said Ridmark.

  He yanked one of the red-glowing ghost mushrooms from the wall.

  “Those are poisonous,” said Caius.

  “They are,” said Ridmark, “but I wasn’t planning to eat one.”

  He dropped the mushroom, picked up a pair of rocks, knelt, and started to grind the mushroom to glowing red powder.

  Kharlacht and Caius stared at him in befuddlement.

  “The red ghost mushrooms are poisonous,” said Ridmark. He examined the powder for a moment, nodded, and plucked another mushroom from the cluster. “What other properties do they have?”

  “The scent of them,” said Caius slowly, “drives a spitfang to madness.”

  Ridmark nodded. “And the Blue Hand kobolds have a pen full of spitfangs in their village. Perhaps a hundred and fifty of the beasts, if not more.”

  “So your plan,” said Caius, “is to drive the spitfangs to madness, loose them upon the kobolds, and snatch Calliande away from this shaman in the chaos?”

  “Essentially,” said Ridmark, squinting at the pile of glowing powder. “No plan of battle survives contact with the foe, and I will adapt as circumstances dictate. But that is what I intend.”

  “Madness,” said Caius.

  Kharlacht threw back his head and roared with laughter.

  Both Ridmark and Caius stared at him.

  “Madness, yes,” said Kharlacht, once he had mastered himself. “But madness with a purpose. It is the same thing you did to my warriors, when you loosed the drakes upon us. A bold and reckless plan, a plan that should not have succeeded…yet here were stand.” He shook his head, a few loose hairs from his topknot brushing against his jaw. “My kin would say the blood gods have given their favor to you. But I do not follow the blood gods, and I think the Lord has placed his hand upon you, as the scriptures say he did with the Assyrians of Old Earth.”

  “I hope not,” said Ridmark, “considering what happened to the Assyrians of Old Earth. Now stop talking, and start grinding mushrooms.”

  Both the orcish warrior and the dwarven friar obeyed, and soon they had an ample pile of powdered mushrooms. Ridmark examined the pile for a moment, and then nodded.

  “Is that enough?” Kharlacht said.

  Caius snorted. “That’s enough to drive every spitfang from here to the Three Kingdoms mad.”

  “Good,” said Ridmark. He scooped the powder into a leather pouch and dusted off his hands. “Wait here until I return with Calliande. If it becomes obvious that I am not going to return, head for the surface. Kharlacht, you are released to return to your people…and Caius, you must go to Dun Licinia and warn Sir Joram, or go to Castra Marcaine if the town is already under siege.”

  “I will accompany you,” said Kharlacht.

  “Why?” said Ridmark.

  “Four hands are better than two,” said Kharlacht, “and if something goes awry, you will need aid.”

  That, or Kharlacht wanted to seize Calliande and make his escape while Ridmark was occupied. But Ridmark would not show hesitation or doubt before the orcish warrior, and Kharlacht was right. If something went awry, Ridmark would need help.

  “Very well,” said Ridmark. “But you, Brother Caius, will remain here.” Caius opened his mouth to object. “Someone needs to warn the town if we fail…and I do not think you can climb that wall fast enough.”

  “You have a point,” said Caius. “I will remain behind.”

  “Good,” said Ridmark. “Kharlacht, come. Do not make any noise.”

  He led the way up the tunnel, the orcish warrior following.

  ###

  Calliande struggled against the ice binding her legs.

  “Strange, is it not?” said Talvinius. “The magic of the Frostborn proved useful. They are, of course, utterly extinct, and you and the Order of the Vigilant wasted your lives pursuing a phantasm. But even their petty spells have proven potent.” He cackled. “Of course, you don’t remember any of that.”

  He gestured again, and the block of ice ripped free from the floor and slammed into the wall. The impact knocked Calliande’s breath from her lungs, and white mist swirled around her wrists. It hardened into shackles of ice, pinning her arms to the cave wall.

  “Are you going to beg, dear Calliande?” said Talvinius. “That would be enjoyable.”

  “Why waste my breath?” said Calliande. “You’ve already made your intentions quite clear.”

  “Indeed,” said Talvinius. “Shall we begin?”

  The ancient kobold picked up a cane, heaved himself to his feet, and limped towards her.

  ###

  Ridmark beckoned, and Kharlacht followed.

  They wove their way through the fields of mushrooms, dodging from tree-sized mushroom to tree-sized mushroom to avoid notice. The kobold guards did not see them, and if the murrags saw them, the fat lizards remained apathetic. For all his muscled bulk, Kharlacht moved with a manageable degree of stealth.

  They reached the base of the wall. Ridmark went first, scaling the wall. He pulled himself up to the rampart, looked around, and nodded.

  Kharlacht followed a heartbeat later, massive greatsword gripped in his right fist.

  Ridmark looked over the wall. The spitfangs remained calm, most of them asleep. He reached for the pouch hanging at his belt. He would start with the prowling spitfangs, and then move to the sleeping beasts as they awoke.

  And then he would enter the village and get Calliande back.

  Or he would die. But for Calliande’s sake, he hoped to live.

  He took a step forward, and a kobold appeared over the edge of rampart. The creature had a pointed stick in one hand, no doubt a prod used to keep surly spitfangs at bay.

  The kobold froze in surprise. Ridmark drew back his staff to strike, but he would not be able to land a blow in time.

  The kobold opened his mouth to scream a warning.

  ###

  Talvinius limped closer, his dusty scent filling Calliande’s nostrils. She also smelled the sickly, rotting smell of illness pouring off the ancient kobold.

  “You don’t have much time left, do you?” said Calliande.

  Talvinius’s broken fangs clicked together.

  “No,” said Talvinius. “This body…this body has lived long beyond its natural span. I convinced the wretched kobolds that I was a god, and they offered me blood sacrifices on a regular basis. Their stolen lives have sustained me for decades…but the decay can only be postponed for so long.”

  “That’s monstrous,” said Calliande. “You murdered kobolds to sustain yourself.”

  Talvinius spat upon the floor. The smell of sickness grew sharper. “They are only kobolds. Lizards with overlarge brains, and nothing more. Vermin to be exterminated…or harvested, as need be.”

  “It’s still murder,” said Calliande.

  “How simplistic,” said Talvinius. “I have moved beyond such childish moralizing.”

  “Which has served you so well,” said Calliande, “since you’re trapped in the body of a dying kobold.” She scowled. “You are loathsome, Talvinius. You had the power of magic, you had the responsibility to use your power for good…and you abused it utterly. How will you account for yourself when you stand before the throne of God on the day of judgment?”

  “Another childish story,” said Talvinius, gazing up at her. “See if your myths will save you now.”

  He reached into her pouch and drew out the soulstone, his claws clicking against the crystal.

  “At last,” he murmured. “I di
dn’t think you would have one of these with you. A delightful bonus. Once I claim your flesh, this will make me all the more powerful.”

  He began to cast a spell, ghostly blue fire dancing around his clawed fingers.

  ###

  The kobold drew breath, but Kharlacht moved faster.

  He seized the kobold’s throat and drove his blade forward in a blue blur. The steel sank into the kobold’s chest and burst from his back, red with blood. The kobold thrashed for a moment, and then went limp.

  Ridmark let out a long breath and nodded his thanks to Kharlacht.

  Kharlacht pulled his blade from the dead kobold and let the corpse drop to the rampart.

  Ridmark tugged on a leather glove, reached into the pouch, and started to throw handfuls of the powder into the spitfang pen.

  The reaction was immediate.

  A dozen of the spitfangs lifted their heads. They turned in a circle, growling and hissing, and attacked each other. Several threw themselves at the sleeping spitfangs. Dozens of the creatures awakened and fought back, and Ridmark kept throwing handfuls of the powder into the pen. Soon the spitfangs were embroiled in a massive melee, shrieking and howling, bursts of poisoned spit flying back and forth.

  The pen’s door flew open, and a dozen kobolds hurried inside, jabbing at the enraged spitfangs with sticks. The lizards barely noticed.

  Ridmark needed to turn the spitfangs’ attention to the kobolds. But how? What could lure…

  He looked at the dead kobold.

  Ridmark kicked the dead kobold into the pen. The body flopped across the stony ground. Three spitfangs jumped upon the corpse and began ripping at the dead flesh. The air filled with the scent of kobold blood.

  And the spitfangs went mad.

  The creatures surged forward, tore apart their kobold herders, broke through the gate, and swarmed into the village of the Blue Hand. Cries of alarm and shouts of rage erupted from the village, and Ridmark saw the kobold warriors rush to meet the threat of their maddened war beasts.

  And in the chaos, no one noticed the gray-cloaked human and the orcish warrior standing upon the walls.

  “You made a mess,” said Kharlacht.

  “That was the point,” said Ridmark. “Follow me and stay away from the spitfangs. With luck, we can get to the shaman’s cave before anyone sees us.”

  He dropped from the wall and into the pen, and Kharlacht followed.

  Ridmark hurried into the melee.

  ###

  Talvinius finished his spell, his thin, shaking limbs reaching for Calliande’s head. For a terrible moment she thought he would rip out her throat, despite his intention to claim her body for his own.

  But instead his clawed fingers brushed her temples, as gentle as a lover’s touch.

  And she felt the touch inside her mind.

  Calliande flinched.

  “Yes,” whispered Talvinius, “you understand.”

  He spoke, his gray tongue rasping against broken fangs, but she heard his voice inside her mind.

  “You are mine.”

  She felt the icy fingers of his power sinking into her thoughts, felt the cavern filling with darkness around her.

  No, the cavern wasn’t filling with darkness. She was falling into the nothingness, Talvinius’s dark magic driving her spirit from her flesh.

  Calliande screamed, her body trembling, fighting to drive the alien presence from her mind.

  “No,” whispered Talvinius. “You cannot stop me. You don’t have your power. You made yourself weak, Calliande…you made yourself weak to save the world.”

  Calliande screamed, fighting against Talvinius’s presence…but his cold fingers sank deeper into her mind.

  ###

  Ridmark raced across the village, making for the narrow stone steps threading up the side of the cavern wall.

  “Intruders!”

  Ridmark whirled and saw a kobold warrior lunged at him with an obsidian spear. He parried the blow and reversed his staff, the heavy wood smashing against the kobold’s temple. The kobold fell limp to the ground.

  But three more rushed to take the warrior’s place.

  Ridmark met their attack, his staff spinning as he blocked their thrusts and swings. Their assault drove him back, but Kharlacht threw himself into the fray. The swing of his blade took the head from a kobold, and his next strike opened a kobold from throat to navel. Ridmark broke the wrists of another, and the warrior stumbled back with a shriek…only for a maddened spitfang to leap upon him.

  For a moment the mayhem cleared around them.

  “Go!” said Ridmark, and they ran for the stairs.

  ###

  Calliande shuddered, Talvinius’s laughter ringing in her mind.

  And as his cold hands reached into her thoughts, some of the mist clouding her memory swirled.

  Rage rose up to devour her fear.

  “You,” she spat. “You betrayed the Order of the Vigilant. You promised to stand guard against the Frostborn! Instead you are crouching in this hole, feeding on the blood of kobolds like a damned leech! You were once a Magistrius, a wielder of magic…and instead you have chosen to become this contemptible shell!”

  “Silence!” snarled Talvinius. “You are mine! I shall wear your flesh, and I will never die!”

  “No!” said Calliande. “I will see you brought to account for what you have done.”

  “Unlikely,” sneered Talvinius, “since you cannot even lift your hands.”

  The alien presence in her mind redoubled, and Calliande shuddered. Her rage increased, burning hotter until it seemed as if she had been wreathed in fire. She felt her herself snarling, her body straining against the shackles of ice.

  Talvinius’s ragged crest collapsed in sudden fear.

  And all at once the icy shackles binding Calliande’s wrists vanished.

  She grabbed Talvinius’s wrists, yanking his clawed hands away from her face. The soulstone fell from his grasp and rolled away across the floor.

  “What is this?” shouted Talvinius. “It is not possible!” The blue light around his hands began to dim, fading beneath a sudden white radiance. “It is not possible! No! No! Stop! Please, please stop!”

  White light filled the world, and Calliande felt herself fall.

  ###

  A sptifang lunged at Ridmark, jaws snapping, and he dodged a blob of venomous spit. He drove his staff in a high swing, catching the spitfang in the teeth, and the creature fell yowling to the ground. Another blow from his staff snapped its neck, and the sleek lizard went limp.

  Two more kobolds rushed them, and Kharlacht’s sword took the head from the first. Ridmark stepped around the second, his staff slamming into its knee. The kobold stumbled, and Ridmark brought his staff down onto the warrior’s crest.

  The chaos raged through the village, the kobolds fighting their enraged spitfangs, but more and more warriors had spotted Ridmark and Kharlacht. If they did not fight their way to the shaman’s lair soon, then they never would…

  A massive thunderclap rang through the cavern, so loud that the floor shook. Every last kobold and spitfang turned to look at shaman’s cave, and a blazing beam of white light erupted from the entrance.

  An instant later a white fireball shot from the cavern and landed in the midst of the melee. In the flames Ridmark saw an ancient kobold, thrashing in his death throes as the white fire chewed into his flesh.

  “The shaman!” screamed a kobold. “The shaman has fallen!”

  The spitfangs shrieked and resumed their attack, and Ridmark ran for the stairs, Kharlacht a half-step behind.

  ###

  Calliande’s eyes opened.

  Her cheek rested against warm, rough stone, and the sullen glow of a fire filled her eyes. She sat up, and found herself on the floor of Talvinius’s cave. The rock around her was blackened, as if it had been exposed to tremendous heat, and a scorched trail led out of the cavern.

  There was no sign of Talvinius.

  The air was heavy with
the smell of burned flesh.

  Calliande suspected that Talvinius would not trouble her again.

  She got to her feet, head spinning. What had she done to him? Her rage had risen up in her like an inferno, burning through the fog of her memory, and then…

  She looked at the smoking char on the floor.

  Had her rage manifested as fire and struck down Talvinius?

  It seemed impossible.

  The sound of screaming reached her ears, along with the shrieks of enraged spitfangs. Something was happening in the village. Had Talvinius’s death thrown the kobolds of the Blue Hand into chaos?

  If so, this might be Calliande’s only chance to escape.

  A gleam of light caught her eye, and she saw the empty soulstone lying near the firepit. Calliande scooped up the crystal, stuffed it into her belt pouch, and headed for the exit.

  She reached the top of the narrow stone stairs and saw that the spitfangs had somehow broken out of their pen and had gone berserk, hunting their kobold masters. Calliande considered hiding until the fighting died down, but this might be her only chance to get away.

  She sprinted down the stairs, one hand gripping the wall for balance. A kobold female emerged from one of the caves, hissing at her, but Calliande kept running.

  Her eyes widened.

  Ridmark and Kharlacht fought back to back at the base of the stairs, driving back the kobolds with every step.

  ###

  Ridmark whipped his staff in a circle, striking down another kobold, and saw Calliande.

  She dashed down the steps from the shaman’s cave, her blue eyes wide with fright and strain. Yet she was alive. Kharlacht cut down the last kobold, and Calliande ran down the last steps and joined them.

  “Are you hurt?” said Ridmark.

  She shook her head, eyes haunted. “No. I don’t know how…but no.”

  “What did you do to that shaman?” said Kharlacht.