The first thing she noticed was her headache.
It was horrendous.
It felt as if someone had buried a hatchet in her forehead, and she reached for her head, expecting to find a hideous wound. But she felt only skin and hair, no blood, and slowly the pain faded to mere agony.
She took a deep breath and sat up.
She was in her room at the Crow’s Helm. Bit by bit Calliande’s memories swam back into focus. The attack upon the inn. Imaria’s accusations of Ridmark. The duel before the Comes in the castra.
“God and the saints,” said Calliande. “I am never doing that again.”
“It is good you have found some wisdom, at least,” said a woman’s harsh voice.
Calliande’s head snapped around. But it was only Morigna, arms folded across her chest as she leaned against the wall next to the door.
“I take it I won the Challenge,” said Calliande, her voice raspy.
“Yes,” said Morigna. “The Comes released both you and Ridmark, though he urged us to leave Coldinium as soon as possible. Ridmark brought you back here to rest.” There was a hard edge to her voice. “Though it seems you only barely won the challenge.”
“Actually,” said Calliande, sitting up, “I think these aftereffects are normal. Imaria is likely in worse shape than I am.”
“Just as well,” said Morigna. “Tarrabus Carhaine does not seem the sort of man to forget his vengeance. And given what you said to Ridmark, he might well be inclined to let Tarrabus claim it without a fight.”
“No,” said Calliande. “He promised. He won’t try to throw his life away. Not until we’ve stopped the Frostborn.”
She rubbed her aching head and summoned some healing magic. It was not nearly as effective when used upon herself, but hopefully it would ease the pain of her headache.
Morigna scowled. “After what you said to him, he might have changed his mind.”
Morigna was angry. Calliande had not seen Morigna this angry since their final confrontation with the Old Man within the circle of dark elven standing stones. The younger woman was scornful and mocking, and often abrasive, but she rarely became angry.
But now she looked furious.
“What I said to him?” said Calliande. “What…what did I say?”
“You don’t remember?” said Morigna with disdain. “With a memory like yours, it ought to be safe to tell you all my secrets. They would leak out within a day or two.”
Calliande shook her head. “I…I don’t…”
And then she remembered.
Imaria’s thoughts and emotions had flooded her mind, and Calliande had seen the younger woman’s past, had felt her pain and rage and despair. For a brief time those emotions had dominated her thoughts. She had seen the world as Imaria did, and felt the Magistria’s emotions.
And she had thrown it all in Ridmark’s face, every last bit of loathing and contempt and hatred. At the time, she had believed every word of it.
“God have mercy,” said Calliande, rubbing her face. “What did I do?”
“You said his wife’s death was his fault, that he deserved to die for his cowardice and failure,” said Morigna, the words icy. “Then you hit him a few times. I think you would have tried to rip out his throat if I had not stopped you.”
“Oh,” said Calliande. A wave of guilt rolled through her. “What…what did Ridmark do?”
“Nothing,” said Morigna. “You know how he is. He never reacts to anything. He simply brought you back here, and then he left again. Gavin and Kharlacht are both missing, and he went to see if he could find them. You’ve been unconscious for most of the day.”
Calliande nodded, trying to sort through the memories, both of the Challenge and its aftermath, and of the strange dream. Had it actually been a dream? Or had Shadowbearer tried to shatter her mind? She did not know.
God, but she wished she had her memories back.
“So that is how you truly feel about Ridmark, then?” said Morigna, snapping Calliande’s attention back to the present. “He has fought for you again and again, and you have held him in contempt all this time?”
“No,” said Calliande, “I…”
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” said Morigna. “To have a lover’s death thrown in your face…do you know what that feels like?”
Calliande shook her head. “I…”
“If you tried that on me, I would simply punch you in the jaw,” said Morigna. “But Ridmark believes himself responsible for Aelia’s death. What…”
“Memory bleed,” said Calliande, closing her eyes.
“Memory what?” said Morigna.
“It is a side effect of a Challenge, of the mental contact,” said Calliande. “We saw each other’s memories.”
“I suppose you didn’t have much for her to see,” said Morigna.
“No,” said Calliande. “But I saw hers. She loved Aelia. And she blames Ridmark for her death.”
“Do you?” said Morigna.
“No, of course not,” said Calliande. “It was Mhalek’s work. But at the time I believed it, and…God forgive me. What did I do?”
“You had better tell him that,” said Morigna. “Before he does something mad and stupid.”
“He’s good at mad and stupid,” said Calliande. “That’s the only reason we’re both still alive.”
“Aye,” said Morigna, “but even he can only push things so far.”
Calliande nodded and got to her feet, and then froze.
“Where is my knapsack?” said Calliande.
Morigna frowned. “Isn’t it with the others?”
“No,” said Calliande, going to her knees. Suddenly she forgot her headache. “No, it’s not.” She looked around in alarm, sifting through the packs. “I left it here with the others. Then I went down to the common room, you were talking to Ridmark, and…”
“Then Mournacht and his Mhorites attacked,” said Morigna.
“And someone took the opportunity to take the soulstone,” said Calliande.
She straightened up, cursing herself as a fool. Cursing Ridmark for his wife’s death was bad. Letting someone steal the empty soulstone was much worse. Shadowbearer needed the thing for something involving the return of the Frostborn. She doubted he had taken it himself, given that Ardrhythain had been pressing him hard. Someone else must have stolen the thing in the chaos of the battle.
She looked at Morigna.
“Jager,” they said in unison.
“That little rat,” said Morigna. “No wonder he followed us from Vulmhosk. A merchant, indeed. Perhaps Shadowbearer hired him to steal the soulstone.”
“We have to find him,” said Calliande. “We have to find him now.” She raised her hands to her aching temples, trying to think. “That must be where Kharlacht and Gavin went. They realized the theft and went to find him.”
“I wish them luck,” said Morigna. “Have either of them ever set foot in Coldinium before? Likely Jager knows it as well as a rat knows his warren. They’ll never find him.”
“Are any of the others still here?” said Calliande.
“Caius,” said Morigna. “But Ridmark went to find Kharlacht and Gavin.”
“Come on,” said Calliande, heading for the door. “We have to find that soulstone before Jager gives it to Shadowbearer.”
She pushed open the door, not waiting to see if Morigna followed, and headed down to the common room. Surprisingly, the massive hole in the wall had had no effect on the inn’s business, and carpenters were already at work rebuilding the door. Caius sat at one of the tables, drinking a cup of beer, his expression grim.
“Magistria,” he said, getting to his feet as she approached. “Are you…”
“Better,” said Calliande. “The soulstone’s gone.”
“What?” said Caius. “You are sure?”
“Positive,” said Calliande. “Someone took it during the fighting. The most likely suspect is Jager. We need to find him at once. If we…”
&n
bsp; “Gray Knight,” said Caius.
Calliande looked up and saw Ridmark walk through the ruined door, his staff in hand.
She felt her mouth go dry. He looked the same as ever, his expression grim and calm at the same time. Were his eyes colder and harder than they had been before? Or was she simply imagining things?
“Ridmark,” she said.
He stopped. Had he always stood so far away from her?
But he smiled. “You’re on your feet again. That’s good. I feared you might sleep for days.”
“Ridmark, I’m sorry,” she said. On impulse she stepped forward and grabbed his free hand with both of hers. “I…the things I said. They were from the memory bleed. Some of Imaria’s memories drained into my mind during the Challenge, and for a while I thought they were my own. A side effect of the duel. I…am sorry for the things I said. I did not mean them.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” said Ridmark. “They are, after all, quite true.”
The calm way he said it broke her heart.
“Ridmark,” she said.
Very, very gently he slid his hard hand from hers.
“You have no reason to reprove yourself,” he said, “and your intervention saved our lives. Otherwise Tarrabus would have found an excuse to kill us all. Thank you.”
Calliande nodded, blinking. She wanted to grab his hand again, to force him to understand that the horrible words that had come from her mouth were not true. That he had no reason to blame himself for Aelia’s death, that she wanted him to kiss her again, witnesses be damned.
But they had bigger problems.
“The soulstone has been taken,” she said.
His smile vanished. “What?”
“During the fighting,” said Calliande. “Or sometime in the night when we were all gone. Probably during the fighting, since you sent Gavin and Kharlacht to guard the baggage.”
She saw Ridmark work it out. “Jager. He disappeared right after Sir Cortin arrived. I assumed he was wanted for some crime or another in Coldinium.” He shook his head. “I am a blind fool. That was why he was in Vulmhosk. Shadowbearer failed to obtain the soulstone through force, so instead he decided upon stealth. That must be where Gavin and Kharlacht went. They realized the soulstone was missing and went in pursuit. They…”
“I think,” said Caius, “that you can ask them yourself.”
Kharlacht and Gavin climbed through the ruined door. Both the boy and the orcish warrior looked tired and dispirited, but their expressions brightened.
“I am pleased,” said Kharlacht, “that you were not executed.”
“I confess, so I am,” said Ridmark. “I have work yet to do.”
That was why he wanted to live, Calliande thought. Because he had work to do. Because of his promise to Calliande. Not because he thought he deserved it.
“Jager took the soulstone,” said Gavin. He shook his head in frustration. “We almost caught him. We came so close, but he slipped away from us in the market square…”
“The Forum of the River, it is called,” said Kharlacht. “Apparently.”
“And we lost him,” said Gavin.
“You chased after him?” said Morigna.
“Aye,” said Gavin.
“You could have been killed,” said Calliande.
“Aye, but we weren’t,” Gavin. He shrugged. “I did what Ridmark would do.”
“Dear God, you’re lucky to be alive,” said Calliande.
That almost drew a smile from Ridmark. Almost.
“But we failed, I fear,” said Kharlacht. “Jager eluded us with the knapsack.”
Ridmark blinked.
“Knapsack?” he said.
“Yes, knapsack,” said Kharlacht. “He simply took it. Is that important?”
Ridmark paced in a circle, head bowed, and then looked at Calliande.
More specifically, at her belt.
Why her belt?
“It is extremely important,” said Ridmark. “I know how we are going to find Jager.”
Chapter 16 - No Longer Useful
Jager stopped, his left arm and back ablaze with pain.
The domus of Tarrabus of the Carhainii rose above him.
Most noble homes were built for either strength or beauty, but not both. The nobles of Tarlion had gleaming mansions, faced in marble and roofed in tiles of baked red clay. In the Northerland, the nobles built castras, fortified keeps to defend themselves and their freeholders from raiders.
Tarrabus Carhaine, Jager noted sourly, had a domus that was both strong and beautiful.
It was a three-story domus around a central atrium, its walls gleaming and white, its roof covered in red clay tiles. A square tower rose from the back of the domus, topped in battlements. The windows were narrow, giving ample cover for archers and crossbowmen, and the walls and doors were thick enough to withstand a battering ram. Effectively it gave Tarrabus his own private fortress within the walls of Coldinium.
If he wanted to make Jager disappear, he could do it so easily.
Mara. Jager had to do this for Mara.
His hand strayed to the dagger hidden beneath his jerkin. The terrible whispers started in his mind, and he pulled his fingers away from the weapon.
He took a deep breath, and headed toward the doors. Two of Tarrabus’s men-at-arms stood guard, watching Jager as if they expected him to rob the place. He stopped and looked up at the men. Why did humans have to be so damned tall? It wasn’t fair.
“You have business,” said one of the guards.
“Aye,” said Jager. “The Dux…the Dux summoned me.”
“Wait here,” said the guard. He disappeared into the door and returned a moment later. “Come with me.”
Jager nodded and followed the guard through the massive door. It slammed shut behind him with a heavy, ominous thud, and the guard threw the bolts and put a bar in place behind him.
“Worried I might escape?” said Jager. “The bar might be a bit excessive.”
The guard beckoned.
He led Jager through the opulent entry hall. A brilliant mosaic covered the floor, displaying the war against the Frostborn, the Keeper of Avalon and the Dragon Knight leading the men of Andomhaim into battle. Gleaming statues stood in niches, and tables held polished gold plates and vases. Jager’s calculating eye noted the wealth on display in the room. If he lived through this, he vowed, if he saved Mara, he would return and rob Tarrabus blind.
They walked into the atrium, the walls of the domus and the tower rising around them. The courtyard was broad and wide, an elaborate fountain bubbling in the center. The sun dipped toward the horizon in the west, throwing long shadows across the courtyard. A dozen men-at-arms stood near the fountain, speaking in low voices.
Tarrabus Carhaine sat on the edge of the fountain, a cup of wine in his hand and an open book in his lap.
“My lord Dux,” said the man-at-arms, “the halfling claims to have business with you.”
Tarrabus’s cold eyes examined Jager. He felt like a mouse pinned beneath the gaze of a hawk.
But mice did not carry the sort of weapon that waited at his belt.
“So he does,” said Tarrabus. “Leave us. All of you. And tell my guests to join us at their leisure.”
The man-at-arms bowed and left, and the other guards followed suit, leaving Jager alone with Tarrabus. The Dux stared at him, and Jager made himself meet the man’s cold eyes without flinching.
They stared at each other in silence for a moment.
“You,” said Tarrabus at last, “look rather the worse for wear.”
“It has been a trying few days,” said Jager.
“I expect so,” said Tarrabus. “Some of my spies said you were seen at the Crow’s Helm, fighting alongside Ridmark Arban’s companions, only to disappear after Sir Cortin arrived. It made me worry, Jager. I do hope you have not told Ridmark anything. For Mara’s sake, if not your own.”
“No,” said Jager, his mouth dry. “I followed them from Vulmhosk
and waited for an opportunity to take the soulstone.”
“And did such an opportunity present itself?” said Tarrabus. He took a sip of his wine.
“Yes,” said Jager.
Tarrabus nodded, closed his book, and set it and the wine cup on the edge of the fountain. “Then give it to me. Now.”
“Not until you give me Mara,” said Jager.
“Oh, she is quite safe, do not fear,” said Tarrabus. “Not one hair on her head has been harmed. A state of affairs that is unlikely to continue unless you hand over the soulstone.” He smiled that cold, awful smile. “Kindly do not make me wait further. I am a patient man…but I do not particularly enjoy the exercise of that virtue.”
“Fine,” said Jager.
He reached back into the knapsack, wincing in pain, and lifted the pouch with the soulstone.
Tarrabus craned his neck. “What happened to your back?”
“A sword,” said Jager. “I don’t suppose you can have your pet Magistria heal me?” The impudence was foolish, but he was in too much pain and too afraid to care.
“I would,” said Tarrabus, “but she is indisposed for the next few days, I’m afraid.” He held out his hand.
Jager dropped the pouch into the Dux’s waiting grasp. Tarrabus opened it and drew out the soulstone, the white crystal glinting in the setting sun. Again Jager felt that strange sense of power from the stone, the potential. Like an avalanche ready to fall, waiting only a single pebble to set it into motion.
He was not sure, but he thought Tarrabus’s shadow shivered.
The Dux held up the crystal before his eyes and turned it to the right and to the left.
“It’s real,” said Jager. “I’m not trying to pass off a forgery.”
“Oh, I know,” murmured Tarrabus. “It is…strange, is it not?”
“What?” said Jager.
“You see, master thief,” said Tarrabus, gazing into the crystal, “I can be honest with you in a way I rarely can with my allies and followers. Refreshing, really. This stone.” He gestured with it. “It is such a small thing. You would hardly think that it has the power to change the world, to inaugurate the new order. But it does. In the right place, at the right time, for…oh, the next eleven and a half months, it has the power to change the world. To remake it.”
Frostborn: The Master Thief Page 20