“Thainkul Dural,” said Morigna. “The mzrokar and the dvargir.”
“Thainkul Agon,” said Kharlacht. “The kobolds of the Blue Hand. And Talvinius.”
“We can reminisce later,” said Ridmark. “There are dwarven ruins underneath the city? I never knew this.”
Caius shrugged. “Among your kindred, few did. There was an outpost of the Nine Kingdoms here called Thainkul Balzon. It was destroyed long before humans ever came to this world.”
“The dvargir or the urdmordar destroyed it, I assume?” said Morigna.
“Actually,” said Caius, “no one knows for certain.”
That caught Ridmark’s attention. “No one knows what happened to Thainkul Balzon?”
“I fear not,” said Caius. “Something wiped out every dwarven man, woman, and child in the outpost. There were only two survivors, their minds shattered, and they only spoke of something they called the Hunter in the Dark. Some creature that broke into the outpost and killed the entire population.”
“What was it?” said Ridmark.
“We never learned,” said Caius.
Kharlacht frowned. “If some horror out of the Deeps slew the dwarves, why is Coldinium still standing?”
“Not even my kindred have mapped the entirety of the Deeps,” said Caius, “and portions of the caverns go deeper than even we have. There are creatures down there that are older than all the kindreds of this world, save for the high elves. Fortunately for the people of Coldinium, these creatures hate sunlight, and only come to the surface under duress.”
“So Jager,” said Ridmark, “has a multitude of places to hide beneath the city.”
“It would seem so,” said Caius.
“Why hide beneath the city?” said Morigna. “He stole the soulstone, but he is not a wizard or a sorcerer. Clearly he intends to sell it. Why not simply proceed to his patron and sell his prize?”
“Perhaps they are meeting in the catacombs,” said Gavin. “A safe place for a thief to hand over stolen goods.”
“Assuming this Hunter of the Dark doesn’t bite his head off,” said Morigna.
“But why?” said Ridmark, rubbing his jaw. “Why hand over the soulstone in the catacombs? It would be safe enough to do it in a tavern. How many people would even recognize an empty soulstone? The trade would take less than a moment.”
He was missing something. And something seemed…peculiar about Jager. The halfling was no coward, he had proved that in the fight against the Mhorites. Why steal the stone? Ridmark was missing something, some piece of the puzzle.
He disliked that feeling. It usually meant disaster was imminent. He had felt the same way before realizing that Agrimnalazur had been disguised among the villagers of Aranaeus, before Coriolus had sprung his trap in the ruins of Thainkul Dural.
On the other hand, if he had had that feeling before Mhalek, perhaps he might have saved Aelia.
“It is obvious what we must do,” said Kharlacht. “We must go to the catacombs and pursue him.”
“And how shall we find him?” said Morigna.
“My spell can tell me where the dagger is,” said Calliande.
“Aye, but will your spell show you the path to the dagger?” said Morigna. “Those catacombs are likely a maze, and if they intersect with the warrens of the dwarves, we’ll find more of those damned mechanical traps.”
“Warrens?” said Caius.
“Your kindred seem overly fond of mechanical complexity,” said Morigna.
“Then we’ll need someone familiar with the catacombs and the ruins,” said Ridmark. “And I think I know where to find such a man.” He picked up his staff. “Come with me.”
###
Morigna followed Ridmark and others through Coldinium’s streets.
Her eyes wandered over the houses of whitewashed stone. She saw the people going about their business, closing down shops and taking down stalls as the sun set over the Lake of Battles to the west. Morigna could not fathom how so many people lived in such close proximity to each other. The smell alone would have driven her mad, to say nothing of the rats living upon their refuse.
But those, at least, she could put to good use.
It was simplicity itself to reach out with her magic and bind the cunning, clever little wills of the rats to her own. Soon a dozen of the creatures followed her, skittering through the alleys and remaining unseen.
“That is not a good idea,” said Calliande.
“I think you are just frightened of rats,” said Morigna, and sent a mental command to one of the rodents. It skittered across the road towards Calliande, and she had the satisfaction of seeing a brief flicker of discomfort go over the Magistria’s face.
It was petty, Morigna knew, but she still felt angry over the things Calliande had said to Ridmark. Even if Calliande had not been in control of herself at the time.
“Rats carry disease,” said Calliande.
“Unless you plan to pick one up and kiss it, I doubt that will be a problem,” said Morigna. “We must find the soulstone, and one would think that every set of eyes will be useful.”
“Even if those eyes are small, beady, and carry disease?” said Gavin.
“Precisely,” said Morigna.
“Take care, though,” said Calliande. “I don’t know how many Magistri are within Coldinium. If one of them happens to sense you doing this, they’ll have you arrested as a sorceress and an outlaw, and I won’t be able to stop them.”
That was a fair point. Morigna nodded, and sent a mental command to the rats following her. They veered into the alleys and the gutters, remaining unseen as they followed her.
They turned a corner and came into sight of Coldinium’s Dwarven Enclave.
From what Morigna had gathered, a great deal of trade flowed back and forth between the Three Kingdoms of the dwarves and the High King’s realm. It was easier to ship goods over the Lake of Battles and the River Moradel than to haul them overland. Since Coldinium stood at the intersection of the lake and the River Moradel’s two branches, it had become the nexus for this trade, and the High King had granted the dwarven merchants and nobles the right to construct an enclave within the city’s walls, governed by their own laws and customs.
It looked like a larger version of the dwarven houses Morigna had seen within Thainkul Dural, a mansion built in the blocky, solid style of the dwarves. A wall of buttressed stone encircled the mansion and its courtyard, broken only by a massive gate of bronze-colored dwarven steel guarded by four warriors in heavy armor. The warriors stiffened as Caius and Ridmark approached, and Caius spoke to them in the dwarven tongue.
It was interesting how the guards reacted to Caius.
“Why do they not kill him?” said Morigna in a low voice.
Calliande blinked. “Pardon?”
“Brother Caius,” said Morigna. “He has forsaken the gods and traditions of his people to become a friar and follow the teachings of the church.”
“I suspect,” said Calliande, “that they do not know what to do about him. As far as I know, Caius was the first dwarf to ever accept baptism and enter the church.”
“A profound betrayal,” said Morigna. “Why have they not killed him for it?”
“Because they revere their traditions, their laws and their duties to the gods of stone and silence,” said Calliande. “And likely there is no tradition and no law for a dwarf who chose to follow the Dominus Christus. He has committed no crime, but they do not know what to do about him.”
“It is different among the orcs of Vhaluusk,” said Kharlacht. Morigna had not realized he stood so close. For such a big man, the orcish warrior moved with surprising stealth. “Those who follow the church are few among the tribes of Vhaluusk, and the blood gods are held in more reverence. If my mother had not been the concubine of a chieftain, the shamans of the blood gods might well have killed her, and if I had not been the cousin of Qazarl and skilled in battle, likely I would have been put to death.”
“In the south
,” said Calliande, “there are entire kingdoms of baptized orcs sworn to the High King. When this is all over, you could live among them.”
“Perhaps,” said Kharlacht. “But ties of blood are important among the orcs of Vhaluusk, and I imagine it is the same among my kindred to the south. I am an outcast with no kin.”
“My situation is the same,” said Gavin. “My father died in Urd Arowyn,” an odd flicker of emotion went over his face, “and I have no wish to go back to Aranaeus.”
Morigna laughed.
“What?” said Gavin. “It is not funny.”
“It is not,” said Morigna, “but we are. Look at us. The Magistria who does not remember herself, the sorceress betrayed by her mentor, the orc outcast from his home, the dwarf who forsook his gods, and the boy with no kin left. Outcasts, all of us, and we follow the Gray Knight, an outcast himself. Perhaps we are all mad fools.”
“Perhaps,” said Calliande, “but we have an important task.”
“To stop the Frostborn,” said Gavin.
“Aye,” said Morigna, gazing at Ridmark, “and to repay debts.”
She would find a way to repay her debt to him, even if it meant protecting him from his own guilt-induced folly. Part of her wondered at her own motives, if she followed him for other reasons, if she wanted him to pull her close and kiss her long and hard upon the lips…
She pushed aside the notion. It was neither the time nor the place.
The gates to the Dwarven Enclave opened, and an armored dwarf with black hair and eyes like polished malachite stepped into the dimming sunlight.
The Taalmak Azakhun.
“Gray Knight,” said Azakhun with a bow, and Ridmark answered in turn. “By our bonds of friendship, you bring us honor with your return.”
“And you bring me honor as well,” said Ridmark, “and it grieves me that I must ask you for aid.”
Azakhun’s perpetual frown deepened. “I had heard you and Lady Calliande were arrested by the Comes’s men, but I have no authority to intervene in the laws of the High King.”
“That was resolved,” said Ridmark, “thanks to the courage of Lady Calliande. I fear I must ask your aid in another matter.”
“Speak on, then,” said Azakhun. The glance he gave to Caius was uneasy. “The gods of stone and silence command us to honor our commitments.”
“Are you familiar with the ruins of Thainkul Balzon?” said Ridmark.
“It was a stronghold of my kindred,” said Azakhun, “guarding an entrance to the Deeps below where this city now stands. It was destroyed when a horror from the Deeps overwhelmed the defenses, a creature we called the Hunter of the Dark.” He glanced at Caius. “But if you have spoken with the apostate, you know all of this already.”
“I have,” said Ridmark. “Though I do wonder why your kindred never attempted to retake Thainkul Balzon.”
Azakhun shrugged. “I am a young man, and not privy to the counsels of the kings and the Taalkhans. But we are diminished since the days of the long wars against the urdmordar, and we simply lack the numbers to retake all our lost strongholds. And the Hunter of the Dark still lurks there.” He hesitated. “Perhaps I should not reveal this, but I believe you to be a trustworthy man. Every year a few men are found eviscerated in the catacombs. I believe that the Hunter has chosen Thainkul Balzon as its hunting grounds and has lurked there ever since.”
Ridmark frowned. “Why hasn’t the Comes tried to destroy the creature? Corbanic is not the sort of man to let something like the Hunter rampage through the city unchecked.”
“He has tried,” said Azakhun. “As did the previous Comes. I have been visiting Coldinium for nearly a century, and in that time every Comes has sent parties of Swordbearers into the catacombs. They never find anything. Whatever the Hunter of the Dark is, it is far too clever to show itself. Which is why I suspect the kings have never tried to retake the ruins. Thainkul Balzon opens into the Deeps…but the Hunter of the Dark keeps the horrors of the Deeps at bay. It dines upon dvargir and kobolds and dark elves just as readily as humans and orcs.” He shrugged. “It is more lucrative to maintain the Enclave here and to trade with Andomhaim, rather than rebuild Thainkul Balzon. But, come, Gray Knight. You must have some reason for asking.”
“You remember Jager?” said Ridmark.
“The halfling that traveled with us from Vulmhosk,” said Azakhun.
“He has stolen a relic of power from Calliande,” said Ridmark. Morigna wondered why he trusted Azakhun enough to speak of it. Perhaps the dwarves would steal the empty soulstone for themselves. Still, it was better to have it in the hands of the dwarves than of Shadowbearer. “He did not realize that Calliande would use her magic to track him.”
“And he fled into the catacombs, I assume,” said Azakhun.
“Yes,” said Ridmark. “Apparently he is more frightened of us than of the Hunter.”
“A reasonable fear,” said Azakhun. “The Hunter only takes a few victims every year. The men and orcs and halflings of Coldinium avoid the ruins of Thainkul Balzon for that reason. So sometimes clever thieves hide themselves in the ruins, and sometimes become too clever and perish in the traps my kindred left behind.”
“It is vital that I recover what Jager has stolen,” said Ridmark. “Among the dwarves of the Enclave there must be a man familiar with both the ruins of Thainkul Balzon and the catacombs. Calliande’s magic can follow Jager, but we do not know the layout of the catacombs.”
“You need a guide,” said Azakhun.
“If you are willing,” said Ridmark.
“I am,” said Azakhun. “I shall lead you myself, Ridmark Arban. For I believe you are an honorable man, and would not ask unless the need was great.”
“Thank you,” said Ridmark. “We had best go at once, before the thief has a chance to escape with his goods.”
Azakhun bowed. “Please, follow me.”
###
Ridmark found it strange to walk the interior of the Dwarven Enclave.
He had spoken with dwarves before, of course, in the embassies that had visited his father’s court at Taliand. He had walked the corridors of dwarven ruins, of Thainkul Agon and Thainkul Dural and others. But those ruins had been silent and grim, full of bones and dust and crumbled grandeur.
The Enclave bustled with activity.
Dwarven men worked forges or loaded goods onto the Enclave’s private docks, glowstones in the ceiling throwing light across the floor. Dwarven women in robes of blue and green, their heads hairless, recorded items in ledgers. All stopped to stare at Caius as he walked past, and some whispered among themselves. Caius walked without flinching, his gaze level and his face calm, the wooden cross hanging from his neck. At last Azakhun came to a locked door of dwarven steel, and opened it with a ring of keys.
Stone stairs descended into the darkness. Azakhun provided each of them with a leather wristband mounted with a glowstone, and Ridmark donned his.
“Useful thing,” said Ridmark.
“Aye,” said Azakhun. “In the Deeps, the ghost mushrooms provide much light. In the catacombs, we must bring our own.”
Ridmark nodded and descended the stairs, sweeping the light back and forth.
The stairs ended in a high gallery of brick, niches lining the walls. Skeletons rested in the niches, slowly crumbling into dust. Caius crossed himself and whispered a prayer.
“Which way?” said Ridmark.
Calliande closed her eyes and cast her tracking spell.
“He is close,” she said, opening her eyes again. “Maybe a third of a mile to the south and the east.”
“That would put him near the foundations of the castra,” said Azakhun, “and close to the entrance to Thainkul Balzon. This way.”
He led them into the gloom of the catacombs.
A dozen rats raced past them and vanished into the darkness.
Chapter 18 - Catacombs
After a long time, Jager got to his feet.
He had to do something. He needed a plan. S
omething clever, something that would get the soulstone back. No, a gambit that would get Mara back, spring her from the Iron Tower and take his vengeance upon Tarrabus and Paul Tallmane. Some brilliant plan worthy of the Master Thief of Cintarra.
He came up with nothing.
Jager staggered through the catacombs trying to think. Bit by bit he realized that he was heading towards the dwarven ruins, towards their traps and gates. In his current state of mind, with his back and arm blazing in agony, he was not in the best shape to navigate the traps. One error, one misstep, and the traps would kill him.
He rubbed his face, the stubble rasping. God, but he needed to shave.
Perhaps dying in the ruins would be the best. He had failed again and again. His father had raised him to be the perfect halfling servant, obedient and diligent and pious, and Jager had failed at that. He had gone to Cintarra, hoping to establish himself as a master thief, and he had been forced to flee the city. But it had been worth it, because he had found Mara.
And then had stolen that damned ring from Tarrabus.
“Stupid,” he whispered, “stupid, stupid, stupid.”
The only thing he had ever been good at was stealing, and he had failed at that. He had stolen that blasted ring, and he had ruined his life. Worse, he had destroyed Mara’s life. She had struggled for all her days against the darkness in her soul, and Tarrabus’s torture might turn her into the monster she always feared.
And it was Jager’s fault.
Perhaps it would be better to simply throw himself into the traps. There were so many different ways to die in the dwarven ruins, and all of them would be quick. He had let down so many people over his life. His father. His sister.
Mara most of all.
He staggered against the wall, leaning on it with his good hand.
No, he could not die. Not until he had freed Mara. He had no one…but neither did she. If he did not help her, there was no one else. He had to find a way.
But how?
He couldn’t rescue her by himself. He was merely a halfling thief, one quite likely to die of blood poisoning in a few weeks if he didn’t get that damned wound cleaned out. No one was going to help him.
Frostborn: The Master Thief Page 22