Frostborn: The Master Thief

by Jonathan Moeller

  Jager opened his mouth, closed it. It all sounded so improbable. The Frostborn had been exterminated centuries ago, all men knew that. Shadowbearer was a fable, and there was no way the Enlightened of Incariel could gain such power without the Magistri and the Swordbearers falling upon them like a storm.

  And yet…

  He remembered the strange sense of potential he had felt while holding the empty soulstone.

  The uncanny feeling Tarrabus gave him, the way his shadow sometimes seemed like a living thing.

  He had always thought Paul Tallmane a hypocrite, a brutal thug who pretended to be a noble knight of Andomhaim and a baptized son of the church. Yet what if that had not been hypocrisy but a masquerade? What if he had been one of these Enlightened all along, a worshipper of the demon Incariel?

  And what if, by giving them the soulstone, Jager had helped pave the way for worse evils than his father’s murder?

  “Oh, dear,” Jager said. “You really are telling the truth, aren’t you?”

  Calliande smiled, and Morigna laughed. It made them both look radiant. An odd thing to consider now, but it was true. Jager wondered what Ridmark had done to win the loyalty of two lovely sorceresses. Still, given Morigna’s barbed tongue and Calliande’s iron will, perhaps that was a fate Jager would inflict upon no man.

  “I wish it was a lie,” said Calliande, “but it is not.”

  Jager sighed. “I really shouldn’t have given Tarrabus the soulstone.”

  “No.” Ridmark paused for a moment. “Though I cannot see how you could have made any other choice.”

  “Then…you’re not going to kill me?” said Jager.

  “Why?” said Ridmark. “I have done many things I regret, but I have never killed a man in cold blood. And I need your help.”

  “To do what?” said Jager.

  “To get the soulstone back,” said Ridmark.

  “It’s in Tarrabus’s domus,” said Jager, wary. “And Paul Tallmane is departing with it for the Iron Tower tomorrow. If you’re going to snatch the stone away, it has to be tonight.”

  “I know,” said Ridmark. “And the Master Thief of Cintarra will help me.”

  “Why should I?” said Jager.

  Morigna scowled and Kharlacht folded his massive arms. Jager knew full well why he should help Ridmark. He had stolen the soulstone from them. He had delivered it into the hands of evil men, and with it Tarrabus and Paul could wreak terrible harm. But mostly Jager wanted to see how Ridmark would react. Most nobles, if a halfling spoke to them that way, would call for the whips. Jager expected a threat.

  Instead Ridmark said, “Because if we retrieve the soulstone and survive, I will help you get Mara out of the Iron Tower.”

  It took Jager a moment to process the words.

  “What?” he said at last.

  “Aid us, and I will help you free Mara,” said Ridmark.

  “Why?” said Jager. “I stole from you, I lied to you, and I put you in great danger. And I’m just a halfling, and you’re the son of a Dux. Why would you help me?”

  “Because it is the right thing to do,” said Ridmark.

  Jager got to his feet, still staring at Ridmark.

  “Help us retrieve the soulstone or not,” said Ridmark. “But decide. The night is slipping away, and we must act now.”

  Jager sighed and looked at the vaulted ceiling. Life had taught him not trust the nobles of Andomhaim. Yet Ridmark was not really a noble any more, was he? He was a branded outcast. And his friends and followers…Jager had seen some ragtag groups in his travels, but nothing like Ridmark Arban and his companions.

  Still, he was in no position to turn away help.

  “So be it,” said Jager.

  ###

  “Well, then,” said Morigna, giving Jager a wary look. “I suppose you have a plan?”

  “I do,” said Ridmark, retrieving his staff from where he had dropped it. He supposed he would never see that orcish war axe again, given that it was buried in the Hunter’s gullet. “We’re going to steal back the soulstone right now.”

  “So you’re going to sneak into the domus and retrieve the soulstone just like that?” said Calliande.

  “Just like that,” said Ridmark.

  “How do you know where it will be?” said Jager. The halfling thief looked dubious.

  “Because,” said Ridmark. “Tarrabus told me about his family’s domus in Coldinium while we were still squires together at Castra Marcaine. There is a strong room in the base of the tower. His father always kept his most valuable treasures there, and I suspect Tarrabus has continued the practice.”

  “One would assume,” said Morigna, “the Dux would be wise enough to lock the door.”

  Ridmark looked at Jager. “I trust the Master Thief of Cintarra can pick locks?”

  “Of course,” said Jager, affronted.

  “This is dangerous,” said Calliande. “Tarrabus wants you dead, to say nothing of the Mhorites and the Red Brothers.”

  “It is,” said Ridmark, “but we must run the risk. Shadowbearer cannot claim the soulstone. You know what will happen if he does. Tonight is our best chance to do it. The guards will not expect Jager to return so soon. We also have an important point in our favor. Tarrabus doesn’t know that we know Jager took the stone.”

  “He warned me against talking to you,” said Jager. The halfling’s face was grim. “He said Mara might suffer, if I asked you for help.

  “But he doesn’t know that we found you,” said Ridmark. “He will assume that we are searching for the soulstone in vain. Therefore our best chance to act is tonight. We can snatch the soulstone and make for the Iron Tower before Tarrabus is the wiser.”

  “We will come with you,” said Calliande.

  “No,” said Ridmark. “I will go with Jager alone.”

  Jager snorted. “Can you move as quietly as me?”

  “I can,” said Ridmark

  “We still cannot let you go into peril alone,” said Calliande. “You will not throw away your life, not again.”

  Jager raised an eyebrow. “Is this a common problem?”

  “You have no idea,” said Caius.

  “Very well,” said Ridmark. “Go to the castra and warn the Comes and Sir Cortin. Tell them that the Mhorite orcs have been seen within Tarrabus’s domus. Comes Corbanic will be wary of crossing Tarrabus, but if Mhorite orcs are within the walls, he will have no choice but to act.”

  “The Comes may not listen to us, I fear,” said Caius.

  “No,” said Ridmark, “but he will listen to Calliande. She won his respect during the Challenge, I think. And after the attack in the Outwall, he will heed the danger.”

  Calliande nodded, her face grim. She did not approve, Ridmark suspected, but she knew it was their best chance of retrieving the soulstone.

  “Taalmak,” said Ridmark, and Azakhun looked at him. “I ask for your help as well. Will you ask the elders of the Enclave to send warriors to Tarrabus’s domus?”

  “I shall,” said Azakhun. “We would be within our rights to do so, according to the terms of our king’s treaty with your High King. The Kothluuskan orcs attacked and killed several of our kindred north of Vulmhosk on the day you aided us. Therefore we have the duty to avenge our slain kin, and if we must follow them into Tarrabus’s domus, we shall.” He frowned. “If I can convince the elders of this, of course.”

  “If you do convince them to attack,” said Ridmark, “wait at least an hour. That shall give Jager and I time to get away. Then, if all goes well, we can leave Coldinium in the chaos and set out for the Iron Tower.”

  “Where shall we meet you?” said Kharlacht.

  “The northern gate at dawn,” said Ridmark. “If we do not join you at the northern gate by nightfall tomorrow, assume we are dead and proceed as you think best.”

  “Ridmark…” said Calliande.

  “This is the best way,” he said.

  She sighed, closed her eyes, and nodded. “I will convince the Comes to aid y
ou.”

  “Go with God,” said Caius.

  Ridmark nodded and turned to Jager.

  “Well,” said Jager, “I never thought I would commit burglary with the youngest son of a Dux, but all kinds of strange things have happened today.”

  “Keep following me,” said Ridmark, “and you will see stranger things yet.”

  “Let’s start,” said Jager, and he led the way into the catacombs, while Azakhun took the others back to the Dwarven Enclave.

  Chapter 21 - Thieving

  At first Jager thought having Ridmark accompany him was a terrible idea. Ridmark might have been a formidable warrior, but he was big and strong, and large men had trouble moving quietly. And halflings were naturally stealthy in a way that humans were not.

  But Ridmark could move considerable stealth, so much so that Jager sometimes had trouble keeping track of him.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” he said, half-impressed, half-annoyed. “I didn’t think the sons of a Dux learned this kind of thing.”

  “They don’t,” said Ridmark. “But I spent the last five years alone in the Wilderland. An empty belly is fine motivation to learn stealth while stalking deer.”

  “An empty belly is a fine motivation for a number of things,” said Jager.

  They moved through the galleries of the catacombs. Jager found he missed the presence of Calliande. Or, more specifically, Calliande’s magic. If the Hunter returned, neither Jager nor Ridmark had any weapons that could hurt it. Hopefully Jager would be long gone from Coldinium by the time the Hunter finished nursing its wounds.

  “How did you know Tarrabus and Paul Tallmane?” said Jager, his eyes scanning the gallery. The light on Ridmark’s wrist threw back the darkness, casting tangled shadows everywhere. Jager hated the light – it would mark them out from a distance. Unfortunately, he could not see in the dark, making it a necessity.

  “We were squires together,” said Ridmark, “in Castra Marcaine, the court of the Dux of the Northerland.” He swung his left arm back and forth, casting the light over the walls, the heavy staff remaining rock-steady in his right hand. “We were all nearly the same age, and all were knighted at the same time.”

  “Then you were friends?” said Jager.

  “No,” said Ridmark. “Rivals, perhaps. As boys are. I was chosen to become a Swordbearer and he did not. Usually when squires become knights, the rivalries of boyhood are put aside. But when I became a knight and then a Swordbearer…I thought less of Tarrabus. He was too hard, too cruel. And he used Paul as a bludgeon to torment his foes. A knight should be strong in battle, yes, but he also ought to protect the weak and defend those in his care. Tarrabus did neither, and Paul Tallmane certainly did not.”

  “No,” said Jager, “he did not. Is that why Tarrabus hates you so much? You became a Swordbearer and he did not?”

  “No.”

  Jager grunted. “What was it, then? Since we are both likely about to die, I would prefer to die with at least one less mystery upon my mind.”

  And he was curious to see if Ridmark's story would match Tarrabus's.

  Ridmark barked a short, harsh laugh. “Few men have such luxuries, master thief. But if you must know, Tarrabus and I both loved the same woman. She wed me. And then she died when I failed to save her.”

  “Ah,” said Jager. “Tarrabus...mentioned it. I am sorry for her death.”

  “What is done is done, and cannot be made undone,” said Ridmark.

  “Still,” said Jager. “That is…a terrible thing. I see why Magistria Imaria hates you so much. Though it hardly seems just.”

  Ridmark shrugged. “If we fail to save your Mara, would her sister not hate you for it?”

  “I know for a fact,” said Jager, “that Mara has no sisters.”

  At least none that the prince of Nightmane Forest had left alive.

  “But if she had,” said Ridmark, “would she not be justified?”

  Jager had no answer for that.

  “You understand, then,” said Ridmark. “Come. Let us retrieve the soulstone, and then rescue Mara…and make sure you never understand further.” He glanced at the ceiling. “How much farther to this funerary chapel?”

  “A hunderd yards, I think,” said Jager.

  “Best be silent, then,” said Ridmark. “Tarrabus might have placed guards after your escape.”

  Jager nodded and walked in silence, thinking it over.

  “About that,” he said a few moments later. “I think…”

  “That it is curious,” said Ridmark, “that we have found neither Mhorite orcs nor Red Brothers hunting you through the catacombs.”

  “I thought that very curious,” said Jager. “Perhaps Tarrabus thinks so little of me that he didn’t bother to send out his hounds.”

  “I am certain,” said Ridmark, “that Tarrabus thinks very little of you.”

  Jager raised an eyebrow. “A joke about my height?”

  “Sensitive, are we?” said Ridmark. “You haven’t known Tarrabus as long as I have, but you have known him long enough. Do you really see him withholding vengeance upon anyone who has crossed him, no matter so slightly?”

  “No,” said Jager. “It seems more likely that he would go out of his way to take revenge.”

  “So then why,” said Ridmark, “isn’t he hunting you?”

  Jager considered that for a moment. “I don’t know. Maybe now that he has the soulstone, he has larger matters to consider.”

  “At the very least I thought the Red Brothers would want you dead,” said Ridmark. “Did any of the assassins recognize you?”

  “Aye, one of them did,” said Jager. “A black-hearted scoundrel named Rotherius.” Recognition went over Ridmark’s face. “You know him?”

  “He tried to kill me outside of Moraime,” said Ridmark, “and he would have killed me behind the Crow’s Helm, had Sir Cortin’s men not arrived when they did.”

  “You have knack for collecting enemies, Sir Ridmark,” said Jager.

  “Though no less than yours.”

  “True enough,” said Jager. “I knew Rotherius from Cintarra. He’s one of the Matriarch’s favorites, tried to kill me after the Matriarch found out that Mara and I were…ah, spending time together. We had to flee Cintarra after that.”

  “With the soulcatcher,” said Ridmark.

  “Yes,” said Jager. “The Matriarch had tried to kill us. It seemed only fair to rob her in return.”

  “I cannot dispute that logic,” said Ridmark. “Tarrabus might have decided to ignore you in favor of larger concerns, but I doubt the Red Family and Rotherius will feel the same way. Or that Rotherius will have forgotten about me, either.”

  “That’s also logic I can’t dispute,” said Jager. “So. Where are they?”

  Ridmark grunted. “I suspect Rotherius won’t bother chasing us. He knows that you escaped, and sooner or later either we will come after the soulstone. So he will stay near the thing, wait for us to turn up, and kill us at his leisure.”

  “There’s a pleasant thought,” said Jager. “What shall we do about it?”

  “The answer is simple,” said Ridmark. “We steal the soulstone without getting caught.”

  Jager snorted. “A man after my own heart. Well. I never thought I would commit burglary with the son of a Dux, but all kinds of strange things have happened of late.”

  Ridmark nodded and gestured for silence, and soon they came to the door to the funerary chapel. Jager watched as Ridmark listened at the door for a moment, and then peered through the keyhole. After that he dropped to one knee and swept his glowstone back and forth, scrutinizing the ground for any sign of tracks.

  His frown deepened, and then he whispered into Jager’s ear.

  “No tracks,” hissed the Gray Knight. “No sign that anyone pursued you. Follow me and keep quiet.”

  Jager nodded and Ridmark opened door in silence. The chapel beyond was deserted, and Jager felt a moment’s alarm when he saw robed figures watching him. But they
were only the statues of the apostles in their niches. Ridmark crossed the chapel and climbed the stairs to the cellar. Jager followed him, hands waiting near his sword and dagger. The utter lack of guards troubled him. Even if Tarrabus had not been willing to pursue Jager, surely he would have been aware that Jager might return?

  Ridmark stepped into the cellar, sweeping his light back and forth. The stacked casks and sacks of drink and food rested undisturbed against the walls. The cellar was otherwise deserted. A dim light leaked from the stairs above. Ridmark undid his wristband and tucked the glowstone into a pocket, quenching its light. They crossed the cellar, climbed the stairs, and eased open the kitchen door. It was well past midnight by now, and Jager would have expected to see the domus’s servants hard at work, laboring to prepare the day’s bread. Perhaps he would even see halfling domestics in Tarrabus’s service.

  But the kitchens were deserted.

  Stranger and stranger. All those damned Mhorite orcs had to eat something.

  Ridmark opened the door into the atrium. Like the kitchen, the atrium was deserted, the only noise coming from the fountain in the center. Four of the thirteen moons shone overhead, throwing a pale blue light across the atrium. Here and there dark splotches marked the stone.

  Ridmark pointed at them.

  “Bloodstains,” whispered Jager. “From the shadows. The soulcatcher killed a few of the Mhorites, I think.”

  That put a chill down his spine. He had known about the dagger’s power to turn shadows into weapons, but he had not known that using the thing would transform him into an urhaalgar. What else didn’t he know about the dagger? Could he have unleashed some kind of dark magic that killed everyone in the domus? He would not mourn for the deaths of Tarrabus and the Mhorites and the Red Brothers, but he did not want the blood of Tarrabus’s servants upon his conscience.

  “This way,” murmured Ridmark. “The atrium looks deserted. Stay in the colonnade – if anyone comes along, we can hide in the shadows.”

  Jager followed Ridmark along the colonnade, moving from shadow to shadow. Peculiarly, Ridmark’s gray cloak seemed to conceal him as he moved, and Jager’s eyes kept wanting to slide off it. Perhaps the cloak was magical. Jager could have used such a cloak.