The Ghost Halfling

by Jonathan Moeller

  The second muridach attacked him and Ridmark blocked, whirled his staff, and drove the end of the weapon into the muridach’s stomach. The creature doubled over with a wheeze, and Ridmark hit it in the back of the head. The creature collapsed.

  Ridmark turned, intending to aid the halfling woman against the final muridach, and saw that he might be too late. The muridach had driven the halfling woman against the tree. It raised its sword for the killing blow, and the halfling woman thrust out her left hand.

  There was a flare of red light. The muridach flew backward and burst into howling flames, the heat of them beating against Ridmark’s face. The fire was already out when the dead muridach hit the ground, but nothing remained of the creature but a smoking husk.

  Ridmark had thought the muridachs smelled bad when they were alive, but they smelled far worse after being burnt.

  For a moment, he and the halfling woman stared at each other. He glimpsed something red and glowing in her left hand. A gemstone of some kind, perhaps?

  At last Ridmark decided to speak first.

  “I wish to retrieve my arrows,” he said in orcish. “Please do not set me on fire while I do so.”

  The woman’s face was stern and cold, but her lips almost twitched into a smile. “Since you saved my life, that would be rude.” She spoke the orcish tongue with a peculiar accent, high and nasal. “But these rat-folk are rude. I wished only to make my journey in peace, and they attacked me first.”

  Ridmark walked to the dead muridachs and retrieved his arrows, cleaning the blood off them. “Two of them attacked me without warning south of here. I had to kill them both to escape.”

  “Whatever you are, they must find you edible,” said the halfling woman. The red glow in her left hand brightened, and he wondered if she was preparing to attack him. Was she a wizard of some kind? Ridmark had never heard of a halfling wielding magic, though the only magic permitted within the boundaries of Andomhaim was that of the Magistri. Of course, he had never seen a muridach before today, so for all he know maybe magic-wielding halflings were common outside of Andomhaim. “Though I know not what manner of kindred you are.”

  “What do you think I am?” said Ridmark, straightening up.

  “I would say an orc,” said the halfling woman, “but you are not green, you are too skinny, and you are not ugly enough, despite the scar upon your face. Nor do you have any tusks.”

  “No,” said Ridmark. “I am human, and I come from the realm of Andomhaim to the west.”

  “Human?” said the halfling woman. “I have heard the tygrai speak of humans, though I have never seen one.” She hesitated. “Are you going to try to kill me, rob me, or take me as a slave or a concubine?”

  “I will neither rob you nor take you as a slave or a concubine,” said Ridmark. In Andomhaim, a human lying with a halfling was considered perverse, but he decided not to tell the halfling woman that lest she take offense. “And I will only kill you if you attack me first.”

  “Nor will I,” said the halfling woman. She hesitated, and her cold mask seemed to crack for a moment. “Thank you for the aid. The rat-folk would have had me, if you had not come along.”

  “I was glad to be of help,” said Ridmark. He could have left, but he had grown curious. “I confess I did not think to see a halfling here.”

  “Halfling?” said the woman, frowning as she considered the word. Ridmark thought that literal meaning of the orcish word was “small-non-orc-folk,” which he supposed was true enough. “The bone orcs of Qazalask call us that. But we call ourselves the Hidden People.” She drew herself up with pride. “We rule the jungles far from here, beyond the domain of the Red King of the manetaurs. Long ago the Jeweler ruled us as slaves, but we escaped him, and now we are a free people. The manetaurs and the dvargir and the muridach and the horse orcs have all tried to conquer us, and all of them have failed, for we are the Hidden People and they cannot conquer us.”

  Ridmark vaguely recalled hearing rumors of tribes of wild halflings that lived beyond the eastern boundaries of the manetaur kingdom. Perhaps this woman was one of them. If she was, she was just as far from home as Ridmark was.

  “My name is Ridmark Arban,” he said.

  She hesitated, and then responded in kind. “Mine is Ansa of the Ghost Path tribe of the Hidden People, and I am a Gemspeaker of the Ghost Path.”

  “You are a long way from home,” said Ridmark.

  She raised an eyebrow. “So are you, human Ridmark, if your land lies to the west.”

  “It does,” said Ridmark.

  “Then what brings a human from his homeland to this desolate place?” said Ansa.

  Ridmark decided to tell her the truth. “I am going to Urd Drysaar to speak with the Elder Shamans of the bone orcs.”

  Ansa’s expression did not change. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  “Have you heard of a dark elven lord called the Warden of Urd Morlemoch?” said Ridmark.

  Ansa scowled. “That is a tale of ill omen, human Ridmark. It was said he was mighty among the dark elves and dwells in his stronghold far to the west.”

  “I went into his stronghold of Urd Morlemoch and escaped with my life,” said Ridmark, “at the behest of the high elven archmage Ardrhythain.”

  Ansa scoffed. “You recite names of legend.” She frowned. “Yet I think you speak the truth. Go on.”

  “The Warden told me that the Frostborn would return,” said Ridmark.

  “Frostborn?”

  “A kindred of great power and great evil,” said Ridmark. “Two and a half centuries ago they almost conquered my homeland of Andomhaim and were only defeated at great cost. The Warden told me they would return, though not when and how. Since then, I suffered a disgrace and was banished from my homeland. I decided to seek out the secret of the return of the Frostborn, so I can warn my people of their return. If anyone knows the secret, the Elder Shamans will.”

  “A desperate quest,” said Ansa.

  Ridmark shrugged. “It was not as if I had anything better to do.” He did not want to tell her about Mhalek.

  He did not want to tell her about Aelia dying upon the floor of Castra Marcaine’s great hall. If the Elder Shamans killed him, it would be no less than he deserved.

  “But I also have a desperate quest,” said Ansa. “I am going to Urd Drysaar as well.”

  Ridmark frowned. “Why?”

  “Because of this, I suppose?” said Ansa, and she opened her left hand.

  Ridmark flinched before he could stop himself. “God and the saints!”

  She was holding a soulstone.

  “Is that a…” Ridmark found he could not remember the orcish word for soulstone.

  Ansa frowned. “You have seen the Gemstones of the Hidden People before?”

  “Is that what you call them?” said Ridmark. “Gemstones?”

  Though the soulstone did look like a gemstone. It resembled a large, uncut ruby the color of blood with black streaks, a glimmering red light in its depths. The light seemed to be getting gradually brighter as Ridmark looked at it.

  “We do,” said Ansa. “They are the Gemstones of the Hidden People. Our elders say they have other names among other kindreds. I believe the orcs call them soulstones…”

  “Yes, that is the word,” said Ridmark, still astonished. The soulblades of the Swordbearers were powered by soulstones worked into the tang of the blade, and their touch could destroy creatures of dark magic and wound things immune to normal steel. Soulstones were incredibly powerful, and no one in Andomhaim knew how to create them. Under the Pact of the Two Orders, the high elven archmage Ardrhythain traveled to Tarlion to forge new soulblades every hundred years, but as far as Ridmark knew only the high elves knew how to create soulstones. “Soulstones are objects of terrible power. I thought that only the elves knew how to make them.”

  “Ah, you mean the great soulstones,” said Ansa. “Only the elves know how to grow those. The Gemstones of the Hidden People do not have such mighty power
, but we know the secret of growing them and using them.”

  “How?” said Ridmark.

  “It was long ago,” said Ansa. “As I said, the Hidden People were once the slaves of the Jeweler. Since we were his slaves, we assisted him in his work. When the urdmordar brought their power against him, the Jeweler battled them with all his strength. In the chaos, our ancestors saw their chance for freedom, defeated their guards, and escaped Urd Drysaar before it fell crashing in ruin upon the Jeweler’s head.” She said it with pride. “Our ancestors fled to the jungles where we made our home, and we have remained there ever since. Our elders knew many of the Jeweler’s secrets for growing soulstones, and those secrets have been preserved among us for many generations.”

  “That’s how you burned those muridachs,” said Ridmark. “With that soulstone.”

  “This is a Gemstone of Fire,” said Ansa, “and can call forth flame at its bearer’s command. Alas, I am a young and inexperienced Gemspeaker, but an older and wiser one could call forth a firestorm.”

  “What is a Gemspeaker?” said Ridmark.

  “Those of the Hidden People who can bond with a Gemstone,” said Ansa. “Not all of us have the power. It is common in my family.”

  “Is that why you are going to Urd Drysaar?” said Ridmark. “Something to do with the Gemstones?”

  “It…is a complex matter,” said Ansa. “An outsider would not be able to understand it.”

  Ridmark shrugged. “I am going to Urd Drysaar anyway. Perhaps we can be of use to each other.”

  Ansa frowned. “That scar on your face. Where did it come from?”

  “It is the brand of a broken sword,” said Ridmark, “inflicted as punishment.”

  “What was your crime, then?” said Ansa. The Gemstone of Fire shone brighter in her hand.

  “I tried to save my wife,” said Ridmark, “and I failed.”

  Ansa’s cool mask cracked, and something like fear came through it. Was she afraid of him? That didn’t make sense. With that soulstone, she could blast him to ashes where he stood.

  No. She wasn’t afraid of him. She was afraid for someone.

  “I am a betrothed woman,” said Ansa. “My betrothed is named Marcomer, and he is a great warrior of the Ghost Path tribe. He is also a Gemspeaker, as I am, but he is of relatively little rank among us. To gain rank and prestige among the Hidden People, sometimes our warriors and Gemspeakers go to Urd Drysaar to prove themselves. In the ruins of the Jeweler soulstones still grow, and they are more powerful than anything we can grow ourselves. If a man of the Hidden People can go to Urd Drysaar and return with a powerful Gemstone, he gains much prestige.”

  “I see,” said Ridmark. “Your family is of higher prestige or wealth than that of Marcomer, is that it? So, to prove himself, Marcomer went to Urd Drysaar to take a Gemstone of power to convince your father that he is indeed worthy of your hand.”

  Ansa frowned. “How could you possibly have known that?”

  “Such things also happen among the lords of Andomhaim,” said Ridmark. “Another man courted the woman who would become my wife. To prove myself, I went to Urd Morlemoch and returned.”

  Maybe it would have been better if Ridmark had died there. If Aelia had married Tarrabus Carhaine, perhaps she would be alive and happy now instead of a year in her grave.

  “Then you understand,” said Ansa, “why Marcomer had to do what he did.”

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. “And I also understand why you are here. Marcomer did not return, did he?”

  “No!” said Ansa. Again, the cool mask cracked, and he glimpsed the anguish behind it. “He should have been back three months ago. The elders counseled me to wait…but some evil has befallen him, I know it.”

  “He…may be dead,” said Ridmark.

  “He is not!” said Ansa. She slapped the hand holding the Gemstone against her chest. “I would know if he was dead. I would know! You are not a woman, so you do not understand. If my love was slain, I would know. He is in danger, and he needs me. I must go to him.”

  “Very well,” said Ridmark. Her betrothed was likely dead, but he knew from the glitter in her blue eyes that she would not believe it until she saw his body. “Perhaps we should travel together. This land is dangerous, and if we work together, we might have a better chance of reaching Urd Drysaar alive.”

  “Your proposal is sound, human Ridmark,” said Ansa. “However, there is a problem.”

  “Other than the muridachs and the bone orcs and the kobolds and everything else that wants to kill us?” said Ridmark.

  “A more immediate problem,” said Ansa. “Urd Drysaar is surrounded by a spell of power. It kills anyone who crosses its boundary, save for those carrying a Gemstone of Mist. When I set out to reach Urd Drysaar, I took a Gemstone of Mist with me. When the muridachs attacked this morning, I fear they took me by surprise. I had to flee my camp, and the Gemstone of Mist was still there.”

  “Then the muridachs still have the Gemstone of Mist,” said Ridmark, “and we cannot enter Urd Drysaar without it.”

  “Yes,” said Ansa. She hesitated. “At least…it will be much harder to enter Urd Drysaar without it. Some Gemspeakers and warriors who have undertaken the quest in the past say there is a hidden path to enter Urd Drysaar and avoid the death spell, but it is far easier with the aid of a Gemstone of Mist. Human Ridmark, I offer you this bargain. If you help me retrieve the Gemstone of Mist from the muridachs, I will use its power to let you enter the ruins of Urd Drysaar to speak with the Elder Shamans.” She hesitated. “Though the Elder Shamans will likely kill you.”

  “Agreed,” said Ridmark.

  Ansa frowned. “Are you agreeing to the bargain or that the Elder Shamans of the bone orcs will likely kill you?”

  “Both, probably,” said Ridmark. He pointed at the dead muridachs. “Let’s follow their trail and see if we can find the ones who took your Gemstone.”

  ###

  The muridachs could move with stealth, but between their clawed feet and their tails, they were not good at moving without leaving a trail, and Ridmark followed their path with ease.

  As they walked, he realized how Ansa had managed to survive her fight with the muridach hunters.

  “This a Gemstone of Wind,” said Ansa, holding up another small soulstone. This one gleamed with a peculiar silvery light. “It can grant short bursts of speed, or command the wind to knock down a Gemspeaker’s foes.” She held up another soulstone. “This is a Gemstone of Blood. It can heal wounds, though the healing is exhausting.”

  “All useful powers, I imagine,” said Ridmark. “In my land, the only soulstones we have are worked into the blades of soulblades.”

  “Soulblades?” said Ansa.

  Ridmark paused to consider the trail as it passed over the tangled roots of a massive, ancient tree.

  “Magical swords,” said Ridmark. “In ancient days, our kingdom was almost conquered by the urdmordar. The Keeper of Andomhaim…sort of like a Gemspeaker, I suppose…appealed to the high elves for help. Ardrhythain of the high elves forged the first soulblades, weapons of power that could kill the urdmordar, and with them, we drove back the urdmordar.”

  Ansa sniffed. “Then you needed the help of the high elves to free yourselves. The Hidden People won our freedom through our courage and strength of arms.”

  Ridmark shrugged. “I wasn’t there. I can only tell you what the histories said. From what I have seen of the urdmordar, it is better to fight them with the help of the high elves than to live as their cattle.”

  “You have seen an urdmordar?” said Ansa.

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. “A village in the Northerland, years ago.”

  “How did you escape from it?” said Ansa.

  “I slew it,” said Ridmark.

  Ansa laughed. “You make fun of me, human Ridmark. No one can slay an urdmordar.”

  “I did,” said Ridmark. “I had a soulblade called Heartwarden, and with its aid, I was able to kill the urdmordar.”

  �
��Do you have this soulblade now?” said Ansa. “Such a powerful weapon would be of use.”

  “No,” said Ridmark. “It was taken from me.”

  “You committed a crime?” said Ansa.

  “I failed.” The questioning would have irritated Ridmark, but he could understand it. Ansa was traveling alone with a man of an alien kindred in a dangerous land. A little suspicion was warranted. “There was an orcish warlord, a man named Mhalek. He believed himself to be the reincarnation of the orcish blood gods, and he made war upon Andomhaim. I killed him, but not before he killed my wife. For failing to protect her, I was stripped of my soulblade and banished from Andomhaim.”

  “I see,” said Ansa. “I am sorry.”

  Perhaps she saw her own future in his present.

  Ridmark shrugged. “It is what it is.” His voice sounded harsher than he intended. He wondered what Aelia would think if she could see him now, slogging through this undead-haunted forest in pursuit of a legend.

  “Your own people cast you out,” said Ansa. She sounded disgusted. “Why then do you put yourself at risk to protect them?”

  “Your betrothed might be dead,” said Ridmark, “yet you are putting yourself at risk to save him.”

  “Marcomer is still alive,” said Ansa. “I am certain of it. I would know if he died.”

  Perhaps she would. Maybe her bond with her Gemstones gave her other abilities that she interpreted as intuition and emotion.

  “The Gemstone of Wind,” said Ridmark, hoping to change the topic. “That’s how you kept the muridachs from surrounding you, isn’t it? You could use it to outrun them in short bursts.”

  “Yes,” said Ansa. “A skilled Gemspeaker could run for hours with a Gemstone of Wind. Alas, I lack such experience, and can only use it to run for a short time.” She started to speak, frowned, and then shook her head.