Frostborn: The World Gate (8 page)

“Failing Shadowbearer,” said Ridmark, “seems to be an excellent way to experience mortality. Or the terminal aspects of it.”

Morigna snorted. “Such an elegant way of putting it. You have been listening to Caius far too much.” 

“As you like to tell Caius, this is neither the time nor the place for a theological debate,” said Ridmark. “Perhaps you should follow your own counsel.” 

Morigna laughed again. “So commanding, my love. So lordly. Little wonder we all listen to you.” 

“I have found,” said Ridmark, “that most people want someone to tell them what to do in a crisis. Why not me?”

“Why not, indeed,” said Morigna. “I think you underestimate yourself, Ridmark.”

“Considering this began as a discussion how we are always in danger when we are alone,” said Ridmark, “our talk has turned remarkably philosophical.”

“Our discussions often do that,” said Morigna.

“What I would like,” said Ridmark, “is to be alone together without having to worry about urvaalgs or Mhorites or malophages ripping us apart.”

“So would I,” said Morigna, “but it is not as if we can rent a room at the inn. The accommodations of the Wilderland are not terribly comfortable, alas.”

“A rented room,” said Ridmark. “Or a cabin of our own someplace.” He glanced back at her. “Once this is all over.”

Morigna blinked. “Once what is over?”

“What we are doing,” said Ridmark. “Our task, this quest. Once Shadowbearer is defeated and we keep the Frostborn from ever returning. Once Calliande is restored and acknowledged as the Keeper of Andomhaim. Our work will be done.”

“If we live through this,” said Morigna.

“If we live through this,” repeated Ridmark. 

“Then you are thinking about the future,” said Morigna, a peculiar hesitation in her voice. “About us.”

“Yes,” said Ridmark. He glanced back at her. He wondered if that thought frightened her. She had lived alone in the Wilderland for years. Perhaps she wanted to do that again. “Don’t you?” 

“I have not given it any thought,” said Morigna. 

Ridmark took a deep breath. “If you want to return to the Wilderland, if you want to live alone in…”

“What?” said Morigna. “Is that what you think? No, no. I want to stay with you. I want to go where you go.” She hesitated. “Is…that what you want?”

“Yes,” said Ridmark. “Of course.”

“Oh,” said Morigna. “Good. Not that I doubted it, of course. It is just…”

“We’ve spent so much time running and fighting for our lives that we’ve never talked about it,” said Ridmark. 

“Aye,” said Morigna. “So. That leads to the logical question. What…do you want, Ridmark Arban? What do you want to do if we live through this, if we are victorious?”

“I would like,” said Ridmark, “to live someplace quiet. A cabin someplace on the edge of the Wilderland, a place where we can trap and hunt, perhaps trade with some of the quieter towns and villages. Maybe the outer reaches of the Northerland or Durandis, perhaps. Or Caertigris…there are many empty lands there.”

Morigna hesitated. “Is that truly what you want? It seems…less than I would have expected.” 

Ridmark shrugged. “What else could I do? I am an exile. It is not as if I could return to Andomhaim.” 

“I think,” said Morigna, “that Andomhaim needs you.”

Ridmark shook his head. “I was banished. I cannot return.”

“Ridmark,” said Morigna, “Tarrabus Carhaine pushed for your banishment…and Tarrabus Carhaine is the chief of the Enlightened of Incariel.”

Ridmark opened his mouth to argue…and then fell silent.

“That…had never occurred me,” he said. 

“You thought you deserved your banishment,” said Morigna. “Since you blamed yourself for Aelia’s death.”

“Deservedly,” said Ridmark. 

“Do not start that again,” said Morigna. “Maybe you would blame yourself regardless. I know how that feels. But the crux of the matter is you did not deserve the banishment. Do you not see? Perhaps Tarrabus banished you in vengeance for Aelia, because she chose you over him. But he also banished you because you would have opposed him. He banished you because it gave him a freer hand to do as he wished.” 

None of that had ever occurred to Ridmark. First he had been too focused on blaming himself for Aelia’s death, seeking his own death in retribution. Then he had turned all his attention to helping Calliande, to discovering the secret of the Frostborn. Yet Morigna’s words rang true. Ridmark did not doubt that Tarrabus blamed him for Aelia’s death. He also did not doubt that Tarrabus had forced Ridmark’s banishment to rid the Enlightened of Incariel of a potential foe. 

He sighed. “What would you have me do?”

“Return to Andomhaim,” said Morigna, “and take your rightful place among the lords of the realm.”

Ridmark snorted. “I thought you detested the nobles of Andomhaim.” 

“Well, if they are all like Sir Arandar I could do without them,” said Morigna. “But that is why they need you. They have allowed the corruption of the Enlightened to fester in their ranks. Brother Caius, for once, was right.”

“Really?” said Ridmark. He had never thought to hear those words come from her lips. “About what?” 

“Caius said that before you met, he preached a sermon in Tarlion chastising the nobles for pursuing wealth and power in lieu of their responsibilities,” said Morigna. Ridmark had forgotten that. “For once, he was more right than he knew. I merely thought the nobles of Andomhaim were greedy and stupid…”

“Because Coriolus said so?” said Ridmark. 

“He did,” said Morigna, “but in this, was he wrong?”

Ridmark said nothing for a while, picking his way over the root-tangled ground.

“Not entirely,” said Ridmark. “There are good men among the nobles. My father and brothers – I would believe the sun rose in the west before they turned to the Enlightened. Dux Gareth of the Northerland and his son Constantine. Corbanic and Cortin Lamorus in Coldinium.” 

“But there are villains among them as well,” said Morigna. “Tarrabus Carhaine. Sir Paul Tallmane. The men holding Arandar’s son on a false murder charge. You heard Jager tell the tale of what Sir Paul’s father did. The Red Family has festered in Cintarra for centuries. Someone has to pay for their services, and the nobles of Andomhaim are wealthy. Shadowbearer himself said he founded the Enlightened to corrupt and poison the realm of Andomhaim. If we manage to kill him, we shall have cut the head off the snake, but the poison the snake’s fangs pumped into Andomhaim will still remain.” 

“So what do you suggest?” said Ridmark.

“That you return to Andomhaim and take your rightful place,” said Morigna. “You said you wanted to help Calliande in her task. One imagines that Calliande shall need a great deal of help to root out of the Enlightened of Incariel.”

“Is that the kind of life you wish?” said Ridmark.

Morigna shrugged. “What I wish is to remain at your side. Do not forget I have a stake in this as well. Coriolus was a scion of the Enlightened and their teachings, and he murdered both my parents and Sir Nathan. I would seem them avenged and the Enlightened of Incariel broken.” 

“By having me become a powerful lord of Andomhaim?” said Ridmark. “With you at my side?” He frowned. “Is this about power?”

Morigna shrugged again. “Of course it is. But you do not desire power for its own sake. Yet someone in Andomhaim must wield power, Ridmark, whether you will it or not. Such is the nature of men. Someone must always wield power. It could be someone like you, or even someone like Arandar. Or it can be someone like Tarrabus and Paul Tallmane.”

Ridmark said nothing. He had never wanted to become a lord, only a knight in service to a worthy Comes or Dux. As the youngest son of Dux Leogrance, he had never thought to inherit Taliand. Yet if he had become the vassal of some Comes or Dux or powerful knight, he would have become a landed lord with benefices and villages of his own. Did Morigna want to become the wife of a powerful lord, whispering in his ear as he gathered allies against Tarrabus Carhaine and his supporters? He supposed it was a healthier craving than a longing for magical power. 

“Suppose I do not agree with you,” said Ridmark, “and I go back to the Wilderland once this is done. What then?”

“Then I will go with you,” said Morigna, and for a moment there was a hint of a quaver in her voice. “You will not be rid of me so easily, Ridmark Arban.”

He looked back at her. “Who says I want to be rid of you?”

She blinked, and then smiled at him. 

“Ah,” said Ridmark. “Two smiles in a single day. Truly this is a day for bold deeds.” 

“One should not be so glib,” said Morigna. “And to restate my answer to your question, if you go back to the Wilderland, then I will go with you. But…I think that would be a waste of your abilities. I think that you know it would be a waste of your abilities. I think that you have finished your mourning for Aelia, and that you are ready to go back. And I finally think you would not leave Calliande and your father and your friends to face the Enlightened alone.” 

They walked in silence for a little while, the trees thinning around them. In the distance he saw the hill with the ruined ring fort. 

“All this is moot, of course,” said Ridmark, “if Rhogrimnalazur eats us, or if Shadowbearer kills us all.”

“Simplicity itself,” said Morigna. “We shall just have to kill them first.” 

The branches rustled, and three lupivirii came into sight, moving forward on all fours. They wore their wolfish forms, their distended snouts filled with fangs, and their golden eyes drilled into Ridmark. Morigna flinched, but Ridmark did not stop, striding towards them as they approached. He stopped a few paces away and waited.

One did not show weakness before the beastmen.

“Well, Gray Knight?” snarled the lupivir in the center. “What news?”

“Prepare yourselves,” said Ridmark. “We hunt.”

###

Morigna followed Ridmark into the ring fort, the lupivirii still circling outside the walls. She would never be comfortable around them, but she admired how Ridmark could make even the feral beastmen bend to his will. 

“Any news?” said Ridmark. The others stood on guard at various places along the crumbling wall, weapons in hand. Calliande and Antenora stood close together, both of them casting spells. They were casting spells at each other, and at first Morigna thought they were practicing magical battle, but then she realized that Calliande was feeding power into Antenora, making the older sorceress’s spells stronger and more potent. 

Suddenly Ridmark’s plan came into sharp focus.

“Nothing of interest,” said Kharlacht. “No sign of the arachar.”

“I did not see any spiderlings moving in the forest,” said Mara. The spiderlings might have had the power to make themselves vanish, but they could not hide from Mara’s Sight. 

Rakhaag squatted on his haunches near the wall. “My hunters did not see the arachar stirring in the trees.” 

Ridmark nodded. “Good. It seems their bloody nose threw them off balance.” He turned towards Calliande. “Are you ready?”

“We are,” said Calliande. “Will it work?” 

“We’re about to find out,” said Ridmark. “The terrain seems favorable. We’re going to attack.”

“Now?” said Jager, blinking. 

“Right now,” said Ridmark. “We’re going to the Black Mountain, and if Rhogrimnalazur tries to stop us, then we’re going right through her.” 

Chapter 5: Urd Cystaanl

Calliande followed the others from the ruined fort. 

Ridmark, Kharlacht, Caius, Gavin, and Arandar took the front, weapons in hand. Calliande and Antenora walked behind them, Morigna on her left, and Mara and Jager upon her right. The soulblades in the hands of Gavin and Arandar flickered and shimmered with white fire, reacting to the shroud of dark magic hanging over the dying forest. Calliande held her magic ready to strike, preparing to unleash blasts of white fire if the spiderlings or Rhogrimnalazur herself made an appearance.

Mostly, she concentrated on maintaining her link to Antenora.

In ancient days, the high elven wizards had created links of magical power between themselves, feeding all of their strength towards a single caster. Younger wizards used this to channel power towards a skilled older wizard, allowing the older high elf to wield tremendous amounts of magical power. When Ardrhythain had founded the Magistri, he had taught them that ability. The Magistri could link to wield greater magic together than they could otherwise. Calliande was the Keeper, but she had been trained as a Magistria, and she knew the spell. 

Antenora hadn’t, but proved a quick study. The symbols upon her charred black staff crackled with leashed power, and to Calliande’s Sight ribbons of elemental power danced and flickered within the black-clad woman. 

“She’s not going to explode, is she?” said Jager. “That would be unfortunate. And messy.” Jager did not have the Sight, but the halfling kindred possessed a sensitivity to magical forces. Jager had said that he had felt something uncanny around Tarrabus, likely a result of the Dux’s worship of Incariel. 

“Fear not, master thief,” said Antenora. “The power is well-controlled by the Keeper’s skill. You are in no danger.” She considered the matter for a moment. “At least not from me. The spider-devil and her spawn are another matter entirely.”

“That is less than reassuring,” said Jager.

Antenora shook her head, her yellow eyes glinting in the depth of her hood. “Stirring speeches are the province of the Gray Knight. I merely call the fire.” 

“Quiet,” Ridmark said. “From this point, do not speak unless necessary. Rakhaag. Your hunters know what to do?”

Rakhaag let out a long, snarling growl. “The True People hunted the face of this world for thousands of turns of the sun before your kindred ever set foot upon its soil.”

“Good,” said Ridmark, unfazed as ever by the lupivir’s bristling hostility. “Put that wisdom to use, then. You know what to do.” 

Rakhaag raised his head and howled, and answering cries rose from the surrounding lupivirii packs. The sound sent an icy chill down Calliande’s back, and she had visions of the beastmen chasing her through the forest. Even knowing that the lupivirii were on her side, it was hard not to turn her spells against them. Yet the lupivirii dispersed, breaking into small groups and vanishing into the web-choked trees. According to Ridmark’s plan, they would sweep the forest, killing any arachar scouts they found.