Frostborn: The Gorgon Spirit (18 page)

“The word is not known to me,” said Curzonar. 

“Orcs in service to the Traveler of Nightmane Forest,” said Ridmark. “He used his magic to mutate them, to make them stronger and hardier.”

Curzonar spat in disgust. “Wretched dark elves. They sought to enslave the Hunters, but we defied them to the end. Kurdulkar thinks to turn us into a new version of them.” He shook his head again. “We defeated our foes and made our way into the Vale. The survivors of the fall of Khald Azalar said that the final Hunters made their stand at the Vault of the North, so it seemed likely that Murzanar had made his way there.”

“Then you encountered the gorgon spirit,” said Calliande, “did you not?”

“You guess correctly,” said Curzonar, weariness entering his growling voice. “We came to the Vault of the North, a ruin at the edge of the lake near the base of the mountains. Hundreds of frozen statues surrounded it. We entered…and the gorgon spirit issued forth to take us.” He snarled, his hands clenching into fists. “It was wearing Murzanar’s flesh.”

“What?” said Ridmark.

“It is logical, is it not?” said Curzonar. “It is a spirit, and spirits must enter flesh to harm those of flesh. It had taken Murzanar’s body. The arbiters of the Hunters preserve the scents of all the Princes of the Range, and I recognized Murzanar’s scent at once. His eyes shone with green fire, and the light that issued from his eyes turned anyone it touched into a statue.” He growled, his tail lashing with displeasure. “Many of my Hunters were turned to stone, and we had no choice but to retreat shamefully. As we did, bands of trolls attacked us, and the gorgon spirit kept hunting us. The last of my comrades fell a few hours past, and I have been fighting trolls ever since.”

Calliande shook her head, another strange thought coming to her. “Lord Prince, did you notice anything strange about Murzanar?”

“You mean other than the gorgon spirit possessing him?” said Curzonar, something almost like humor in his voice. 

“Aye,” said Calliande, thinking hard. God, but she wished she could remember the past clearly! Even if it was horrifying, it would be nice to remember without struggling. “Something like…oh, a jewel, or perhaps a rod or a crown. Something of dwarven make.”

“He wore a helm of dwarven steel, written with glyphs of green fire around the crown,” said Curzonar.

“That’s it,” whispered Calliande, snapping her fingers. “That’s it. I…I remember. I remember it!”

Curzonar gave her a sideways glance, his nostrils flaring. Evidently he still thought her insane, but she did not care. 

“Calliande?” said Ridmark.

“I remember,” she breathed. “That helmet, Ridmark. The helmet is the key. The smiths and stonescribes of Khald Azalar made it and bound the gorgon spirit to it. I think…I think Murzanar must have broken into the Vault of the North, put on the helmet, and become possessed by the gorgon spirit. It’s enslaved him ever since. How long ago did you say Murzanar came here? A century?”

“One hundred and fifteen years, to be precise,” said Curzonar. 

“And how long has this place been known as the Vale of Stone Death?” said Calliande. 

“I don’t know,” said Ridmark. “Kharlacht thought it had been called that for at least a century.”

“What do you propose?” said Curzonar. 

“That we find Murzanar and take the helmet, freeing him from the gorgon spirit,” said Calliande. “If we do that, we can save your warriors from imprisonment in stone, lord Prince.” She looked at Ridmark. “We can also give our friends a greater chance.”

“You have other comrades?” said Curzonar. 

“Aye,” said Ridmark. “We were attacked by Mhorites and separated. We planned to meet at the Gate of the West, but I am not sure that they will be able to find a path through the Mhorites and the Anathgrimm, to say nothing of the trolls and the gorgon spirit.” 

“If we free Murzanar from the gorgon spirit,” said Calliande, “then their odds are all the higher. Ours, too. We can slip past while the Mhorites, the trolls, and the Anathgrimm fight each other.” She looked at Curzonar, making herself meet those golden lion’s eyes. “And you, lord Prince, will achieve your goal as well. We can free your comrades who were turned to stone, and you can return to the Red King’s court with both the knowledge of Murzanar’s fate and the diadems of any Princes of the Range that are still in the Vault of the North. Then you can stop Kurdulkar before his followers do to the manetaurs what the Enlightened of Incariel have done to Andomhaim.”

“A bold plan,” said Curzonar. “Worthy of a true Hunter. There is one serious problem.”

“The gorgon spirit’s power,” said Ridmark. “If the three of us were turned to statues, it would be a great help to Shadowbearer and his servants.”

Calliande took a deep breath. “I can ward us from the spirit’s power.”

“You can?” said Curzonar, his eyes narrowing. 

“I came here centuries ago, before I went into the long sleep,” said Calliande. “I knew what defenses the old Kings of Khald Azalar left around their home. I know how to ward us from the gorgon spirit’s power.” 

At least, she thought she did. 

“This is a bold plan, worthy of a Hunter,” said Curzonar. “I consent to it…though I am not sure that you do, Ridmark son of Leogrance.” 

Ridmark said nothing, staring into the forest, his fingers tapping against the black staff. For a moment she thought some danger in the pine trees had caught his attention, but she recognized the distracted look upon his face. He was weighing the consequences. His heart wanted him to go after Morigna and the others at once. But his mind, the mind an experienced warrior, knew better. 

It knew that she was right.

His mind also realized, as Calliande had, that if they helped Curzonar, he could become a capable ally in the future. Even if they stopped Shadowbearer and kept the Frostborn from returning, the Enlightened of Incariel were still powerful. They, too, had to be stopped, as did their fellows among the manetaurs. 

He saw her looking and snorted. “You know what I’m thinking, don’t you?”

Calliande shrugged. “I’ve had some practice.”

“Very well,” said Ridmark. “We make for the Vault of the North. Let us leave at once. We can yet cover some ground before dark.” 

Chapter 13: The Converts

“Here,” said Morigna, her eyes twitching behind closed lids. “The ravens do not see any foes within three miles of us.”

“Including the trolls?” said Arandar. “Even your ravens might have trouble seeing them.”

Morigna snorted. “Aye, but their camouflage does nothing to disguise their foul stench.” 

Gavin said nothing, keeping an eye upon the surrounding forests. They had taken shelter upon a low hill topped with a ruined watch tower. Built of dwarven masonry, the tower’s roof and top third were gone, but the rest stood intact. He felt too exposed here, and wished they could have found a better campsite, but this was the best they could find. At least here they could hold out. If the Anathgrimm attacked, they would draw the attention of the trolls or of the Mhorites, and then Gavin and the others could cut their way free in the chaos. 

Or so he hoped. 

Perhaps Antenora could blast her way through them.

Though he suspected that Antenora needed to rest. She leaned heavily upon the black staff, its light quenched. Her hood had fallen back, and she looked terrible, her face gray and pale, her yellow eyes like pools of poison. Of course, maybe she always looked that terrible. 

“Very well,” said Arandar. “We shall rest here for now.”

“Is that safe, sir knight?” said Azakhun. He had made the run on his own power, but only barely. 

“Not particularly,” said Arandar, “but we must rest. We have fought Mhorites, Anathgrimm, and trolls over the last few days, and it seems you have faced as many foes as well. This is as good a location as we are likely to find before we continue to the Gate of the West.”

“You are going to Khald Azalar?” said Azakhun, blinking in surprise. “Where are the Gray Knight and the Magistria?”

Arandar scowled. “We are not certain. We took the High Gate instead of the High Pass, which turned out to be wise, as the High Pass was choked with Mhorites. But a Mhorite shaman triggered the old defenses in the High Pass, and we were separated. We had hoped to reunite at the Gate of the West in a few days, assuming we survive the journey across the Vale of Stone Death.”

Azakhun nodded. “I am in no position to argue with you. Without your intervention, the Traveler would have had us tortured to death for his amusement.”

“I shall lay alarms,” announced Morigna, “and bid the ravens to return to me should they see any foes. That should grant us at least some measure of warning should we come under attack…or if Ridmark and Calliande come across us.”   

Arandar nodded. “Do as you think best.” Gavin wasn’t sure that was such a good idea. She gave him a look as she passed him, her eyes flat, but Gavin said nothing.

The others went into the tower, sheltering within the thick stone walls. Gavin was just as tired, but he remained in the archway, looking at the forest. Truthseeker lent him strength, and he could remain on watch as the others rested, just in case the Traveler decided to come after them.

Or, part of his mind murmured, if Morigna did something foolish. 

“We must have counsel together, sir knight,” said Antenora to Arandar in her raspy voice. “You must tell me where the Keeper has gone.”

“In a moment,” said Arandar. “We can do nothing else tonight in any event. Soon it will be too dark to see, and I hope the Anathgrimm and the trolls have a pleasant evening hunting each other.”

Antenora did not seem pleased by this, but she nodded and fell silent. Caius and Arandar walked to Azakhun and his retainers. 

“We are curious how you came here,” said Caius. “We left you in Coldinium, and certainly did not expect to see you in the Vale of Stone Death.” 

“The Taalkaz had a letter from the King of Khald Tormen,” said Azakhun. “The King was concerned by how many dwarven artifacts the orcs of Vhaluusk had retrieved from the ruins of Khald Azalar. The khaldari have not returned to Khald Azalar since it fell to the Frostborn, partly because it is too dangerous, but partly because we simply did not have the numbers to repopulate its halls.”

“But if the Vhaluuskan orcs were able to get into Khald Azalar and find artifacts,” said Mara, “then perhaps the danger in the Vale of Stone Death had lessened, and your people could return.” 

Azakhun blinked at her in confusion. 

“Oh!” said Mara. “I’m sorry. We haven’t formally met.” She offered the dwarven Taalmak a bow. “My name is Mara, once of Coldinium, but now I am wed to Jager, and together we follow the Gray Knight on his task.”

Azakhun looked at Jager.

“I know,” said Jager. “It is confusing, isn’t it? I’m just that charming.”  

“Thank you for your aid, my lady,” said Azakhun at last. Gavin wondered what he made of Mara. Likely he thought that she was a sorceress of some kind. “Your reasoning is also correct. The King believed that if the dangers in the Vale of Stone Death had lessened, we could return and place a colony within Khald Azalar, to one day grow and rebuild the city. Barring that, we could activate the ancient defenses and seal the city entirely, keeping intruders from entering it until we could return in force.” 

“So he sent you to assess the danger, then,” said Arandar.

“I volunteered for this task,” said Azakhun, “for the Three Kingdoms of the khaldari were once nine, and to reclaim even one of the lost six would be a great deed. Ten of my men and I departed for the Vale of Stone Death the day after the Gray Knight and his followers set out in pursuit of Sir Paul Tallmane and the stolen soulstone.” He hesitated. “How did that end? Were you victorious?”

“We were,” said Caius. “The Iron Tower was destroyed, Sir Paul slain in battle, and the empty soulstone retrieved. Many of the Tower’s garrison belonged to the Enlightened of Incariel, but those who were not we sent to join the Comes of Coldinium, to lend their testimony to the charges he hopes to bring against Tarrabus Carhaine before the High King.”

“Ah,” said Azakhun. “The first good news we have heard for many days. But to continue my tale. We reached the Vale of Stone Death without incident, but soon faced dire opposition. The trolls came down from the mountains in great numbers, and it was all that we could do to avoid them. Then an army came through the High Pass. Spiny orcs, led by a dark elven lord – the Anathgrimm and the Traveler. Two of my men fell in battle before we could fall back. The fighting between the Anathgrimm and the trolls let us escape, and we tried to make our way back to the High Pass or the High Gate. Alas, we reached the foothills again only as the Mhorites arrived in force, led by Mournacht himself.” Azakhun shook his head, his gray, bearded face weary. “He must have summoned a great force of Mhorite warriors as soon as he left Coldinium. All of Kothluusk must be emptied. We could not possibly elude such numbers, and decided to make for the Gate of the West, brave the dangers within Khald Azalar, and pass under the mountains of Vhaluusk to reach the Gate of the East and the River Moradel.” 

“Instead you encountered the Traveler and his minions,” said Arandar.

Azakhun sighed. “Another of my men fell in the fighting, and we were taken captive. The Traveler tortured another one to death in a fit of rage, and had two more thrown to his urvaalgs.” He closed his eyes. “Had you not arrived when you did, we would have suffered the same fate. The Traveler is a madman. The Mhorites at least would kill us as an offering to their bloody god, but the Traveler would have killed us all on a whim.” 

That was the most emotion Gavin had ever seen a dwarf show. Caius, of course, laughed and smiled, but the dwarves Gavin had met in Coldinium had been solemn to the point of grimness. Their gods of stone and silence demanded it. 

“I am sorry for your losses,” said Arandar.

“There would have been more losses if you had not come along when you did,” said Azakhun. “Why are you here? When last we met, you intended to go to the Iron Tower…and since you were victorious there, I assume you went to Urd Morlemoch as the Gray Knight intended.”

“We did,” said Caius, “and only escaped with our lives by the grace of the Dominus Christus. But there we learned the truth. Calliande is the last Keeper of Andomhaim, and she put herself into a deep sleep in preparation for the dire hour that has now arisen. The omen of blue fire was a conjunction of the thirteen moons, and Shadowbearer has the power to summon the Frostborn to our world again for a year and a month after the conjunction. That is why he wanted to kill Calliande and claim the soulstone for himself. Calliande hid the staff of the Keeper in Khald Azalar in preparation for this day, and we have come here so she can retrieve it. Unfortunately, both the Traveler and Mournacht have come to take the staff, and it would not surprise me if Shadowbearer himself arrived soon.” 

Azakhun considered this. “I…see. I feared the omen of blue fire was a sign of momentous events to come, and it appears I was correct. Very well.” He lifted his bearded chin. “We are trapped here with you, and we shall fight alongside you until we can escape.”

The other dwarven warriors murmured their acquiescence. 

“We shall be glad for all the aid we can find,” said Arandar. He turned to Antenora. “I understand you seek for Calliande, as well?”

Antenora limped forward, leaning upon her staff, and drew back her hood. In the clear light of the setting sun, she looked even more haggard and corpse-like. The lines of deep scars marked the right side of her jaw and face, as if she had been raked by some huge beast. “I am. You may call me Antenora, if you must call me anything at all.”

“Antenora?” said Arandar. “That is not your name?”

“No,” murmured Antenora. “Long ago, there was a poet named Dante. He wrote of heaven and hell and the realms between, and named the nine circles of hell. In the circle of Antenora he housed the blackest traitors. I took the name Antenora to myself when I heard his poem, for I am a traitor.”

Arandar considered this. “Then you will not tell us your name?”

Antenora shrugged. “I would…but I fear I cannot remember it.”

Morigna slipped through the stone archway, her staff in hand, and watched Antenora.

“Then why do you seek the Keeper?” said Arandar. 

“It was a long time ago,” said Antenora. “At the end of Arthur Pendragon’s realm, when his son Mordred rose against him.”

“That was almost a thousand years ago,” said Arandar. “How are you still alive, if what you say is true?”

Antenora’s colorless lips twitched in something that might have been a smile. “Closer to fifteen centuries, actually. I understand that time flows slower upon this world than on Old Earth. What year is it here?”

“The Year of Our Lord 1478,” said Arandar. 

“It was 2012 when I left Old Earth,” said Antenora.

“This betrayal,” said Arandar. “I fear you have not yet explained it.”

“No,” murmured Antenora. “It was so long ago. The girl that I was, the girl who was a traitor, died so long ago. All that I am is her regret, living on in sorrow.”

“That is very poetic,” said Mara, her voice gentle, “but it still does not answer the question.”

Antenora sighed. “Fifteen centuries ago, there was the Keeper of Avalon, the guardian of Britannia against the forces of dark magic. I was her apprentice, her student. When Mordred turned to the powers of dark magic, the Keeper sided with the High King.” She closed her yellow eyes. “I sided with Mordred.”

“Why?” said Mara.

“I loved him,” said Antenora. “I was young and passionate and foolish. I thought that he loved me. I thought I was the only one…but there were other women, so many others. Mordred’s son Malahan, your ancestor,” she waved a hand at Arandar, “saw the truth, and he tried to warn me. I laughed at him and called him a fool, and spurned his kindness and his mercy. Then came the Battle of Camlann. In the fighting Mordred betrayed me and left me for dead, taking my power to fight against the High King, but Arthur Pendragon prevailed at the cost of his life.” Her fingers strayed to her cheek. 

“What happened then?” said Arandar. 

“I did not die,” Antenora said, “but I did not live. Mordred’s powers had cursed me. Food would not sate my hunger, nor water my thirst, and I knew neither pleasure nor pain in my flesh. My magic had been crippled, save for my power over fire. In desperation, I sought out Malahan and the Keeper, to beg their forgiveness for my folly, but they had already gone, departed through a gate to their new world, this world.” She tapped her staff against the ground. “The pagan Saxons overran Britannia soon after, and I despaired for long years. In time I came to my senses, and tried to fulfill the mantle of the Keeper, protecting the people of Britannia from dark magic. Over the centuries I wandered the entirety of Old Earth, fighting the shadows of the dark and seeking magical knowledge, ways I could follow the Keeper and beg her forgiveness.” She shook her head. “I…saw things, sir knight, so many horrible things…”

Gavin said nothing. He had some idea of the things she mentioned. The Warden had showed them in his visions, the terrible engines and machines of war that the men of Old Earth had constructed with their sciences. 

“You did this?” said Mara. “For fifteen centuries?”

“Aye,” said Antenora. “I do not remember all of it. Perhaps that is a mercy. The mortal mind…it was never meant to live for so long, and my mind has more memories than it can comprehend. Like too much water poured into a jar. Some of them have spilled away. I cannot remember my name, or the names of my mother and father and sisters. I cannot remember the taste of food or the pleasure of the wind upon my face. There are entire centuries that I have lost. I remember coming to Londinium in 1349…and then the start of the civil war when the Duke of York rose against King Henry in 1460, but I recall but little of the years between.” Her yellow eyes stared off into nothingness. “But my betrayal, my crime, my folly…I remember that as clearly as if it happened this morning. Perhaps it did happen this morning. For it is ever at the forefront of my thoughts. I tried to defend the people from dark magic, and I ever sought to follow the Keeper’s path…and then, one day, I felt the disturbance.”

“The Warden’s gate, was it not?” said Morigna.