Frostborn: The Undying Wizard (37 page)

The town seemed peaceful behind its walls, the monastery of St. Cassian standing atop its crag. He hoped it would remain that way. 

But he knew it would not. The Frostborn were returning, and if they were not stopped, the world would freeze even as the cities of men burned. 

Still, for now, Moraime was safe, and the undead would trouble it no further. 

“Are donkeys all such stubborn beasts?” said Gavin, grumbling as he tugged at the reins of their baggage train. Michael had given them a pack train of eight donkeys, laden with food and useful supplies. The beasts would slow their progress, unfortunately. But the further west they went, the harder it would be to find supplies. And in the spell-haunted wastes of the Torn Hills in the shadow of Urd Morlemoch’s towers, there was no food or drink to be had. At least none that was safe for mortal men to consume.

Ridmark remembered that well. 

“I fear so,” said Caius. “Donkeys are stubborn and willful beasts, and require a strong hand and firm discipline. Much like mortal men in our fallen state.”

“You would turn everything into a sermon,” said Kharlacht. 

“Our eyes must be ever toward God,” said Caius.

“True,” said Kharlacht, “but you could give the boy some useful advice.”

“Such as?” said Caius.

“That donkeys bite.”

Gavin jerked forward as the donkey’s teeth snapped shut a few inches from his arm, and Kharlacht and Caius laughed, while Calliande smiled and shook her head. 

“Where is the path now, Ridmark?” said Calliande.

“Northwest,” he said, pointing. In that direction rolled the fields and pastures of the townsmen of Moraime, but beyond them rose the dense and ancient forests of the Wilderland. “We’ll pass through the forests, and then come to the foothills of the mountains of the Three Kingdoms. Perhaps we’ll see some kindred of yours, Caius.”

“Pagan orcs raiding down from Kothluusk is more likely,” said Kharlacht. 

“Then onto the Torn Hills, haunted by the ghosts and spells of battles long past,” said Ridmark. “Another three weeks, I think, and we shall see the walls of Urd Morlemoch.”

And then at last he would have some answers.

Or the Warden would kill them all. 

“Then may God lend our limbs strength and speed,” said Caius, “for our cause is just.”

“Let us hope he sends us warm beds and dry roads as well,” said Kharlacht. 

“Come,” said Ridmark, and he led the way from Moraime. 

Chapter 24 - Ravens

Thirty-seven days after it began, thirty-seven days after the day in the Year of Our Lord 1478 when blue fire filled the sky from horizon to horizon, Ridmark rose from his blanket, walked past the smoldering coals of their dying campfire, and looked at the morning sky through the gap in the trees overhead. 

He stared at the sky for a while, watching and listening. He heard Caius rise, the dwarven friar beginning to sing the twenty-third Psalm in Latin as he did every morning. 

A little later he heard the rustling as Caius’s singing woke the others, as Gavin started to prepare breakfast. Then he felt a presence next to him.

“What is it?” said Calliande, looking at the sky. “Birds?”

Ridmark nodded and watched the black speck circling overhead.

“Just birds?” said Calliande, flexing her fingers. “Not wyverns? Drakes? Or, God forbid, an urdhracos?”

“No,” said Ridmark. “Ravens, in fact.” 

Calliande frowned. 

“I think,” said Ridmark, “we shall have a visitor today.”

“Perhaps we should move, then,” said Calliande.

“No need,” said Ridmark. “With her spells, she could find us anyway. To say nothing of Caius’s singing.”

“Perhaps we should convince him of the virtues of silent prayer,” said Calliande. 

Ridmark laughed, and a surprised smile spread over Calliande’s face. “Perhaps. But, for now, it is no use. We have been found. And I am curious to see what she shall do when she shows herself.”

They broke camp and continued northwest, making their way through the trackless forest of the Wilderland. Few dwelled in this part of the Wilderland. The forest often served as a battleground between the orcs of Vhaluusk and the orcs of Kothluusk and the dwarves of the Three Kingdoms, and the creatures of the dark elves lurked in the trees, ready to feast upon the unwary. There were entrances into the Deeps, and old, undead-haunted ruins left from many ancient wars.

But for now the trees were quiet, and the late spring weather was pleasant and mild.

Ridmark saw a raven fly overhead and perch upon a tree, and raised his hand for a halt. The others stopped, Gavin muttering threats at the donkeys, and Ridmark looked at the raven. The bird gazed back at him with an unblinking black eye. 

“You may as well come out,” said Ridmark. “I know you’re there.”

For a moment nothing moved.

Then Morigna appeared from behind one of the trees. She wore her previous costume of leather and wool, a dagger and a variety of pouches at her belt. In her right hand she carried a long staff that had been carved with a number of odd sigils. Her black hair had been pulled back by a ring of bone, and her black eyes were stark in her pale face. 

She stopped a dozen paces away from Ridmark and took a deep breath.

As if she was nervous.

###

Morigna stared at Ridmark Arban.

She could not tell if he was glad to see her or not. His hard face gave away nothing, his cold blue eyes unblinking. Caius seemed pleased to see her, and Kharlacht indifferent. Gavin alternated between scowling at her and at the donkeys.

She was reasonably certain that Calliande was not happy to see her. 

“How did you know that I was following you?” said Morigna.

“Your ravens,” said Ridmark.

“There are many ravens in the forest,” said Morigna.

“This is true,” said Ridmark. “It is also true that the same raven tends not to fly in a circle over a group of travelers over and over again.” 

Morigna sighed. “One would suppose that rather gave the game away.” 

“And what game is that?” said Ridmark. “I assume you followed us for a reason?”

Morigna hesitated, trying to find the words for what she wished to say.

“Is it because of what happened in Moraime?” said Calliande. Morigna still did not like the woman, but found that she could respect the Magistria. Few would have had the strength to survive that long in a battle of spells with the Old Man, but Calliande had. 

“What happened in Moraime?” said Morigna. “Did the Old Man work some evil there before Rjalfur slew him?”

“No,” said Calliande. “Abbot Ulakhur and the praefectus have forbidden you from the town.”

Morigna nodded, indifferent. “No matter. I have no desire to return to Moraime for any reason.”

“Then what do you want?” said Ridmark.

“I…” Morigna opened her mouth, closed it, and started speaking. “I left the hill, after Coriolus died, because…I did not know what to do next. It was all…simply too much.”

“That is understandable,” said Caius.

Morigna did not want sympathy from him or anyone. “I intended to leave Vhaluusk entirely, to make my way across the realm and see it with my own eyes. I know how to hunt and move through the wilderness, and with my magic I can go anywhere I wish.”

Ridmark nodded. “So why didn’t you?”

Again Morigna did not know how to answer.

“Because,” said Calliande, her voice quiet, “you are lost. You trusted Coriolus for most of your life, and he betrayed you.”

“I am not lost,” snapped Morigna. She would be damned before she would show weakness before Calliande. Though all of Ridmark’s companions had seen her naked and tied to that altar. How much more weakness could she show than that? “I know exactly where I am.”

“But you are uncertain,” said Ridmark, “of what to do next.” 

“Yes,” said Morigna. “I thought about retreating into the Wilderland, but I confess the life of a hermit holds no appeal for me.”

“This from a woman who spent years living in the marshes?” said Ridmark.

“I prefer to spend most of my time alone,” said Morigna, “but that does not mean I never wish to hear another voice.” 

“Then I suppose you have a chance that few ever receive,” said Calliande, “to make of your life whatever you will.”

“If you like,” said Ridmark, “I could write to the Dux of the Northerland, and ask him to find you a place.”

Morigna said nothing. She had hoped that he would ask her to come with him, but he would not ask anyone to come with him, believing that he would die on the journey to Urd Morlemoch. Likely Calliande and the others had invited themselves along.

“That is…that is kind,” said Morigna, “but when I said I did not know what to do next, I was not entirely truthful. There is something I must do first. I have a debt I must pay.”

“To who?” said Ridmark.

He truly didn’t know? “To you.”

“You owe me nothing,” said Ridmark.

“You saved my life,” said Morigna, “and you defeated Coriolus.”

“Rjalfur did that,” said Ridmark. 

“The trolldomr would have done nothing but philosophize and watch as Coriolus possessed me,” said Morigna, “had you not intervened.” She shook her head. “You didn’t have to help me, either. You could have continued to Urd Morlemoch, and no one would have blamed you. Instead you came back for me.” She swallowed and forced herself to say the next words. The Old Man would have believed them an admission of weakness…but he was dead and she was not. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome,” said Ridmark.

“I would not stand by and let an Eternalist possess an innocent victim,” said Calliande.  

Kharlacht shrugged. “Where the Gray Knight goes, I follow.” Caius and Gavin nodded their agreement. 

“And this is how I shall repay my debt to you,” said Morigna. “I will come with you, and help you succeed in your task.” 

Ridmark met her eyes, and she forced herself not to look away. Odd that his gaze had such an effect on her. 

“You know where I am going,” said Ridmark. “Even Coriolus was frightened of Urd Morlemoch, and in this if nothing else, he was right. There is a very good chance the Warden will kill us all.” 

“I know this,” said Morigna. She lifted her chin. “You face certain death, this is so. But with my help…perhaps you will have a chance of survival.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on his hard face. “Miniscule.”

“Indeed,” said Morigna. 

“You are set on this, then?” said Ridmark.

Morigna nodded.

Ridmark sighed. “I set out for Urd Morlemoch alone, and now I have a…a…”

“Party,” said Caius.

“Warband,” said Kharlacht.

“Retainers,” said Gavin.

Calliande smiled. “Friends.”

“So be it,” said Ridmark. “One condition, though. You will do as I say, and you will not instigate fights with the others. Is this understood?”

“Those are two conditions, but they are understood,” said Morigna. Though if she had to act for Ridmark’s own good without his knowledge, Morigna had no qualms about that. 

“Very well,” said Ridmark. “One question. What is that staff? You didn’t have it before.”

“I made it,” said Morigna, “some time ago, from the wood of an elderoak. The high elves, the Old Man told me, could make staves from the wood with magical properties. He took the staff when I made it, claiming it was dangerous, but I know that was a lie. With it, I suspect I will have command over trees and perhaps even items of wood.”

“That could be useful,” said Kharlacht, “when facing bowmen.” 

“Indeed,” said Ridmark. He glanced at the sky. “Let us be on our way. Even with the pack beasts, we should be able to make another eight miles today.”

He led the way, and the others followed. Morigna fell in with them, and Calliande nodded at her. She nodded back, the staff smooth and cool against her fingers. She would repay her debt, she vowed. She would see Ridmark safely into Urd Morlemoch and back, to continue his quest against the Frostborn.

She would find enough power to make it so.

###

Ridmark considered their new companion as he walked.

Morigna was dangerous, but they were going to a dangerous place. And if they were to go into Urd Morlemoch and succeed in wresting any knowledge from the Warden, Ridmark would need help. 

He would have gone alone, had he the power to manage it…but it seemed the he did not.

And for all that, he was grateful for the others nonetheless. 

They walked on through the forest, drawing ever closer to the Torn Hills and Urd Morlemoch beyond them.

Epilogue

Tarrabus of the House of the Carhainii, Dux of Caerdracon, stood upon the dais in the great hall of the Iron Tower and listened as the assassin Rotherius gave his report. 

Other than Tarrabus and Rotherius, there were two other men in the hall. The first wore the armor of a knight of Andomhaim, gleaming steel plate beneath a surcoat adorned with the heraldry of Caerdracon, a black dragon’s head upon a field of blue. He had black eyes and brown hair and mustache he styled and trimmed every day. Sir Paul Tallmane was both the Constable of the Iron Tower and a fool. Nonetheless, he was loyal fool, and had no qualms about doing whatever Tarrabus asked of him, no matter how bloody. He was much like the Iron Tower itself, Tarrabus mused – the castra was far from Caerdracon, but Tarrabus had put it to good use. 

The Enlightened of Incariel housed many of their secrets, treasures, and useful prisoners within the Iron Tower’s vaults. 

“And that was it,” said Rotherius, kneeling before the dais. The Red Brother had removed his skull mask, and beneath it he had a narrow face beneath a tangle of graying yellow hair. “The fool Jonas led nearly all my brothers to their deaths. I returned to report our failure to the Matriarch, and she bade me to bear the news to you, my lords.” 

Tarrabus held Rotherius’s gaze for a moment, and then looked to the second man.

Of course, the second man wasn’t really a man at all. 

The high elf wore black boots, trousers and tunic beneath a long, black-trimmed coat the color of blood. His skin was the grayish-white of a corpse, and black veins throbbed beneath his hands and face, like fingers of corruption digging into rotting flesh. His bloodshot eyes were the color of mercury, of quicksilver, and whenever Tarrabus looked in his direction, he saw his distorted reflection in the irises of the high elf’s eyes.