Frostborn: The World Gate (5 page)

The spiderling who had spoken with Ridmark had avoided the explosion, and she screamed a command of her own. The arachar rallied, roaring battle cries, and charged in a ragged mass towards the ring fort. 

Ridmark and the others rushed forward, and Gavin followed, Antenora running at his side. Calliande lifted the staff of the Keeper, white fire flaring against its length, and cast a spell. Pale white light jumped from her hands and wrapped Gavin and the others in its glow, armoring them against weapons and making them faster and stronger than they would have been otherwise. Combined with Truthseeker’s power, Gavin could move faster and striker harder than a normal man. 

He had been given that power for a purpose, and it was time to put it to use.

Gavin charged, Truthseeker shining with white fire in response to the dark magic the spiderlings of the spiderlings, and attacked. Before he could reach the arachar, Morigna cast a spell, and the earth at the feet of the orcish warriors folded and rippled. A dozen of the arachar went sprawling, and Ridmark and Caius and Kharlacht attacked, killing the prone arachar before they rose again. Gavin dashed past them and slammed into the next rank of warriors, striking with Truthseeker. The burning soulblade ripped through the throat of the nearest arachar, and the warrior collapsed. Another arachar lunged at Gavin, driving his sword forward, and Gavin wheeled and raised his shield. The blade deflected from the dwarven steel with a metallic screeh, and Gavin counterattacked, his enhanced strength driving Truthseeker through the orcish warrior’s leather cuirass. The arachar fell, his tainted blood sliding along Truthseeker’s blade, and Gavin stepped back, his shield raised. 

Three more arachar charged at him, howling a long word that was likely the name of their false goddess, Rhogrim-something. He blocked a wild slash upon his shield and fell back another step. The three arachar had clearly fought alongside each other before, and spread out around Gavin, timing their attacks so he could never quite recover his footing. 

But neither did Gavin fight alone.

Blue fire flashed behind the arachar on his left, and Mara appeared out of nothingness, her sword of dark elven steel gripped in both hands. She plunged the blade into the warrior’s back, and the arachar bellowed in fury, trying to face her as Mara retracted the blade and stepped back. In that moment of distraction Gavin attacked, slamming his shield into the face of the central arachar. The orc stumbled, his tusks scraping against the shield, and Gavin drove Truthseeker home. The arachar fell, dying, and the remaining warrior swung his sword at Gavin’s head. He caught the strike upon his shield, and then pressed forward. The arachar reeled back, and again Gavin landed a killing blow.

He turned to nod his thanks to Mara, but she had already traveled away. He saw a flash of blue fire further down the melee, saw Mara trip an arachar, allowing Kharlacht to behead the warrior with a massive blow of his greatsword. 

More arachar rushed at Gavin, and he went back on the attack, Truthseeker’s magic and Calliande’s spell thrumming through him.

###

Calliande gripped her staff with both hands, her mind focused upon half a dozen spells at once.

A few months ago, such a feat would have been far beyond her grasp. Now that she had her memory and the Keeper’s mantle once more, the task was routine. She had done it dozens of times during the fighting against the Frostborn. The magic of the Well at Tarlion’s heart filled her, letting her maintain the spells of strength and speed and protection around her companions as they drove back the arachar. The ancient, mighty magic of the Keeper’s staff burned within her, giving her the magical strength to achieve spells she could not have worked otherwise. 

The surviving four spiderlings worked in concert, combining their powers to unleash spells of dark magic. They flung a bolt of blue fire wreathed in shadow at Calliande, a wasting spell that would have withered her to mummified skin and crumbled bone.

She deflected the spell, casting a ward around herself, and the blue fire vanished against the power of the Well. Even with the staff, Calliande had reached the limits of her strength. She could have struck back against the spiderlings, unleashing the white fire of the Well or elemental magic or the raw power of the Keeper, but she could not maintain her wards or the augmentation spells around her companions at the same time. 

Fortunately, she had Antenora to strike back for her.

Once, Antenora wielded magic like the spells Calliande now used. Antenora’s betrayal had taken that power from her, along with most of the other abilities of a Keeper’s apprentice. All Antenora retained was the ability of the Sight and knowledge of the elemental magic of fire. 

But she had practiced wielding the fire for fifteen centuries…and she had gotten very good at it.

Antenora flung fireball after fireball. A ring of burned arachar corpses surrounded the spiderlings, the scent of charred flesh filling the air. The spiderlings tried to strike back at Antenora, but Calliande’s Sight gave her plenty of warning, and her wards protected Antenora from their dark magic. Together the Keeper and her apprentice worked in harmony, deflecting the spiderlings’ attacks and striking back with blasts of elemental flame. 

Antenora thrust her staff before her, her long black coat and ragged vest billowing around her in the hot wind of her spell. A shaft of fire blazed from her staff, tight and focused and so hot that the grass of the hill charred as it passed. The bar of flame hammered into one of the spiderlings, and the creature’s tattered ward collapsed beneath the raw power. Antenora’s spell cut through the spiderling, bisecting her from head to groin, and the two halves of the spiderling collapsed, the cut edges of her flesh charred black. 

One of the spiderlings stepped back, fear upon her face. She screamed out a command in the dark elven tongue, ordering the arachar to fall back and regroup at the base of the hill. The arachar warriors retreated, and Ridmark and the others pressed their advantage. Gavin and Arandar carved their way forward, leaving a trail of dead orcs in their wake. Ridmark, Kharlacht, Caius, and Jager fought in a knot, covering each other as they moved forward. Mara flickered in and out existence, harrying the arachar, and Morigna amused herself by causing the earth to ripple and fold, knocking the arachar from their feet. 

They were winning. Calliande felt a fierce surge of pride in her friends, followed by concern. If the arachar broke and ran, Ridmark wanted to push to the River Moradel. If they went into that web-choked forest, the arachar could summon reinforcements. Whatever urdmordar commanded the arachar might come forth as well. 

She started to draw breath, to shout for Ridmark…and a howl interrupted her.

Dozens of howls, long and loud and bone-chilling. 

A moment of shocked silence fell over the battle as both the arachar and Calliande’s friends looked to see the source of the howls. Antenora’s yellow eyes grew wide. The woman rarely displayed surprise at anything, but now she seemed stunned.

“Keeper,” she rasped, “what are those creatures?”

Dark shapes burst from the trees, racing up the slope towards the arachar. 

They looked like strange hybrids of men and wolves. Each creature stood eight or nine feet tall, and looked roughly like a naked man, pale and gaunt with ropy muscle. Yet strips of dark fur marked their limbs and torsos, and as the creatures charged, they became more wolf-like, their fur and muscles thickening, their claws and fangs growing longer, their faces twisting and growing more wolfish. 

Antenora leveled her staff, its symbols flaring brighter as she focused her will towards the beastmen.

“No!” said Calliande. “Do not strike! I do not think they mean us ill.”

“What are they?” said Antenora. 

“Beastmen,” said Calliande. “Half-wolf, half-man. They have rational intellects, but are dominated by their bestial instincts. They shun tools and civilization and live in the wilds. The men of Andomhaim call them the lupivirii, but they call themselves the True People.” 

Ridmark shouted something, and Kharlacht and Gavin and the others hung back as the lupivirii charged into the arachar. The arachar had faced Ridmark’s skill and the Swordbearers’ power, and the lupivirii were the final straw. The orcish warriors broke and fled back into the forest, the remaining three spiderlings following suit, and groups of the lupivirii pursued them. 

“What should we do now?” said Antenora. “These beastmen may turn upon us once they have dealt with the orcs.”

“No,” murmured Calliande, frowning as she watched the lupivirii. “No, I do not think so.”

“Why not?” said Antenora. 

“Because,” said Calliande. “I’ve met them before.” 

###

Ridmark watched as the arachar fled, hounded by the charging lupivirii. Even as he looked, two of the lupivirii leapt upon the backs of fleeing arachar orcs, driving them to the ground. 

“What are those things?” said Jager, his eyes wide. 

“Lupivirii,” said Ridmark.

“I thought they were a myth,” said Jager.

“They’re not,” said Ridmark.

“I’ve encountered them before,” said Mara in a quiet voice. Ridmark hadn’t noticed that she had come up next to them. “When I fled from Nightmane Forest.”

“As have I,” said Morigna, her fingers tight against her staff’s carved length. “They are very dangerous.”

“I see,” said Jager. “Will they try to…um, eat us?”

“No,” said Ridmark. “They don’t eat other mortal kindreds. They’re not particularly fond of us, and they view the use of tools and weapons as a corruption, a kind of weakness. But they won’t eat us.” 

He looked to where Calliande stood with Antenora, and then back to the lupivirii pack. 

An idea came to him. 

“Wait here,” said Ridmark. “I need to talk to the lupivirii.” 

“Is that a good idea?” said Arandar, Heartwarden shimmering in his hand. As ever, the presence of Heartwarden sent a wave of pain through Ridmark’s head, a legacy of his broken link with the soulblade. “The lupivirii are savage and dangerous.”

“Extremely,” said Ridmark. “But I’ve done this before.”

Gavin frowned. “Then you think…”

“I do,” said Ridmark.

“Then you are…acquainted with these particular beastmen?” said Jager. 

“I am,” said Ridmark. “Caius, tell him the story. Wait here, and do not join me until I say.”

“Will you need help?” said Gavin.

“If I do,” said Ridmark, “you’ll know it.” 

If he did need help, the lupivirii would likely tear him to pieces before Gavin or Morigna could lift a finger to help him. 

But Ridmark did not think that would happen. 

He strode forward, walking past the dead arachar, letting the end of his staff tap against the ground. A half-dozen lupivirii turned their heads to look at him, their unblinking golden eyes glaring. The sensation made his skin crawl, made him want to find shelter, but he did not look at them. The lupivirii were predators, and it was folly to show weakness to a predator. 

One of the lupivirii moved towards Ridmark. The creature stood nine feet tall, scars showing on his pale hide beneath the bristly black fur. His form rippled and changed as he looked at Ridmark, his features becoming less bestial and more human. 

Ridmark met the lupivir’s eyes without blinking and did not speak. The lupivirii lived in packs, governed by a dominant male, and the dominant male did not speak first.

The silence stretched on. 

The lupivir stepped forward and snarled, snapping his fangs. 

“Ridmark!” said Morigna. 

Ridmark did not look away, did not flinch, did not blink. He wanted to tell Morigna not to do anything rash, but he dared not look away from the hulking lupivir.

At last the beastman let out a rumbling growl that almost sounded like a sigh. 

“Ridmark son of Leogrance son of Rience,” said the lupivir in the orcish tongue, his fangs and rumbling voice making the words alien.

“Rakhaag son of Balhaag son of Talhaag,” said Ridmark. “We meet again.” 

“We are far from Urd Arowyn,” said Rakhaag, “far from where the urdmordar Agrimnalazur enslaved our children for her larder.” 

“We are,” said Ridmark. “I had not thought to see you again.”

“I did,” said Rakhaag. “The great memory foretold it.”

“The great memory?” said Ridmark. He did not fully understand how it worked, but the lupivirii seemed to share their minds, and could access the memories of lupivirii who had died. 

“The sign has come,” said Rakhaag. “The great memory recalls. The Staffbearer has found her staff once more.”

“She has,” said Ridmark. 

Rakhaag let out another rumbling snarl. “Then the hour has come. Shadowbearer will try to open the way to the world of the cold ones, and if the cold ones come forth, the True People shall die and the great memory shall die. All kindreds must come to aid the Staffbearer, for if we do not, the world shall perish in ice.”

Chapter 3: Old Spiders

Morigna and the others returned to the ring fort to decide upon a course of action.

Rakhaag came with them. 

Morigna was not sure that was a good idea. She had encountered the lupivirii before, years ago, as she wandered the hills near Moraime. So long as the lupivirii were left alone, they returned the favor. Yet they were feral and wild, ruled by natural instincts instead of their rational intellects. When challenged, when crossed, they acted on their bestial natures and killed for the slightest of reasons. Once Morigna had been hunting a deer, unawares that a pack of lupivirii pursued the same animal. She had barely gotten away alive from that encounter. 

And, she reflected sourly, she had lost the deer to the beastmen. 

Still, Morigna supposed, Rakhaag and his pack might make valuable allies. Evidently Rakhaag had aided Ridmark and Calliande against an urdmordar, and had some sort of debt or loyalty to the office of the Keeper of Andomhaim. Given Shadowbearer’s power, they needed all the help they could find. 

Though Morigna wondered what the Dux of the Northerland would think when Ridmark turned up at Dun Licinia accompanied by an army of Anathgrimm orcs and lupivirii beastmen.