Frostborn: The Iron Tower (3 page)

“This is our best option,” said Ridmark, meeting Calliande’s gaze with his own hard blue eyes. “It will be difficult enough to get Mara out of the Iron Tower. The Tower is only a half-day’s ride from here, and Paul’s column will reach it by noon tomorrow. It has to be tonight.”

Calliande nodded. “So be it.”

“May God grant us strength,” said Caius.

“Aye,” said Ridmark. “We shall need all the help he can spare.” 

Chapter 2 - Fire and Stealth

Ridmark crouched with the others on the northern edge of the valley and watched Paul Tallmane’s camp.

Full dark had fallen by the time they left the ravine, and Ridmark had led them on a circuitous route through the trees. Paul did not seem inclined to send men into the forest at night, and they had reached the northern lip of the valley without incident. 

Then they settled down to wait, watching camp’s bonfires. 

For a moment Ridmark wondered if Sir Paul was so lax that he simply would not bother to set a proper watch around the edge of his camp. But that hope was in vain. A dozen men stood guard around the camp, staying away from the campfires to keep their night vision intact. It would be impossible to sneak past them without a distraction.

Ridmark watched as the knights and men-at-arms of Paul’s party found their way to their beds, vanishing into their tents. He saw Paul himself walk through the camp, a drunken stagger in his step. A flash of contemptuous disbelief flashed through Ridmark. Perhaps Paul was certain that Mournacht and Rotherius had killed Ridmark, but Paul’s men were at the very edge of the Wilderland, and dangerous creatures beyond count prowled the wilderness. Why? Why was he so lax?

“If we cannot live without enemies,” Caius murmured, “then let us at least hope God grants us enemies who are fools.” 

“Aye,” said Gavin.

“Better to have dead enemies,” said Morigna. 

“And if there was ever a man who deserved death,” said Jager, his deep voice icy, “it is Paul Tallmane of Caudea.” 

“Quiet,” said Ridmark, and the others fell silent. He doubted their voices would carry to the camp, but he did not want to listen to another one of Morigna’s and Caius’s interminable theological arguments. Bickering before a battle was never wise…and there was a real chance they might be fighting for their lives soon. 

But the sloppy camp bothered him. Surely not even Paul Tallmane could be so foolish. Ridmark felt as if he had overlooked something vital. He had had the same feeling when investigating the undead near Moraime, a feeling that had proven prescient when the Old Man had been revealed as the master of the undead. 

For a moment he considered turning back and waiting for a better opportunity. 

But this was their best chance. If Paul took the soulstone into the Iron Tower, the odds of retrieving it were small. And if Shadowbearer arrived and claimed the soulstone, the Frostborn would return. Ridmark did not know how the Frostborn would return, or why Shadowbearer needed the soulstone to do it. 

But he knew that he had to stop Shadowbearer from taking the soulstone.

And now, right now, was the best opportunity he was likely to get. 

“Calliande,” murmured Ridmark, and the Magistria stepped to his right side. “Get ready.” He tapped one of the pine trees with the end of his staff, brown needles falling from the spindly branches. “After Jager and I leave, count to a thousand, and then start the fire. The needles and the trees will go up quickly.” 

She smiled. “I confess that I have no recollection of ever starting a forest fire before.”

“Morigna,” said Ridmark, and the sorceress stepped to his left side. “Be ready with the sleeping mist. Once the fire is large enough, a number of Paul’s men will likely come to investigate. Wait until as many of them are gathered as possible before you cast your spell.”

She nodded, her black eyes hard in the darkness, both hands gripping the carved length of her staff. 

“Kharlacht, Gavin, Brother Caius,” said Ridmark. “Keep watch over Calliande and Morigna. Defend them if Paul’s men attack.” He turned his head, looking over each of them. “Once the mist has taken effect, fall back and retreat to the ravine. We will meet you there.”

“We?” said Jager. “And I assume, Gray Knight, that I shall be accompanying you into noble Sir Paul’s tent?”

“You shall,” said Ridmark.

Morigna raised an eyebrow, her eyes glinting into the distant light of the campfires. “The last time the two of you went thieving together, we wound up in a battle with the Mhorites on the one side and the men of Coldinium and the Dwarven Enclave on the other.”

“We’re still alive, are we not?” said Ridmark. 

“It is a grave risk,” said Calliande.

He saw the fear in her eyes. Not for herself, but for him. He wished she did not feel it. He deserved death, and if he lost his life trying to stop the Frostborn, then what of it? She was right that he often risked himself without need, but this time the need was dire.

“It is a necessary risk,” said Ridmark. “This is our best chance to secure the soulstone. You know better than most what will happen if Shadowbearer claims it. We cannot allow that. No matter what the peril.”

Calliande took a deep breath and offered a tight nod. “Go with God.”

She thought better of him than he deserved. It touched him, but she was wrong. 

“And you also,” said Ridmark. “Jager.” 

“Well, I fancy an evening stroll through the woods,” said Jager, walking to Ridmark’s side. He looked calm, but Ridmark saw the tension there. Some men prayed before going to battle, while others remained silent or checked their weapons over and over.

Jager, it seemed, made jokes.

“That mouth of yours shall be the death of you yet,” said Morigna.

Jager offered a wide smile. “At the moment I fear a crossbow quarrel is a more likely claimant to that particular honor.”

“Then let us deny both Jager’s mouth and the crossbow quarrel the victory,” said Ridmark. “Come.”

“Why, Gray Knight,” said Jager. “I do believe you just made a joke.” 

Ridmark gestured, and he moved from the pine trees and into the darkness as Morigna and Kharlacht and Gavin prepared the fires. Jager followed Ridmark without sound, moving just as silently as Morigna had managed. The halflings were far more agile and stealthy than humans, and Jager’s natural talents had been honed by long years of practice. Any guards scanning the northern bank of the creek would not see him, and Ridmark’s own stealth and gray elven cloak would guard him from any eyes. He led Jager to the west and stopped at the edge of the creek. The water splashed and bubbled against the rocks, loud enough to mask the sound of their crossing.

“Now what?” hissed Jager in a low voice. All trace of his jocular manner had vanished, and the halfling seemed keen and watchful.

Ridmark looked back in the direction of the pine trees. “Now we wait.”

###

“Done,” said Morigna, straightening up. 

Corbanic Lamorus, the Comes of Coldinium, had been generous with supplies when they had departed his city. Among the equipment had been several flasks of lamp oil. At the time, Morigna had thought that ridiculous, since only a fool did not know how to start a fire, but now she saw the wisdom of it. They had prepared small piles of kindling at the base of a dozen pine trees, dousing them will lamp oil. The trees were dry, and with a little encouragement would go up like torches. The carpet of dry needles beneath the trees would burn as well, creating quite the light show to draw the attention of Sir Paul’s men. Ridmark and Jager ought to be able to get in and out of the camp with ease. 

Or so Morigna hoped.

“Now, Gavin,” said Calliande. 

It annoyed Morigna how quickly the boy obeyed the Magistria. Gavin produced a piece of flint, struck a spark, and lit a torch. He ran toward the trees, torch blazing, while Morigna, Calliande, Caius, and Kharlacht left the pine trees and moved toward the forest proper. Caius had his mace of bronze-colored dwarven steel in his hand, and Kharlacht drew his massive blue greatsword with a steely hiss. With luck they would not need the weapons.

But if they did, Morigna would fight besides them. Calliande’s magic warded and healed, but Morigna’s spells drew upon earth magic, and she could command that power to strike down her foes, to fill their lungs with poison or to shatter their weapons. 

But perhaps her spell would put the men to sleep and allow Ridmark and Jager to escape with the soulstone. 

Orange-yellow light flared as the trees began to burn. Gavin dashed from trunk to trunk, lighting the oil-soaked kindling ablaze, and the firelight drove back the darkness. The smell of burning sap and wood filled Morigna’s nostrils. Gavin threw down his torch and ran to join them, drawing his sword and raising his shield as he did. He favored a heavy orcish blade of the sort carried by the warriors of Vhaluusk, and his shield, amusingly enough, had been taken from one of Paul Tallmane’s slain men-at-arms at Aranaeus.

Perhaps he would have the chance to take more loot from the field.

“I’ve never started a forest fire before,” said Gavin, standing next to Kharlacht.

Calliande smiled. “You have learned all sorts of new skills since following Ridmark.” Her smile faded. “Morigna. Are you ready?”

“Always,” said Morigna. “Are you?” 

She drew upon her magic and summoned power, and the earth magic rose from the ground and filled her. She held the power ready, shaping it into a spell, and watched the camp.

###

“There,” murmured Ridmark, watching the blaze.

It was more intense than he had expected. Soon most of the pine trees had become torches, and a carpet of flame spread out beneath the trees, the air rippling with heat. 

“Does one of your friends have a bent towards pyromania?” said Jager. 

“Not that I know of,” said Ridmark, looking toward Paul’s camp.

The fire was having the desired effect.

Shouts of alarm rose from the tents, and men-at-arms and knights staggered from their blankets, pulling on armor and grabbing weapons. Paul stumbled from his pavilion, eyes widening at the sight of the inferno. He bellowed commands, a squire racing to give him a sword, and the men formed up on the northern side of the camp, gathering in orderly ranks with shields and swords in front, crossbowmen to the back. A wise commander would have realized that the fire might have been a distraction, would have set his men to screen the entire camp.

Paul headed towards his assembling men, and then he stopped and looked around. For a moment he stared at the wall of his pavilion, and then shouted a command. Was he addressing someone within his pavilion? Or was he giving someone else an order? Yet no one emerged from the pavilion, and no one was within earshot of Paul.

Ridmark’s unease grew. 

He was missing something, he was sure of it.

“Now?” said Jager, tensing. 

“No,” said Ridmark, looking at the gathering of men-at-arms and knights facing the burning trees. “Not yet.” 

###

Morigna waited.

The others were motionless around her. Kharlacht, Caius, and Gavin all held their weapons ready. Calliande stood behind them, her hands curled into fists at her side, her breathing slow and regular as she prepared a spell. 

Morigna stifled a laugh as she watched the commotion among the men-at-arms and the knights. They acted exactly as Ridmark had predicted that they would, gathering in a large formation to face whoever had set the fire. It was an old hunter’s trick, to tie up a goat in a clearing and wait for a predator to approach, all while the hunter waited in concealment. The fire was the bait.

And Morigna was the waiting hunter. 

“Best to do it now,” murmured Calliande. They stood among the shadow of the trees, but the fire was throwing off enough light to make them visible. “Any minute Paul will send a scouting party to check the fire.”

Morigna opened her mouth to argue, but Kharlacht spoke first. “I concur.”

Earth magic flooded through Morigna, and she stepped forward, one hand clenched around her staff, the other tracing intricate gestures through the air as she mouthed silent phrases. Her will and mind drove the power forward, shaping it as she desired. 

A wall of mist rose from the creek and swept into the waiting men.

Morigna gritted her teeth with the strain of it, sweat trickling down her temples. Creating and controlling that much mist at once was difficult. But her will held steady, and the mist rolled through the knights and men-at-arms. Dozens of them collapsed, the magic putting them to sleep. A few seemed to realize what was happening and scrambled away from the mist, while a man’s furious voice shouted commands. 

She lowered her hand, the mist unraveling. Scores of men lay stunned and motionless upon the ground. The effect would not last long, not when she had dispersed the spell among so many, yet it would last long enough for Ridmark and Jager to reach the pavilion and escape. 

Yet a score of men had evaded the effect of the spell, and a furious voice boomed over the camp. 

“That’s Paul Tallmane,” said Calliande. “I recognize his voice.”

The remaining men formed up and charged across the creek, weapons ready. 

“They’ll see us,” said Morigna. “Get ready to fight.”

###

“That,” said Jager, “was quite an impressive trick.”

Morigna’s mist had stunned dozens of the knights and men-at-arms, but several had evaded it. Kharlacht and Caius and Gavin would have to defend themselves, aided by Calliande’s magical enhancements and Morigna’s spells. Hopefully they would flee into the forest and make their way to the ravine. Kharlacht had a level head on his shoulders and would know when to withdraw. 

“It’s time,” said Ridmark. “Hasten.”

“This is hardly my first burglary,” said Jager.

Ridmark made no answer and hurried across the creek, jumping from stone to stone. Jager followed suit, and soon they reached the far bank. Ridmark strode through the grasses and made his way into the camp, ducking from tent to tent. The camp had not been laid out in an orderly fashion, which meant the tents provided ample cover. The tied horses whinnied and stamped their hooves in fear of the flames, and the ruckus masked any noise that Ridmark and Jager made.