Free Frostborn: The Eightfold Knife by Jonathan Moeller

fault, which I doubt,” said Calliande, “they have forgiven you. Can you not forgive yourself?”
    “What I did is unforgivable,” said Ridmark.
    “You are a baptized son of the church,” said Calliande. “Does not the Dominus Christus forgive the sins of all who truly repent? And you are contrite, Ridmark. I have never seen anyone more…”
    “Enough,” said Ridmark. His tone was soft, but there was iron beneath it. “If you want to follow me, fine. But we will not discuss this. Not now, not ever. Do you understand?”   
    Calliande nodded. “I’m sorry. I…perhaps I should not have said anything.”
    “No. You told me the truth.” He almost smiled. “Better to get it off your chest now, I suppose, rather than discuss it at a more inconvenient time.”
    She raised an eyebrow. “Like when we are inevitably attacked by misinformed beastmen?”
    “Something like that,” said Ridmark. He smiled. It was a faint smile, but it was there. “I suspect you are ravenous. I’ve heard that magic is hungry work.”
    “It is,” said Calliande. She realized that her belly felt like an empty void. “And I am.” 
    He nodded. “Let’s get some food.” He paused. “Calliande.”
    “Yes?” she said, trying to read his face.
    “I would not have wished for you to come, but I am glad you are here,” said Ridmark. “Your aid will be welcome.” 
    Calliande shrugged. “You have saved my life so many times. Perhaps I will get the chance to return the favor.”
    “You did at Dun Licinia,” said Ridmark, turning back towards the others, “when you broke the spells around Qazarl. Otherwise he would have killed us all with that staff he dug out of the burial mounds.”
    That staff…
    Calliande hesitated, gazing at the sky. Of the thirteen moons, only three of them were visible tonight. Pyrrhus, the moon of fire, shone with a sullen yellow-orange glow, while the Tempus, the moon of storm gleamed with silver light and Kronos, the moon of time, had a pale golden glow. Their position altered and influenced the power and potency of certain spells. 
    For some reason that made her think of Dragonfall, and for a moment the memory seemed closer, but she could not pull it out of the mists of her past.
    “What’s wrong?” said Ridmark.
    “Ridmark,” said Calliande. “In your travels. Have you ever heard of Dragonfall?” 
    Ridmark shook his head. “No. What is it? A name?”
    Calliande nodded, frustrated. 
    “The name of what?” said Ridmark.
    “A place, I think,” said Calliande. The Watcher had asked her not to reveal his existence to anyone, but he had said nothing about Dragonfall. “I left…I left something important there, I think.”
    “Do you know what?” said Ridmark.
    “A staff,” said Calliande. “I think I left a staff there. But I can remember nothing else about it.”
    “I have never heard the name,” said Ridmark, “but there are many miles between here and Urd Morlemoch. We can ask questions as we travel.”
    “If we do find it,” said Calliande, “we have to be careful. Shadowbearer is looking for it, too…and he can never find it. Never. If he does, something terrible will happen. I am certain of it.” 
    “Then,” said Ridmark, “we’ll just have to make sure we get there first.”
    He led her back to the fire.
    “Some food, Magistria,” said Caius, handing her a biscuit wrapped around a sausage. Calliande took it gratefully. “I trust you are well?”
    “Quite,” said Calliande. She looked at the curly-haired boy, who watched her with wide eyes. “Forgive me, but I have been rude. My name is Calliande, and I am grateful for the help you gave us at the ford.” 
    Gavin managed a good imitation of a proper bow. “Ah…it was my pleasure, my lady. I am Gavin of Aranaeus. My father is the praefectus of the village. You are truly a Magistria?”
    “To the best of my knowledge,” said Calliande, which was entirely true. 
    “Then we are grateful for your help,”