Free Frostborn: The Eightfold Knife by Jonathan Moeller Page A

said Gavin. “Something sinister is happening here, I am sure of it.”
    “I look forward to meeting your father,” said Calliande.
    The skin around Gavin’s eyes tightened. “Yes. I am sure.”
    “Tomorrow,” said Ridmark. “The rest of you should get some sleep. I will take first watch.”

Chapter 6 - Aranaeus
    The next morning they broke camp and took the half-overgrown trail to Aranaeus.
    Gavin watched his new companions as they walked. 
    He had never met anyone quite like them. 
    Ridmark Arban was like a Swordbearer out of the songs, or even one of the knights of the High King Arthur’s Round Table in the legends of Old Earth. The coward’s brand upon the left side of his face had unsettled Gavin at first, but then he decided that Ridmark must have been unjustly accused. No coward could fight with such skill and ferocity. Kharlacht strode after Ridmark like a silent shadow. Gavin had seen orcs before, of course. Sometimes orcs came to the village to trade. Yet he had never seen an orc fight so fiercely.
    And he had never seen a dwarf, either. Or a dwarven friar. Friars passed through Aranaeus occasionally, heading north to spread the gospel among the pagan orc tribes. They never returned. 
    And Gavin had never seen a woman quite so beautiful as Calliande.
    Well. Second after Rosanna, of course.
    Thinking of Rosanna sent the familiar twinge of regret and anger through his heart, and Gavin pushed it aside.
    A few hours later they emerged from the trees and into the cleared fields around Aranaeus. The fields stood empty and deserted, the furrows spotted with the stubble from last year’s harvest. Gavin had spent most of his springs and summers in those fields, helping to sow the crop and harvest it before the winter came.
    “Where is everyone?” said Kharlacht. “This late in the spring, the planting should be well underway.” 
    “They’re all afraid, sir,” said Gavin. “Ever since the disappearances started, the beastmen attack anyone who goes too far from the walls.”
    A few moments later Aranaeus itself came into sight, and Gavin looked upon his home. 
    The village housed about seven hundred people, and it sat upon a wide hill, with taller hills rising to the north. A strong wall of stone encircled the village, men standing guard on the ramparts and the gate. Even before the beastmen had grown hostile, the Wilderland had been a dangerous place. Gavin’s father and the elders had told stories of pagan orcs seeking slaves, of the sorcerous beasts of the dark elves rampaging through the fields while the villagers huddled behind their walls. Gavin knew his ancestors had come here to escape the rule of the High King, to live their lives as they pleased without paying taxes to the Dux of the Northerland.
    But he could not help but think that the protection of the Dux of the Northerland, and his Swordbearers and Magistri, would have been helpful.
    Ridmark came to a stop, frowning. “I had forgotten about that.”
    “About what?” said Gavin.
    “Tell me,” said Ridmark. “If you live in the shadow of that, why does your father think the beastmen are responsible for the disappearances?”
    He pointed at the hill rising behind Aranaeus.
    More specifically, at the white shapes atop the hill.
    A dozen slender, gleaming towers of white stone crowned the hill, surrounded by a crumbling wall. Gavin disliked looking at the ruins. The ancient towers were beautiful, but…wrong. Their angles and shapes had been designed to please the eyes of dark elves, not humans. Looking at the ruins for too long gave Gavin a headache, so he ignored them. 
    As did everyone else in Aranaeus.
    “Urd Dagaash,” said Ridmark. “Once the seat of a minor dark elven lord, destroyed in the war with the high elves long before humans ever came to Andomhaim. I had forgotten this was here.” He looked at Gavin. “Almost certainly whatever took the villagers is inside Urd Dagaash.”
    “Perhaps, sir,” said Gavin. “The