Frostborn: The False King (32 page)

There was another metallic click, and the pillar came to a halt about forty feet above the floor. 

Ridmark looked to the left, towards the balcony, and then down. Ralakahr had come to a halt, looking about in bewilderment. For the first time since blundering into Kurdulkar’s trap, Ridmark felt a flicker of hope. If the pillars had caught Ralakahr off guard, evidently Kurdulkar and his warriors had not explored the Labyrinth as thoroughly as Ridmark had feared. 

He dashed forward and jumped, covering the two yards between his pillar and the next one. Ralakahr snarled and raised his bow, snapping off a shot, but the arrow missed Ridmark. His feet slipped against the smooth white stone, and he almost fell, but he kept running and leaped again as Ralakahr pursued him. 

Ridmark leaped to another pillar, and a second metallic click went through the chamber.

The pillar shivered beneath his feet, and he cursed, pushing himself faster. He leaped from the edge, aiming for the balcony, and just as he pushed off the pillar fell away beneath him. His leap did not have quite the power he wanted, and Ridmark slammed into the wall just below the stone railing. For an awful instant, he was sure that he would plummet to his death, but his fingers caught one of the stone balustrades in a death grip, and he hung there, his muscles straining as his legs scrabbled for purchase on the wall. 

He heard Ralakahr’s snarl of triumph, followed by the creak of a bow. 

That gave Ridmark a surge of desperate strength, and he heaved himself up, rolling over the railing just as Ralakahr released. This time, the arrow shot past his chest, the near-miss opening another shallow cut just below the one left by Kurdulkar’s claw. Again a bolt of pain shot through Ridmark, and he fell off the railing with a yelp, landing hard on his left hip and elbow. Instinct screamed at him to move, and he rolled towards the wall an instant before Ralakahr sent another arrow whistling between the balustrades, an arrow that would have transfixed his throat if he hadn’t moved.

The manetaur was a dangerously good archer. 

Ridmark slammed into the wall and managed to sit up, breathing hard, his blood leaving a crimson smear upon the white stone of the floor. He heard the rasp of claws against stone as Ralakahr tried to climb after him, but the stone wall was too smooth for the manetaur. Ralakahr roared in frustration, and then Ridmark heard him running.

He didn’t think that Ralakahr was retreating to join Kurdulkar quite yet. 

Ridmark rolled onto his stomach and crept forward, trying to ignore the pain in his chest and leg as they rubbed against the floor. He reached the edge of the balcony and peered into the trapped hall below. The pillars had retracted, and there was no sign of Ralakahr. 

The manetaur had likely ventured into the Labyrinth, seeking a way up to the balcony. 

Which meant that Ridmark had to move.

He got to his feet with a grunt, looking down at his wounds. They stung, but they were not serious, and he didn’t think he would bleed out. The greater danger was the smell. He had no doubt that Ralakahr could smell his blood even through the odor of the ghost mushrooms, and that would draw the manetaur like a nail to a lodestone. 

Perhaps Ridmark could find a weapon somewhere in the Labyrinth. Or he could find a way out and rejoin Calliande and the others. He wondered if he could climb back down to the trapped hall now that Ralakahr had moved on, but one look proved that impossible. A single slip would send him plummeting to his death.

He had to find another path.

Three different corridors led off from the balcony, each one narrow and high, illuminated by the crimson crystals glimmering in the ceiling. The corridors stretched out of sight.

One seemed as good as another. Ridmark shrugged to himself and picked the corridor on the left, walking as quietly and as quickly as he could.

###

“Nothing, my lady Keeper,” said Tazemazar, shaking his head as purple fire danced around his fingers. “I fear I cannot sense anyone.” 

“Nor does the Sight,” rasped Antenora. 

“There are too many wards, and we’re too far underground,” said Calliande, blinking back a wave of dizziness. The Sight was powerful, but she couldn’t completely control it, just as a man couldn’t completely control his breathing. Whenever she sent the Sight into the Labyrinth, it was drawn off in one direction or another, pulled by the maze’s ancient wards. If she pressed harder, she caught glimpses of the Labyrinth’s past, of the generations of slaves who had died in fear and terror as they tried to escape. The Labyrinth was an old place, drenched in millennia of blood…and now Ridmark was alone within it.

Or, worse, he might be in there with Kurdulkar and his warriors.

If he was even still alive. A fall might have accomplished what Mhalek and Agrimnalazur and Paul Tallmane and Tymandain Shadowbearer had all failed to do. Fear choked Calliande at the thought, but she shoved it aside. Ridmark might be dead, or he might be alive, and there was one way to find out at once.

She drew the dagger from her belt and cast the spell. 

Relief flooded through her. 

“That spell,” said Camorak. “What…”

“A tracking spell,” said Calliande. She did not want to explain the story of the dagger to Camorak. “He’s still alive. Below us…and somewhat to the west, I think. He’s moving rapidly.”

“Perhaps we should wait for him to return,” said Tazemazar. 

“No,” said Calliande. “We can’t.” She couldn’t. “The traps of the Labyrinth might kill him, and if Kurdulkar and his warriors are inside, he can’t fight them all alone.”

“The Keeper is correct,” said Third in her cold voice. “The Queen commanded me to keep him safe. I will go in search of him, even if the rest of you stay behind.” 

“Our chances are better if we go together,” said Caius.

“I shall certainly not stand back,” said Curzonar. “Yet how are we to enter the Labyrinth? The traps might kill us long before we can aid the Gray Knight.”

“Fear not, lord Prince,” said Third. “I have some experience in these matters. Observe.” 

She stepped forward and vanished in a swirl of blue fire. An instant later she reappeared atop one of the stone tiles, blue fire burning in her veins and her eyes. Again Calliande heard the metallic click, and the tile started to swing open beneath Third’s feet. 

Calliande shouted a warning, but Third was already moving. She vanished in the flicker of blue fire and reappeared, again and again, flickering across cavern in a series of jumps. She opened a dozen trap doors in less than a minute, and as she did, she mapped a safe route across the tiles. 

“A useful power,” said Curzonar, blinking.

“She used to be an urdhracos?” said Tazemazar. 

“Aye,” said Calliande.

“I remember when she came to Nightmane Forest,” said Kharlacht. “She fought the Gray Knight for hours. He should have killed her, but he did not.”

“Just as he should have killed Mara when it was the only prudent and safe thing to do,” said Caius. “But he did not, and the Anathgrimm warriors are the only thing that has kept the Frostborn from overrunning Andomhaim.”

“I begin to see,” said Tazemazar, looking at Calliande, “why you all follow him so devotedly.” 

Third reappeared between Calliande and Antenora, the blue fire smoldering in her veins. “The path should be safe, so long as we stride upon tiles adorned with that glyph.” She pointed at one of the tiles. “Let us hasten.”

Third led the way into the Labyrinth, and Calliande held to the Sight, seeking for Ridmark.

###

The depths of the Labyrinth were as silent as the grave.

Given the number of bones that Ridmark saw, it was only appropriate. 

The narrow corridor he had chosen ended in another large hall, this one without a balcony. Stone plinths stood scattered almost at random throughout the hall, supporting statues of dark elves in war armor. The statues looked so detailed that they almost looked alive. In fact, they might have been alive. In Urd Morlemoch, such statues had been undead creatures and had attacked when Ridmark and the others drew too close. Or the statues might have once been living dark elves, petrified by the gaze of a basilisk. That would mean a basilisk was wandering through the corridors of the Labyrinth, which would not help Ridmark’s situation.

Though given the number of bones scattered across the floor, it seemed likely that the maze was home to less exotic but equally dangerous predators. 

Most of the bones looked orcish or kobold, though Ridmark saw a human skull here and there. None of the skeletons were intact, which meant that something had scattered the bones…or the original owners of the bones had been torn limb from limb when they had been killed. 

He picked up a femur that had once belong to an orcish man. It would make for an impromptu club, though he suspected it would shatter after the first few blows. Pity he saw no dwarven bones. They were harder and stronger than orcish or human bones, and would make better weapons.

Speaking of that, he didn’t see any weapons lying among the dead. Ridmark supposed the dark elves had not sent their slaves armed into the Labyrinth. 

Four corridors led off from the hall of statues. One returned to the trapped hall and the balcony. Three others led in different directions. Ridmark scrutinized each, trying to come to a decision. Each corridor seemed as likely as the other. He decided upon the corridor heading to the south. His best hope was to escape the Labyrinth and into the Deeps, hoping Ralakahr would not be foolish enough to follow him. Of course, wandering alone and naked in the Deeps would probably get him killed, but if Ridmark stayed here, Ralakahr would definitely kill him, and he would take a slim chance of survival over none at all.

He strode down the southern corridor, silent as a shadow, the bone club ready in his right hand. No sounds came to him, save for the constant thudding of his own heart. If he didn’t escape, he hoped Calliande and the others had the good sense to get away. Calliande was their only hope of stopping Kurdulkar’s murderous plot…and if she was killed, both the Frostborn and Tarrabus would triumph. 

A hot breeze touched his face and chest.

Ridmark paused, looking at the ceiling. He half-expected that a secret door had opened, that an urvaalg or an urshane or even Ralakahr himself would come charging out. Yet nothing moved, though if Ridmark strained, he heard a distant howling noise. A fire, perhaps? He kept going, picking his way over the bones littering the floor. Ahead he saw a harsh red glow. This light seemed stronger and brighter than the glow of the crystals. The air grew hotter, and sweat started to drip down his forehead and into his eyes. At last, Ridmark saw that the red glow came from the archway at the end of the corridor, a hot wind blowing from the entrance.

Ridmark stepped through the archway and into a vast cylindrical shaft, shadows and red light dancing upon the rough rock walls. A bridge of white stone crossed the shaft to another archway on the opposite wall a hundred yards away. Ridmark looked up and saw a dozens of bridges crossing overhead, and then he looked down and saw dozens more.

And perhaps a thousand feet below, he saw the lava.

A pool of molten stone bubbled and seethed at the bottom of the shaft, throwing its red glow upon the bridges. Heat rose off it in searing waves, and it was damnably hot upon the bridge, so hot that Ridmark felt the sweat dripping off him. Best to get across the bridge as soon as possible. He doubted he could find safe drinking water within the Labyrinth, and if he stood within this heat for too long he would become dehydrated. 

As he crossed the bridge, he saw a stairwell in the corridor at the other end. If he could work his way back up to the level with the trapdoor, perhaps he could find his way to the exit before Ralakahr located him. 

A flicker of motion caught the corner of his eye. 

Ridmark looked down and saw Ralakahr standing on a bridge two levels below, his head craned back, his arms lifted over his head as he drew his bow…

Ridmark cursed and jumped back, and the arrow that would have plunged into his chest instead slammed into his right calf. 

Pain exploded through his right leg, which collapsed beneath him. Ridmark slipped, lost his balance, and landed hard, almost rolling over the edge of the bridge. He clawed for purchase on the smooth stone and managed to stop himself, but the shaft of the arrow in his leg clipped the edge of the bridge, driving the arrowhead deeper into his flesh. 

For a moment he could not move, could not scream, could not even draw breath through the blinding pain. 

Move. He had to move. 

If Ralakahr lined up another shot, Ridmark was dead. He got to his hands and knees, his right leg a pillar of agony, and looked for Ralakahr. Sweat and pain blurred his vision, and he couldn’t see the manetaur anywhere. Likely that meant he was right underneath Ridmark, waiting for him to come into sight.

Or, more likely, that he was racing for the stairs to take him to the level of Ridmark’s bridge. 

Which meant that Ridmark had to move, arrow or no arrow. 

He snatched the bone club and used it as a lever to heave himself to his feet, his leg screaming. A wave of dizziness went through him, and for a moment Ridmark feared he would topple over and fall to his death in the lava below. But the dizziness passed, and he hurried forward as fast as he could manage. It wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. The pain was hideous, but it only rose to the level of intolerable agony whenever his heel hit the ground since the impact caused the arrow’s shaft to wobble. Ridmark half-ran, half-hobbled across the bridge, looking in every direction for Ralakahr, but the manetaur remained out of sight. 

That meant he had gone to find the stairs, hoping to track down Ridmark and finish him off.

Ridmark reached the other end of the bridge and stumbled into the corridor. A few yards away a set of white stairs spiraled upwards, climbing higher into the Labyrinth. Likely it led to next level, granting access to the bridges above him. Ridmark started up the stairs, only for his right leg to clench and collapse beneath him, his foot wet with blood.