Frieda's Tale

Chapter 6

Frieda knew, without false modesty, that patience wasn’t one of her virtues.

She’d spent most of her life chasing instant gratification, first in the Cairngorms and then at Mountaintop and Whitehall, because she believed, deep inside, that there would soon be no tomorrow. There was no point in waiting for something when she knew she might not last long enough for it to arrive. Even at Whitehall, when she’d known she finally had a future, it had been hard for her to learn to wait. The habit was simply too deeply ingrained in her very bones.

And yet, she had to wait now.

She sat in the hide, the hidden half-tent concealed near the dig, and waited. It felt wrong to be in the open air after nightfall, something that no one risked without a very good reason for fear of the Other Folk and other things that went bump in the night. She supposed their unknown enemies wouldn’t expect her to be doing anything of the sort, if indeed they bothered to think about it at all. It was very rare for the villagers to risk leaving their homes after dark.

And they shouldn’t realise I’m here, she told herself. It shouldn’t even cross their minds.

The air felt odd, the wind blowing hot and cold seemingly at random. She wasn’t looking at the artefact — she’d been careful to pick a position where the artefact was out of her sight — but she could feel it behind her, like a boy creeping up to breathe down her neck. She would almost have preferred the boy. The artefact was a brooding presence that dominated the landscape, seemingly looming larger with every passing day. Hoban had told her they were still digging, that they hadn’t reached the bottom yet, and still… she swallowed hard. It was impossible to make sense of what she was seeing. Or sensing. Her mind simply refused to accept it.

She waited, checking her pistol and counting the seconds as they ticked onwards. It was quite possible she was wasting her time. The missing worker was probably hidden a long way from her. The other workers knew his absence, and the missing tools, had been noticed. It would be foolish for him to return to steal more or even to return what he’d stolen. Her lips quirked in disgust as the clouds shifted, shafts of moonlight stabbing down to the ground. There were very few crimes held in universal abhorrence in the region, but stealing tools was very definitely one of them. The thief would be lucky if he wasn’t beaten to death when he was caught.

And something odd clearly happened to him, she reflected. Or else the tracking spell would have either led us to him or failed completely.

The darkness seemed, somehow, to grow darker as the moon faded behind the clouds again. Frieda leaned forward, biting her lip to keep from falling asleep. It was galling. She knew how to stay awake and yet, her eyelids were suddenly very heavy. A flicker of alarm ran through her, banishing the tiredness in the wink of an eye. Was someone trying to put her to sleep? Sergeant Miles had taught her spells to put sentries to sleep, then shown her how to resist them. She couldn’t sense any magic, but that was meaningless. The subtle spells were designed to be difficult to detect. They’d be rendered useless the moment their target realised they were there.

She felt her heart start to race as her eyes peered into the darkness. She’d cast a pair of night vision spells as a matter of course and yet, it was hard to spot any movement within the pools of shadow. The ruined village was completely lifeless and yet… she tensed as she spotted a moving shadow, inching towards the dig. She froze, trying not to breathe. The intruder’s senses might be as good as her own, if not better. If he’d grown up in the Cairngorms, he was probably as attuned to the local environment as everyone else… she wished, suddenly, she’d spent more time outside since she’d left Mountaintop. The intruder might not need magic to sense her. The moment he sensed something out of place, he’d turn and run.

And I need to follow him back to his lair, she thought, grimly. She briefly considered trying to enchant the intruder, then dismissed the thought before she could even begin to put the idea into practice. The locals might be backed by a sorcerer or a rogue team of diggers or… who knew? We need to know who’s behind him.

She gritted her teeth and waited as the shadowy form flitted around the dig. He — she thought the intruder was male, he certainly carried himself like a local man — didn’t seem scared of the artefact. Frieda had no idea what that meant. Was he too stupid to be scared? Was he unable to sense the aura surrounding the artefact? Or… or what? If it made her skin crawl every time she looked at it, if it made hardened diggers take the long way around just to avoid getting to close to it, if… she shook her head. She’d get answers out of the intruder shortly, after he’d returned to his lair. She reached out with her senses but found nothing. The artefact’s baleful presence overshadowed everything else.

The intruder was good, she noted sourly, as he slipped back into the shadows. Her ears were sharp, and yet she’d heard nothing. He hadn’t even stepped on a twig! Frieda would have been impressed — she’d seen experienced scouts and soldiers betray their presence through slight mishaps — if it hadn’t made life harder for her. She inched forward, drawing on nearly fifteen years of life in the region — and five more years at Mountaintop and Whitehall — and slipped after the intruder. If he was aware of her presence, he did nothing. Instead, he moved with the confidence and grace of someone who knew the region like the back of his hand.

Which is interesting, she thought, because the headman told us no one has crossed the boundary line since the village was destroyed.

She put the thought aside for later consideration as she kept moving, slipping from tree to tree as she struggled to keep the intruder in sight. The undergrowth seemed to snatch at her, roots and branches threatening to snap across her face and make noises that would be all too revealing. Frieda knew she was fit and healthy, after five years of proper food and medical care, but she feared the intruder could simply outrun her. She readied a spell to take him down, all too aware he might be quick enough to put a tree trunk between them while she was casting the spell. If he acted quickly, and refused to panic, he might well get away.

The shadows seemed to ebb and flow like living things as the intruder continued ghosting through the trees. Frieda sensed flickers of wild magic—tainted magic — riding the winds, brushing almost painfully against her wards. She was suddenly very sure she was being watched by unseen eyes, eyes that were very far from human. A shiver ran down her spine, her legs jerking as they felt a sudden urge to stop. Frieda bit her lip and forced herself to keep going. The intruder seemed to be moving without fear, even though he was travelling well off the beaten path. She’d thought he’d head down to the village and plead innocence the following morning, but instead he was slipping further up the mountains. She cursed under her breath. If she lost sight of him now, she’d lose him for good.

Next time, we’ll have to set up a proper booby trap for him, she thought. And hope we can make him talk before his backers get spooked and vanish.

Frieda kept moving, eyes peering into the darkness as the wild magic grew stronger. The ground shifted below her feet, the earth giving way to stones that looked to have been thrown against the mountainside by an angry god. She crossed a stream that would become a raging torrent later in the year, when the autumn rains began in earnest. It was hard to tell if the intruder had a real destination in mind, or if he knew she was there and was trying to get her thoroughly lost before vanishing into the shadows and leaving her stranded in the middle of nowhere. She smiled, rather grimly, at the thought. She could still sense the artefact, a poisoned needle stabbing into the land. It would be child’s play to let the artefact guide her back to the camp.

The world seemed to shift around her, so sharply she thought — for a second — she’d been attacked. Her senses were dulled, as if someone had thrown a blanket over her… panic yammered through her, forced down by schooling and experience. She hadn’t walked into a bunch of boys with bad intentions… she hadn’t! The panic nearly made her lash out, or cower under an imaginary blow, before she calmed herself. The air felt dead, weirdly hot and cold. She’d stepped under a magical shroud.

Well, she told herself. I guess we know why the tracking spells didn’t work.

She kept moving as moonlight glinted through the trees and reflected off the giant rocks. The intruder was barely visible in the distance, a tiny figure set against immense boulders that seemed larger than houses. Frieda forced herself to slow down as the intruder paused, before resuming his walk. She felt very small as magic pulsed around her, a weird dullness that made her feel she’d drunk a very weak sleeping potion. The rocks were just too big… she knew, intellectually, that she wasn’t entering a land of giants, but it was hard to be sure. The old tales suddenly seemed very real to her. Emily had even seen the remains of a giant, bones left to rot hundreds of years ago…

The thought mocked her as she slipped through the cracks, wondering if she should try to change herself into an owl or raven or something — anything — else that might pass unnoticed in the night. She put the thought out of her head a moment later. Self-transformation was just too dangerous, particularly when she might need to use her magic in a hurry. And yet… she sensed life all around her, hidden rodents and insects scurrying away from the two humans. She hoped the intruder didn’t realise he’d been followed as he reached an overhang and stepped into the shadows. If she was lucky, he’d assume he’d been the sole cause of the disturbance.

Frieda shivered as the moonlight grew stronger, throwing the overhang into sharp relief. It didn’t look completely natural… she frowned as she realised someone had literally carved a doorway into the rock, converting an inner cave into a… into a what? The tainted magic grew stronger as she approached, making it harder for her to pick up on anything from within. The intruder had completely vanished. Frieda hesitated, unsure if she should keep inching into the darkness or go back to the camp. She could round up reinforcements, then return to catch the intruder in the act…

And then she heard a child cry.

She hesitated, just for a second. There were things in the darker parts of the forests that sounded just like lost children. No one knew what they really looked like, because no one had come back to tell the tale. Prudence suggested beating a hasty retreat and yet… there was a missing child, a little girl taken from the village below the mountains. Frieda asked herself, quickly, what Emily would do, yet she already knew the answer. Emily would throw herself into the cave to find the child, risk be damned. It was crazy, by local standards, and yet… Frieda had good reason to be grateful. If Emily had turned her back on her…

The shadows loomed around her as she slipped into the cave. The interior was weird, as if parts of the tunnel had been carved and other parts had been left completely alone. She couldn’t tell if it was intentional or if the structure had been abandoned long enough for wind, rain and earthquakes to start wearing it down. The wind blew into her face as the tunnel started to climb upwards, suggesting the upper levels were open to the elements. She stumbled over a broken step, nearly fell to the ground. If she’d made a sound… she gritted her lips and forced herself to keep going, despite the growing magic. The tunnel grew wider as it leveled out. A faint glimmer of light shone at the far end.

Frieda kept moving, clinging to the shadows as best as she could. The walls were lined with strange carvings, eerie diagrams and drawings that seemed to change every time she looked away. Her eyes narrowed as she studied an image that looked weirdly familiar, even though she’d never seen anything like it in her entire life. And yet… she remembered, suddenly, exploring the caves and tunnels under Mountaintop and Heart’s Eye. There’d been similar carvings under there too.

Hoban would love this place, she thought. And so would Emily.

The tunnel widened again, revealing a giant chamber. Frieda looked up, spotting a faint pulsing light darting overhead. The magic felt wrong. She had the uneasy sense she’d walked into a trap and braced herself, but nothing happened. And yet… she froze as she spotted the bodies, piling against the far wall. They were unmoving… she forced herself to inch towards them, even though it was clear they were already dead. She shuddered, feeling a sudden urge to throw up, as she saw the expressions on the dead faces. They’d died in screaming terror.

She frowned as she eyed the topmost body. Sir Wheaton?

Her mind started to race. It was Sir Wheaton. He was dressed — the other bodies were naked — but she thought she would have recognised him regardless. There was no sign of what had killed him, nothing beyond the terrified expression on his face. Frieda inspected the bodies quickly — they weren’t the first corpses she’d seen, growing up in the mountains — but found no hint of how they’d died. Her eyes narrowed as she realised the corpses should have decayed by now. Sir Wheaton had only vanished a few days ago, but everyone else… she shook her head. There were at least ten bodies in the pile, and if they’d all vanished at the same time… no, they’d been taken and killed over the last few months. The headman had said as much.

She stood upright, frowning. Who were they?

Taxmen, perhaps, she thought. Her lips quirked. Taxmen were about as welcome as mercenaries, as far as the villagers were concerned. It isn’t as if anyone would bother to waste time looking for missing taxmen. They might find them.

The child cried, again. Frieda spun around and headed into the next chamber, throwing caution to the winds as she followed the sound through a network of caves and caravans. The stone walls pulsed with strange shimmering light, magic — wild magic — spinning through the air. Her senses started to hurt, her head pounding as if she was on the verge of a headache. A low thumping sound echoed through the air, like the beating of a giant heart… she wondered, fancifully, if she was running through the remains of a giant’s body. There were stories of people who lived in dragons…

She slowed as the sound grew louder, taking a breath… the air was dusty, too dusty. She sneezed. She heard something clatter ahead of her and cursed savagely, forcing herself to run faster. The intruder knew she was there now… she kicked herself, mentally, for not using more powerful concealment spells. They might have been enough to snuff out the sound before it reached his ears. Magic — weird magic — blossomed as she crashed into the final cave and stopped, dead. The child — a young girl, barely old enough to help her mother — was sitting on a rock. It looked a little too carved… Frieda’s blood ran cold as she realised it was an altar. Ivanovo was standing behind the rock, holding a knife in one hand and something weird, something alien, in the other. It felt deeply — deeply—wrong, as if her mind refused to look at it properly. It was… it was wrong.

Like the artefact, she thought. Did he find it in the dig?

“You?” Ivanovo stared at her. “You….”

He jabbed the thing at her, as if it were a wand. Frieda felt something crash into her, a power so strange and alien she couldn’t even begin to define it. She sensed tendrils of power spinning around her, vanishing into the distance… straight back towards the dig. It was a flash of lightning, parting the shadows long enough for her to get a glimpse of what was waiting for her before the shadows fell again. The power was overwhelming and yet, seemingly unfocused. It should have killed her and yet… she had the weirdest sense she’d only caught a tiny flicker of the power Ivanovo had unleashed, that most of it had gone elsewhere. There was something underground, something sleeping… her blood ran cold. It was waking.

The ground shook. Ivanovo screamed, grabbed the child and ran. Frieda tried to hit him with a spell, but the hex missed him and splattered uselessly against a wall. She cursed as the entire cave network started to collapse, dust and rocks falling from high overhead and slamming to the ground. It was suddenly very hard to breathe. She forced herself forward, to run as fast as she could. Ivanovo had to be stopped.

And she knew, somehow, that she was running out of time.