Frostborn: The False King Read Online Free Page A

them. 
    The creatures were another kindred that the Frostborn had enslaved and added to their armies. The medvarth were fierce, the locusari relentless, and the khaldjari diligent, but the cogitaers were powerful with magic. Each one stood barely five feet tall, their features thin and delicate, their skin a pale blue color, silvery hair stirring about their heads. They floated a few inches above the ground, and as Ridmark watched they began to gesture, silvery light glowing around their fingers and their eyes as they gathered power for another spell. The cogitaers looked frail, but their spells could decide the course of a battle.
    And the battle hung in the balance. 
    Ridmark sprinted forward, and the silver-glowing eyes shifted to him. The cogitaers remained calm but increased the speed of their spell, the silver light brightening. At the last minute, Ridmark threw himself forward, hitting the ground, and the cogitaers flung their hands in his direction. He felt some invisible clip the side of his torso. It was like taking a glancing hit from a medvarth’s fist, and the impact of it flung Ridmark backward. He managed to stop himself and rolled to one knee, his chest and left shoulder aching, and the cogitaers turned to face him with a serene calm. 
    Blue fire swirled behind them, and Third stepped out of nothingness, dark elven steel flashing in her hands. Before the cogitaers could react, she struck the creature on Ridmark’s left, and the cogitaer’s calm dissolved into a shriek of pain as a sword blade erupted from its chest. The remaining cogitaer whirled, bringing its hands up for a spell, but Ridmark heaved himself from the ground, snatching his dwarven axe from his belt.
    He buried the blade in the back of the cogitaer’s skull. The creature shuddered, then collapsed to the ground, its odd silvery blood seeping into the dirt. 
    “Thanks,” said Ridmark, wrenching his axe free.
    “The Queen commanded that you were to be kept safe,” said Third, and she vanished again in a swirl of blue light. 
    Ridmark retrieved his staff and joined the fight.
     
    ###
     
    A short time later they were victorious, the surviving medvarth fleeing into the pine trees and the hills.
    “We fared better than I expected,” said Qhazulak. “Thirteen dead, and a score wounded, in exchange for one two and sixty-seven slain Anathgrimm.”
    “Aye,” said Ridmark, looking over the dead. More Anathgrimm had been killed than he would have liked, but he had been in enough battles to know that they always carried a cost. Camorak moved among the wounded Anathgrimm, his face a tight grimace, white light flaring around his fingers as he drew upon the magic of the Well to heal the wounds. Camorak drank too much and talked too much, but he was one of the best healers Ridmark had ever met, and for all the lives that he saved, Ridmark would forgive the man a great deal. In fact, the only better healer he had ever met was the Keeper herself…
    A jumble of guilt and regret went through his head at the memory of Calliande, and he pushed the thought out of his head. 
    “As soon as the Magistrius has finished healing the wounded, we should be gone from here,” said Caius. “This is the seventh group we’ve hit in the last month. The Frostborn are bound to react sooner rather than later.” 
    “Aye,” said Ridmark, glancing at the sky. The fighting had felt as if it had taken days, but barely an hour had passed since the Anathgrimm had set their ambush upon the slopes. He thought they had a good four or five hours yet until sundown, but the Anathgrimm had seen a great deal of hard fighting recently, and even they needed to rest from time to time. “Tomorrow at first light. We’ll camp in the ruins of Liavatum, help ourselves to the supplies of the medvarth, and the continue on our way tomorrow.”
    “Towards Castra Marcaine?” said Kharlacht. “Or back to Nightmane Forest?”
    “Towards Castra Marcaine,” said Qhazulak at once.