Frostborn: The First Quest by Jonathan Moeller Page A

mood swing. Still, men reacted in many different ways when faced with death, and the urdhracos had almost killed them both. “We have not been victorious yet. It is a foolish commander who claims a triumph before the knights have even saddled their horses.” 
    “Yes, yes, quite right,” said Lancelus. All trace of levity vanished from him, and he was grim once more. “Yes. One more test awaits us. One more. Shall we face it?”
    Ridmark nodded, and they walked to the door on the far side of the domed chamber.

Chapter 8 - An Eye of Stone
    The door swung open, and Ridmark and Lancelus stepped into a domed chamber filled with statues of gray stone.
    Ridmark saw more of the strange, gray statutes, the statues that Lancelus suspected had once been living men. There were orcs, men and women both, their expressions full of fear and horror. He also saw halflings, their eyes bulging with terror. There were dwarves and beastmen, manetaurs and trolls, dwarves and kobolds, hundreds of statues standing in successive rings. 
    “This is ghastly,” said Ridmark.
    “Aye,” said Lancelus. “The Warden seems like the sort of man to enjoy making an example of his enemies.” 
    “It’s worse than that,” said Ridmark. “Kill a man to make an example of him. But this…this is monstrous. To keep these people imprisoned forever as statues…that is an appetite for cruelty beyond anything human. I have never seen a dark elf, but both our histories and Ardrhythain said they delighted in cruelty. It seems they were right.”
    “Perhaps,” said Lancelus, looking at a statue of an orc.
    Ridmark moved through the statues with caution, watching for any sign of attackers. More urvaalgs or urshanes might wait among the statues. And if Lancelus’s suspicions were right, if the statues had originally been men and women of flesh and blood, whatever creature had turned them to stone might lurk here. Ridmark had never heard of such a creature, but there were legends in the books of Old Earth, tales of the Medusa and the Gorgons, and he had heard that both the halflings and the dwarves told tales of similar creatures.
    Then he heard the voice.
    A woman’s voice, one of otherworldly beauty. Was it another urdhracos? But the urdhracos’s voice had been full of amused contempt and cold hunger. 
    Fear and terror filled this voice.
    “I heard you!” said the voice, speaking in Latin. “You must…you must be men of Andomhaim, yes? Humans? Or another trick of the Warden’s magic? Another one of his games?” She started to weep. “God, God, I don’t know. Please, if you’re real, please don’t leave me here, please, please…”
    Ridmark hurried through the statues and came to the center of the chamber.
    A round dais rose there, topped by a stone throne. The gray statues surrounded the dais like supplicants approaching the seat of a king. A young woman, clad in only a shift of thin white cloth, sat upon the stone throne, chains binding her wrists and ankles. She had the alien features and glimmering golden eyes of the high elves. 
    She looked at Ridmark and Lancelus in wonder.
    “Who are you?” said the high elven woman. “Are you a dream? If you are one of the Warden’s phantasms, you are strange, for I have never seen men such as you before.”
    Lancelus snorted. “Such high praise.” 
    “We are real, I assure you,” said Ridmark. “I am Ridmark Arban, a Knight of the Order of the Soulblade, and this is Sir Lancelus Tyriar, a knight of the same Order.” He paused. “And I assume that you are Rhyannis, a bladeweaver of the high elven city of Cathair Solas?”
    The woman blinked, tears in her golden eyes. “Yes. I…I am. But how do you know me?”
    “The archmage Ardrhythain sent us to rescue you,” said Ridmark.
    Rhyannis started to weep. “I was a fool. Such a fool. I should never have come here. I should have listened. I should…”
    “My lady, you can rebuke yourself later,” said Ridmark. “First, we must escape