Read Frostborn: The First Quest for Free Online

Ridmark turned just as the final orc finished his spell.
    Dark power flared, and black flames erupted from the orc’s hands. Ridmark raised Heartwarden in guard, calling upon the sword’s power to defend him. The shadow fire slammed into the blade, and Ridmark stumbled back, straining to hold against the torrent of power. But the sword’s protection held, and Ridmark forced his way forward, the dark fire raging around him, its touch turning the grasses into dust. The orc snarled in fury, his arms trembling with exertion.
    Then the flames winked out. The orc started to cast another spell, but Ridmark surged forward. The mutated orc raised his hands in guard, but Heartwarden sank into his chest, Ridmark’s blow driven by the power of the sword’s magic. The orc screamed, blue and black fire mixing around his fingers. Ridmark stepped back, yanked the sword free, and swung with both hands.
    The orc’s head rolled away across the dead grass, body slumping to join the others. 
    Ridmark let out a long breath and lowered his sword, looking around the hills for any more orcs. But these three seemed to have been alone, and he saw no movement upon the gleaming white walls of Urd Morlemoch. 
    The place was as motionless as a tomb.
    Ridmark cleaned Heartwarden upon the grasses, sheathed the sword, and kept going. The sooner he was gone from the hills, the better. Sooner or later the dead orcs would be missed or found, and then the orcs would know that an intruder had entered Urd Morlemoch. 
    Or, worse, they would tell the Warden. 
    Ridmark kept moving, making for the stream. 

Chapter 4 - Bones
    The stream leapt off the edge of the world.
    Ridmark stood at the edge of the cliff and gazed at the sea.
    It was a long way down, at least a thousand feet of grim, weather-beaten rock. The water of the stream fell in a widening white spray until it struck the heaped boulders far below. By then, Ridmark supposed, the waterfall was little more than a gentle fall of mist.
    He squinted at the waterfall, trying to see any hint of an entrance behind the water. Finding nothing, he moved further north along the edge of the cliff, taking care to keep his balance. It would be a poor joke, he supposed, to come all this way only to trip over his own feet and plunge his death. 
    He crossed over the stream to stand at the very foot of Urd Morlemoch’s hill. The white ruins towered over him, the ribbons of blue flame painting the walls with a ghostly light. Still he saw no sign of any guards. Ridmark moved carefully along the edge of the cliff, the salt-scented breeze tugging at his hair and elven cloak, and spotted the entrance.
    A dark cave yawned behind the white spray of the waterfall, perhaps thirty yards below the edge of the cliff. Ridmark scrutinized the cave, wondering how to get down there, and then spotted the stairs. Narrow, rough-hewn steps had been carved from the rock, descending to a slender ledge behind the waterfall. 
    The steps were weathered, the ledge itself damp with spray. One false step would send him tumbling to his death.
    Ridmark shrugged, took a deep breath to steady himself, and started down the stairs.
    He moved carefully, testing each step before he put his weight upon it, his left hand braced against the cold stone, the wind moaning around him. He glanced at the boulders and the surf far below, decided that looking down was a very bad idea, and kept going.
    Inch by inch he descended the stairs. At last he reached the narrow ledge, and he started forward. He felt the cold spray of the waterfall against his face, and…
    His boot slipped.
    His weight went out from under him, and Ridmark grabbed at the rock wall for support. He landed hard upon his rump, and for an awful moment he teetered on the edge of the path. But his left hand kept its grip upon the rough stone, and he managed to pull himself back.
    He took a moment to catch his breath, his heart pounding. He would almost rather face a dozen more of the mutated