Frostborn: The World Gate (12 page)

Or Shadowbearer was skilled enough to cloak himself from Calliande’s Sight. That seemed the most logical option.

She sighed and opened her eyes.

“No luck?” said Mara, turning over the biscuits. 

“None,” said Calliande, standing with a grimace. “Either I cannot find Shadowbearer with my Sight, or he is powerful enough to shield himself from observation.” 

“My father was,” said Mara, squinting at the sausages. She nodded in satisfaction and started to scoop them out of the fire with a spatula. “Zhorlacht told me before we left the Gate of the East. One of his duties was to help maintain the wards around the edges of Nightmane Forest.” 

“If the Traveler was strong enough to do it, Shadowbearer would be as well,” said Calliande. 

“This place we are traveling to reach,” said Antenora. “The Black Mountain. Why does Shadowbearer travel to this mountain?”

“There’s a standing circle upon its slopes,” said Calliande. “A place of power. The dark elves made such circles in ancient times during their wars against the high elves, before the urdmordar came. They could use the circles to enhance their magic to mighty effect. Shadowbearer can open the gate far more easily there than he could anywhere else.”

“Why that particular circle?” said Mara. “There must be dozens of standing circles between Khald Azalar and Dun Licinia. We passed one two days ago, on that hill overlooking the river. Why doesn’t Shadowbearer use one of those and save himself the long walk to Dun Licinia?”

“That circle is the most powerful one in Andomhaim,” said Calliande. “Any spell of dark magic cast there will be magnified to an exponential degree.” 

“Why?” said Antenora.

“I don’t know,” said Calliande. “I don’t think any of the other Keepers knew, either. It’s something about the Black Mountain. It has a mighty aura of dark magic about it.”

Mara began plucking the biscuits from the fire. “I always heard it was…cursed. Nothing specific. When I lived in Cintarra, I heard the rumors. All the merchants thought the men of the Northerland were mad to live in the shadow of the Black Mountain, so close to the pagan orcs of the Wilderland.”

“It was sacred to the dark elves,” said Calliande. 

“Sacred?” said Mara. “My father never worshipped anything but himself.” 

“He was a bit…disillusioned, I think,” said Calliande. “Like the Warden.”

“But crazier,” said Mara.

“Quite,” said Calliande. “Most of the other dark elves worshipped Incariel. Shadowbearer was sort of a…prophet to them, I think. Ardrhythain told me about the history. That was how the split between the high elves and the dark elves began. Once there were just the high elves. Then some of them chose to worship the shadow of Incariel, and the shadow changed them. I suppose that was when this all began.” 

“But what does Shadowbearer want?” said Antenora. “He is a high elf, is he not? Why do all this? Why summon the Frostborn?” 

Calliande shrugged. “I do not know. Perhaps we can ask him before we defeat him.”

If they could defeat him.

“If you turn your Sight towards this Black Mountain,” said Antenora, “perhaps it shall reveal useful knowledge to you.”

Calliande shook her head. “I tried. All I see is…battle, chaos. Not now, but in the future, the near future. Soon there will be fighting at Black Mountain.” 

“And we didn’t need the Sight to tell us that,” said Mara, arranging the sausages and the biscuits upon a platter. 

“I fear not,” said Calliande. 

“Well,” said Mara, gazing into the forest for a moment, “if we can’t save the world today, we might as well have breakfast.” 

“I do not require physical sustenance,” said Antenora.

“Shouldn’t we wait for the others?” said Calliande. 

Mara shrugged. “I suspect the Gray Knight will want to leave as soon as he returns with the others. It would be nice not to eat a breakfast upon our feet for once.”

“An excellent point,” said Calliande. She claimed a sausage from the platter. “Though we’ve been carrying around these sausages since we stole them from that Mhorite camp in the Vale of Fallen Stars. I doubt they’ll last much longer.”

She took a bite and blinked in surprise at the taste.

“That…is really good,” she said. “How did you do that?”

“Some of the plants we passed in the forest yesterday,” said Mara, smiling. “They go well with meat.”

“How did you learn to cook so well?” said Calliande, taking another bite and savoring the taste. She hadn’t eaten anything that tasted so good since they had left the wreckage of the Iron Tower. 

“From the Red Family,” said Mara. “Some of the poisons the Family employed were quite bitter, so we learned to cook to disguise the taste…”

Calliande blinked and looked at the half-eaten sausage.

“Ah,” said Mara, wincing. “Don’t worry. It’s poison-free. I probably shouldn’t share that anecdote with the others.”

“The expression on Jager’s face might be amusing, though,” said Calliande. She hesitated and then finished the sausage. 

Mara smiled at that. “Oh, he already knows about it.” Her smile faded. “I wonder what Zhorlacht and the Anathgrimm would say.” 

“Likely they would approve,” said Calliande. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do about them,” said Mara. “I have a responsibility. I cannot turn away from them. And yet…I would not weep if I never saw them again. They remind me too much of Nightmane Forest, of my childhood. Yet…”

She blinked and looked into the trees. For a moment Calliande thought Mara had been moved to tears, but then the shorter woman smiled. Calliande’s Sight caught several magical auras moving towards them. 

“The others return,” said Antenora. 

Caius, Kharlacht, Arandar, Gavin, and Jager came first. Jager saw the sausages, smiled, kissed his wife, and then helped himself to some biscuits. Ridmark and Morigna came next, Morigna carrying a trio of dead rabbits. Apparently the two of them really had gone scouting. 

“Did you find anything interesting?” said Mara. 

“Not really,” said Jager. “Some more ruins. I think it was an orcish village, but it’s been abandoned for a long time. Burned, most likely. Other than that, we saw not a single living soul.” He brushed some dust from his vest and looked at Morigna. “Though it seems the Witch of the Wilderland found some most unfortunate rabbits.” 

Morigna sniffed. “That is the difference between us, Master Thief. One of us can survive in the wilderness, and the other would starve to death within a week.” 

Jager beamed at her. “Yes, but what would you do?” 

“Watch you go without fresh rabbit,” said Morigna, shaking them in his direction. 

Calliande looked at Ridmark. “Can we spare the time to cook them?”

“Perhaps,” said Ridmark. He seemed distracted, as if an idea had come to him. “We’ve been running hard for nearly four days. We need some rest, and some fresh food would do us good. After we’ve eaten Mara’s excellent breakfast, of course.” 

“You have an idea,” said Calliande. 

Ridmark nodded. “The Magistri can send messages to each other across long distances.” 

“They can,” said Calliande. “We can.” She might have become the Keeper, but she still had all the knowledge and skills of a Magistria. 

“Are we close enough that you could contact one of the Magistri in Dun Licinia?” said Ridmark. “Or maybe even Castra Marcaine itself?”

“Maybe,” said Calliande. She hadn’t given it any thought. “Why?”

“Because we have been making good time,” said Ridmark, “but I fear it still might not be enough.”

“Surely we are moving faster than the Mhorites,” said Caius.

“Undoubtedly,” said Ridmark, “but Shadowbearer might be able to call upon other allies, ones that can reach the Black Mountain and hold it until his arrival. Even if we kill Shadowbearer, Mournacht will still have an army, and he has enough warriors to turn all of the Northerland to ash and lay siege to Castra Marcaine. What of the people of the Northerland? We cannot protect them all.” 

“No,” murmured Calliande. “We cannot.” She had seen such things before. The Frostborn had overrun the Northerland, destroying its castras and laying waste to its towns and villages. She had seen endless lines of desperate, terrified people trying to flee, making their way south in hopes of safety. 

“If you can send a message to Sir Joram Agramore at Dun Licinia,” said Ridmark, “or even Dux Gareth at Castra Marcaine, they can prepare. They can summon their knights and men-at-arms, and have an army ready to meet the Mhorites.” 

“Or they may not,” said Morigna. “If a Magistrius receives a message from a woman claiming to be the long-lost Keeper of Andomhaim, he might think it a trick or a trap of some kind.”

“Or that he has drunk too much wine,” said Jager. 

“It is possible there are no Magistri in Dun Licinia,” said Caius.

Ridmark shook his head. “Dux Gareth and the Order would have sent another after Alamur’s death.”

“Alamur?” said Morigna. “The name is not known to me.”

“He was a Magistrius,” said Calliande. “He tried to betray me to Shadowbearer.” She looked at Ridmark. “I suppose in hindsight he must have been one of the Enlightened of Incariel.” 

“It seems so,” said Ridmark, his voice grim. “There is not telling how far that cancer has spread through the realm.” 

“It is also possible,” said Arandar, “that any Magistri that the Keeper contacts might be one of the Enlightened.” He scowled. “Once, I never would have dreamed the Magistri could be corrupted, but that was before what my son saw in Tarlion.”

“Then if we send a message to any Magistri in Dun Licinia or the Northerland,” said Jager, “the Enlightened will know that we are coming.”

“The Enlightened probably know that we are coming anyway,” said Ridmark. “Shadowbearer can communicate with his servants across long distances.”

“He can,” said Morigna. “I heard him speak to Coriolus, right before the end.”  

“So we take a risk, regardless of what we do,” said Ridmark. “But I think this is the best course. The people of the Northerland deserve some warning of what is about to fall upon them. And if the Dux and his vassals are roused before the Mhorites arrive, that means we shall have more allies when it comes time to confront Shadowbearer.” 

“You’re right,” said Calliande. “The effort must be made. It costs us nothing, risks nothing we do not already risk, and might reap an advantage.”

“It does cost us something,” said Ridmark in a quiet voice. “Your effort.”

Calliande shrugged. “I have been trying to stop the return of the Frostborn for centuries. What are a few more moments?”

“One feels compelled to point out,” said Morigna, “that you were asleep for several of those centuries.”

Calliande laughed. “Then I am all the more rested for the task. Keep watch over me, please. This should only take a few moments.”

She sat cross-legged before the fire again, laying the staff across her legs. Morigna went to work skinning the dead rabbits, while Mara began to cook their meat. Calliande closed her eyes, taking long, deep breaths as she prepared her mind for the spell. She never liked working spells to look into the mind of another. Just as the magic of the Well permitted her to heal the body, so it permitted her to reach into the thoughts of another, though it was a draining ordeal. 

The material world drifted away like smoke, and Calliande cast the spell. She drew on the magic of the Well, and then funneled the spell through the Keeper’s mantle of power, making the spell much stronger than it would have been otherwise. Most Magistri could not send their thoughts over such a distance, but Calliande was the Keeper.

She projected her thoughts south, towards Dun Licinia. She had visited both Castra Marcaine and Dun Licinia, but she had not visited Castra Marcaine since the Frostborn had destroyed it two and a half centuries ago, and likely it had changed a great deal since then. Instead she focused upon Dun Licinia, the first town she had visited since awakening beneath the Tower of Vigilance. She remembered the strong stone wall with octagonal towers that had surrounded the gate, remembered the houses of brick with their roof of clay tiles, remembered the keep where she had stayed as Sir Joram’s guest. She also remembered the fierce siege as Qazarl and his band of Mhalekites tried to capture her and claim the empty soulstone, remembered flinging all her power at Qazarl to break his magical strength. 

It had been a desperate battle, but they had won in the end. Perhaps that should give her hope.

An image of Dun Licinia flickered and wavered in her mind. Calliande focused her will, seeking for the thoughts of another Magistrius or Magistria. Suddenly she saw something like a flicker of light near Dun Licinia’s northern gate. She focused upon the light, and realized that it was the mind of a Magistrius. If she remembered right, that building was a tavern that catered to the trappers and freeholders who traded in Dun Licinia. 

What was a Magistrius doing in a tavern? Well, she supposed even the Magistri might enjoy a cup of cheap wine in the morning.

“Hear me!” said Calliande. “Hear me! I have urgent news!”

The mind turned towards her, and Calliande felt something, a sense of…surprise. Also a good deal of discomfort. For a moment she thought the Magistrius was injured or ill. 

Then she realized that he was simply hung over. 

A flicker of disgust went through her. She had seen the Magistri at their best during the Frostborn war, men like Julian Taborius, who had labored ceaselessly among the wounded, or her teacher Marius, who had spent centuries watching over her. Then again, perhaps the Order did not send its best Magistri to a remote town like Dun Licinia. 

“Hear me!” said Calliande again. 

“Dear God in heaven,” said a man’s voice, deep and rusty but with the clipped tone of a veteran man-at-arms. “Drink has snapped my mind. I’m hearing voices. I suppose this means I can retire at last. I…”

“I am real,” said Calliande. “Who are you?”

There was a pause. “Suppose if you were a voice in my head, you would know that already.”

Calliande sighed. “What is your name? Are you a Magistrius?” 

“My name is Camorak,” said the voice. “And, yes, I am a Magistrius. Wasn’t by choice. I…”