Frostborn: The World Gate (13 page)

“There isn’t time,” said Calliande. Already she felt the strain of holding the connection of the spell. The Magistri generally limited themselves to short messages about urgent matters. 

“Who are you?” said Camorak. “You don’t seem like a Magistria. I’ve received messages before. Bad as a hangover, without the fun of acquiring one. You…”

“I am Calliande of Tarlion, Keeper of Andomhaim,” said Calliande.

There was a pause, and then Camorak erupted with laughter.

“Apparently I’m not the only one of the Order who drinks too much,” said Camorak. “Sure, you’re the Keeper of Andomhaim, and I’m High King Uthanaric Pendragon and…”

“Be silent and listen to me,” said Calliande, her patience evaporating. “I’m traveling with Ridmark Arban and Brother Caius. Ask Sir Joram about them if you don’t believe me. A Mhorite host led by a powerful wizard called Shadowbearer is marching south from Vhaluusk, and they’re heading right for Dun Licinia. You must warn Sir Joram, and he must warn Dux Gareth. The Northerland is about to face its most powerful foe since Mhalek.” 

There was a long pause. 

“You’re serious,” said Camorak. This time, he sounded thoughtful. “Something is stirred up in the Wilderland. More kobold sightings than usual, and some of the freeholders have sworn they have seen dvargir warriors…”

“They could have,” said Calliande. Her head was starting to hurt. “Shadowbearer might have called additional allies to his side. You have to warn Sir Joram and the Dux. The Gray Knight and I are making for Dun Licinia as fast as we can, but we are still at least two weeks away. We will explain everything when we arrive. But for now, you must warn Sir Joram and the Dux. Promise me you will warn Sir Joram and the Dux.”

“Very well,” said Camorak. “I will speak to Sir Joram. I cannot promise that he will do anything. The nobles keep their own counsel.” 

“Thank you,” said Calliande. “If you do not believe me, look to the north. Soon you will see a host of Mhorite orcs descend upon Black Mountain.” 

She broke the connection, starting to withdraw her Sight towards herself.

Something else reached for her.

Another mind, another mortal mind. It was another Magistrius. No, a Magistria. A Magistria who felt familiar. Camorak’s mind and voice had seemed hazy, likely because of his hangover. This mind felt sharp and clear and yet somehow…jagged, with edges that could cut.

“You,” hissed a woman’s voice. “I remember you. Do you remember me?”

Calliande felt her body tense, her fingers sinking into her knees.

“Imaria Licinius,” said Calliande. 

Imaria was a Magistria, the daughter of Dux Gareth Licinius, the lover of Tarrabus Carhaine…and the sister of Ridmark’s dead wife. Calliande had faced her in Coldinium. Imaria had arranged for Ridmark to be arrested, and had tried to have him put to death. Instead, Calliande had faced Imaria in a Challenge of Magistri, and defeated the younger woman. She had glimpsed into Imaria’s mind, and saw the grief for Aelia in there. But that grief had festered into rage and hatred and into something like insanity.

“You do remember me,” said Imaria, her voice a purr. “I am surprised. You’ve changed a lot since our last meeting. But, then, so have I.”

“You have,” said Calliande. Imaria had changed. Her mind felt…

Calliande felt herself frown.

Imaria’s mind felt like there was something wrong with it. 

Calliande could not quite describe the sensation. One moment it seemed as if Imaria’s mind had broken into fragments, like a spider-webbed crack through a pane of glass. The next it felt as if her mind was a mask over something else, like Imaria was an empty vessel filling up with…

Shadow.

The shadow of Incariel. 

“You’re one of them,” said Calliande. “You’re one of the Enlightened of Incariel.”

Imaria’s laughter rang out. “They are fools. I have surpassed them. I see the truth.”

“And what truth is that?” said Calliande. “What have you done to yourself?” 

“I am pregnant,” said Imaria.

“With Tarrabus’s child?” said Calliande.

“No, not quite,” said Imaria. Her mind pressed closer against Calliande, sharp and jagged and filled with shadows. “Rather, something is pregnant with me.”

“That makes no sense,” said Calliande. “To paraphrase the gospel of John, a woman cannot return to her mother’s womb to be born again.” 

“I am the larva of something greater,” said Imaria. “I am the seed. I am the harbinger. I am the shadow of what is coming.”

“And what is coming?” said Calliande.

Imaria’s laughter rang through Calliande’s mind. “You do not see? Fool, fool, thrice a fool! You are Ridmark’s beloved little pet, and you seek the secret of the Frostborn?” Venom filled her voice when she spoke Ridmark’s name. “You seek to know the future, but you do not see it. The Magistri cannot see it. Even Tarrabus cannot see it. Only I see the future laid out before us like words upon a page.”

“Then,” said Calliande, “why don’t you tell me what that future is?” 

“Me,” said Imaria. “Give Ridmark a message, Calliande. Tell him that I am coming for him. Tell him that I am shall repay him for taking my sister from me, that he is going to know pain that few mortals have ever been cursed enough to experience!” 

The last word crashed like thunder, and the spell shattered around Calliande. She seemed to hurtle backwards, as if flung by a great force, the forests of the Wilderland blurring around her. She heard a voice shouting. 

“Keeper!” said Antenora. “Keeper! Keeper!”

Calliande’s eyes opened and she looked around, a wave of dizziness going through her. 

Ridmark and Antenora were kneeling on either side of her. Ridmark looked concerned. Antenora seemed gripped with dread, her face more pallid than usual. Perhaps she feared having spent fifteen centuries searching for the Keeper only to see Calliande die before her eyes. A wave of sympathy went through Calliande…followed by a tremendous headache. 

“Are you all right?” said Ridmark. 

“Yes,” said Calliande, rubbing her throbbing temples. “Oh, that hurts. I remember why the Magistri don’t do that very often.”

“Arandar,” said Ridmark. 

Arandar stooped over Calliande, one hand on his soulblade. He placed his callused palm upon her forehead, and the healing power of Heartwarden flowed into Calliande. Soulblades were not as effective with healing as the spells of a Magistri, but then Arandar didn’t have to take the pain of the injury into himself. Calliande’s headache faded from something thunderous to merely tolerable. She had been in far worse pain.

“Thank you,” said Calliande. Antenora held out a hand, and Calliande gripped it and got to her feet, leaning a bit on the staff of the Keeper for balance.

“Did it work?” said Ridmark. 

Calliande hesitated. “I…think so. I spoke with a Magistrius named Camorak. He agreed to speak to Sir Joram and warn him.”

“Camorak?” said Caius, and glanced at Arandar.

“You know him?” said Calliande. 

“I met him briefly when I passed through Castra Marcaine,” said Caius. “He was a Magistrius in the Dux’s court.”

“What did you think of him?” said Calliande. 

Caius hesitated. “I only met him briefly. He seemed…quite drunk.”

“I know the name,” said Arandar. “I met him when I was in service to Dux Kors Durius of Durandis. He was a man-at-arms in the Dux’s service. He manifested magical ability and was taken by the Magistri for training. From what I heard, he was a reliable man before he became a Magistrius.” 

“Do you think he would be one of the Enlightened?” said Gavin.

Arandar shook his head. “I do not think so. From what I have seen, the Enlightened are an affliction of the noble and the wealthy and the learned, lords and merchants and Magistri. A common soldier would be wise enough to resist their blandishments, or so I would hope.”

“And yet,” said Morigna, “there is no man so virtuous that he cannot be corrupted."

“I wish I could argue with you,” said Arandar with a sigh, “but I fear you are correct. Nevertheless, I suspect that Camorak will do his duty and report to Sir Joram. A man who fought against the Mhorites in Durandis would not abandon his comrades.”

“He would also know the danger of a Mhorite army,” said Kharlacht. 

“Ridmark,” said Calliande. “There was something else.”

“Bad news, I suspect,” said Ridmark.

She took a deep breath and plunged into her next sentence. “Imaria Licinius is in Dun Licinia.”

Ridmark frowned. “Why? She was in Coldinium. I assumed she would have gone back to Tarlion with Tarrabus Carhaine.” 

“I don’t know,” said Calliande, shaking her head. The memory of Imaria’s mind made her skin crawl, as if she had touched something dead and rotting. “There’s something wrong with her. I think she may have gone insane.” 

Ridmark’s frown deepened. She was not entirely sure what he thought about Imaria Licinius. He had spent a long, long time blaming himself for Aelia’s death, and Imaria had been in full agreement with him.

“Perhaps you broke her mind in Coldinium,” said Morigna.

“That’s not it,” said Calliande. “She might be one of the Enlightened.”

“No,” said Ridmark at once. “She’s Aelia’s sister, Dux Gareth’s daughter. She is arrogant and…high-strung, but she would not throw her lot in with the Enlightened.” 

“I felt the shadow in her,” said Calliande. “The same sort of shadow that was in Paul Tallmane, in Shadowbearer himself. The shadow of Incariel.”

“I cannot believe that,” said Ridmark.

Morigna snorted. “You cannot believe that of a woman who is the lover of the head of the Enlightened of Incariel? That is optimistic even for you.”

“What?” said Arandar. “Imaria Licinius is Tarrabus Carhaine’s mistress?”

“Beyond question,” said Morigna. “When we met them in Coldinium, she looked at Tarrabus like a dog in heat.” Her eyes turned back to Ridmark. “And you once thought Tarrabus arrogant and high-strung, but an honorable servant of your realm of Andomhaim. Then you found out he was the chief of the Enlightened of Incariel.” 

“The Initiated of the Seventh Circle,” said Jager, shuddering a little. His experience with Tarrabus Carhaine had not been pleasant. “Imaria was the woman with him. Olive skin, green eyes, black hair? Looked like she just took a big bite out of a lemon.” 

“That would be her,” said Ridmark. 

“She felt…uncanny,” said Jager. “The same way Tarrabus and Paul did. If that’s Imaria Licinius, I would wager my last golden coin that she was one of the Enlightened…and I’ve got quite a lot of gold coins.” 

“Truly?” said Antenora.

“Oh, yes, I’m quite wealthy,” said Jager, brushing some dust from his sleeve. “I was a very good thief, and it turns out I’m quite a good merchant, as well.”

“He is,” said Mara.

“I just needed some starting funds, and…”

“We can discuss that later,” said Ridmark. 

“Right,” said Jager. “But I’m sure that Imaria Licinius is part of the Enlightened. Gray Knight, you are a bold and valiant warrior, but your blind spot about your late wife and her family is the size of all thirteen of the moons put together at once.”

“Oh, it is, is it?” said Ridmark, his voice quiet. 

“Yes,” said Kharlacht.

“Unquestionably,” said Caius. 

“I fear so,” said Mara.

“As do I,” said Calliande.

“As unlikely as it is for me to agree with everyone,” said Morigna, “one must…”

“God and the apostles!” said Ridmark. “Fine. You’ve made your point. It seems wisest to assume that Imaria is part of the Enlightened, and that Shadowbearer will have agents in Dun Licinia. We shall have to be on our guard when we arrive.”

“That means,” said Morigna, “if Imaria accuses you of causing Aelia’s death, you will not simply…lie down and refuse to fight.”

“No,” said Ridmark. “I didn’t handle her well in Coldinium. I shall not make the same mistake twice. Too much is at stake.” He looked at the others. “Let’s finish breakfast, and then we can be on our way. It seems Shadowbearer and his servants are waiting for us.” 

Calliande gazed at the fire. She hoped that Camorak was as good as his word, that he would alert Sir Joram and the Dux.

She hoped that she had not just sent him to his death. If Shadowbearer’s servants were already in Dun Licinia, they might try to kill Camorak to prevent any word of warning from reaching Dux Gareth. 

It made for all the more reason to hurry. 

Chapter 7: The Destiny of Mhor

Two weeks after Calliande contacted Camorak, eighteen days after the death of Rhogrimnalazur, Ridmark stopped and pointed south. 

“There,” he said. “You can see it there.”

The pine trees of the Northerland thinned a little, and in the distance Ridmark glimpsed a dark shadow against the southern sky.

The Black Mountain. 

The terrain had been growing rockier and rougher, the thick forests of the Wilderland giving way to the hills and pine trees of the Northerland. A few days ago the River Moradel had turned to the southwest, and Ridmark and the others had forded it, using the half-crumbled ruins of a dark elven bridge. Then they had headed straight south. 

“Spooky thing, isn’t it?” said Jager. “I can see why the dark elves thought it sacred to Incariel.”

Ridmark said nothing, a welter of memories burning through his mind. He had commanded the army that had broken the Mhalekites at Black Mountain. After he had been exiled, he had departed the realm to seek the secret of the Frostborn, passing the Black Mountain once more as he did so. When he had returned to the realm, Calliande had awaked in the ruined Tower of Vigilance in the shadow of the Black Mountain. Again and again, it seemed as if the significant events of his life took place upon the slopes of that dark mountain. 

A wave of foreboding went through him. He knew violence and battle awaited at Black Mountain…but he did not know the outcome. 

Someone squeezed his free hand, and he turned his head in surprise. Morigna had joined him in silence. She must have guessed his thoughts. Though he supposed his thoughts were predictable enough by now. 

“The dark elves were clearly not as wise as they thought themselves,” said Morigna, “if they chose to pray to an impressive-looking mountain. One wonders if they also offered prayers to clouds of unusual shape.”