Frostborn: The World Gate (17 page)

“He is real,” said Calliande, “and he is coming here with an army of Mhorite orcs. He has fooled them into thinking that he is the incarnation of Mhor, and they will follow his every command. Using the standing stones upon the slopes of the Black Mountain, he will open a gate to the world of the Frostborn and summon them here. For the Frostborn are a kindred from another world, just as humanity was, my lord Dux.” 

“Then what do you suggest?” said Gareth. “Your message to Camorak said an army was coming. With God’s help and the blessing of the Dominus Christus, the men of the Northerland can face and defeat an army. How can we defeat a wizard out of legend?”

“He is powerful, but he is not invincible,” said Calliande. “A soulblade will kill him, if a Swordbearer can get close enough. He also has no defense against the power of the Keeper. If I have assistance, I can defeat him. For he is the reason I went into the long sleep below the Tower of Vigilance.”

“Why?” said Gareth. “Could not your successor have stood guard against Shadowbearer?”

“Perhaps,” said Calliande, “but any man or woman can be corrupted. For that is how Shadowbearer waged war against Andomhaim since the defeat of the Frostborn. He tried to corrupt the High Kingdom. He engineered the war of the five Pendragon princes that weakened the realm. He created the Eternalists, and he founded the Enlightened of Incariel to do his work in secret. I fear Shadowbearer might have agents among the people of Dun Licinia even now.”

Gareth frowned. “That is a very grave charge.”

“It is no different than what Comes Corbanic has said,” said Arandar, “and we have eyewitnesses…”

“Murderer!” 

The woman’s voice rang over the forum, cutting through the hubbub of voices and background noise. 

Ridmark turned, as did the others. Two figures clad in white robes cut through the press, making their way towards the dais. He did not recognize the white-robed man, but he recognized the white-robed woman at once.

She looked so much like Aelia Licinius Arban that it sent a little stab of pain through him. 

The woman was about twenty-five, with long, curly black hair and bright green eyes in a lovely face. Like her father and brother and late sister, she had olive-colored skin, and shared the sharp jaw and prominent nose of the Licinii family. 

She was Imaria Licinius, a Magistria of the Order, Aelia’s sister, and the mistress of Tarrabus Carhaine.

And, unless Ridmark missed his guess, a member of the Enlightened of Incariel.

###

Morigna watched as Imaria approached, her right hand opening and closing into a fist. She wanted to take up her staff and cast a spell, to kill the Magistria before she could come any closer. Yet that would be a tremendously bad idea. For one, the kind of earth magic that Morigna used was banned in Andomhaim, and she had no wish to be forcibly enrolled in the Magistri. For another, Ridmark seemed to respect the old Dux, and murdering the man’s daughter in front of him would be unwise. 

To Morigna’s surprise, she felt a flicker of respect for Gareth Licinius, partly because the old man reminded her of Ridmark. He had the same aura of command, of authority. Though Morigna supposed she had it backwards. Ridmark had been a squire under the Dux, and he had likely learned those qualities from the old man. For that matter, she saw how Dun Licinia had prepared itself for war. The Dux took his responsibility to defend his people seriously, and Morigna could respect that. 

At least he seemed nothing like Tarrabus Carhaine. 

Imaria stopped a few yards from the dais, glaring at Ridmark. A man in a white robe waited behind her, his arms folded behind his back. He looked old, at least twenty or thirty years older than the Dux. His white hair was close-cropped, and his eyes were a pale shade of blue. There was a dreamy, unfocused expression upon his face, and Morigna wondered if the old man was lucid. At first she thought he was a Magistrius, but his white robe had no black sash, and was a different design than those of the Magistri she had met. For that matter, the old man was barefoot, and she was entirely certain the proud Magistri would not deign to stride about unshod. 

Given the amount of horse droppings she had seen upon the cobblestones, she could at least agree with the Magistri on that. 

“Ridmark Arban,” said Imaria. She had not changed much since Morigna had last seen her in the castra of Coldinium, and yet something seemed different. The woman appeared stronger, more confident. “You dare to show your face here again?”

“Daughter,” said Gareth. There was a mixture of exasperation and concern on his expression. “This is not the time for such a discussion.”

“Is that so, Father?” said Imaria. “The man who murdered your daughter and my sister stands before you, and you have nothing for him but platitudes?”

“Constantine,” said Gareth, and the young Swordbearer stepped forward. “Please escort your sister to her rooms.”

“I will go where I please,” said Imaria. “I am a Magistria, and neither a Swordbearer nor a secular lord can command me.”

The conversation degenerated into something that had the air of an oft-repeated family argument. Calliande, Antenora, and Mara all looked at Imaria, and Morigna wondered if their Sight detected any hint of dark magic about her. 

Morigna moved closer to Mara. “Do you see dark magic within her?”

“No,” murmured Mara in a quiet voice. “But I don’t think I would unless she actively drew upon the shadow of Incariel.”

“You would not,” said Calliande. “The shadow of Incariel isn’t magic. It’s something else, something darker, something from a place mortals were never meant to visit. We can only sense it with the Sight if she uses it in front of us.”

“She one of them,” said Jager. Morigna started a little. The halfling had moved to Mara’s side in utter silence. “I’m absolutely sure of it. My skin crawls when I look at her. Same way it did with Tarrabus.” 

Morigna started to remark that the state of Jager’s nerves was hardly a reliable guide, but stopped herself. Now was not the time. 

Besides, the little thief was likely right. 

“The old man’s worse, though,” said Jager.

“The old man?” said Morigna, looking at the gaunt, white-robed figure. “What about him?”

“I don’t know,” said Jager. “He’s one of the Enlightened too, I think, but he seems…different.” He let out an exasperated sound. “I hate to be so vague, but it is difficult to put the sensation to words. If I had to guess, I would say that he is a more powerful Enlightened than Imaria.”

“They did have levels of authority,” said Morigna. “Jonas and Paul Tallmane both claimed to be Initiated of various circles within the Enlightened. Perhaps that was a signifier of rank.” 

“We had best put a stop to this,” said Calliande. 

Morigna was in complete agreement. For his part, Ridmark was denying everything Imaria flung in his face. Yet if Imaria continued her accusations, she could distract the Dux at a critical moment. It would be an appalling end if they had come all this way only for Shadowbearer to triumph because Imaria’s embittered whining kept them away from the Black Mountain. 

“We should kill her,” said Morigna.

Mara blinked. “That’s a little…drastic.”

“She is one of the Enlightened,” said Morigna in a low voice, watching Imaria. The woman’s green eyes were fixed on Ridmark, but the old man was watching Morigna. He seemed…amused, somehow, as if privy to a secret joke. She did not like the expression. “If we do not stop her now, there is no telling the harm she could wreak.” 

“Perhaps I can provoke her,” said Calliande. 

“How are you going to do that?” said Morigna.

To her surprise, Calliande grinned. “You always found me annoying. I should have had some practice, no?”

Before Morigna could reply, Calliande strode forward and struck the end of her staff against the edge of the dais. There was a loud crack, and Imaria stopped talking, startled.

“Imaria of the Licinii, Magistria of the Order,” said Calliande, pointing the staff of the Keeper at the Magistria. Morigna had to admit Calliande looked impressive, even commanding. “You leveled these accusations at Ridmark Arban before the Comes of Coldinium. To prove their veracity, you accepted a Challenge of Magistri, a challenge that you lost.” 

Imaria’s eyes narrowed. “You are not a Magistria. You are the Keeper. Therefore…”

“Therefore she has authority over all Magistri,” said Arandar. He offered Imaria a thin smile. “Including you, my lady Magistria.” 

“There is no proof this…woman is the Keeper of Andomhaim,” said Imaria. “For all we know she is a prostitute Ridmark collected during his travels.”

“I can promise you that I’m not,” said Calliande. 

“You’re not?” said Imaria. For a moment she seemed confused, and then she looked at Morigna. “Ah. Then she is the one. Behold the virtue of the Gray Knight, Father. After he got Aelia killed, he has taken up with some barbarian wench from the Wilderland.” 

“Come closer and say that,” said Morigna. 

“I have a better idea,” said Calliande. “If you wish to push these accusations, Imaria, then let us submit to another Challenge of Magistri. If your accusations are true, no doubt God will give you the victory.” Her cold smile appeared again. “And since I am not really a Magistria, no doubt you will defeat me easily.” 

Imaria said nothing. Whatever powers the Enlightened had given her, it seemed Imaria knew that she could not overcome the Keeper in a direct confrontation. 

“Enough, Imaria,” said Gareth, his voice tired. “I’ve indulged these…fits of yours, but it stops now. The Northerland is in deadly danger. We cannot waste time upon this hysteria.”

“Hysteria?” said Imaria, her voice soft. “This man took your daughter from you. I tell you the truth, and…”

“I did not,” said Ridmark. His voice was just as quiet as Imaria’s, but unyielding. “I did everything I could to save her. I failed. If I had been better, if I had been smarter, perhaps I could have saved her. But I was not. I failed to save her…but I did not kill her. And I know the truth about you now.”

“And what truth is that, murderer?” said Imaria. 

“Tarrabus Carhaine wanted me gone,” said Ridmark, “because he was the chief of the Enlightened of Incariel, the leader of their cult. He knew I might oppose him. He used Aelia’s death to banish me, and he used your grief to his ends. It is time someone told you the truth.”

“The truth, Ridmark Arban?” said Imaria. “I know the truth. I know far more of the truth than you ever will…”

“And what truth is this?” said Ridmark. 

She hesitated, her frame trembling with fury. For a moment Morigna was sure that Ridmark and Calliande had pushed Imaria too far, that she was about to explode with rage. Then her face twitched, and cold arrogance fell over her features once more. 

“So be it,” said Imaria. “You will learn the truth in time,” She looked at Morigna and smirked. “She will learn the truth in time.”

Morigna wondered what that meant.

Imaria stalked away towards the inn overlooking the forum. 

“Do forgive my student, honored sirs,” said the old man in the white robe in a voice as thin as his face. “She is prone to…such fits of emotion.” He looked at Calliande. “Especially when meeting a personage as honored as the Keeper of Andomhaim herself.”

Calliande said nothing, her face blank as she considered the old man. 

“Just who are you, anyway?” said Ridmark.

The old man smiled. “I am called the Weaver.” 

“The Weaver?” said Jager. “What, are you here to sell cloth?”

“I like to think of myself as a priest,” said the Weaver.

“There are no orders of priests in Andomhaim,” said Caius, “that wear robes of that cut.” 

“Perhaps more precisely,” said the Weaver, “I think of myself as a weaver of souls. For are not all priests weavers of souls?” 

“Enough,” said Gareth. “I have given you too much indulgence, priest, for the sake of my daughter. Unless you have something useful to say, be gone.”

The Weaver bowed and then left in silence, following Imaria to the inn.

“You should banish that man, my lord,” said Joram. “I fear he has poisoned your daughter’s mind.”

“Her mind has been poisoned for a long time,” said Gareth, scowling. “I have failed her. Well, there will be time to deal with her later. Ridmark, my lady Keeper, accompany me, please. We have a battle to plan, and your knowledge shall be useful.”

Chapter 9: Reunions

Calliande walked into the courtyard of the keep. 

Most of the courtyard had been transformed into a makeshift stable, with rows of horses tethered before wooden troughs of water, the air heavy with the smell of manure and sweat. Squires and pages tended to the horses, and halfling servants in the colors of Dux Gareth went back and forth on their duties. A few of them cast odd looks at Jager as they passed. Likely they were surprised to see a halfling not wearing servant’s livery. Jager, for his part, all but swaggered into the courtyard. Calliande was impressed that he had not mouthed off to the Dux, but Gareth Licinius had an aura of command that even Morigna had not challenged. 

“Take a moment to refresh yourselves,” said Gareth, pausing at the doors to the keep. “You’ve had a long journey, and hard fighting besides. Constantine, have the pages summon my vassals and chief knights to the great hall. We must discuss our strategy. Joram, find rooms for Ridmark and his followers.” 

“Of course, my lord,” said Joram. Gareth nodded and disappeared into the keep’s great hall, while Constantine strode to recruit some of the pages as messengers. Joram turned to Ridmark and raised an eyebrow. “The last time you turned up on my doorstep you brought an army of Mhalekites down upon my head, you know.”

Ridmark snorted. “As I recall, you asked me to find Brother Caius. The Dux would have been upset if he had been killed. It was not my fault the Mhalekites decided to follow us back to Dun Licinia.”  Ridmark’s tone was light, but his eyes were hard and cold. The confrontation with Imaria had upset him more than he wanted to let on.

“Actually,” said Calliande, “I suppose it was mine. Shadowbearer wanted me alive, and he wanted that empty soulstone.”