Frostborn: The World Gate (19 page)

“That little blond slip of a girl I saw in the courtyard?” rumbled Tagrimn, his disapproval plain. “Another few inches and she would be shorter than a halfling. Such a woman cannot lead a host of savage orcs into battle.” 

“She can,” said Ridmark, “if she is the daughter of the Traveler, whom those orcs revered as a god.”

Gareth’s frown deepened. “I had no wish to offer rudeness, but if she is truly of dark elven blood, sooner or later it will corrupt her. The ancient histories all agree on this matter.”

“Mara of the Nightmane Forest is something new,” said Calliande. “Something the Keepers have never seen before. Not even the Warden of Urd Morlemoch, for all his millennia of malicious wisdom, had never seen anything like her before, and he made a grievous error in underestimating her. I do not fully understand what she is myself, but she is on our side, my lords. I will swear upon whatever oaths you wish me to take.” 

“As will I,” said Arandar.

“And I,” said Gavin, swallowing as he looked at the stern lords of the Northerland. 

“Brother Caius will vouch for her as well,” said Ridmark.

“Mmm,” said Tagrimn. “That is different. If Brother Caius speaks for her, that is good enough for me. I heard his sermons at Castra Marcaine. It is good for a man to be reminded of his mortality.” He nodded with approval. “Had he lived in the kingdom of Judea upon Old Earth in the days of the prophets, he would have be stoned for speaking the truth to the wicked kings.” 

Ridmark could only imagine what Morigna would have said to that.

“Very well,” said Gareth. “We need allies, and if the Anathgrimm are willing to attack the Mhorites, I will not turn away their help. The stakes are too high for us to be overly squeamish about our allies, and in ancient times the High King sometimes allied with one tribe of pagan orcs against another. I suppose this is no different.” He pointed at Ridmark. “Your strategy overlooks one threat.”

“What is it, my lord?” said Ridmark. For a moment he felt like a young squire at the Dux’s court again, chastised for overlooking some aspect of his duties.

“Shadowbearer himself,” said Gareth. “If his power is as terrible as the legends say, all our Magistri may not be able to overcome him.”

“No,” said Calliande. “They would not.” 

“So how shall we challenge him?” said Gareth.

“I shall face him,” said Calliande.

“You are sure you can defeat him?” said Gareth.

“No,” said Calliande. “I am not.”

Silence answered that pronouncement.

“Then you risk our lives upon a gamble,” growled Tagrimn. 

“All battle is a gamble, my lord,” said Calliande, “no matter how well you are prepared. But this is our best chance to kill Shadowbearer. Not merely to defeat him, but to kill him and put an end to his evil for all time. He has worked from the shadows from millennia, corrupting the dark elves and leading them down the path of ruin, and doing the same to Andomhaim through the Eternalists and the Enlightened of Incariel. He has been defeated before, yes, but he always vanished into the shadows again to spin his plots anew. Now he cannot. So long as he holds the empty soulstone, he cannot escape through the use of his magic. To open the gate to the world of the Frostborn, he has to come out of the shadows and stand in the open. That makes him vulnerable, and we can kill him once and for all, to free Andomhaim from his evil. For he is your enemy, my lords, even if you know it not. When Andomhaim stood fast against the urdmordar, Shadowbearer summoned the Frostborn to destroy the realm. When we defeated the Frostborn, he went into the shadows, creating the Eternalists and the Enlightened to weaken Andomhaim from within, and he has prepared to summon the Frostborn once more. For centuries he waged war against us, but now, my lords, you are the shield of the realm of the Andomhaim, and it is your sword that has the chance to defeat him forever.” 

He voice did not rise, her inflections did not change, but the lords leaned forward to hear her. She was indeed a skilled orator. Perhaps Caius could even learn a thing or two from her. 

“So be it,” said Gareth. “My lady Keeper, Ridmark Arban, your counsel seems good to me. The host of the lords of the Northerland shall march for the Tower of Vigilance at dawn.”

###

Gavin followed Ridmark and Calliande and Arandar and Antenora from the great hall, his mind whirling. The lords and knights of the Northerland had been grim and stern men, full of authority, and even after all the wonders and horrors that Gavin had seen he still found that room full of old warriors unsettling. He felt a surge of admiration for Calliande’s poise and cool under the questioning. Of course, she was the Keeper of Andomhaim and over two hundred years old, even if she looked like a pretty woman in her twenties. 

He shook his head and laughed a little at himself. 

“Is something funny, Gavin Swordbearer?” said Antenora.

“Yes,” said Gavin.

“What is it?”

“When I left Aranaeus for the first time, before I even met Ridmark and the others,” said Gavin, “I had the idea that I would go to Castra Marcaine and ask for help from Dux Gareth. To protect the people of the village from the beastmen.”

“Why is that funny?” said Antenora, her yellow eyes regarding him. “I have seen many lords and princes and rulers of men, and this Gareth of the Licinii seems more fair-minded than most.” 

“Because he would have listened to me,” said Gavin. “He would have heard me out. Except…I would have been asking for his aid. Begging for it, really, since I had nothing to offer him. Now…now he asked what I thought. Several times. It is a strange feeling.”

“You are a Swordbearer,” said Antenora. “It seems to be an office that is not given lightly, and one that is accorded some respect.”

“I hardly deserve it,” said Gavin. “Arandar only gave me Truthseeker because…well, someone had to carry it, and I was the only one available.”

“The bastard knight is many things,” said Antenora, “but he would not have given the blade to an unworthy man.”

“I hope you are right,” said Gavin.

They paused at the doors to the keep, looking over the crowded courtyard and the town beyond.

The dark shadow of the Black Mountain rose to the north.

“Soon we shall all have a chance to prove our worthiness,” said Antenora.

“About that,” said Gavin, looking at the mountain, “I know you are right.”

Chapter 10: What Comes Next

Ridmark threaded his way through the crowded courtyard, his mind crafting plans. 

When Constantine emerged from the keep, Ridmark needed to speak with him. The young Swordbearer was in charge of the scouts, and Ridmark wanted Constantine to keep his men away from any sign of the lupivirii. Rakhaag and his pack might prove helpful, but neither the beastmen nor the men-at-arms of the Northerland would mix well together. Ridmark would have to make sure Gavin and Arandar stayed close to Calliande. Shadowbearer might well try to kill her, and it occurred to Ridmark that one of the Enlightened might try to earn Shadowbearer’s favor by slipping a poisoned dagger between Calliande’s ribs. One of the Enlightened might have had that idea as well, so Ridmark would have to be on his guard. 

For that matter…perhaps he could persuade Constantine and Joram to have a guard put on Imaria and this “Weaver” fellow. The Dux would not even consider such a thing. Imaria was his daughter, no matter how outrageous her behavior. Constantine and Joram might view the matter with greater clarity. Still, Ridmark did not think Imaria would do anything violent, and the Weaver was too old to be much of a threat. On the other hand, Paul Tallmane and Jonas Vorinus had displayed strange powers of shadow, and if the Weaver was one of the Enlightened, he might have similar abilities. If Imaria and the Weaver acted a critical moment of the battle, it might be devastating. 

“Ridmark, look,” said Calliande, her voice cutting into his thoughts.

“What?” said Ridmark, tightening his grip on his staff. He half-expected to see enemies attacking, whether Mhorite orcs or Enlightened cultists, or maybe even a wyvern dropping from the sky. 

“It seems that she really is his sister,” said Calliande. 

Kharlacht, Caius, and Morigna stood watching as Jager hugged a halfling woman. Mara hovered behind them, looking more nervous than Ridmark could ever recall. The halfling woman was about three or four years older than Jager, wearing the dark dress of a servant woman. Most halflings had curly brown or black hair, but this woman’s was long and blond. Behind her stood a sturdy-looking halfling man in a leather vest and apron, muscled from hard work, his expression dubious as he looked at Jager. 

“I thought you were dead,” said the halfling woman. “I was sure you were dead. After you burned the domus of Caudea, Sir Alan and Sir Paul both swore that you had done it.”

“Well,” said Jager, “I had.” The halfling man in the vest looked shocked at this. 

“I knew you would have to run,” said the woman, “and I thought Sir Alan and Sir Paul would hunt you down. Sir Alan died of old age…”

“Sir Paul is dead, too,” said Jager. “I was there when he died at the Iron Tower. He had abandoned the Dominus Christus to pray to the shadow of Incariel.”

“You tell such strange stories,” said the woman. “Then…you really have been traveling with this man that has Sir Joram and all the other lords so concerned? This Gray Knight?”

“Aye,” said Jager. “We have.” He caught Ridmark’s eye. “And you can meet him yourself.” He stepped forward and offered a flourishing bow. “Ridmark of the Arbanii and Calliande, Keeper of Andomhaim, may I present my sister Dagma of Caudea and her husband Dieter of Westhold.” 

Dagma gripped her skirts and did a deep bow, and Dieter bowed as well. “My lord, my lady, it is an honor to meet you.”

“I’m not a lord,” said Ridmark, “but I am pleased to meet you. Jager has been a valuable companion on many dangers.”

“Though to be fair,” said Morigna, “you only met us because you had been hired to steal from us.”

“Coerced,” said Jager without missing a beat. “I was coerced to steal from you.”

“There is a difference, you know,” said Dagma. 

“Thank you,” said Jager. 

“And then,” said Dagma, “because he was coerced, he caused your group to draw together in greater unity, thereby offering you a greater chance of victory.”

Arandar offered a bemused shake of his head. “For a halfling servant, you have a remarkably smart mouth.”

“Why, Sir Arandar,” said Jager, “it clearly runs in the blood.” 

“Well, you are Jager’s friends,” said Dagma. “I would not be so forward with you otherwise. I certainly never would talk to Sir Joram that way.” 

“Wife,” said Dieter. He a deep, thick voice. “We have work. We should not trouble these lordly folk so.” 

“I have not seen my brother in ten years, husband,” said Dagma. “Surely a few moments would do no harm.”

Ridmark wondered if Jager had gotten his glib tongue from Dagma or the other way around. Maybe they had inherited it from their father. Jager had said his father Hilder had been the perfect halfling servant, but perhaps he had kept his rougher side hidden from his lord. 

“But I suppose you are correct, husband,” said Dagma. “Lord Ridmark, we can give you and your companions rooms at the top of the keep. Lady Imaria and her priest refused them, though we still have to feed them, and…”

“Wait,” said Ridmark. “You have to feed them?”

“Yes, my lord,” said Dagma. “Lady Imaria and that priest are staying at the Guesthouse…ah, that’s Dun Licinia’s inn. Just across the forum from the church. Yet Lady Imaria informed us that the Guesthouse’s kitchen was fit for neither a Magistria nor a high noble. So Sir Joram has us prepare meals for Lady Imaria and the priest and bring them over.”

“Dagma,” said Ridmark. “Have you noticed anything strange about Lady Imaria and her priest?”

Dagma hesitated. “It is not our place to criticize the nobles, my lord.” 

“I think Imaria might have betrayed the High King, Dagma,” said Ridmark. “Forgive my bluntness…”

Dagma smiled. “No one ever asks my forgiveness, my lord. Truly this is a remarkable day.”

“Forgive my bluntness,” said Ridmark, “but Sir Paul Tallmane murdered your father.” Dagma’s expression went still. “Sir Paul was part of a cult called the Enlightened of Incariel, one that seeks to overthrow the High King and seize Andomhaim. I think Imaria may be part of them, along with this priest that calls himself the Weaver. There is an army coming to assail Dun Licinia, and I fear Imaria might betray us to the enemy. Anything you can tell me about Imaria and her priest would be helpful.”

Dagma said nothing for a moment.

“I do not like either of them,” she said at last. “They are…uncanny.”

“Wife,” said Dieter, frowning. 

“You’ve said the same to me,” said Dagma.

“Not in front of lordly folk,” said Dieter, giving Ridmark a dubious look.

“Fear not, Master Dieter,” said Morigna. “We have said much worse about them.”

Dieter did not look mollified. 

“I don’t know what it is,” said Dagma. “When I look at them, my skin crawls. Lady Imaria is cruel and arrogant, and the Weaver is…”

“Cold,” said Dieter in a quiet voice. “He is not rude. Not as Lady Imaria is. He is very polite, but very, very cold. The butcher looks at the meat the same way he looks at us. I do not like either of them, and I wish Sir Joram had not commanded my wife to feed them.” 

Dagma looked at her husband in surprise. Ridmark suspected that Dieter was not prone to lengthy speeches. 

“She also receives many letters,” said Dagma, “most of them from Tarrabus Carhaine.” 

“Why, sister!” said Jager. “You’ve been reading her correspondence?”

“Not at all, brother,” said Dagma, and she sounded so much like Jager that Ridmark wanted to laugh. “But she curses a lot when she reads the letters, and she mentions the Dux Tarrabus quite often.” 

“Very well,” said Ridmark, thinking. “I want to have a look at these letters.”

Calliande frowned. “You’re going to break into her rooms?”

“Yes,” said Ridmark. “Jager, Mara, Morigna, come with me. You’ve had the most experience at this kind of thing.”