Frostborn: The World Gate (31 page)

“And then I killed him,” said Mara. “I killed my father, and I do not regret it. I would have done it sooner, if I could.”

“You freed us,” said Zhorlacht, and Qhazulak nodded. 

“You slew our god, and now we may do whatever we wish,” said Qhazulak. “Yet we were made to serve. We must serve. Whom shall we serve? You are the daughter of our god.”

“He wasn’t a god,” said Mara. “He was a murderer and a coward, and he spent millennia hiding in Nightmane Forest while the urdmordar devoured his kindred.”

“All that you say is true,” said Qhazulak. “But he was our god. You are the daughter of our god, but Zhorlacht said you will not allow us to worship you as a goddess.”

“No,” said Mara at once. “There is only one God. I am not God, and my father certainly was not God.” 

“The Anathgrimm were made to serve, and so we must serve,” said Qhazulak. “You said you shall be our Queen, Mara daughter of the Traveler. Will you honor this promise? Will you be our Queen? We shall be your slaves, if you but be our Queen.”

“No,” said Mara. “I will be your Queen, but you will not be my slaves. You shall be my subjects, entitled to laws and protection and justice, just as the High King is obliged to provide justice and defense for his subjects.” 

Qhazulak said nothing, and for a moment Calliande wondered if Mara had offended him. Then she saw the faint tremor go through the massive shoulders, saw Qhazulak’s mouth twitch a little behind his tusks. 

The old orc was weeping. 

“Yes,” said Qhazulak.  “I had never thought…we had never thought to hear such words.” He drew himself up. “We shall be your subjects, Queen Mara of the Nightmane Forest, if you will lead us.” 

“I wanted to undo the evil my father had worked over his life,” said Mara. “I wanted to free his slaves, to undo the harm he had wrought. Perhaps this is my chance.”

“It is indeed strange to hear such words from the blood of the Lord Traveler,” said Qhazulak. “Do you truly mean them?”

“Yes,” said Mara, more iron in her voice than Calliande had ever heard before. “He blighted your life, Qhazulak, made you and your kin his slaves. But he did the same to my life. He murdered my mother. He would have made me into a monster, into a slave for centuries after you lay in your grave. So I mean these words, Qhazulak. I mean them as much as anything I ever said.” 

“It is good we understand each other,” said Qhazulak. “I have been chosen to speak for the Anathgrimm. We shall follow you, Queen of the Anathgrimm.”

“If you do this,” said Mara, “if you follow me…then there will be fighting. I told as much to Zhorlacht outside the Gate of the East at Khald Azalar.”

“What manner of fighting?” said Zhorlacht. 

“Shadowbearer has come,” said Mara. “He summoned the Mhorites to his side, and the dvargir and the kobolds have come at his call. They besiege Dun Licinia, hoping to prevent the Keeper of Andomhaim,” she gestured at Calliande, “from interfering with Shadowbearer. The pillar of blue fire rising from the Black Mountain? That is Shadowbearer’s work. He is opening a gate to the world of the Frostborn, to summon them to this world once more.”

“So I see,” said Qhazulak. “Then if we follow you, you will lead us to battle?” 

“Yes,” said Mara. “I had hoped to bring you to peace, but it seems we live in a time of war.”

“Good,” said Qhazulak, and both he and Zhorlacht grinned. It made them look formidable. “For we are warriors, my Queen. We were made to fight. It is our purpose.”

“And we will repay the Mhorites,” said Zhorlacht, “for all the Anathgrimm blood they shed in Khald Azalar.” 

“Then we go to war,” said Qhazulak. “What are your commands, my Queen?”

“One command,” said Mara. “I have one command for you, Qhazulak, and all the warriors of the Anathgrimm.” 

“We shall obey,” said Qhazulak.

Mara pointed at Ridmark. “Do whatever that man tells you.” 

Both the Anathgrimm looked at Ridmark.

“What I think my wife the Queen means to say,” said Jager, stepping forward, his voice calm, “is that she wishes to appoint Ridmark of the Arbanii, the man who became a Swordbearer at the age of eighteen, the man who twice entered Urd Morlemoch and lived, the man who rescued the Keeper from the Mhalekites and brought her to legendary Dragonfall, where she recovered her memory and power to defend Andomhaim in its darkest hour, as the magister militum of the kingdom of the Nightmane Forest to lead the Anathgrimm to glory against their foes.”

Calliande was impressed that he had gotten that entire sentence out without tripping over it. 

“I see,” said Qhazulak. 

“It is a worthy choice, honored Qhazulak,” said Zhorlacht. “For this man fought us again and again, both in the Vale of Stone Death and in Khald Azalar. He defied both Shadowbearer and our lord the Traveler to their faces.” 

“He’s a defiant sort of fellow, our Gray Knight,” said Jager.

Qhazulak grunted. “You are the Queen’s husband, I assume?” 

“I am indeed, worthy champion,” said Jager. He waved a hand at Caius. “We were married by that friar over there, if you do not believe me. I think I would prefer the title…Prince Consort. It does have a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” 

“He is a worthy husband for the Queen?” said Qhazulak. 

“He went into the Iron Tower to save me,” said Mara. “He is the only man worthy to be my husband. The Gray Knight is the only man worthy to be the magister militum of the Nightmane Forest. When I despaired of my life, when I asked him to slay me, he refused and convinced me to fight on. If he had not, the Traveler would not be slain, and he would still rule over you as your god.” 

“Indeed,” said Zhorlacht. He grinned a wolfish, fierce smile behind his tusks. “We faced the Gray Knight and his companions in Khald Azalar. We fought his cunning, the power of the Swordbearers, the fire of the dark sorceress and the poison of the witch, the fury of the Vhaluuskan and the power of the Queen. It will be good to turn that power against our foes.”

“Ridmark,” said Mara, looking up at him. “Do you accept his?” 

“I shall,” said Ridmark, and he bowed to her. “My Queen.” 

Morigna watched him, an odd expression on her face. Calliande knew she had wanted to go to Andomhaim at Ridmark’s side, to root out the Enlightened of Incariel. On the other hand, it might be easier to root out the Enlightened with an army of fanatical warrior orcs. 

A lot easier, come to think of it. 

“Then welcome to the kingdom of Nightmane Forest, Lord Ridmark,” said Jager, clapping Ridmark on the shoulder. He had to strain to do it. “We offer ample opportunity for both for fortune and glory.” 

“Thank you, Ridmark,” said Mara. Then she looked at Jager and grinned. “And thank you, my Prince.” 

Jager offered a florid bow to his wife.

“Queen Mara,” said Calliande, and Mara turned toward her. “As Keeper of Andomhaim, I ask your aid. Dun Licinia will fall to the Mhorites and the dvargir without assistance. Will you fight alongside us? If the town falls, there will be no force to stop Shadowbearer from opening a gate to summon the Frostborn back to our world, and all kindreds will perish.” She looked at Zhorlacht and Qhazulak. “Even the Anathgrimm.” 

“We shall aid the High King’s realm,” said Mara. “Lord magister, what do you suggest?”

“Tell your men to advance, Qhazulak,” said Ridmark. “Mournacht defeated the Anathgrimm in the Vale of Stone Death, but that was because the Traveler was a madman and knew not how to lead his men to battle. It is time to teach the Mhorites what the Anathgrimm can do when their monarch is not insane.” 

Qhazulak let out a rumbling growl. At first Calliande thought the orcish champion was angry, but then she understood. 

Qhazulak was laughing with approval. 

“Yes, lord magister,” said Qhazulak. “Let us give them a sharp lesson.” 

“Good,” said Ridmark. “This is what I intend…”

Chapter 18: The Third Battle of Dun Licinia

The Anathgrimm marched forward, the ground shivering slightly with the rhythm of their armored boots. Ridmark walked at their head alongside Zhorlacht, his staff in hand. Qhazulak had insisted on providing bodyguards for Mara, and Jager had promptly dubbed them the Queen’s Guard. The oldest and most experienced Anathgrimm warriors had been recruited for the new Guard, and Ridmark had sent Calliande, Morigna, and Antenora with the Guard as well. Their magical powers made them prime target for the enemy, and Ridmark wanted them kept safe.

Which would make it all the easier for their magical powers to be used against the enemy. 

Kharlacht, Caius, Gavin, and Arandar walked with Ridmark and Zhorlacht and Qhazulak. If Ridmark was to lead the Anathgrimm into battle, then he would share the risk of battle with them. 

To the south he saw the army of the Northerland moving forward from the walls, flying the banner of the House of the Licinii, the white stag upon a field of green. The Mhorites and the dvargir turned, trying to keep both armies in sight at once. With the Anathgrimm approaching from the northeast and the men of the Northerland coming from the south, the Mhorites and the dvargir might find themselves trapped against the River Marcaine. This far north, the river was not terribly deep, but it would still be difficult for a retreating army to cross. 

Ridmark’s mind raced as he tried to guess what the enemy would do next. They could attack Dux Gareth’s men and try to break into Dun Licinia and fortify themselves there. Yet the men of the Northerland would not yield easily, and the Mhorites and the dvargir would have to fight to take every house. Easy for the Anathgrimm to smash the Mhorites then! 

Perhaps they would fall back to the north, blocking the approach to the Black Mountain. In Mournacht’s place, that was what Ridmark would have done. The battle wasn’t about Dun Licinia. The town and its people were a diversion. Shadowbearer needed to keep his foes away from Black Mountain long enough to open the gate. If Shadowbearer was controlling Mournacht, he would realize that, and the orcish warlord would withdraw his army towards Black Mountain. 

Except that Mournacht did not seem to be in command of the army. Ridmark had not seen a trace of him since the initial challenge. Mournacht had always preferred to lead from the front in previous battles, killing with that huge axe of his. Had Mournacht departed? Or did Shadowbearer have some other task for him? 

A darker thought came to Ridmark. The Mhorites could not withdraw to Black Mountain without risking a flanking attack from the Anathgrimm. If they had turned and fled at once, they could have escaped, but the moment had passed. If they wanted to withdraw to the Black Mountain, they would have to fight.

Which meant they would have to break through the Anathgrimm. 

“Ah,” grunted Qhazulak, and Ridmark saw that the same realization had come to the old warrior. “They are going to charge us, are they not?”

“Yes,” said Ridmark. “Probably any minute.”

“Good,” said Qhazulak, hefting his enormous axe. Unlike Mournacht’s weapon, the axe had not been augmented with blood spells. Nevertheless, weapon looked no less dangerous. “I have been too long without battle.” 

“Zhorlacht,” said Ridmark. “Have your signalers ready. When the moment comes, we shall need the aid of the men of the Northerland.”

Qhazulak scowled. “We can overcome the Mhorites without their aid.” 

“Which would you rather have?” said Ridmark. “A victory without the help of the men of the Northerland…or a victory with as many dead Mhorites as you can kill?” 

“An excellent argument,” said Zhorlacht. “We…”

“The enemy comes,” snarled Qhazulak, raising his axe.

The army of dvargir and Mhorites turned, marching at speed towards the Anathgrimm, the kobolds screening out around them. It was like watching a wave roll towards a shore. The Mhorites marched in ragged lines in the center, while the dvargir took the left and right wings like armored shadows. The enemy army outnumbered the Anathgrimm nearly two to one. If they acted fast, they could smash through the Anathgrimm and withdraw to the Black Mountain before Dux Gareth could arrive to offer help. 

“Sound a halt,” said Ridmark, the ground trembling a little with the tramp of the Mhorites’ boots. “Form a shield wall. We will meet them here.” Qhazulak turned and roared a command, and the moaning wail of the Anathgrimm war horns rose from the host. The Anathgrimm stopped their march and unfolded like a steel flower, forming rank upon rank. The first line raised their shields, gripping spears, while the second line stood behind them, ready to rush forward. Behind them the third line produced crossbows and began loading the weapons, the click of a thousand gears coming to Ridmark’s ears. 

“Calliande!” called Ridmark. “Be ready.”

Unless he missed his guess, the Mhorite shamans would unleash their power, trying to break the Anathgrimm line before their warriors arrived. The Anathgrimm had wizards of their own…but now the Anathgrimm had the protection of the Keeper of Andomhaim.

The Mhorite shamans would not be able to stand against that.

The Mhorites charged forward, the dvargir marching next to them, and Ridmark waited to meet the enemy.

###

Calliande drew on her Sight, watching the approaching army. 

“Be ready,” she murmured to Antenora, who nodded and tapped the end of her staff against the ground, elemental flame beginning to surge around her as she gathered power. Once the armies came together and were locked in battle, Antenora could not bring her magic to bear. Until then, though, she could make use of it. The woman’s mastery of fire magic made her a living siege engine. The power of the Keeper lent itself more naturally to defense, so Calliande would defend.

Flares of blood-colored light pulsed before her Sight, rising from a dozen places within the Mhorite army. The Mhorite shamans were gathering their powers, preparing to fling spells of withering and death into the Anathgrimm. Before, upon the walls of Dun Licinia, Calliande had been forced to both defend herself and keep the Mhorites from unraveling Antenora’s wall of flames, and dividing her will between the two tasks had been too much.