Frostborn: The False King (7 page)

“Then why am I dreaming about you?” said Calliande.

Morigna shrugged. “Maybe it is your guilt over my death. After all, you were in love with Ridmark, and he was in love with me, and my death…”

“No!” said Calliande at once. “I would have saved you if I could.” She shook her head. “If I had seen the truth, if I had realized that Imaria would become the new Shadowbearer…your death was my fault. I failed you. I should have…”

Her voice trailed off. 

“You’re laughing at me?” said Calliande, appalled. 

“You have spent a great deal of time around Ridmark,” said Morigna. “Truly, you have learned his ability to blame himself for everything.” 

Calliande let out an exasperated sigh. “Whether you are my own mind or Morigna’s spirit, truly you are as irritating as I remember.”

“Death changes some things,” said Morigna, “but not others. One of the things that change is the perception of time. So I see some of what lies before you. You must be ready.”

“Ready for what?” said Calliande. 

“To save Ridmark from himself,” said Morigna.

Calliande frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You know him as well as I do,” said Morigna. “To save us all, he will try to destroy himself.” 

Calliande woke up with a gasp, her head pounding with a throbbing ache, the tent silent and dark around her.

###

The next morning Calliande walked into the great hall of Castra Carhaine, Gavin and Antenora following her. 

The hall of Castra Carhaine reflected the ancestral pride of the House of the Carhainii. The floor had been paved in gleaming marble, and the tapestries hanging from the walls showed the triumphs of past Duxi of Caerdracon. Most of the nobles of Andomhaim preferred to display tales from the scriptures in their art, like images of the Dominus Christus healing the lepers or Joshua leading the men of Israel into battle against the wicked Canaanites, but such religious themes were absent from the tapestries of the Carhainii. A huge stone throne rested on the dais at the far end of the hall, carved from a single block of blue marble, its back worked in the black dragon sigil of the House of the Carhainii. 

“Ostentatious,” said Antenora.

Calliande could just imagine what Morigna would have said about the great hall. That, in turn, made her think of the strange dream, and she tried to put it out of her mind. 

A long wooden table ran the length of the great hall, and the lords and knights loyal to Arandar had gathered there. Arandar rose from the head of the table as she approached. He still wore his armor, the soulblade Heartwarden at his side.

“My lady Keeper, welcome,” said Arandar. “Please, join us.”

“Aye,” said Prince Cadwall, smiling as he lifted a cup of wine. “We shall drink from Tarrabus’s wine cellars and eat from Tarrabus’s larders. After all the pain he caused us, I find it satisfying. A small and petty revenge, to be sure, but a nonetheless enjoyable one.”

“Aye!” said Sir Tagrimn Volarus, a scowling old knight sworn to Dux Gareth Licinius. “I plan to take every Carhaine banner I can find and use them as saddle blankets.” He spat upon the marble floor. “I would think of other things to do with them, but such words are not fit for the ears of a noble lady.”

Calliande smiled. “My father was a fisherman, Sir Tagrimn, and after seeing so many battlefields, I doubt you could say anything that could shock me.” 

“If anyone could do it,” said Dux Gareth with a faint smile, “Sir Tagrimn could do it.” He had aged in the last year, the lines deeper in his craggy face, his hair turning more white than gray. Imaria’s betrayal had hit him hard, and Calliande wondered if there was anything left inside the old man but grief and anger. No – there remained his duty. Gareth Licinius would never yield to the enemy, not while he had an ounce of strength left. 

Perhaps Ridmark had learned that from him. 

Or perhaps he had inherited it from his father. 

“This was a great victory,” said Dux Leogrance Arban. He did not look very much like his youngest son with his patrician features, but he had Ridmark’s cold blue eyes. “Castra Carhaine was one of the great fortresses of the realm.”

“Aye,” said King Ulakhur of Rhaluusk, “but my warrior Crowlacht told me of how the Iron Tower fell. It seems, Keeper, that the stratagem worked here as well, to the pain of the murdering dog Tarrabus.” 

“A great victory,” said Leogrance. “Yet it was a battle, not the war. Caerdracon is ours, but Tarrabus still besieges Tarlion, with all the strength of Calvus, Arduran, and Tarras beneath his banner, to say nothing of the dvargirish mercenaries he has hired. We must decide how to proceed.”

“That is why I have called you here, my lords,” said Arandar. “Castra Carhaine is ours, but it must be a stepping stone on the path to Tarrabus and a reunified Andomhaim.”

“Forgive me, my lord Prince,” said Calliande, “but I fear there is another matter the lords of Andomhaim must first address.”

“By all means,” said Arandar. “If anyone has earned the right to speak, it is you. If not for your efforts, none of us would be here.”

A flash of guilt went through Calliande. Her efforts had saved their lives, but if she had been wiser, if she had been better prepared, then the Frostborn would never have returned. 

“Tarrabus is a deadly foe,” said Calliande, keeping the regret from her face and voice, “but we face a deadlier foe by far in the Frostborn.”

“Aye,” said Leogrance, “but the Anathgrimm have kept them at bay so far.” 

“The valor of the Anathgrimm is great, but they cannot stand against the Frostborn forever,” said Calliande. 

“They have so far,” said Gareth.

“Most of us fought against the Anathgrimm during High King Uthanaric’s campaign against the Traveler’s raids,” said Sir Tagrimn, gesturing with a goblet of wine. “I never thought I’d say this, but those spiny devils make fierce warriors, and I’m glad they’re on our side, along with that otherworldly Queen of theirs.”

“I doubt not their valor, but their numbers,” said Calliande. “We have seized Caerdracon, but only because the Anathgrimm have protected us from the north. If they are overwhelmed, the Frostborn will fall upon us like a hammer. Or, if we tarry too long to defeat Tarrabus, Andomhaim may be too weak to stop the Frostborn.”

“Do you suggest we march north to aid the Anathgrimm?” said Arandar. “I dislike leaving Queen Mara to face the Frostborn alone, but we dare not leave Tarrabus a free hand.”

“No,” said Calliande. “I suggest that it is time that we find allies.” 

Silence answered her.

“Letters were sent,” said Prince Cadwall at last, “to both the Three Kingdoms and the Red King of the manetaurs. They helped us against the Frostborn in ancient days, and I thought they would again. Yet their kings refused to send us aid. They will not intervene in a civil war within Andomhaim.”

King Ulakhur growled. “They are faithless to abandon us in the hour of our need.”

“I doubt they see it that way, my lord King,” said Gareth. “The manetaurs and the dwarves of the Three Kingdoms have treaties with the High King of Andomhaim. At the moment, there is no High King of Andomhaim – simply a usurper without lawful claim to the title and a Prince Regent who has not yet been able to take the throne.” 

“When your neighbor’s family quarrels among itself,” said Cadwall, “best to stay out of it. Likely that is how the manetaurs and the dwarves see the matter.”

“A shortsighted policy,” rumbled Dux Kors of Durandis, scratching as his tangled gray beard. “If the Frostborn devour us while we war against Tarrabus, they shall turn their wrath against the manetaurs and the dwarves next.”

“It is possible,” said Dux Sebastian of Caertigris, “that the manetaurs have their own troubles and are unable to aid us.”

They all looked at him. A year ago, Calliande knew, that would have intimidated him. Sebastian Aurelius was the youngest of the Duxi. Now he did not flinch from their gaze. A year of war had hardened him. 

“What kind of troubles?” said Arandar. 

“Before I left to join High King Uthanaric’s summons,” said Sebastian, “we heard reports of strife within the Red King’s court.”

“There are always reports of strife within the Red King’s court,” said Leogrance. “The manetaurs love strife and discord to a degree that humans and even orcs find frankly incomprehensible. It is their natural state.”

“You speak truly, my lord Dux,” said Sebastian, “but I think this is more serious. The Red King Turcontar is growing old, and will soon be killed and replaced by one of the more ambitious Red Princes. Factions have developed around the most powerful of the Red Princes. If it comes to a civil war among the manetaurs, they will be unable to help us.”

“Mmm,” said Kors. “There are similar rumors of strife among the dwarves.”

“Truly?” said Arandar. “I thought the dwarves never warred among themselves.”

“They do not,” said Kors, “but the dvargir have been stirring up trouble for them. Something to do with a dark elven prince or another.”

“There is something you are overlooking, my lords,” said Calliande.

They all looked at her.

“The dwarves and the manetaurs have treaties with the High King,” said Calliande, “but they joined the fight against the Frostborn at the invitation of the Keeper. My predecessors in this office convinced the manetaurs and the dwarves to march alongside the armies of the High King to drive back the Frostborn.” She took a deep breath. “I believe I can convince them to do so once more.”  

The lords considered this in silence for a moment.

“How?” said Arandar at last.

“I shall persuade them,” said Calliande, “however I can. The dwarves have their stonescribes, and the manetaurs have their arbiters. Both have recorded the history of their kindreds, and they know the danger the Frostborn represent. They know that if the Frostborn destroy Andomhaim, the Frostborn will come for them next.” 

“We need you here,” said Arandar. “Your spells have been invaluable against the Enlightened.”

“I will not deny that,” said Calliande. “But you have the two Orders with you. The powers of the Magistri and the soulblades will be proof against the powers of the Enlightened. If we are to defeat the Frostborn once you are upon the throne of the realm, we need allies.”

“That means,” said Arandar, “the time to gather allies is now. Before it is too late.” 

“Yes,” said Calliande. 

“Who would you approach first?” said Arandar. “The dwarves, or the manetaurs?”

“The manetaurs,” said Calliande. “I have a previous connection with them…”

“Red Prince Curzonar,” said Arandar. 

“You know Prince Curzonar, my lady Keeper?” said Sebastian. 

“Aye,” said Calliande. “It was in the Vale of Stone Death, below the Gate of the West of Khald Azalar. Curzonar had come there as part of some dispute with another of the Red Princes…”

“Probably Kurdulkar,” said Sebastian.

Calliande blinked. “You know them?”

“I know of them, my lady,” said Sebastian. “They are the two most prominent sons of the Red King, and the rumors say one of them will kill the Red King and claim his throne within the next few years. Their enmity is said to be…unusually bitter. But you met Curzonar?”

“We saved his life in the Vale of Stone Death,” said Calliande. “He may need help against Kurdulkar. Curzonar said that Tymandain Shadowbearer had visited the manetaurs in recent years and turned some of them to the worship of the shadow.”

Sir Tagrimn snorted. “More of those vile Enlightened among the manetaurs?”

“It would seem so,” said Calliande. “If I can persuade the manetaurs to march against the Frostborn, I will then go to Khald Tormen and ask the dwarves to aid us.”

“Do you have a connection there?” said Leogrance. 

“A dwarven Taalmak named Azakhun,” said Calliande. “We fought alongside him against Mournacht.” Brother Caius had also convinced Azakhun and his retainers to follow the faith of the church and accept baptism. “If I can speak to the King of Khald Tormen, I hope to convince him to send warriors to fight against the Frostborn.” 

“Even if you are successful,” said Dux Kors, “it will take a minimum of three months to travel to the Range, then to Khald Tormen, and to return here. Perhaps even four months. We would not have your aid for our march upon Tarlion and Tarrabus.”

“I know,” said Calliande. “But I believe it to be worth the risk. The Magistri and the Swordbearers can counter the powers of the Enlightened. And the Anathgrimm desperately need aid. If the Frostborn break through the Anathgrimm before we defeat Tarrabus, then we are finished. I would not suggest this if I did not believe it was our best path to victory.”

And, if she was honest with herself, it was their only possible path to victory. Even a united Andomhaim could not have stood alone against the Frostborn, and certainly not the half of the realm that had stayed loyal to Arandar. 

“I have one question,” said Gareth. “What of the Dragon Knight of old? According to the histories, you and the Dragon Knight led the armies of Andomhaim to victory against the Frostborn.”

“We did,” said Calliande, the memories of old Kalomarus flickering through her mind. 

“What became of the Dragon Knight?” said Gareth. “The histories say he carried a sword of great power that burned with magical flame that the Frostborn could not resist. If the sword of the Dragon Knight could be found and wielded again, that would be a great boon to our cause.”

“It would be,” said Calliande. She sighed. “But I do not know what happened to the Dragon Knight. After the war, Kalomarus took first to Dragonfall to conceal my staff, and then to the Tower of Vigilance so I could await the conjunction of the thirteen moons. After that…after that I simply do not know what happened to him.”

Leogrance frowned. “The histories only say that Kalomarus the Dragon Knight vanished from the realm, promising to return when we had need of him.”

“Well, we have need of him,” said Kors, “and he has not appeared.”

Calliande said nothing. Something else bothered her. She remembered Kalomarus very well. He had been one of her dearest friends. The Magistrius Marius had been like a second father to her, and the Keeper Ruth like a second mother. Kalomarus had been like an older brother – a sour-tempered, profane-mouthed, hard-drinking older brother, an older brother who had nonetheless been one of the most formidable warriors she had ever seen.