Frostborn: The Dwarven Prince (Frostborn #12)

by Jonathan Moeller

  “You have a keen eye, Lady Third,” said Calazon. “Might I ask you a question?”

  “Ask,” said Third.

  “You were truly an urdhracos?” said Calazon.

  “Yes. For nearly eight centuries,” said Third. “I fear my mother was among the first humans the Anathgrimm and the Traveler encountered. The power of my father’s blood overwhelmed me, and I was an urdhracos for centuries.”

  “How did you transform back?” said Calazon.

  “After Queen Mara slew the Traveler, I was freed of his domination,” said Third. “I returned to Nightmane Forest to die and battled the lord magister. He overcame me, and instead of killing me, offered me a chance. Brother Caius baptized me, and I faced myself in my own mind. When I did, I transformed and was no longer an urdhracos.”

  “Indeed,” said Calazon. “Interesting indeed. Do you retain any of your previous powers?”

  “I have greater strength and speed than a human woman of my size should possess, and I can heal faster,” said Third. “I can also travel from place to place in the blink of an eye.”

  “A useful skill,” said Calazon. “I wonder if the proportion of dark elven blood in your veins was reduced. I suspect that the mind must always mold itself to the shape of the flesh, so it is an intriguing idea.”

  “You seem to find this fascinating,” said Antenora.

  “I do, Lady Antenora,” said Calazon. “I hope you will forgive my interest. The dark elves and their creatures have been the enemies of the khaldari for tens of thousands of years. Anything we can learn about our foes might give us an advantage. In all our years of recorded history, we have never heard of an urdhracos breaking free of her master.”

  “Queen Mara was the first,” said Third. “I was the second. I have lived three lives, stonescribe. My first life as a human. The second as an urdhracos enslaved to the Traveler’s will. Now I have begun my third life.”

  “I see,” said Calazon. “Sir Gavin, another question, if I may.”

  “Of course,” said Gavin. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of Calazon. Maybe all the dwarven stonescribes were like this.

  “Have you fought the Frostborn themselves?” said Calazon. “I don’t mean their minions, the medvarth and the khaldjari and the cogitaers and the others. I mean the Frostborn themselves, the self-styled High Lords.”

  “I have,” said Gavin. “Twice. Once at Dun Licinia, and again at Dun Calpurnia.”

  “What are they like?” said Calazon.

  “The Frostborn?” said Gavin. “They are powerful and dangerous. They all stand nine or ten feet tall. Their skin is like crystalline ice, and freezing blue fire flows through their veins. Deadly cold rolls off them, and if not for the Keeper’s magic protecting us, even standing in their presence could kill a man. They can all use magic, too.”

  “They are deadly foes?” said Calazon.

  “Yes,” said Gavin, thinking of all those who had fallen at Dun Licinia and Dun Calpurnia. “Deadly in the extreme, I fear.”

  “Do you think the Anathgrimm and the manetaurs can prevail against them?” said Calazon.

  “Not alone,” said Gavin. “They need help. If we can bring the Three Kingdoms against the Frostborn, along with a reunified Andomhaim, we might have a chance.”

  But, he admitted to himself, it would be only a chance.

  “Then let us hope the Keeper can persuade King Axazamar to aid you,” said Calazon.

  ###

  They walked through the Citadel of the Great Gate, a massive fortress built into the mountain behind the Hall. Calliande looked at the broad octagonal courtyards, the battlements just low enough beneath the ceiling to allow dwarven crossbowmen and war engines to fire upon intruders. She had not been here for a long time, but Khald Tormen was as strong as she remembered. Any intruding army that broke through the Great Gate and the traps in the Hall would have to battle its way through the Citadel of the Great Gate. Beyond the Citadel stood enspelled dwarven siege doors, impervious to nearly any attack, and throughout Khald Tormen were other Citadels, guarding the entrances from the Deeps, and uncounted thousands of warding glyphs and mechanical traps. It would take a vast horde backed with impossibly powerful magic to assail Khald Tormen…and hordes armed with powerful magic had broken against the defenses of the dwarves.

  Even with so many other concerns on her mind, she marveled at the engineering skill of the dwarves. Had they not been so stoic and fatalistic and inward-looking, they might have conquered most of the world with their war engines. The dvargir, the corrupted cousins of the dwarves, were one of Andomhaim’s most dangerous enemies.

  Even in the midst of her wonder, the concerns would not leave her, so she listened carefully to the conversation between Caius and Azakhun.

  “I did not think the faith would spread so rapidly among our people,” said Caius.

  “Many of us were eager to hear the word, Taalkhan,” said Azakhun. “The older generations think as Taalkhan Narzaxar does, proud in their despair. But to live life with hope beyond the grave, with more to consider than acceptance of suffering and death…this was a great gift.”

  “It is,” said Caius. “It was to the humans, and it was to the orcish nations as well. Consider how the Mhorites live, in dread of their murderous god, offering sacrifices in his name to appease his wrath. The orcs of the baptized kingdoms live far better lives, far more merciful lives, in the hope of the promise beyond death.”

  “Why does this displease Narzaxar?” said Ridmark. “More to the point, why would this keep the dwarves from marching to aid the Anathgrimm against the Frostborn?”

  Calliande shared a look with Azakhun and Caius.

  “It is hard to explain,” said Caius.

  “The dwarves are a kindred devoted to order, to discipline, to harmony,” said Calliande, meeting Ridmark’s eyes. “The orcs have a love for battle bred into their blood. The trolls have their powers of regeneration, and the deep orcs their sensitive hearing. For the khaldari, a desire for order runs through their very natures. Even the dvargir are very orderly, and while they often betray each other, they do so while scrupulously obeying the letter of their laws. For the khaldari to have disharmony in their society is as intolerable to a dwarf as going without sleep would be to a human. They will not act until they resolve their internal dispute.” She looked at Caius. “Is that right?”

  “It is close enough,” said Caius. “It is impossible to convey the concept without using the khaldari tongue, but that is close enough.”

  Ridmark frowned. “So if the nature of the dwarves is order, then what is the nature of humans?”

  “Adaptability,” said Caius and Azakhun in unison.

  Calliande smiled. “Is that a polite way of saying chaos?”

  Azakhun blinked, but Caius laughed. It drew surprised looks from the dwarven warriors guarding the galleries of the Citadel. Laughter was rarely heard in Khald Tormen. Azakhun looked at the older dwarf, blinked, and managed to make a sound that was almost a chuckle.

  He would get better with practice.

  “At least this will not lead to civil war in Khald Tormen,” said Ridmark. “The pagan orcs and the baptized orcs often wage war upon each other.”

  “No,” said Caius. “That is not our way. Instead, I fear we will discuss, and discuss, and continue discussing until the world is conquered and the Frostborn have come to besiege the Great Gate.” They walked through another octagonal courtyard, the ramparts lined with siege engines, and to a tall archway. “And here, my friends, is the Dormari Market, the foreign market of Khald Tormen.”

  Ridmark walked with Calliande through the arch and into the market, looking around in amazement.

  It was a wide stone hall, its walls lined with shallow terraces, and the terraces supported shops built of stone and small stalls constructed with planks cut from the ironstalk mushrooms of the Deeps. Glowstones and shining glyphs provided ample light, and the entire scene reminded Calliande of the market of the Foreign Quarter in K
hald Azalar, where they had barely escaped from the advance guard of the Mhorite army.

  That said, there were differences. For one, Khald Tormen’s market was three times the size of the one in Khald Azalar. For another, Khald Azalar’s market had been a ruin filled with rubble and bones of the dead. This market was bustling. Dwarven merchants sold their goods, along with merchants from other lands, and for the first time since entering Khald Tormen Calliande saw some dwarven women. She had heard the old joke about the bearded women of the dwarves many times, but it truth dwarven women were hairless, and usually wore golden rings in their ears and noses. There were humans and halflings and Rhaluuskan orcs among the merchants, and Calliande even saw a few kobolds, which made her skin crawl. Not all the kobold tribes were murderous like the kobolds who had taken her captive in the Deeps, and a few preferred trade and farming to raiding and slaving.

  Nevertheless, Calliande had a hard time with scaled creatures.

  Azakhun pointed at a large three-story house of worked stone on one of the tiers. “There is the Nobles’ House, the finest inn for outlanders in all of Khald Tormen. The King has commanded that rooms be made ready for you there.”

  “Thank you,” said Calliande.

  “I have a request,” said Azakhun. “Lord Taalkhan, the baptized among us have gathered there.” He gestured at a blocky structure on the edge of one of the tiers that had the look of a warehouse. “We would be honored if you could address us.”

  “It would be my pleasure, Taalmak,” said Caius.

  “If you will excuse me, I will withdraw,” said Calazon. “I await the honor of your coming at the Stone Heart, Keeper.” He bowed and departed. Calliande suspected the stonescribe did not approve of the new faith.

  She looked at Ridmark. “I think we should come with Caius.” If the spread of the faith of the Dominus Christus among the dwarves was causing them paralysis, it was best to learn more about what was happening. Perhaps she could learn something that would help break that paralysis and bring the dwarves to the aid of the Anathgrimm and the manetaurs.

  Given the dangers they faced, it always seemed wise to pray for help.

  Ridmark nodded. “Sir Ector.” The leathery knight stepped forward. “Get the men lodged. Taalmak, are there stables in the Nobles’ House?”

  “There are,” said Azakhun. “Sometimes human and orcish merchants bring their mounts to the Dormari Market. Your horses shall be tended.”

  “Thank you,” said Ridmark. “We will join you shortly.”

  Calliande and Ridmark followed Caius and Azakhun across the terrace of the market. Gavin and Antenora followed in silence. Calliande would have preferred to have visited the baptized dwarves alone, or perhaps with Ridmark, but she knew the wisdom of keeping the Swordbearer and her apprentice nearby. Both the Enlighted of Incariel and the Sculptor were hunting for her, and that meant keeping friends around her, much as Calliande loathed putting them in danger. She doubted the Enlightened could send assassins to Khald Tormen, though.

  But according to Caius, the Sculptor had successfully attacked and stolen items from Khald Tormen several times. Best to stay on her guard.

  Azakhun led them to the warehouse and opened the doors.

  It was crowded.

  The warehouse was large and empty of merchandise, which was just as well, because nearly five hundred dwarves waited inside, men and women both. Most of them looked about Azakhun’s age or younger. Many of them wore crosses like the one Azakhun wore. A few were made of gold or silver, but most were made of dwarven steel.

  “My friends,” said Azakhun. “We are honored. Taalkhan Azaanbar has returned from his travels, and has come to address us.”

  Caius smiled. “It is an honor to stand among you, and…”

  He began his sermon.

  ###

  After Caius had finished his sermon to the dwarves, Ridmark slipped out the doors to wait. The dwarves had clustered around Caius, asking him questions about the faith. Most of the dwarves had spoken about the despair and stoicism taught by the gods of stone and silence. Ridmark wondered how many of the dwarves lived lives of quiet despair, awaiting nothing but death and oblivion. Listening to their questions had seemed…inappropriate, somehow, as if he was eavesdropping on the private conversations of a family.

  He stepped onto the terrace, and Calliande, Gavin, and Antenora followed him. He looked at Calliande, and she gave him a faint smile.

  “It didn’t seem right to listen, did it?” said Calliande.

  “No,” said Gavin. “Like listening to a man’s confession to his priest.”

  “It is like the pebbles before an avalanche,” said Antenora.

  “Eh?” said Ridmark. He glanced at the ceiling, wondering about cave-ins.

  “A metaphor, Gray Knight,” said Antenora. “I thought that in the Vale of Stone Death when the dwarven friar baptized the Taalmak and his warriors. He was bringing great change to his people, whether he knew it or not.” She shrugged her slim shoulders beneath the black coat. “Among humans, such a change would bring war. On Old Earth, I saw two faiths battle one another for a thousand years, from the shores of Britannia to lands that Arthur Pendragon never dreamed existed. The war had not ended when I left Old Earth for this new world. Perhaps it will never end so long as men live. But such a war seems unlikely among the dwarves.”

  “No,” said Calliande. “It is as Brother Caius said. It is not in the dwarves’ nature to have a civil war.”

  Gavin frowned. “But they did have a civil war when some of the dwarves followed the shadow of Incariel.”

  “That was different,” said Calliande. “The shadow of Incariel can physically change the nature of its worshippers. You remembered what happened to that fool Claudius Agrell at Castra Carhaine.”

  “Or the Weaver,” said Ridmark.

  “Or the Weaver,” said Calliande. “He’s no longer entirely human. The dvargir are no longer of the same kindred as the dwarves. The shadow of Incariel changed their nature. Accepting the baptism of the Dominus Christus may change the souls of the dwarves, but it will not change them physically. They won’t sunder into separate kindreds.”

  “What will they do instead?” said Gavin.

  Calliande sighed. “In all candor, they will debate the matter until the Frostborn are knocking at the Great Gate.”

  Ridmark watched a troop of dwarven warriors march through the Dormari Market and deeper into Khald Tormen, led by a dwarven man in the elaborate armor of a Taalmak. Khald Tormen might be debating the new faith, but the dwarves were still preparing to defend themselves against whatever the Sculptor planned.

  “If they’re attacked by the Sculptor,” said Ridmark, “the debate won’t matter. Whatever they are discussing, they will unify and fight back.”

  “Among humans,” said Antenora, “the most common reason for unification is an attack from a common foe.”

  “Aye,” said Ridmark. “And the Frostborn are the common foe of the dwarves, baptized or not. They’re the common foe of humans and orcs and manetaurs, for that matter.”

  “King Axazamar and his brother know that,” said Calliande. She glanced back at the warehouse. “And his other brother, I suppose.”

  “They do,” said Ridmark. He would have to talk to Caius about that later. “But they already have an external threat in the Sculptor. If we remove that danger, perhaps we can convince them to take action against the Frostborn.”

  Calliande frowned. “Are you suggesting that we find and kill the Sculptor?”

  “No,” said Ridmark. “That might be beyond us. But if we can discover why the Sculptor is attacking Khald Tormen and stop his plan, that might be enough to get the dwarves to aid us. The King and his nobles know that they are in danger from the Frostborn. If not today, then certainly in a few years. If we remove the threat of the Sculptor, that will free them to attack the Frostborn.”

  “How can we do that?” said Calliande.

  “I don’t know,” said Ridmark. “But if th
ere is a way, we will find it.”

  Chapter 9: Stone Heart

  They rested at the Nobles’ House for a few hours, and Calliande took the opportunity to get some sleep. It had been a long journey, and she needed her wits about her when she met with King Axazamar. Narzaxar had not seemed happy to meet his returned brother, and he seemed even less pleased about the spread of the faith of the church among the dwarves.

  What did the King think? Would he see the threat of the Frostborn? His father had, and Caius certainly did, but it came down to what Axazamar thought. Calliande considered questioning Caius about his family but decided against it. He was still speaking with the baptized dwarves, and she suspected he did not want to talk about it. Narzaxar had mentioned a loss that had driven Caius from Khald Tormen and to the church.

  Calliande knew all about loss, didn’t she? She and Ridmark both.

  She fell asleep, and for once, her rest was not haunted by dreams, though she would not have minded a visit from Marius the Watcher. Yet he had passed to his final reward, and it was up to Calliande to carry on his work.

  A few hours later Antenora awoke her. Calliande took a moment to wash and arrange her hair and clothes, making sure she wore all her jewelry – earrings of gold, a choker chain of gold with a sapphire, and the bronze diadem of the Keeper. The dwarves would not care how a human woman looked, but they were experts in metals and gemstones, and she had no wish to offend them.

  Once she was ready, she left her room. Antenora waited in the hallway, a dark shadow in her hooded coat. Gavin stood next to her, wearing his dark elven armor, his hand resting on Truthseeker’s hilt and tapping against the soulblade’s pommel.