Frostborn: The Dwarven Prince (Frostborn #12)

by Jonathan Moeller

  “You are the Keeper of Andomhaim,” said Axazamar, “and Andomhaim is riven by war between two rival claimants to the throne and two rival faiths, the faith of the Dominus Christus and the shadow of Incariel.”

  “Do you really think to compare the faith of the Dominus Christus with the shadow of Incariel?” said Caius.

  “No,” said Axazamar with a weary wave of his hand. “I do not. The shadow of Incariel created the dvargir, our lost cousins. The faith of the Dominus Christus merely distracts our younger people with false hope. But we digress from the point.” The sharp blue eyes turned back to Calliande. “I hope you do not expect us to ally with one side in Andomhaim’s civil war, Keeper. We do not meddle in the wars of humans.”

  “I would not presume to insult the King of Khald Tormen with such a ridiculous request,” said Calliande. “No. I stand before you as an ambassador of Queen Mara. She invites you to join her and the Anathgrimm against the Frostborn before they become too strong to defeat, and the manetaurs have already marched to aid her. My lord King, I urge you to join the war against the Frostborn before it is too late. You were there for the first war. You know the danger that we face.”

  For a long moment, Axazamar said nothing, one hand tapping against the golden arm of his throne.

  “You speak wisdom, Keeper of Andomhaim,” said Axazamar. “The khaldari prefer to be united in common purpose before we act, and the foreign religion of Taalkhan Azaanbar and his followers has introduced disunity and dissension.”

  “Forgive me, King Axazamar,” said Calliande, remembering what Antenora had said about a common foe, “but your kindred already share a common purpose, and one that grows more urgent by the day. Do the baptized dwarves propose to break their oaths to their king and nation and abandon their defense of Khald Tormen? Or do you purpose to abandon the baptized dwarves to their fate and banish them from Khald Tormen?”

  “Neither,” said Axazamar. “The khaldari continue in their duty, regardless of the circumstances. My brother and his followers might think to abandon the gods of stone and silence, but we cannot change our nature that much.”

  “Then you must unify in a common purpose now before it is too late,” said Calliande. “Because the Frostborn are coming for you, and they are coming soon. It may not be for decades. To humans, that seems a long time.” She looked in Narzaxar’s direction. “But as Prince Narzaxar said, the dwarves are longer-lived than humans, and therefore longer-sighted. Thirty or forty years may seem like a long time to us, but it is not to you, and the Frostborn will assail you in that time unless they are defeated. I urge you, my lord King, to act now, to bring the war to the Frostborn before it is too late. Otherwise, someday you shall look through the Great Gate and see the Frostborn laying siege to Khald Tormen. Khald Azalar fell to the Frostborn, and I fear that Khald Tormen, Khald Durast, and Khald Valazur shall fall unless we act today.”

  For a moment Axazamar said nothing, his fingers still tapping against the right arm of his throne.

  “You speak wisdom, Calliande of Tarlion,” said Axazamar. “You speak wisdom indeed, and your counsel seems good to me. Yet I have one question, and there is one difficulty before us.”

  “I will answer any question you pose to me,” said Calliande, “if it is within my power.”

  “Where is the Dragon Knight?” said Axazamar. “He was at your side during the first war, and the power of Sir Kalomarus allowed us to win many battles against the foe. Did he survive the centuries to return to battle once more? Or has he chosen a successor?”

  “I fear I do not know,” said Calliande, keeping the frustration out of her voice.

  She should have known. She ought to have known. The sword and power of the Dragon Knight, wielded in the hand of Kalomarus, had been key to their victory the last time. Kalomarus had been a cynical old knight, prone to drunkenness, yet he had been a ferocious fighter, and with the sword of the Dragon Knight in hand he had been a terror in battle.

  Yet Calliande didn’t know what had become of him

  More ominously, she felt like she had removed her memory of his fate, just as she had removed her memory of her past before going into the long sleep below the Tower of Vigilance. Why had she done that? It seemed remarkably foolish. The Dragon Knight’s power was needed now.

  More than once, Morigna had accused Calliande of being overly clever, and sometimes Calliande had to admit that Morigna had a point.

  “He escorted me to the Tower of Vigilance two centuries ago,” said Calliande, “when I went into the magical sleep that brought me to the modern day. After that, I do not know where he went.”

  “Perhaps he returned to Cathair Solas, the remaining stronghold of the high elves,” said Calazon, speaking up from where he stood with the stonescribes. “That was where you obtained the sword the Dragon Knight, was it not?”

  “Yes, it was,” said Calliande. “The war was going badly, and I thought to appeal to the high elves for aid, as one of my predecessors in the office of Keeper did during the war against the urdmordar.”

  A flash of bitterness went through her. Ardrhythain had helped them at Urd Morlemoch, had driven off one of Tymandain Shadowbearer’s attempts to destroy her mind through magic. Why hadn’t the last archmage of the high elves helped them since? He could have stopped Imaria from killing Morigna. He could have stopped Tarrabus Carhaine, and saved thousands of lives. Surely he knew that the Frostborn would destroy the high elves alongside everyone else.

  Calliande put the thought aside. What was done was done, and it was her responsibility to defend Andomhaim, not Ardrhythain’s.

  “Of old the Dragon Knight was the ancient champion of the high elves,” said Calazon, slipping into a lecturing tone. “Before the primeval elves even arose in this world, dragons ruled here. When they died out or departed, they left their power within a sword and entrusted that sword to the elves. Once the elven kindred had sundered into the high elves and the dark elves, the Dragon Knight was the greatest champion of the high elves, leading them in the battle against the dark elves and the other kindreds summoned through the world gates. For the high elves to have entrusted the sword of the Dragon Knight to a human even once was remarkable. Perhaps they simply decided that a second time was not warranted.”

  “Or perhaps the high elves shall make their intentions clear in time,” said Axazamar. “For now, we must discuss the difficulty that makes it impossible for us to face the Frostborn.”

  “I assume you mean the attacks of the Sculptor?” said Calliande.

  “You assume correctly,” said Axazamar.

  “If you will forgive another assumption,” said Calliande, “I do not see how the Sculptor is as dangerous as the Frostborn.”

  “To the rest of the world, no,” said Axazamar. “It seems the Sculptor has no interest in conquering Andomhaim or the orcish nations. But he has been a deadly enemy to Khald Tormen since before humans came to this world.” The old dwarf frowned. “He views us as a resource to be used. Often he has raided Khald Tormen, stealing the work of our stonescribes, our treasures, and killing our people in the process. In his deadliest attack, nearly eight thousand khaldari were killed when he collapsed one of our gates to cover his escape. We dare not turn our back on such a deadly foe, not until we learn what he wants and how to prevent him from getting it.”

  “How do you know he plans to attack?” said Calliande. “He has launched raids upon your outlying settlements?”

  “He has, Keeper,” said Axazamar. “Within the Deeps, Khald Tormen is surrounded by many smaller thainkuls. Once we were possessed many more, but time and the attrition of war has reduced our numbers, and we withdrew to a smaller territory, leaving the ruined outer thainkuls to be fortified in times of war. The Sculptor has sent his creatures to seize those ruined thainkuls and the main intersections of tunnels in the Deeps.”

  “Has he done anything else?” said Calliande.

  “Not yet,” said Axazamar. “We do not yet know what he intends.”


  Calliande frowned. That sounded…odd. Almost as odd as the Cutter’s attack on Castra Durius. That had been an obvious attack, and surely the Sculptor must have known that it would fail. It seemed equally obvious for the Sculptor to seize the outlying thainkuls.

  As if he was trying to get the dwarves’ attention.

  As if he was trying to get her attention, for that matter.

  But why involve himself like this? To Calliande’s knowledge, the Sculptor had not interfered in the first war against the Frostborn.

  Again, a wave of sharp frustration rolled through her. She felt like she was missing something obvious, something right in front of her face.

  “Perhaps,” said Caius, “there is a way that we can both keep the Sculptor at bay and permit our forces to aid the Anathgrimm and the manetaurs against the Frostborn.”

  “And what do you suggest, brother?” said Axazamar. There were flickers of emotion in the voice that Calliande could not quite identify. She suspected that Axazamar and Caius must have spent a lot of their lives arguing.

  “Thainkul Morzan,” said Caius.

  A murmur went through the gathered dwarves, and Axazamar said nothing.

  “If I might ask,” said Calliande, “what is the significance of Thainkul Morzan?”

  “It was one of our outer towns,” said Axazamar, “occupying one of the main caverns of the Deeps below Kothluusk. As it happened, it holds one of the primary routes to the Sculptor’s stronghold, which is likely located several hundred miles west, somewhere in the caverns of the Deeps beneath the western ocean. The Sculptor slaughtered its inhabitants several thousand years ago, and it has remained ruined and deserted ever since.”

  “Not quite deserted, lord King,” said Narzaxar. “It has changed hands several times. Tribes of deep orcs claimed it, as did various tribes of kobolds. For the last three months, it has been occupied by a large force of koballats.”

  “Yet if it were taken and held anew,” said Calazon, “it would block the Sculptor’s most direct route to Khald Tormen. True, he could attempt to infiltrate spies into Khald Tormen and our other settlements, but any large force would have to pass through Thainkul Morzan. We could hold the Sculptor’s forces there, and would have ample warning to prepare our defense, even with most of our armies away fighting the Frostborn.”

  “That presupposes,” said Axazamar, “we are able to take Thainkul Morzan quickly. It is a strong position, and the koballats have had three months to prepare their defenses.”

  “Lord King,” said Ridmark, and Calliande looked at him. “I may be able to help with that.”

  ###

  Ridmark stepped forward, feeling the eyes of the court of Khald Tormen upon him.

  “If you send a force to take Thainkul Morzan,” said Ridmark, “then my companions and I will accompany it, and help your warriors to assault the thainkul.”

  “Your skill at arms is known to us,” said Axazamar. “You slew Mournacht of Kothluusk and Shadowbearer, both of whom were enemies of the khaldari kindred. Yet Thainkul Morzan is well-fortified, and one man alone cannot storm the fortress.”

  “He cannot,” said Ridmark. “Yet I have seen dwarven thainkuls before.” He thought of the secret entrance Caius had found that allowed access to Thainkul Dural. “Is there a hidden door to Thainkul Morzan?”

  “There is,” said Calazon. “The records of the stonescribes record it. Yet Thainkul Morzan has been lost for thousands of years, and its secrets have all been revealed by now. The koballats know of the hidden entrance and will guard it.”

  “We may have a way around that,” said Ridmark. “Third?”

  She stepped to his side and offered a bow to the king, slim and dark in her armor.

  “This is Third,” said Ridmark, “the sister of Queen Mara.”

  “Yes, the former urdhracos,” said Axazamar. “Calazon and the other stonescribes find you most fascinating. Why is your name a numeral?”

  “This is my third life,” said Third.

  “Poetic,” said Axazamar. “I assume you have some ability that will assist in Thainkul Morzan?”

  “I do,” said Third, looking to Ridmark with her black eyes.

  Ridmark nodded, and Third disappeared in a swirl of blue fire. She reappeared an instant later thirty yards away. Axazamar’s eyes widened in astonishment, and Third disappeared again, reappearing at Ridmark’s side as the blue fire faded, the glow lingering for a moment in her veins and eyes.

  A murmur of astonishment rose again from the dwarven court, the stonescribes speaking to one another in low voices.

  “Remarkable,” said Axazamar. “How do you do that?”

  “From what I understand,” said Third, “the power of my blood allows me to attempt entry to the threshold of the spirit world without using a gate. The threshold repels my attempt at entry, and I reappear where I wish.” She shrugged. “The ability is entirely instinctual, and I gained it after I was no longer an urdhracos."

  “It is indeed remarkable, my lord King,” said Calazon. “I have often thought that the mind must be shaped by the flesh, and once she was freed from the Traveler’s domination, her flesh must have entered this new configuration.”

  Axazamar leaned forward, obviously intrigued. “Can you travel through walls, Lady Third?” He beckoned towards the doors leading to the Armory of the Kings. “For instance, if the doors to the Armory were closed, could you travel inside them and then return again?”

  “Sometimes,” said Third. Her eyes narrowed as she concentrated. She did not have the Sight as Mara did, but she did have a peculiar sort of sixth sense related to her traveling ability. “If I have been there before, or if the chamber is described to me with a high degree of accuracy. Here, though, I would not. The warding glyphs upon the door are too potent and would block any attempt to travel past them.”

  “There will be no wards of equal power in Thainkul Morzan, my lord King,” said Calazon.

  “Certainly not,” said Axazamar.

  Narzaxar stirred. For the first time, the prince seemed interested in the possibility. “If we seize the secret entrance and storm into Thainkul Morzan, we can bypass the fortifications. If we do, we shall take the thainkul with little loss, and fortify it against further excursions from the Sculptor. My lord King, I believe this plan could work.”

  “Stonescribes?” said Axazamar.

  The stonescribes conferred among themselves for a moment.

  “We have no objection to this plan, lord King,” said Calazon, “and we believe it may succeed.”

  “Very well,” said Axazamar, leaning back into his throne with a grunt. The massive slab of gold and dwarven steel did not look at all comfortable. “Brother, you are the Taalakdaz of Khald Tormen. I charge you to assemble a force and depart for Thainkul Morzan at once.”

  Narzaxar looked at Ridmark. “So be it, lord King. We shall leave tomorrow.”

  Chapter 10: The Friar’s Tale

  With the decision made, the Stone Heart exploded into action.

  Narzaxar issued a series of commands, and messengers hastened to carry out his will. A thousand dwarven warriors would depart from the Gate of the Deeps tomorrow to make the two and a half day march to the gate of Thainkul Morzan. Siege engines and supply wagons would accompany them, pulled by teams of tamed murrags. Ridmark and Third would join the dwarven force, which pleased Narzaxar.

  Caius would also accompany them, which pleased Narzaxar rather less, but the prince issued no complaint. Calliande would remain behind to speak with the King about the Frostborn, which relieved Ridmark. The Sculptor’s realm was somewhere within the tunnels of the Deeps, and Ridmark had no wish to bring Calliande any closer to the dark elven lord than necessary. For that matter, the Enlightened of Incariel were allies of the dvargir, and the dvargir had already made two attempts upon Calliande’s life.

  At least in Khald Tormen, the Keeper would be safe from both the Sculptor and the Enlightened.

  Axazamar announced that the court of Khald Tormen wo
uld hold a banquet to honor the arrival of the Keeper, and Calliande accepted the invitation on their behalf. The banquet would be in the Hall of Relics, and Ridmark gathered that the Hall held various trophies and memorials from Khald Tormen’s long history.

  After that, the King announced that the court was over, and the nobles and the stonescribes went about their duties. Two young dwarven women came to the throne and helped the King down, and Axazamar took the arm of the woman on his left, his right hand gripping a heavy cane of dwarven steel. Both the women had the same blue eyes as Caius and his brothers. The King’s daughters? No, they were too young for that, and Axazamar did not seem the sort of man to take a far younger wife, though the dwarves were so stoic that it was sometimes hard to imagine how they ever managed to have children. Likely the two women were his granddaughters, which made Ridmark wonder just how large Caius’s extended family was.

  That made Ridmark wonder about other things.

  He saw Caius standing some distance away, gazing at the wall. A channel encircled the entire vast chamber, a stream of liquid stone flowing through it, providing additional illumination. Niches and statues lined the walls, and Ridmark realized they were memorials, monuments to dwarves slain in battle.

  Caius stared at one of them in silence, one hand touching the cross hanging against his chest.

  “Lord magister?” Ector’s crisp voice cut into Ridmark’s thoughts. “What shall we do?”

  Ridmark looked for Azakhun and spotted the Taalmak talking with some other dwarven warriors, most of them wearing crosses around their necks. “Go with Azakhun. He can escort you back to the Nobles’ House in the Dormari Market.”