Frostborn: The Dwarven Prince (Frostborn #12)

by Jonathan Moeller

  A surge of overpowering relief went through Ridmark.

  The Sculptor let out a snarl of fury, and Ridmark’s relief faded into the cold grip of battle readiness.

  Calliande was alive…but the Sculptor would do his best to change that.

  ###

  Calliande looked across the crowd before the throne, holding her magic ready as Antenora gathered fire. Ridmark was there, along with Caius, Gavin, Kharlacht, Third, Camorak, and Sir Ector, and she was relieved to see that they were all still alive. Prince Narzaxar was near Ridmark, breathing hard. Likely they had all rushed here in haste to warn the king.

  And to rescue her.

  “I think,” said Calliande, “that it is over.”

  The Sculptor turned so that he could face both her and the dwarves at once.

  “Fool,” said the Sculptor. “You should not have escaped. Had you perished in my spell, it would spare you the horror to come when the Frostborn destroy your nations.”

  “Did you expect that we would not resist?” said Calliande.

  The Sculptor gave a disdainful snort. “You are mortal, and your flesh shall fail, whether sooner or later. What matter if you die now?”

  “You might,” said Ridmark, “find that out sooner rather than later.”

  Calliande swept the Sight through the chamber of the Stone Heart. She saw the blaze of dark magic around the Sculptor, the lesser power of the Cutter, and the auras of the two urshanes near the throne. As far as she could tell, there were no other foes in the chamber. Calliande knew that she could defeat the Sculptor with the power of the Keeper’s mantle. It would be a ferocious battle, but in the end, the power of the Keeper would break the Sculptor’s wards.

  But the Sculptor had to know that, too. And he had proven capable of hiding things from the Sight when he wanted.

  “Our warriors and stonescribes are coming,” said Axazamar. “You may kill many of us, but we shall overpower you and bring you a long-deserved death.”

  “That is within the realm of possibility,” said the Sculptor. “It is also possible that I shall kill all of you, overpower the Keeper, and departed this doomed world.”

  “And just how shall you do that?” said Axazamar.

  The Sculptor nodded. “With help.”

  He gestured…and suddenly the empty areas of the floor to the left and the right of the pool of molten stone rippled.

  Koballats appeared out of nothingness, hundreds upon hundreds of koballats.

  How had the Sculptor transported them here? He could transport himself and a few others through his magic, but surely he could not have been powerful enough to bring that many koballats to the Stone Heart.

  No. The Sculptor hadn’t transported the koballats to the Stone Heart.

  They had been within the chamber the entire time.

  Their scales were mirrored, as if they had been dipped in quicksilver, and Calliande saw the room reflected in the koballats’ hide as they charged. Her Sight washed off the scales like water off an oiled cloak, and looking at the creatures gave her a headache.

  They would be difficult to fight, simply because they were so hard to see.

  The Sculptor had come prepared for this battle.

  “Defend the king!” roared Narzaxar. “Defend the king! To arms! To arms!”

  The Sculptor faced Calliande, casting a spell, the fire around his sword burning brighter.

  “Antenora!” shouted Calliande, but Antenora was already moving. She turned towards one of the charging masses of koballats and thrust her staff, a ball of fire soaring from its end to land in their midst. The sphere erupted in a furious explosion, and for a moment the Stone Heart grew even brighter as the light of the fire reflected off the scales of the koballats like sunlight gleaming from a mirror. A score of koballats tumbled through the air, and a score more fell, screaming as they burned.

  The rest of the koballats charged the dwarven warriors.

  Calliande could not spare them any thought. The Sculptor flung a blast of shadow and blue fire at her, and she fought for her life.

  ###

  Gavin battled the mirrored koballats, Truthseeker’s fire reflecting in their scales.

  It was a strange, vertigo-inducing sensation, like fighting a living mirror. Sometimes Gavin saw himself in the rippling form of the koballat. Sometimes the reflection of his own soulblade almost dazzled him, in the way that the sword’s normal fire did not. Sometimes the koballat seemed a part of the floor or reflected the fiery light from the Stone Heart and the pool of liquid stone.

  It didn’t matter. Gavin fought on.

  Fortunately, the Sculptor hadn’t seen fit to equip the koballats with armor and weapons that matched their mirroring ability, and as far as Gavin could tell, the creatures were not regenerating their wounds. Unfortunately, their mirrored scales were as tough as leather armor, and their claws were as long and as sharp as daggers. It was like fighting an opponent with a fistful of short blades. Gavin had to remain on the defensive, catching their slashes upon his shield and striking back when an opening presented itself.

  The fighting became a defensive battle. The king’s Taalmaks formed into a shield wall at the base of the dais, fighting to keep the koballats from Axazamar. The stonescribes stood behind the shield wall, brandishing their batons and releasing bursts of magical power. Some of their glyphs armored the warriors in warding spells, and others released bursts of invisible power to fling the koballats to the ground. Camorak retreated behind the shield wall as well, using his magic to heal the wounded dwarves.

  Gavin fought alongside Kharlacht, Caius, and Sir Ector. Caius and Kharlacht battled in their usual pattern, Caius stunning the koballats with blows from his mace and Kharlacht taking their arms or their heads with massive swings of his heavy greatsword. Sir Ector fought with the skill of a veteran knight, his shield like a castle wall, his sword darting forward like a serpent’s tongue. Third flickered in and out of the battle, leaving dead koballats in her wake, while Prince Narzaxar had taken command of the king’s guard, his sword rising and falling as he shouted orders.

  Ridmark, at least, did not seem discomforted by the koballats’ strange mirroring. His staff snapped back and forth in a black blur, sending koballats sprawling. Often Third appeared in his wake, stabbing the creatures before they recovered from his blows, or Ridmark sent them tumbling towards the dwarves, who cut them down without mercy.

  He was trying to battle his way to Calliande and the Sculptor.

  The Keeper faced the dark elven lord in a blaze of fire and thunder. Blue fire snarled around the Sculptor, shadows twisting in his hands as he brought his fury to bear against Calliande. She stood in a snarling vortex of white fire, breaking his spells against her wards and striking back with blasts of elemental fire and lances of lightning. The howl of their duel filled the vast chamber. Gavin wondered what Ridmark thought he could do in such a contest of powerful magic.

  A flare of firelight caught his eye, and he saw Antenora battling the koballats. She used the spell she had employed to cut open the river gate of Castra Carhaine, a blade of white hot flame extending from the end of the staff like a spear of fire. She slashed the weapon, and the blade of fire took off the head of one of the koballats, the flame cauterizing the wound to smoking charcoal.

  Yet more koballats pursued her, and Gavin rushed to her aid.

  The koballats did not see Gavin coming until it was too late. For a moment, his distorted reflection stared at him from the back of a koballat, and then Truthseeker hammered into the creature. The koballat went down with a howl of pain, and Gavin ripped the blade free and cut down another koballat. Antenora drove her spear forward, piercing the heart of koballat, and the creature fell with the sizzle of burned flesh.

  “Gavin Swordbearer!” said Antenora. She smiled at him, and for a moment, just a moment, he saw her as the urshane had presented her in the ruins of Thainkul Morzan, beautiful and full of life. “I am pleased that you are not dead.”

  “You, too,
” said Gavin.

  More koballats came at them, and Gavin and Antenora fought for their lives.

  ###

  Ridmark attacked another koballat, bringing his staff down on the top of its head with three quick blows. On the third strike, he heard a crack, and it collapsed. The dead koballats, with their reflective scales, made it look as if the floor of the Stone Heart had melted and warped.

  He fought furiously, dodging the koballats’ claws and ducking under their slashes. The battle hung in the balance, the shield wall of the king’s guard battling against the koballats. The strange reflective scales of the koballats made it hard to strike them, but the dwarves’ armor and skill made up the difference. If either the Sculptor or the Keeper flung their powers into the fray, it would decide the course of the battle.

  But Calliande and the Sculptor were locked in combat, dark magic and the fire of the Well snarling back and forth. Ridmark was no expert on magic, but he had seen enough magical battles to know that Calliande and the Sculptor were evenly matched. The slightest thing could tip it in either direction and if Ridmark attacked the Sculptor, that might distract him enough to let Calliande defeat him.

  Or, better yet, if Ridmark cleared a path for Gavin to reach him, that might decide the battle. No matter how powerful the Sculptor’s magic, even a dark elven lord would fear the fury of a soulblade.

  A koballat hit Ridmark in the chest, but his armor blocked the claws. He struck back, hitting the creature in the throat, or at least what he thought was the creature’s throat. His guess had been right, and the koballat’s head snapped back. Ridmark hit it in the head, and the creature collapsed, dead or stunned.

  The way was clear to Gavin. The young Swordbearer stood with Antenora, fighting back to back with her as she flung gouts of flame at the koballats or slashed at them with a blade of flame sprouting from the end of her staff. If Ridmark could help Gavin and Antenora, all three of them could attack the Sculptor at once. The Sculptor might be able to hold his own against the Keeper of Andomhaim, but he could not fight both the Keeper and a Swordbearer at the same time.

  Ridmark took three running steps towards Gavin when he saw the dark shadow overhead.

  Pure instinct saved him, and he threw himself to the side and rolled. An armored form landed where he had stood, metal claws clanging against the floor, and Ridmark sprang back to his feet.

  The Cutter straightened up, grinning at him. Her mask and her white teeth reflected the fiery light of the molten pool, but her black eyes drank the light, seemingly bottomless pits into a freezing nothingness.

  “The Gray Knight,” said the Cutter. “Such a handsome man. I like your face.” In her right hand she held a longsword of dark elven steel, but her left hand was empty, and she opened and closed her fingers, the talons of her gauntlet rasping. “I think I will slice it from your face and add it to my collection.”

  “Charming,” said Ridmark. “I see where you got your name.”

  The Cutter laughed. “I shall think of that as I gaze upon your face for centuries to come.”

  She came at Ridmark, the blue sword flashing, and he met her with the staff of Ardrhythain.

  ###

  Power screamed through Calliande, and she shaped it into a spell.

  She was exhausted, both in mind and body, but it didn’t matter. She had fought in countless battles under such circumstances, and with so much at stake, she found the strength to keep fighting.

  That, and the certain knowledge that the Sculptor would kill Ridmark and thousands of innocent people filled her with rage, and rage was an excellent motivator to fight.

  The Sculptor unleashed a spell of dark magic, a writhing lance of shadow designed to leech away her life force and leave her a withered, desiccated husk. Calliande infused her wards with the magic of the Keeper’s mantle, and the Sculptor’s spell shattered against the implacable power. She struck back with a shaft of elemental fire, charging it with the Keeper’s magic. The spell broke against the Sculptor’s defensive wards, but her Sight saw his power pulse and flicker beneath the strain.

  Yet he repaired his wards and struck back, the dark magic snarling around her.

  Calliande fought with rage, but she fought for her life. The Keeper’s mantle let her match the fury of the ancient dark elven lord, but a single mistake would mean her death.

  ###

  Gavin cut down another koballat, Truthseeker’s fire burning through the black blood that coated the blade. A second koballat lunged at him, and Gavin barely got his shield up in time. The weight of the heavy creature forced him back a step, his muscles straining as the koballat tried to knock him to the ground. Gavin attempted to stab, but the bulk of the creature was protected by his own shield. He didn’t dare to lower the shield, and even with the strength of Truthseeker, the creature’s greater weight was slowly forcing him back.

  Steel flashed, and Sir Ector shouted as he drove his sword into the koballat’s back. The creature let out an angry screech, and Gavin broke free of their clench, ripping Truthseeker across the koballat’s neck. Black blood spattered across its mirrored hide, and the creature collapsed to the ground.

  Gavin nodded his thanks to Ector, and they fell back into the battle, shielding Antenora as she flung blasts of fire at the koballats. The mass of the creatures attacked the shield wall at the base of the throne, trying to reach King Axazamar and the stonescribes. Narzaxar’s hoarse voice boomed over the battle, bellowing out commands, and the shield wall jerked forward a few feet, pushing the koballats back. More dwarven warriors emerged from the other entrances to the Stone Heart, rushing to join the melee, but more koballats appeared as well.

  How many mirrored koballats had the Sculptor smuggled into Khald Tormen? There could be fighting throughout the city right now, and the koballats would not hesitate to attack the dwarven women and children. Gavin remembered how Kurdulkar’s urvaalgs had slaughtered the manetaur females and young in Bastoth, and hoped that scene of horror would not repeat itself here.

  “The Gray Knight!” said Antenora. “He needs our aid.”

  Gavin saw Ridmark forty yards away, standing between the melee at the base of the throne and the furious duel of magic between Calliande and the Sculptor. A slim dark form circled around Ridmark, a sword of blue steel flashing in her grasp. Ridmark fought the Cutter, attacked the urdhracos with axe and staff, and the creature seemed a match for him. Sometimes her great black wings unfolded, lifting her into the air for a leaping attack at the Gray Knight. Blue fire flashed around him as Third came to his aid, but the Cutter somehow anticipated her attacks, spinning away before Third could drive her short swords into the urdhracos.

  “I need a clear shot,” said Antenora. “If I can hit her, the Gray Knight can overpower the urdhracos. Then all five of us can aid the Keeper against the dark elf.”

  “Agreed,” said Ector. “Then let’s clear a path.”

  A group of koballats rushed towards them, and Gavin and Ector charged into the creatures, swords rising and falling.

  ###

  The Cutter’s blue sword flashed towards Ridmark’s face, and he jerked his staff up, deflecting the weapon. The urdhracos did not slow, but her razor-tipped left hand flashed towards his belly, and Ridmark dodged, the claws missing him by a few inches. He swung the axe in his left hand, but she danced aside, and her sword stabbed again.

  She was damnably fast, and Ridmark had a hard time keeping up with her. Worse, he was exhausted from his injuries in Thainkul Morzan and the desperate rush across the Deeps to return to Khald Tormen. He had kept the Cutter from killing him, but neither had he landed any blows upon her, and he doubted his stamina would last much longer. If he didn’t end this fight soon, she was going to kill him.

  Blue fire swirled behind the Cutter, and Third appeared, plunging her swords forward. Somehow the Cutter sensed her approach and the urdhracos spun, her leathery wings unfolding like shields around her. She ducked under Third’s attack, and the edge of her left wing caught Third in
the legs. Third stumbled, and the Cutter came out of her spin, sword darting for Third’s throat. Third parried, her blades raised in an X, her teeth bared as she strained against the Cutter’s strength. The Cutter’s left hand stabbed for her, and Third vanished in a pulse of blue fire. Ridmark seized the opportunity and attacked, hoping to plant his axe between the Cutter’s wings, but the urdhracos twisted with fluid grace, her right wing slamming into his left arm. Ridmark staggered, caught his balance, and went on the defensive as the Cutter came at him in a whirlwind of steel.

  He retreated, the Cutter driving him towards the pool of molten stone at the center of the chamber. The glyphs encircling the pool kept the heat from cooking anyone who set foot into the Stone Heart, but Ridmark doubted they would prevent the Cutter from shoving him into the burning rock.

  Then he glimpsed a flicker of fiery light behind the Cutter.

  He saw Antenora’s dark form approaching, and Ridmark retreated, letting the Cutter drive him back. He had only a few more feet until he reached the edge of the lava, and a delighted smile spread across the Cutter’s face.

  The fiery light brightened, and a gout of magical fire engulfed the Cutter.

  It hadn’t been aimed at Ridmark, but the heat was tremendous, his face stinging from it. The Cutter let out a scream as her wings went up in flames, and Ridmark seized his chance. He brought his axe hammering down, and the blade of dwarven steel hit sank into the Cutter’s forehead. The urdhracos went into a jerking, twitching dance, her burning wings flailing, and Gavin appeared behind her, stabbing with Truthseeker. The soulblade crunched through the black armor and into the Cutter’s heart. The white fire of the soulblade pulsed through her limbs, and the Cutter collapsed dead to the floor, wings still burning.