“The halfling kindred, for instance,” said Kajaldrakthor, “would be inefficient slaves, and so they shall be exterminated.”
“See?” said Jager. “That’s exactly what I mean.” He looked at Mara. “He’s offering you power and dominion and glory and all that in one breath, and then he threatens to murder your husband in the next!” He wagged a finger in Kajaldrakthor’s direction. “That is inconsistent negotiating, Lord Commander. If you like, I could do your negotiation for you, in exchange for a reasonable percentage of any profits.”
The Frostborn Lord Commander just stared at him. Mara stifled a smile.
“That,” said Kajaldrakthor at last, “is not a serious offer.”
“Well, none of your offers were serious, so I was only answering in kind,” said Jager. “Next, I would like to negotiate to purchase the pelts of medvarth warriors. They’re quite thick, and I anticipate a high demand once winter comes. Let’s say…oh, ten copper coins per pelt? That seems reasonable. You have so many medvarth you will not miss a few…”
Master Marhand laughed, looked annoyed at himself for laughing, and then laughed again.
“Do you permit this halfling to negotiate for you, High King Arandar?” said Kajaldrakthor. The Frostborn still spoke in his calm voice, but Mara detected a hint of annoyance there. Her husband had an absolute genius for annoying people, and it seemed that not even the Frostborn were immune to his gift. “I desired to parley with the High King of Andomhaim, not the halfling pet of one of his vassals.”
“A pet?” said Jager. “I think I would be fed better if I were a pet.”
Kajaldrakthor’s glowing eyes narrowed a little.
“Why should he not?” said Arandar. “As he said, this is not a serious parley. You will make unreasonable demands, I will refuse them, and then the battle will begin. Why should Prince Jager not amuse himself at your expense?”
“Perhaps you have come to new wisdom after the disaster at Dun Calpurnia,” said Kajaldrakthor.
“Disaster?” said Arandar. “Maybe your memory is clouded. You did not win the battle at Dun Calpurnia, as I recall.”
“Your victory was costlier than our defeat,” said Kajaldrakthor. “You took losses that will not easily be replenished, and you have been forced back to defend the heart of your power. When we take Tarlion and turn the Well’s power against you, your armies will be overwhelmed. Your Magistri draw barely a thousandth of the Well’s potential power to fuel their spells. We shall unlock its full power, and with that power we shall shatter all resistance.”
“Are you so certain?” said Arandar. “You fared badly against the Dragon Knight at Dun Calpurnia.”
“The Dragon Knight caught us off guard,” admitted Kajaldrakthor. “We had expected that he would make his presence known long ago, but perhaps it took you longer than anticipated to find a warrior capable of taking up his mantle. We were not prepared, but we are ready now. Already the Order of the Inquisition has dispatched assassination parties to find and kill the Dragon Knight, and one of them will be successful.”
“Just as you sent assassination parties to kill me?” said Arandar.
“They only need to be successful once,” said Kajaldrakthor.
Mara felt a chill, and not just from the cold power radiating from the Frostborn. The Frostborn were hunting for Ridmark. He had Calliande and Third and Brother Caius with him, but she knew firsthand just how dangerous the Frostborn were.
“The time for threats is over,” said Kajaldrakthor. “We have come to the heart of your realm, and when we take your city, we shall break the back of your realm and cripple your power. You can yet avert that fate.”
“By surrendering to you, I assume?” said Arandar.
“Yes,” said Kajaldrakthor. “It is not yet too late for you to take your rightful place as vassals of the Assembly of the High Lords. Submit to us now, and your nation shall survive as our vassal. You will help us subdue the rest of the world. The enemies that have threatened your nation – the urdmordar and the dark elves and the dvargir and the pagan orcs – shall be either made vassals or destroyed. Peace shall reign over your world, and you shall assist us in the great work of perfecting the cosmos.”
“You have failed to either enslave us or destroy us so far,” said Arandar. “I see little reason to submit now.”
“Then perhaps you have failed to learn any wisdom,” said Kajaldrakthor. “Your entire army has withdrawn behind your walls, and we shall trap and destroy you within. No one is coming to your rescue. The Order of the Inquisition will deal with the Dragon Knight and your Keeper. Do you think the manetaurs and the khaldari will save you? We will kill their leaders and throw their hosts into disarray, and once we have taken control of the power of the Well, we will use its magic to unleash fearsome engines of war. Those will annihilate the khaldari and the manetaurs, and we will crush all remaining resistance. This is your last chance to avoid such a fate, High King of Andomhaim.”
“Perhaps it is your last chance to avoid your fate,” said Arandar.
“And what fate is that?” said Kajaldrakthor. “Our inevitable and crushing victory?”
“Your inevitable deaths,” said Arandar, “when your ally betrays you and plunges the world into chaos and madness.”
The Lord Commander said nothing for a moment.
“Explain,” he said at last.
“Why are you attacking Tarlion?” said Arandar.
“Because the Well is the key to…”
“It isn’t,” said Arandar. “Your previous strategy was working. You should have dug in and fortified Dun Calpurnia after we withdrew. We were in no shape to stop you. You could have seized Caerdracon north of Castra Carhaine, and you could have kept it and spent the next few years building up your forces for the next phase of your conquest. Instead, you are committing the bulk of your forces to the attack on Tarlion. Who convinced you that the Well was the key to victory?”
“The High Lords study their conquests,” said Kajaldrakthor, “and…”
“Imaria Shadowbearer told you, didn’t she?” said Arandar.
“The power of the Well is obvious,” said Kajaldrakthor, “to anyone with magical skill.”
“You’ve been duped,” said Arandar. “Did you ever wonder why Tymandain Shadowbearer invited you here and why Imaria Shadowbearer opened your gate on the slopes of the Black Mountain? The demon that they both worshiped is imprisoned within that mountain. If you take Tarlion for her, Imaria will seize control of the Well. She will tap its magic and use it to empower the world gate. It will shatter the Black Mountain, and Incariel will rise and plunge the world into eternal chaos and madness. You and all your servants will perish with the rest of us if you take Tarlion.”
Kajaldrakthor said nothing, and Arandar leaned forward a little.
“So why should we join your Dominion?” said Arandar. “Why join you when you are nothing more than a dupe of a madwoman who worships dark powers?”
“Your conclusion is based on an insufficient understanding of the facts,” said Kajaldrakthor. “Imaria Shadowbearer does not threaten…”
Shadow stirred before Mara’s Sight, a power cold and dark and malevolent.
She turned her head, and Imaria Licinius Shadowbearer stepped from behind the Frostborn. The Swordbearers stirred, hands dropping to the hilts of their soulblades, and the Magistri began to gather power for a spell. Mara remained motionless, watching as Tymandain Shadowbearer’s heir approached them. Imaria had once been a beautiful young woman, but now her skin had turned corpse-gray, her veins filled with black shadows, her eyes like mirrored quicksilver. She wore close-fitting armor of black dvargirish plates, and her shadow rippled and billowed around her like a cloak. In fact, it seemed to hang from her shoulders liked folded wings.
To Mara’s Sight, looking at her was like staring into a lightless abyss, or into the cold, lifeless void between the worlds. Her Sight had seen the shadow of Incariel before, but within Imaria she saw a stronger concentration of t
he shadow than she had ever seen anywhere else.
“High King of Andomhaim,” said Imaria in the disturbing double voice of the Shadowbearer of Incariel. “Do you think to question my loyalty to the cause of the Frostborn?”
“I cannot question it, for it does not exist,” said Arandar, his voice flat and hard as he gazed at the woman who had opened the way for the Frostborn. “You purpose has always been to free Incariel.”
“I do not deny it,” said Imaria, smiling as she looked at Kajaldrakthor. “It has always been my purpose to free Incariel and then free this world from time and causality and matter.”
Kajaldrakthor’s calm expression hardened a little. Mara realized that he thought that Imaria was a useful madwoman but a madwoman nonetheless. He might use her, but he would not think of her as a threat. Mara’s belief that the arrogance of the Frostborn would blind them to the threat of the Shadowbearer had proven right.
“We are aware of the non-dimensional entity imprisoned within the Black Mountain,” said Kajaldrakthor, “just as we are aware of Imaria’s link to the creature and her desire to free it. We will not permit her to do so. The creature is too dangerous and cannot be controlled, and would cause a suspension of the physical laws of the cosmos in its presence.”
“Of course,” said Imaria. “I cannot challenge the High Lords. They are strong, and I am weak. What use is the shadow of Incariel against such strength?”
It was a strange thing to say, but Mara heard the mockery in her voice. Could not the Frostborn hear it? Perhaps they could hear it, perhaps they knew she intended treachery, but they simply did not care. Or they thought they could deal with her.
They did not realize the nature of the serpent they had taken into their counsels.
“Then you are fools,” said Arandar. “You wage war against us, but if you succeed and seize the Citadel and the Well, you will ensure your own destruction.”
“Your delusion prevents you from seeing the truth,” said Kajaldrakthor. “I fear, High King of Andomhaim, that this is the last time we shall speak. Return to your city and contemplate your mistakes, and we shall begin.”
“So be it,” said Arandar.
“Yes,” said Imaria with a strange smile. “A pity that you cannot see that this is the beginning of the end. The Frostborn shall hold dominion over the matter of this world for all time. And what could end time and matter?”
Arandar gestured to Marhand, and they turned their horses, preparing to ride back to the gates of Tarlion. Kajaldrakthor and the Frostborn turned and strode back to the line of the revenants.
“They’re idiots,” said Jager in a low voice. “Can’t they see that she’s going to betray them?”
“They can,” said Mara, “but they don’t care. They think she can’t possibly hurt them. They think that if she turns against them, they will simply kill her. They’re underestimating her, the way we did before the world gate opened. We thought she was just angry at Ridmark about Aelia Licinius. We didn’t realize just how far she had gone…and neither do the Frostborn.”
“Like your father,” said Qhazulak in a low voice.
Mara looked at her Lord Champion in surprise. “My father?”
“The Lord Traveler had the same arrogance as the Frostborn,” said Qhazulak, “and you slew him in Khald Azalar. Perhaps that arrogance will let us defeat them.”
“That is the most optimistic thing I’ve ever heard you say,” said Jager. “My good cheer must be wearing off on you.”
Qhazulak grunted. “A disturbing thought.”
Mara said nothing. The Frostborn were arrogant, but that would not help Arandar and the others. The Frostborn took the army of Andomhaim seriously as a threat. They did not take Imaria seriously.
And that folly might doom them all.
###
Arandar climbed to the ramparts over the northern gate, his guards following him.
As he did, drums boomed from the Frostborn camp, and a mighty shout rose from the medvarth. The frost drakes loosed their metallic shrieks, and Arandar heard the sounds of thousands of medvarth warriors beating their swords against their shields.
The assault upon Tarlion was about to begin.
###
Tarrabus Carhaine leaned against his windowsill, watching the vast host maneuvering before the northern wall.
There were so many of them, a horde of medvarth and locusari and khaldjari and cogitaers, all backed by the invincible magic of the Frostborn.
Tarrabus would have saved Tarlion from this, would have transformed mankind into gods who could treat with the Frostborn as equals.
Instead, the fools had turned on him, and the Frostborn were at the gates.
Tarrabus would enjoy watching them smash that fool Arandar and his idiotic followers, and he would enjoy watching the Frostborn slaughter the people of Tarlion. They had rejected him, so they deserved their fate.
And then, when the Frostborn destroyed the Citadel, they would break the spells around Tarrabus’s cell, and he would be free to find and destroy those who had wronged him.
He leaned against the window and watched his revenge begin.
Chapter 16: Wrath of the Frostborn
“Here they come!” roared Corbanic Lamorus. “Ballistae ready! All ballistae ready!”
Gavin drew his soulblade, Truthseeker flickering with white light. Around him, the other Swordbearers did the same, while the Magistri began readying protective spells. Antenora’s staff flared with fire, the sigils upon its length glowing with sullen heat.
He watched the sky as forty frost drakes hurtled towards them, their great wings flapping. One frost drake could breathe a plume of mist that encased a hundred men in killing ice. If all forty of them breathed upon the northern ramparts at once…Gavin did not want to think about how many men would die.
“Hold!” said Arandar. “Do not release until the Constable gives the signal! Hold!”
The drakes dove towards the walls of Tarlion, and as one all forty of them released their freezing breath. Dozens of plumes of white mist shot towards the ramparts, only to shatter against an invisible wall that seemed to rise into the air above the battlements. Gavin saw a blast of mist flatten against the unseen wall, harden into ice, and fall in fragments to the ground. A chill wind from the ice reached him, but it wasn’t nearly cold enough to hurt anyone.
“Release!” boomed Corbanic, and the trumpeters near him blew the signal.
Every portable ballista on the walls released at once, hurling a rain of iron bolts into the sky. Most of the bolts missed, but two frost drakes crashed to the earth, killing their Frostborn riders, and three more were wounded, the creatures bellowing as they flew back to the north. A cheer rose from the walls as the frost drakes flew back to the enemy army.
“Why did the breath stop?” said Gavin.
“The magical defenses in the walls,” said Antenora, her yellow eyes on the retreating drakes. “They were made to stop dark magic, but it seems they can also deflect elemental attacks.”
“Just as well,” said Gavin. Those damned frost drakes had inflicted terrible casualties at Dun Calpurnia, and he hadn’t wanted to see it repeated at Tarlion.
But the drums continued to sound their call, and Gavin saw the enemy army stirring.
The revenants moved out of the way, and the sunlight glittered on ice.
###
“They did this at Dun Calpurnia,” said Arandar, watching the maneuvering locusari warriors.
“Sticks of ice?” said Corbanic, surprised. “What’s the point?”
Behind the lines of the revenant horde, Arandar saw columns of locusari warriors moving into position. Each column consisted of about seventy warriors, and between them, they carried a long pole of glittering blue-green ice. The poles were far longer and thicker than the ones he had seen at Dun Calpurnia.
“They’re siege ladders of a sort,” said Arandar. “The khaldjari use their magic to fashion them. The locusari will throw them against our battlements, and
the magic will freeze them in place against the stone. Then the locusari climb up the poles and attack.”
Corbanic considered that. “They won’t be able to do much damage that way.”
“They will not,” said Arandar. “At Dun Calpurnia, the poles were just the beginning, the opening attack. The medvarth followed it up with siege ladders.”
“This time,” said Mara, pointing, “it will probably be those towers.”
Behind the locusari, dozens of massive wheeled siege towers were rising. From what Arandar guessed, the khaldjari must have built the components of the towers in the Northerland, and then had dragged them down the River Moradel. It had been a stupendous amount of labor, but it was paying off for the Frostborn now. The khaldjari were assembling the towers with the aid of thousands of medvarth, and Arandar suspected the towers would be ready before much longer.
“Aye, Queen Mara,” said Corbanic. “See how the poles are spaced? Likely they will leave clear aisles for the towers to roll up to our walls.”
“They will have a devil of a time with it,” said Dux Kors. Thanks to the constant Mhorite raids in the hills of Durandis, he had more experiences with sieges than any other lord in Andomhaim. Though Arandar feared that no one in Andomhaim had experience with a siege on this scale. “Look at how torn up the ground is from that traitor Tarrabus’s walls. Siege towers need nice flat ground. Too much of a dip and they’ll tip over.”
“If there are khaldjari engineers with the towers,” said Mara, “they might be able to build bridges of ice over the holes.” She smiled at Antenora. “Which you could then melt.”
Antenora inclined her head in acknowledgment, her face shadowed beneath the cowl of her hooded black coat. “I can. But if the khaldjari create enough bridges, I will not be able to melt them all. The poles will be easier.”
“Speaking of the poles, here they come,” said Prince Cadwall.
Drums boomed again from the host of the Frostborn, and a shout came from both the medvarth and the khaldjari. The locusari did not bother with war cries and advanced in silence. Forty groups of locusari began running towards the northern wall, each group carrying a thick pole of ice. More columns of locusari warriors began to maneuver, preparing to charge after the warriors carrying the poles.
Frostborn: The Shadow Prison (Frostborn #15) Page 22