But Ardrhythain had unlocked the Tower of the Moon and given the humans soulblades, hoping they could defend themselves from the urdmordar. The gambit had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams, and the urdmordar on this continent had been driven into hiding. But unlocking the Well and founding Tarlion had given Tymandain his opportunity.
It was an opportunity that Imaria intended to exploit.
Assuming the Frostborn managed to destroy the damned wards.
She hissed in irritation and called on the shadow, traveling away from the walls and reappearing on the hilltop. Even the full power of the shadow of Incariel would only weaken those wards and not destroy them, and the minute Imaria withdrew her power the wards would regenerate their strength. The Keepers had laid the foundation of those wards, and no magic of Andomhaim could resist the power of the Keepers, not even the shadow of Incariel. The ancient Keepers had linked the wards to the power of the Well, providing them with an infinite supply of magic.
The wards had to be destroyed before Imaria could enter the city, had to be destroyed before she could free mankind. Unfortunately, the only way to disarm the wards was to deactivate them from the Chamber of the Basin in the Citadel…or to destroy the keystone of the arch in the northern gate. That keystone was the one weak point in the entire magical defense. The wards had to be anchored somewhere, and the Keepers had anchored the defenses on that keystone. It was the safest place they could have picked in the entire wall. The keystone was in the middle of the gate, in the middle of the ward, and impervious to anything except the destruction of the entire gate.
Which was why Imaria needed the Frostborn to take the city and destroy the damned gate.
So far, they had failed.
She watched the battle and stepped back, considering. The dwarves and the manetaurs were coming, which was bad enough. Even worse, Ridmark had finally figured out how to control the time dilation effect of the Dragon Knight’s sword, which meant he could start traveling instantly around Andomhaim. Sooner or later even his plodding mind would realize that he could use the sword to open gates for the armies of his allies. If he did that, he could hit the Frostborn from behind with overwhelming force.
And Imaria would lose her chance at the Well.
The Frostborn might figure that out before much longer. For all their arrogant bluster, they were not stupid, and she had barely convinced them that the Well was key to their conquest. If the attack continued to go poorly, they would realize that they had overextended themselves, and they would retreat to the Northerland to resume their program of slow, methodical conquest. If that happened, the alliance that Calliande had assembled might prove powerful enough to drive the Frostborn back and destroy their world gate. Imaria would not be able to open another gate to the worlds ruled by the Frostborn for another two and a half centuries. She might not survive that long – now that the men of Andomhaim knew her true purpose, the Swordbearers and the Keeper would devote themselves to hunting her down.
No. Imaria needed to be inside Tarlion, and she needed it now. The longer the Frostborn delayed taking the city, the more dangerous their position. Worse, she was not sure where Ardrhythain had gone. The archmage of the high elves had spent the last two years trying to hunt her down, continuing the pursuit he had inflicted upon Tymandain Shadowbearer. She had thought Ardrhythain had returned to Cathair Solas, but the city of the high elves had vanished behind powerful spells that not even the shadow of Incariel could penetrate. He could turn up at any moment, and if he did, she would have no choice but to flee. Imaria could not possibly survive a fight with Ardrhythain, and even Tymandain had avoided it.
The Frostborn had to take the city, and they had to do it now.
Imaria smiled to herself, and the shadow of Incariel laughed inside her mind.
The Frostborn simply had to be…persuaded.
She took a step forward and called on the shadow, traveling away.
An instant later Imaria reappeared a thousand feet above the ground in Caerdracon. She ought to have plummeted to her death, but wings of shadow rose from the back of her black armor, bearing her aloft. She took a brief look at the vast host of the manetaurs and the tygrai far below her, noted that they had come to a stop.
They were waiting for Ridmark to open a gate for them.
Imaria drew on the shadow again and vanished before any of the keen-eyed manetaurs spotted her.
This time the shadow took her to northern Khaluusk, and she saw the army of the dwarves encamped on the plains near the River Moradel, glittering like a sea of bronze beneath her. They, too, had come to a halt.
They were waiting for the Dragon Knight to open a gate for them. And when he did, the manetaurs and the dwarves would charge into the fray, and the Frostborn would be trapped between the new arrivals and the walls of Tarlion. The colossal battle that followed could go either way.
She would have to convince the Frostborn to act now.
Once more Imaria drew on the shadow of Incariel, and Khaluusk and the dwarves vanished.
She reappeared in the camp of the Frostborn themselves, the walls of Tarlion rising to the south. The earth beneath her armored boots was hard-packed and barren, all plants long ago trampled by the battling armies outside the city. The last attack wave fell back towards the fortified camps of earth and ice the khaldjari had raised, and Imaria saw the wreckage of siege towers against Tarlion’s walls. She also saw a horde of revenants charging towards the camp, mostly medvarth, but a few khaldjari in the mix.
Her lip twisted with contempt. The assault had not gone well.
Imaria followed the whispers of the shadow until she found Kajaldrakthor. The Lord Commander stood with the subcommanders of the Order of the Vanguard. They discussed the city, and they regarded their recent setbacks with equanimity. That was one of the strengths of the Frostborn. They always regarded setbacks with equanimity. Failures were discussed, analyzed, dissected, and a new and better strategy formulated. The Frostborn preferred the path of slow, steady conquest, grinding away their enemies over decades of war.
Right now, Imaria did not have decades. She had days at best. A hundred thousand years of war, and it would come down to the next few days.
“We require greater artillery support since we are denied the use of the frost drakes,” said one of the subcommanders. “I suggest we employ the khaldjari to raise shields of ice to guard our trebuchets.”
“That will be insufficient,” said Kajaldrakthor. “The angle of the trebuchet shots is still too high. The height of the wall’s towers gives the enemy an advantage at range. We will need…”
He fell silent as Imaria stopped before him.
“Imaria Shadowbearer,” he said.
“The siege does not go well?” said Imaria.
“Challenges present themselves,” said Kajaldrakthor. “If you will excuse me, I have matters…”
“I can give you the city,” said Imaria.
She felt the weight of the eyes of a score of Frostborn turn towards her. If they had wanted to, they could have combined their power and obliterated her on the spot. She knew they would not because they thought her no threat. They underestimated her. People always did. Ridmark had underestimated her. His concubine Morigna had underestimated her. Tarrabus had underestimated her. Even the mighty Frostborn, it seemed, were not immune from the same error.
Imaria looked forward to their reaction when she gave them the freedom of Incariel.
“You did not mention this before,” said one of the subcommanders.
Imaria shrugged. “You did not ask. I thought perhaps that Arandar and his lies might have sown suspicion about my motives.”
“The opinions of the High King are of no consequence,” said Kajaldrakthor. “State your strategy.”
“I can call forth a great quantity of the shadow of Incariel and direct it against the city’s gate,” said Imaria. “That will require certain ritual preparations, but once it is done, I can unleash a vast amount of dark power against the gate
.”
“To what end?” said Kajaldrakthor. “The Order of the Inquisition has studied your power, and concluded it can only weaken the defenses on the wall, not break them.”
“It can only weaken them,” said Imaria. “It cannot break them. But your powers can, Lord Kajaldrakthor. While I weaken the defenses on the gate, unleash a bombardment of magical ice, and then have your khaldjari weapons launch a volley of your alchemical weaponry. What happens to a stone if it is frozen and heated in rapid succession?”
“It shatters,” said Kajaldrakthor, his white-burning eyes narrowing in thought.
“Perhaps it could be done, Lord Commander,” said one of the subcommanders. “If we gathered the trebuchets before the gate and unleashed them all at once, in two volleys, we might be able to do as the Shadowbearer suggests.”
“We would need to distract the enemy first,” said a Frostborn in the armor of a Seeker of the Order of the Inquisition. “A full assault with both the locusari and the remaining siege towers.”
“To what purpose, though?” said Kajaldrakthor.
“It will break the gate, of course,” said Imaria, “but as the Order of the Inquisition has no doubt told you, the magical defenses are centered upon the keystone within the gate itself. Destroy the gate, and you shall unravel a significant portion of the city’s magical defenses. Your spells will be able to reach beyond the walls, and the breath of your drakes can assail the men within. They are so tightly packed into the city that you will be able to cause significant casualties, and perhaps a panic. They will have no choice but to issue forth to fight you, lest they perish under your bombardment, and you can smash them at will. The Well of Tarlion will be yours, and with its power, you will have a decisive advantage in this war.”
Every word was true. Imaria simply didn’t mention the truth that she would free them from their prisons of time and matter and causality.
“We are overextended, Lord Commander,” said one of the subcommanders. “I fear this rapid advance to Tarlion has been rash. I suggest we attempt the Shadowbearer’s plan and see if it can produce results. If it succeeds, well and good, and Tarlion is ours. If it fails, we can still withdraw before any of the High King’s additional allies arrive, and fortify our position in the Northerland. Reinforcements can be summoned through the world gate, and we can continue a more methodical offensive.”
“This counsel is sound to me,” said Lord Commander Kajaldrakthor. “Very well, Imaria Shadowbearer. We shall attempt your plan. Gather whatever materials you require for your ritual, and we shall make the necessary preparations for the assault.”
Imaria bowed, keeping the smile from her face. “All things shall be as you say, Lord Commander.”
The shadow of Incariel hissed with victory inside of her head.
Just a little while now, just a little longer, and the Well would be hers.
And all the world would rejoice and scream in the glorious freedom of Incariel.
Chapter 18: Dragon Fire
Ridmark looked at his wife and friends. “Ready?”
Calliande nodded, her blond hair stirring in the morning breeze. Third stood next to her, calm as ever, and Caius looked a great deal less haggard. King Axazamar had fed them last night and provided them with tents, and Ridmark had to admit that he felt a great deal better after some rest and good food. The delay had chafed at him, but there had been no escaping the fact that he needed rest. The power of Caledhmaer might be infinite, but his own stamina was not, and he had been pushing hard against its limits. The fighting over the last day had drained him, and that had been proceeded by weeks of hard travel and harder fighting.
It would do no good to rush to the defense of Tarlion only to fall over from exhaustion.
“Yes,” said Caius. “I confess the thought of traveling back to Tarlion by magical gateway is far more appealing than the idea of walking there.”
“We could simply walk down the Moradel,” said Third. “It is still frozen.”
“Knowing the Frostborn, they would likely dismiss the magic and let us drop into the river,” said Calliande.
Ridmark nodded and looked at the camp of the dwarves. They would march to the bank of the Moradel and wait for his return, and the dwarves broke camp in an orderly fashion, the soldiers loading equipment into the murrag-drawn wagons while taalkrazdors and scouts patrolled around the perimeter.
“All right,” said Ridmark. “To Tarlion.”
He called Caledhmaer to his hand, and the sword of the Dragon Knight appeared out of sparks and flames. Ridmark reached through his bond to the weapon, focusing on where he wanted the sword’s power to take him. A sheet of gray mist rolled up from the ground, glowing with an inner light, and the gate opened. This time Ridmark had a better idea of what he wanted the sword to do, and he knew that the rate of time would remain the same. It would only take them a second to pass through the gate…and only a second would pass for the rest of the world as well.
Ridmark stepped through the gate, and the others followed him.
###
The gate closed behind them, and Calliande looked around. She drew on the Sight, sweeping it around them. At once she saw the cold magic binding the waters of the River Moradel, and the mighty wards in the walls of Tarlion on the far side of the river, but she saw no sign of the shadow of Incariel or the magic of the Frostborn nearby…
“Oh,” she said, recognition flooding through her.
“What’s wrong?” said Ridmark at once.
“Nothing,” said Calliande. “It’s just…I’ve been here before.”
She took a moment to orient herself, even though she knew exactly where she was. They were on the western bank of the Moradel, barely half a mile from where it flowed into the southern sea, and here the river was so wide that the magic of the Frostborn had turned it into a broad sheet of glittering ice. Across the river rose the walls and towers and spires of Tarlion, and outside the walls, Calliande saw the host of the Frostborn, countless medvarth and locusari and khaldjari, frost drakes circling overhead. To judge from the wreckage outside the northern wall, it looked as if the Frostborn had launched a massive assault on the city and been repulsed. That was not surprising. Tarlion was the strongest fortification in Andomhaim, and even the mighty Frostborn would find it a hard nut to crack.
Right now, even the urgency of the coming battle did not hold the entirety of Calliande’s attention.
The old stone quays jutting into the frozen river did.
They were small and weathered, large enough only to support a fishing boat, but Calliande knew them well. She had grown up on these quays, playing on them, working with her mother to repair nets, and helping her father to clean his catch when he returned in the morning. Calliande turned her head to the west, and saw weed-covered foundations lying in the grass, the stones old and weathered and forgotten.
“What is it?” said Third. “I see no foes.”
“No, no foes,” said Calliande, her voice soft in her ears. “It’s just…”
“You were born here,” said Ridmark. She looked at him in surprise. Yes, he would know. She had told him that she had been born in a small fishing village along the Moradel. The day they had first kissed, she had managed to remember the stoneberries and her father’s face.
“Yes,” said Calliande. “A very long time ago.”
She gazed at the ruins. She hadn’t been sure of the village would still be here. It had been over two hundred years ago since she had left, since the plague had claimed her parents and Marius had taken her to the Order of the Magistri to begin her training in the magic of the Well. Calliande had wanted to come and look during her last visit to Tarlion, but she had been afraid to do so, fearing that it would be like this. Of course, a thousand other tasks had demanded her attention, and with Arandar locked in a life-or-death struggle with Tarrabus, there hadn’t been any time. Then the gate in the Tower of the Keeper had taken them to Cathair Solas, and…
Ridmark’s free hand closed about
hers, warm and strong.
“Are you all right?” he said.
Calliande looked at him. The sword of the Dragon Knight was in his hand, and he was watching for any foes. In truth, that was what she should have been doing. Yet he had still taken a moment to comfort her, and a deep wave of affection rolled through her.
“Yes,” she said. “It is still…something of a shock to return to one’s birthplace after so long. I had no reason to think it would still be here. But it is still sad to see it in ruins. My parents died of plague here, and then the Magistri took me. I…suppose my path started here a long time ago, so it is strange to return.” She smiled at Ridmark. “With my husband.”
“The stoneberries,” said Ridmark. “I remember.”
He squeezed her hand once more and then stepped back, looking at the sky. Calliande took a deep breath and pulled herself together.
For a moment, she looked at the end of the stone quay and remembered sitting there with her father all those years ago, eating stoneberries and gazing at the proud towers of Tarlion. Calliande had known nothing of the strange paths her life would take. What would the girl she had been think of the woman that she had become?
Calliande smiled to herself. The girl would have found talk of magic and world gates and the Keeper incomprehensible…but she would have thought her future husband handsome indeed.
“We should not stay here long,” said Third. “There is no cover, and patrols of locusari scouts are flying over Tarlion. You can see one there.” She pointed at a distant speck, the blue of the locusari scouts visible against the sky. “If they see us, they will come to investigate, and we shall have a fight.”
“Agreed,” said Ridmark, staring at the distant army. “Let’s be quick about this, then. Calliande. Can you find Mara?”
Calliande took a deep breath and focused the Sight again, sending it in search of Mara. A series of jumbled images burned before her Sight – the Anathgrimm shouting their war cries, blue fire, a halfling prince, a battle on the ice – and then the vision ended.
Frostborn: The Shadow Prison (Frostborn #15) Page 25