“No,” said Calliande. “Something is blocking the Sight. That means she and the Anathgrimm are inside Tarlion with Arandar and the rest of the army.”
“Good,” said Ridmark. “The Anathgrimm would excel at this kind of fighting.”
“It is what they were made to do,” said Third, scanning the sky.
“Regrettably,” said Ridmark. “You won’t be able to send a message to any of the Magistri in the city?”
Calliande shook her head. “No. The defenses will block it. If one of the Magistri were inside the Tower of the Keeper, I could probably reach them, but…”
“But if they tried to enter the Tower of the Keeper, they’ll be sleeping it off in the street,” said Ridmark.
“The ancient Keepers were thorough when they built their defenses,” said Calliande.
“I suppose you can’t travel into the city as well?” said Ridmark to Third.
Third shook her head. “Not while the defenses are raised. I presume this means you cannot use the sword to open a gate within the city’s walls?”
“I cannot,” said Ridmark. “That’s where I was trying to take us when we left the dwarves. I suppose the gate just…bounced off the defenses and deposited us here.”
“Just as well it did not put us in the middle of the Frostborn host,” said Caius.
“It is a strange experience to visit my old home,” said Calliande, “but I still prefer it to landing in the middle of the Frostborn.”
Ridmark frowned. “I had hoped to take a message to Arandar, to let him know that help was coming.” He pointed across the river. “Look, there and there. See how those siege towers are bunched up?” The massive towers looked like wooden keeps armored in steel plates. Calliande found herself admiring the engineering skill of the khaldjari who had built the things and hauled them here all the way from the Northerland. “It looks like the Frostborn are getting ready to commit to a major assault on the northern gate. If the High King and the others know that help is coming, they’ll fight all the harder. And if the dwarves and the manetaurs can catch the Frostborn host from behind while they’re attacking the gate…we could break them then and there.”
“It is also possible,” said Calliande, “that the Frostborn might take the city before help can arrive.”
“Yes,” said Ridmark. His face hardened. She knew that expression. He was about to do something surprising. “So, we need to find a way to slow down the Frostborn, just for a little while.”
He started walking towards the stone quay.
“What are you doing?” said Calliande.
“I am sending a message,” said Ridmark, the sword burning hotter in his right fist, “to the High King. And to the Frostborn, come to think of it.”
He went to one knee, raised the sword over his head, and drove the blade into the thick ice covering the river. There was a thunderclap and a gust of hot wind, and Calliande stumbled back a step. The sword blazed like the sun in his grasp, and a web of fiery cracks spread out from the point of the sword’s impact into the ice. The burning cracks spread across the river to the eastern bank, south to where the river entered the sea, and north until Calliande lost sight of the fire.
The blazing cracks pulsed, and the ice shattered.
It simply exploded. Miles upon miles of ice splintered apart with a ringing thunderclap, some of them tumbling dozens of yards into the air and falling to splash into the suddenly revealed waters of the river. Thousands of individual chunks of ice flowed south with a grinding noise as they were pulled with the current.
Ridmark stepped back, the sword shining with power in his right hand.
“I thought,” said Third, “that you wished for us to remain unobserved.”
Because they weren’t. Even across the river, Calliande saw the consternation that the sudden destruction of the ice had caused. Signal drums boomed from the host of the Frostborn, and the ring of trumpets came from the walls of Tarlion. No doubt the Frostborn thought they were about to come under attack, and likely Arandar and the lords commanding the wall thought the same.
“They’ll all come here looking for us,” said Ridmark, leaving the quay and coming back to the shore. Already Calliande saw frost drakes rising from the camps, saw formations of locusari scouts heading towards the ruined village. “And by the time they do, we’ll be elsewhere.”
“To my kindred or the manetaurs?” said Caius.
“Neither,” said Ridmark. “We’re going to attack the Frostborn.”
“By ourselves?” Calliande raised her eyebrows. “That might be much even for the Dragon Knight.”
Ridmark gestured with the sword, and the gray mist and pale light of a gate appeared at the edge of the churning river.
“It would be,” said Ridmark, “but I want to hit them hard and fast and retreat.”
“Leaving them in disarray before we summon the dwarves and the manetaurs?” said Caius, his hammer in hand.
“Yes,” said Ridmark. “Let’s go.”
He stepped into the gate, and Calliande took a deep breath and followed him. Ridmark might no longer be dominated by his death wish, but he still had a knack for dramatic gestures.
Hopefully this time the Frostborn would be the ones caught by surprise.
###
Caius, Calliande, and Third passed through the gate, and Ridmark sent a mental command to Caledhmaer. The gate snapped close, vanishing as if it had never existed.
He looked around. This time Ridmark was exactly where he had wanted to be, northeast of Tarlion, east of the host of the Frostborn proper. He saw the vast horde the Frostborn had brought against the walls of Tarlion, tens of thousands of medvarth and locusari and khaldjari, to say nothing of the Frostborn themselves. God and the saints, there had to be a quarter of a million of them. Little wonder that the host of Andomhaim had not been able to hold at Dun Calpurnia, not when the Frostborn had thrown such a horde against them.
Yet there was hope in that. This had to be the bulk of the soldiers the Frostborn had at their command, with only light garrisons left to man their strongholds in the Northerland. If they could break the Frostborn here, they could chase the survivors all the way back to the Northerland and drive them through their world gate. The Frostborn were gambling with everything, and they had to know it. Whoever won outside the walls of Tarlion would win everything.
Though if the Frostborn won, they would only enjoy the spoils of their victory until Imaria seized the Well and shattered the Black Mountain.
Right now, Ridmark needed to focus on living long enough to see the end of the war.
“Revenants,” said Calliande, her voice tight.
The gate had taken them to the edge of the Frostborn host, where thousands of revenants waited, most of them medvarth, but with humans and Anathgrimm and orcs and khaldjari in the mix. Blue fire burned in their dead eyes, and blue flames danced on their shoulders and around their heads. As one, hundreds of revenants turned to face him, the dead weight of their gaze falling upon him like a sword stroke.
He lifted Caledhmaer and walked towards the undead, the sword’s wrath blazing through his mind like a thunderbolt. Heartwarden had burned with fury in the presence of dark magic, but Caledhmaer’s fury was beyond anything human. In the end, the soulblades were weapons of defense, forged to defend Andomhaim from dark magic.
The sword of the Dragon Knight was made to bring utter destruction upon the servants of Incariel.
A hundred revenants rushed toward him, and Ridmark raised his sword and struck.
He cut down the first revenant, a hulking medvarth warrior in chain mail. Caledhamer’s edge ripped through the medvarth’s chest and cut the creature in half, and fire exploded from the sword, burning out the cold magic of the Frostborn. The sword’s fire did not stop, but leaped from the dead medvarth and struck a dozen of the nearest revenants, burning through them and sending their corpses falling to the ground.
The fire leaped from each destroyed revenant, spreading into a dozen more r
evenants, and a dozen more. An instant later a howling firestorm screamed through the ranks of the undead, the hot wind created by the flames stinging Ridmark’s eyes and tugging at his cloak. It was like watching a floor covered in sawdust go up in flames, or perhaps a dry, long-dead tree put to the torch. The fire of Caledhmaer ripped through the revenants like kindling, leaving only ashes and charred bones in its wake.
Ridmark turned and ran back to the others. Third was watching the fire with a contemplative expression, while Caius seemed to be quietly praying. Calliande looked at him with a hint of fear.
“I didn’t know you could still do that,” she said. “The last time…”
“I was in a worse mood, yes,” said Ridmark, reaching through his bond to the sword. It would take a little time for Caledhmaer to rebuild its fiery wrath, but the sword’s other powers were ready. He called on one of those powers, and another gate sprang into existence before him. “Follow me. I’ll go first, but be ready to fight.”
“Where are we going?” said Calliande, white fire burning along the length of her staff as she called her magic.
“I’d wager the fire put a scare into the Frostborn,” said Ridmark. Caius snorted at that. “Let’s give them a second.”
He jumped through the gate, Caledhmaer in both hands.
A moment of whirling disorientation and he reappeared behind the lines of the Frostborn and their fortified siege camps, where the khaldjari labored to repair the trebuchets that had been damaged in the fighting. Hundreds of gray-skinned khaldjari milled around the trebuchets, their overseers barking orders in their strange tongue. The khaldjari looked a great deal like their dwarven cousins, though like their Frostborn masters, their eyes glowed with a harsh white light.
Hundreds of khaldjari froze in shock as the gate closed behind Ridmark. Calliande began a spell, and both Third and Caius raised their weapons.
One of the nearby khaldjari said a short, harsh word. Ridmark did not know its meaning, but he was confident it was not a word used in polite company.
Ridmark leaped into motion, Caledhmaer trailing fire from his right fist.
He killed four of the khaldjari before they could react, the sword of the Dragon Knight slicing through them as if they had been made of smoke. Some of the khaldjari yanked sword and axes from their belts. Others held out their hands and called on their magic, swords of ice appearing in their grasp. The smarter ones ran, calling out the alarm.
Calliande cast her spell, and the ground heaved and rippled. A score of khaldjari were thrown from their feet, and Ridmark charged into their midst, striking left and right with Caledhmaer, every blow killing one of his enemies. Third disappeared and reappeared in swirls of blue fire, striking the stunned khaldjari from behind.
Some of the khaldjari warriors recovered and charged, swords of glittering ice in their fists. Ridmark swept his sword before him, and the sword of the Dragon Knight shattered the blades of ice, the shards turning to steam before they struck the ground. The khaldjari flinched as the steam scalded their fingers, and Ridmark killed them before they could produce weapons of metal.
A shout rang out and a troop of medvarth warriors charged into the fray, swords drawn back, shields raised.
Ridmark called on Caledhmaer’s power again, and time stopped around him, the world growing hazy.
He raced into action, knowing that he needed to hurry. It was strange that he needed to hurry while time had stopped for him, but he knew that the longer he used Caledhmaer to freeze the flow of time for him, the longer the sword needed to recover the power.
And Ridmark had a great deal he needed to do.
He sprinted towards the medvarth, cutting down every khaldjari he could reach as he did. Once he reached the medvarth, he killed all thirty of the warriors as fast as he could manage, slashing the sword through their throats. Once that was done, he stepped back, one of the massive trebuchets rising over him, and an idea came to him.
He sprinted to the trebuchet and slashed, ripping Caledhmaer through the supports and innards of the machine. Flesh and bone had not slowed the sword’s edge, and neither did wood and steel. Ridmark finished his work and hurried to join Calliande and Third and Caius, all of them seeming frozen and blurry to his eyes.
He released Caledhmaer’s power, and the world exploded back into motion and focus around him.
As it happened, destroying a trebuchet was quite loud.
The medvarth warriors collapsed, fire blazing across their throats where he had struck them, but the collapsing trebuchet fell with a sound like a falling building, beams and gears striking the ground and bouncing away. The tree-like throwing arm crushed a trio of khaldjari beneath its bulk, and the surviving khaldjari flinched back, looking back and forth in alarm.
“Hear me!” roared Ridmark at the top of his lungs, holding Caledhmaer before him. The surviving khaldjari looked at him. “I am the Dragon Knight, and I come to bring ruin to the Frostborn! Run and tell your masters!”
The surviving khaldjari took his suggestion and fled.
“Very dramatic,” said Caius.
“That was the point,” said Ridmark, turning and calling on the sword’s power. “One more, and then we’ll withdraw.”
The gate opened, and the others followed Ridmark as he strode through it.
###
Calliande recognized the strategy that Ridmark was using.
It was the same strategy he had employed while leading the Anathgrimm against the Frostborn. A series of lightning raids, designed to throw the enemy off-balance, and then a quick retreat before they recovered. It had worked well enough to keep the Frostborn bottled up in the Northerland for nearly a year until they had brought more reinforcements through their world gate.
Would it work here? Calliande didn’t know. Nothing was ever sure in war.
But she did know that with the sword of the Dragon Knight in hand, Ridmark was practically an army on his own.
She stepped through the gate and found herself looking at medvarth warriors.
A lot of medvarth warriors.
They had reappeared in one of the fortified camps, with rows of large tents standing in orderly lines, a wall of earth and glittering ice encircling the entire camp. The musky smell of medvarth fur filled the air. The medvarth warriors were pouring out of their tents in response to the cries of alarm coming from the trebuchets, seizing shields and swords and donning armor.
They didn’t notice Ridmark and the others until the Dragon Knight walked up and started killing.
Calliande began a spell, but Ridmark was fast. With the staff of Ardrhythain or his dwarven war axe in hand, he had been deadly and quick. With that burning sword in his hand, it was like watching a hurricane of steel and flame, and he left four dead medvarth upon the ground before Calliande had even called her power.
Again she sent her will into the ground beneath their boots, and again she used her magic to make the earth ripple and fold like a banner caught in the wind. She threw the charging medvarth from their feet, and the spell also had the useful effect of collapsing the tents of the medvarth warriors, tangling them in the heavy cloth. Calliande cast another spell, devoting a part of her power to augmenting Third and Caius, making them faster and stronger.
The medvarth charged into the fray, and Ridmark and Caius and Third fought side by side. Ridmark carved a path of death through the medvarth, and their shields and swords failed to stop or even slow his burning blade. Caius and Third took care of the ones he missed, Third disappearing and reappearing in flashes of blue fire. Calliande cast another spell, one to ward Ridmark and Third and Caius from harm. While holding both the strengthening spell and the warding spell in place, she drew on more earth magic, sending the medvarth tumbling to the ground, or she followed Antenora’s example and called elemental fire.
Soon a ring of dead medvarth warriors surrounded them, some of the carcasses smoldering, but more came, more and more. Calliande summoned magic and shaped it into spells, wondering how much long
er they could hold, how much longer until the sword’s power recovered itself and…
Fire blurred before her vision and exploded through the medvarths, and over forty of them fell dead at once.
Apparently, the sword needed that long to recover its power.
“Hear me!” roared Ridmark as the surviving medvarths gaped at their slain fellows. “I am the Dragon Knight, and I come to wage war upon your masters! Tell them that they shall be slain!”
“No need, Dragon Knight!” bellowed one of the medvarths in broken Latin. Calliande wondered where it had learned the language. “The High Lords come to slay you!”
Calliande looked to the sky and saw four frost drakes winging towards the camp, Frostborn riders upon their backs. The Sight stirred within her, and she saw a familiar aura of power around the right arms of the Frostborn warriors. They had bracers similar to the ones that Arlmagnava and her warriors had worn during the ambush at Caerdracon, which meant they would be immune to the sword’s ability to stop time.
“We must go,” said Calliande.
“Agreed,” said Ridmark. Already the gate was opening behind them. He went through it first, and Caius, Third, and Calliande ran through the gate just as the frost drakes unleashed their freezing breath.
An instant before the white mist would have frozen Calliande’s blood in her veins, the gate snapped shut behind her.
###
Ridmark looked around, breathing hard.
He had taken them to a village a few miles further north along the Moradel road. It had already been destroyed by Tarrabus Carhaine’s foragers, and the ruined houses lay abandoned. He had feared the Frostborn might have fortified it as a watch post, but the village was still empty. To the south, he saw the distant towers of Tarlion, the frost drakes circling over the Frostborn host, but there were no foes nearby.
For the moment, they were safe.
“You riled them up,” said Calliande, gazing to the south. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say they are getting ready to attack the walls, but…”
Frostborn: The Shadow Prison (Frostborn #15) Page 26