“But they’re not,” said Ridmark with grim satisfaction, “because they’re not sure where the Dragon Knight will attack next. They’re not even sure that the Dragon Knight isn’t somewhere in their camp. It will take them a few hours to calm down, and then they will take another day to get their army back under control.”
“A cumbersome way of doing things,” said Calliande.
“It is the way of the Frostborn, I suspect,” said Caius. “When they talk about bringing order to the cosmos, they truly believe it. They love order and hate chaos. Whenever we hit them in the Northerland, they would always take their time to regroup.”
“Aye, I remember,” said Calliande. “They were like that in the first war, too.”
“It is a weakness,” said Third. “War is chaos, and victory goes to the captain who uses the chaos to his advantage, not the captain who tries to impose order on the battlefield.”
“Hopefully we’ve given Arandar and the defenders a little time,” said Ridmark. “It is time we must put to good use ourselves.”
“The dwarves and the manetaurs?” said Calliande.
“Yes,” said Ridmark. “It’s time to bring them here. While the Frostborn are busy reorganizing themselves, we’ll open the gates. Then we can give about the Frostborn all the chaos they can stomach.”
There were so many things that could go wrong, he knew. Caledhmaer would have to hold the gates open for hours, and in that time he could access only a few of the sword’s other powers. Imaria might try to attack. The Frostborn might also recognize their danger and send a force to strike before the dwarves and the manetaurs could form up for the battle.
So many things could go amiss, both from the power of the enemy and from simple ill luck.
But Third was right. War was chaos, and there was no escaping it. Yet if they brought their allies to the aid of Tarlion, perhaps they could turn some of that chaos against the Frostborn.
Ridmark opened another gate with the sword, and the others followed him.
Chapter 19: Breaking
At dawn, Arandar dressed and armored himself in haste, collected his guards, and left the Citadel and walked for the northern wall. He could have ridden, but he thought it would do morale good for the people to see the High King striding through his city on foot.
That, and the streets were so crowded that a horse would have had to force its way through the press.
Every house was filled with people, tents and bedrolls lining the sides of the streets. With so many people crammed inside the walls, Arandar was grateful his ancestors had possessed the foresight to construct a sewer system that carried the city’s waste into the southern sea. Even with that, he still feared plague if the siege went on for too long. For that matter, with so many people crowded into the same space, tempers were wearing under the strain. Sir Corbanic had already ordered a dozen men whipped for brawling, and five more executed for theft and murder.
But it could have been worse. They had lasted far longer than they had at Dun Calpurnia.
The office of the High King carried many heavy responsibilities, but it did have one advantage. People got out of his way when he was in a hurry. Some of them even cheered as he passed, and Arandar inclined his head in answer. He felt unworthy of their cheers. If he had been worthy of their acclaim, he would have kept the Frostborn bottled up in the Northerland, or driven them back to their world gate by now. He would not be leading the final defense of his city with the fate of the world at stake.
At last, he reached the Forum of the North and climbed to the ramparts. Sir Corbanic was already there, staring over the walls. Arandar wondered if the old man had slept at all. He would have ordered Corbanic to get some rest, save for the certainty that his command would be ignored.
“Your Majesty,” said Corbanic.
“Lord Constable,” said Arandar. “What news?”
He looked over the wall. The Frostborn host remained in its siege camps, and while the army had not moved during the night, they had been busy. Most of the siege towers had been moved to the center of the camp, and there was some activity behind them. The screen of revenants was gone, all burned during the Dragon Knight’s mysterious attack yesterday. For hours after the attack, the Frostborn army had reminded Arandar of an anthill kicked over by a child. He suspected that the Frostborn had busied themselves by hunting the Dragon Knight, though neither Antenora nor Mara had seen any trace of him with the Sight.
Ridmark had appeared, attacked, thrown the Frostborn into chaos, and departed just as quickly. At first, Arandar was not sure why, but as the day had worn on, the results had been obvious. The Frostborn had been preparing to launch another wave of assaults, and Ridmark’s intervention had disrupted their plans.
Did that mean the dwarves and the manetaurs were drawing near?
Arandar had no way of knowing what was happening out of sight of Tarlion’s walls. The Dragon Knight seemed to have the power to flit about from place to place in the blink of an eye. But why launch an attack, even a quick raid, if not to prepare for the arrival of their allies?
“Very little, I fear,” said Corbanic, yawning. “The locusari scouts tried a few raids on the walls, but the crossbowmen shot them down. The Frostborn were busy all night, and we heard the hammering and the pounding from the khaldjari rebuilding their trebuchets and moving their siege towers. When the sun came up, we saw they had all clustered there.”
“Looks like they’re getting ready to attack the gate itself,” said Constantine, who had joined them as the various nobles made their way to the ramparts.
“No, not quite,” said Dux Kors. He spat over the wall and squinted at the towers. “They’re not lined up right for that. It looks like they’re going to attack either side of the gate towers themselves. Five siege towers to the west of the gate, and five siege towers to the east of the gate.”
“Why do that?” said Constantine. “Why concentrate the towers? It would make sense to space them out. They’re so close together that a lucky shot from one of our trebuchets might smash two of the towers at once.”
A dark shape caught Arandar’s eye. Antenora and Gavin were in his bodyguard, and Antenora stepped to the battlements. The men-at-arms keeping watch on the Frostborn army had seen her in action enough that they quickly stepped out of her way.
“Speaking of trebuchets,” said Prince Cadwall, “the Frostborn have lined up their trebuchets behind their towers.”
They had. In the gaps between the towers, Arandar saw a row of trebuchets. The khaldjari had indeed been busy, but why concentrate their trebuchets like that? Did they think to hammer through a section of the walls with a sustained bombardment? That might work, but keeping the trebuchets close together would make it easier for Arandar’s engines to hit them.
“I think they’re going to launch another assault within the hour,” said Corbanic. “See there, to the west?” More columns of locusari warriors moved before the camps, bearing glittering poles of ice. “Likely they will attack the rest of the walls while the siege towers assail the sides of the gate.”
“If they launch another assault,” said Cadwall, “they will suffer great losses.”
“Almost certainly,” said Corbanic.
“But why would they do that?” said Gavin. The young Swordbearer sounded bewildered. “They know they’re marching to their deaths. They know the Frostborn are throwing their lives away as a distraction, or just to wear down our defenses.”
“The Frostborn will give them no choice,” said Arandar. “If any of them quail, likely they will be executed and transformed into revenants. And perhaps they have been in bondage to the Frostborn for so long that the thought of rebellion does not even occur to them. Rather like the arachar orcs we fought as Urd Cystaanl, I suppose.”
Gavin nodded. “Or Aranaeus.” He took a long breath, a distant look on his face.
“The Frostborn may have more weapons than that, High King,” said Antenora in her worn voice.
“What do you
see?” said Arandar. She was still staring at the assemblage of siege towers and trebuchets.
“I am uncertain,” said Antenora. “It looks as if the Frostborn are preparing a spell.”
“To freeze the river again?” said Arandar. “They never bothered to freeze it again after Ridmark shattered the ice.” Though he did not see how that would help the enemy. Did they want to launch an assault on the western and northern walls at once? That would be risky, since Tarlion’s catapults could punch through the ice and send the siege towers crashing to a watery doom. Or did they want to preserve the river as a highway for retreat?
“It is an elemental spell of ice,” said Antenora, some puzzlement in her tone. “But there is something…I am not sure. I think it is the shadow of Incariel. Imaria Shadowbearer might be out there.”
“And getting ready to cast a spell at us?” said Arandar. He did not like that thought.
“I am not sure what she is doing,” said Antenora. “But it reminds me of the dark spell we saw within the siege walls of Tarrabus Carhaine.”
Arandar liked that even less. The creature that Imaria had conjured had nearly killed both Arandar and Calliande, and it had almost won the battle for Tarrabus several times. If Imaria was conjuring such a creature again, it might prove a danger. But even if Imaria conjured up some eldritch horror, it would not be able to breach the magical defenses in the walls. Why waste the effort to summon a creature that would not be able to break through the walls?
“Do you think she is summoning something?” said Arandar.
“Perhaps,” said Antenora. “High King, a request. Could you summon Queen Mara? She also has the Sight, and perhaps she can see something that I cannot. I believe the proverb says that four eyes are better than two.”
“It does,” said Arandar. He pointed at a young man-at-arms. “Go to the Great Cathedral as fast as you can. Queen Mara will likely be there with Prince Jager. Give her my compliments, and ask her to join us at the northern gate as soon as possible.”
“Your Majesty,” said the man-at-arms with a bow. He straightened up and ran from the ramparts, disappearing into the Forum of the North.
Arandar looked back over the wall, a wave of disquiet going through him.
What were the Frostborn doing? More importantly, what was Imaria Licinius Shadowbearer doing? Between her madness and her lack of power compared to Tymandain Shadowbearer, it was easy to overlook her. Perhaps that was by design. Arandar was fighting the Frostborn, but Imaria had opened the gate for them, and Imaria had convinced them to attack Tarlion.
Whatever she planned now might well be more dangerous than the entire host of the Frostborn.
###
One final jump and Mara reappeared on the rampart over the city’s northern gate.
She caught her balance and looked around. High King Arandar was there, Excalibur glowing with white light to her Sight, as did the soulblades of the Swordbearers in his bodyguard. Many of the chief nobles were there, as were Antenora and Gavin and Kharlacht and Camorak. Mara opened her mouth to greet them, her eyes turning toward the north…
She froze.
Right away she saw why Arandar had summoned her.
A vortex of dark power swirled and snarled in the heart of the Frostborn host.
A vortex that was getting stronger with every passing moment.
“Queen Mara,” said Antenora. “Can you see it?”
“I can hardly miss it,” murmured Mara.
She wasn’t sure what the thing was. It looked a great deal like the dark power that the Enlightened of Incariel called to augment their prowess in combat, at least before Arandar and Ridmark and Calliande had wiped them out after the defeat of Tarrabus Carhaine. The dark vortex was like that, but far stronger and more powerful.
“I fear that Imaria Shadowbearer works against us,” said Antenora.
“That is likely it,” said Mara.
“Is she summoning another creature like Soulbreaker?” said Arandar.
“I don’t know,” said Mara.
“I hope not,” said Gavin. His face went tight with remembered pain. “It almost killed us all twice.”
“I do not think it likely,” said Antenora. “It does not look like a summoning spell.”
“I think,” said Mara, trying to concentrate, “I think it looks like she’s trying to direct the shadow of Incariel against the walls. Father Zhorlacht might know more. He has more experience with dark magic.”
“That is my opinion as well, Queen Mara,” said Master Vesilius. The new Master of the Magistri seemed harsher than old Kurastus but was no less knowledgeable. “It appears she is attempting to gather a great amount of the shadow of Incariel. The spell is simple but immense.”
“Why, though?” said Mara, puzzled. “The wards on the walls should be enough to dispel any attacks.” She saw those wards with her Sight, and they seemed almost like mountains fashioned from translucent light, as strong as anything that she had ever seen. They would even stop her from traveling outside of the city. Moving from place to place within the city or even on the walls was simple enough, but if she tried to travel beyond the boundary of the walls, the spells would deflect her effort to a random location within the city.
Mara didn’t know if that would hurt, and she didn’t want to find out.
“Yes,” said Arandar. “The wards should be enough to deflect any attacks. At least the ones that we know about.”
Mara gave him a surprised look.
“Do you think Imaria means to dispel the wards?” said Mara.
“She might try,” said Arandar.
“She could try,” said Vesilius with clear scorn. “Before she betrayed the realm and became the creature that she is now, Imaria Licinius was a woman of twenty-five years. No matter how much power the shadow of Incariel might have given her, surely her skill could not have grown that much.”
“Perhaps it has,” said Arandar. “I will not underestimate her, Master Vesilius. A woman of twenty-five she might have been, but that woman opened the world gate for the Frostborn."
“I could look,” said Mara. If she climbed down a portion of the eastern wall, out of sight of the Frostborn, she could travel to their camp and get a better look at whatever Imaria was doing.
“No,” said Arandar. “To be blunt, you are too valuable to risk.” He looked at the Forum of the North. “Also, I imagine your guards would object.”
Mara and saw Qhazulak and some of the Queen’s Guard marching through the square. She felt a flicker of guilt for making them catch up to her, but at least by now, they were used to her flitting about.
Still, as Qhazulak himself had told her, war required the need for constant haste.
“Very well,” said Mara. “I would not want to argue with my Lord Captain, my husband, and the High King of Andomhaim all at the same time.”
A ghost of a smile went over Arandar’s face. It almost made him look younger and less tired. “The woman who slew the Traveler declining an argument?”
“I don’t like to fight, High King,” said Mara. She smiled. “I prefer to win.”
Arandar nodded. “It seems we have no choice but to respond to whatever Imaria does and hope we can block it. I think…”
“They are moving,” said Antenora.
Mara expected to see the vortex of dark power growing, but it remained the same size.
No. That wasn’t it.
The locusari were moving, the warriors bearing the frozen poles advancing towards the walls.
“They’re coming again,” said Arandar. “Sir Corbanic, call the men to arms.”
The blast of trumpets rang from the walls of Tarlion, and men-at-arms and militiamen rushed to their positions.
###
Imaria waited, the shadow of Incariel seething inside her, waiting for release. She had called as much of the power as she could, but she needed more, far more. The power of Incariel might be infinite, or as close enough to infinite that it did not matter, but her capacity to ch
annel that power was finite. Once Black Mountain shattered, and Incariel was free, she would no longer have such limitations upon her power. Nor would there be any kind of limitations on anything ever again.
But for now, those limitations existed.
Fortunately, there were ways around them.
Imaria stood behind the khaldjari trebuchets, shadows coiling and twisting around her fingers and falling from her arms like wisps of smoke. The khaldjari and the medvarth and the locusari warriors made sure to stay well away from her. In a ring around Imaria stood nine coffin-sized slabs of glittering ice, each one crafted by the magic of the khaldjari. Over each slab waited a single blue-skinned cogitaer, gray robes rippling around their delicate frames as they floated a few inches above the ground.
Upon each slab lay a human captive, bound and gagged with shackles of ice, their eyes wide with fear. Most of the humans near Tarlion had fled for the safety of the city’s walls as the host of the Frostborn approached, but some had been too slow to flee and others had been too stupid. They had been taken captive by the Frostborn, impressed to serve as slave labor and eventually food for the medvarths.
Imaria would put them to better use.
The cogitaers kept a serene expression on their delicate faces, but Imaria felt their scorn. They considered her to be a primitive local with a fledgling knowledge of magic, lacking the skill and finesse of cogitaer spells. Their masters tolerated her and found her useful, but the cogitaers looked forward to the day when they could rid themselves of the Shadowbearer.
Imaria kept the smirk from her face, the shadow laughing inside her skull.
The cogitaers and their masters were in for an unpleasant surprise.
Drums boomed across the Frostborn host, and the roars of medvarth throats filled the air. The armies of the Frostborn began to advance. Twenty columns of locusari warriors raced towards the walls, each column bearing one of those clever ice poles that the khaldjari had fashioned. Another roar rose from the medvarth warriors, and they began pushing their siege towers forward, the massive constructions creaking and groaning as they rolled across the scarred ground. Five siege towers headed for the eastern half of the northern wall, and five moved towards the western half.
Frostborn: The Shadow Prison (Frostborn #15) Page 27