“After all the effort we went through to steal the damned thing back from Paul Tallmane,” said Ridmark, “I suppose it is only proper we deal with it one last time.”
“Yes,” said Calliande. “We’ll have to fight Imaria. She won’t run. She can’t. This is everything she wants or everything the shadow of Incariel has twisted her into thinking she wants.”
Ridmark nodded. “You keep her spells from touching me, and I’ll deal with her.”
“I suppose you will get to avenge Morigna after all,” said Calliande.
“Aye,” said Ridmark. “But revenge is not as important as I thought it once was. Stopping this, and stopping that,” he glanced towards the ceiling, in the direction of Cathair Solas, “is far more important.”
“It is,” said Calliande, taking a deep breath. They had to hurry, she knew, but she needed to take just a moment to say this. “If we don’t make it, Ridmark…”
“We will,” said Ridmark, his voice like iron. “We’ll stop Imaria and shatter the soulstone and return.”
He sounded so confident. She loved him for it.
“I know,” said Calliande. “But if we don’t…I can die with one less regret. It may be selfish, but if we had never met, if we had never married…I think I would have regretted that most of all.”
“I would have regretted that, too,” said Ridmark. He smiled a little. “And believe me, I know a few things about regrets.”
Calliande nodded, and together they walked through Imaria’s portal, taking care not to touch the cord of spitting fire.
The world spun around her, and Calliande found herself in a place she knew every well.
Oh, yes, she knew it very well, but it had changed a great deal since her last visit.
The Frostborn had built a citadel around the place, and they must have raised that vast dome of ice over the top of the hill. But Calliande knew those standing stones, and she knew that altar in the center of the circle. She had been tied naked to that altar on the day that she had met Ridmark, on the day of the omen of blue fire that had heralded the return of the Frostborn. She had returned here and fought Tymandain Shadowbearer, and Ridmark had killed the ancient archmage.
Calliande had thought that the final battle of their war.
She had been wrong.
This was the last battle.
The cord of molten fire stretched up the rocky hillside and into the soulstone lying upon the altar. The soulstone had turned utterly black, the black of the shadow of Incariel, and behind it, the dark power had already infected the world gate. It should have looked like a rippling, distorted mirror. Instead, it looked like a revolving disk of shadow. Like Antenora’s fireballs, the disk was getting a little larger with every revolution, and soon it would be large enough to rip open the Black Mountain.
It was no longer a gate to the worlds of the Frostborn. It now opened into the heart of Incariel’s prison, and there was nothing beyond the gate but the cold hatefulness of the void.
Imaria Licinius Shadowbearer stood before the altar, her shadow billowing around her like wings, the urkrazdor armor shifting around her body. Her quicksilver eyes narrowed as they saw Calliande and Ridmark, and a grimace of fury went over her corpse-like face.
Tarrabus Carhaine stood next to her.
He looked terrible, his face gaunt, his blond hair ragged, an unkempt beard covering his jaw and chin. A hand of shadow rose from the stump of his right arm, black veins threading their way up the pale flesh. In his hand of shadow, he held a blade of darkness, a blade that looked like a shard of the twisted world gate spinning behind them. A look of pure hatred went over his face, and he lifted the dark sword.
When Calliande had seen Tarrabus at Dun Calpurnia before Uthanaric’s murder, he had been arrogant and calm and controlled, the image of a handsome, disdainful lord. After the defeat of the Enlightened, he had been beaten, full of sneering disdain for those who had conquered him. Now there was nothing but rage and hate on his face.
For a moment, they stared at each other.
“Well,” said Tarrabus at last. “It seems that I get to take my revenge in person after all.”
Chapter 27: One Hundred Thousand Years Of War
“Revenge?” said Ridmark, watching Tarrabus. How had he gotten here? No doubt Imaria had freed him and brought him along. “Revenge for what?”
Tarrabus let out an incredulous laugh. “Are even you that stupid, Gray Knight? I could have made men into gods. I could have ruled an invincible High Kingdom as its immortal emperor. You took that from humanity.” His bearded lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl. “You took my sword hand.”
“Gray Knight, Tarrabus?” murmured Imaria, the snarl of the shadow of Incariel echoing through her double voice. “No longer. Behold his sword, Tarrabus. Ridmark is now the Dragon Knight.”
“What?” said Tarrabus, and his face tightened with anger. “I should not be surprised. You dug up the Keeper from the musty pages of history, why not the sword of the Dragon Knight?”
“And he wed the woman standing next to him,” said Imaria, smiling a little at Tarrabus. There was no trace of either sanity or humanity in that smile. If the hateful void beyond the world gate could have taken a human form, it would have looked like Imaria Shadowbearer in that terrible moment.
“What?” said Tarrabus. “The Keeper wed Ridmark Arban? Isn’t he a century or three too young for you, Keeper?”
“I married a good man and true,” said Calliande, her voice cold with anger, “who did not abandon his oaths to his High King and his God to pursue a false and poisonous dream.”
“Aelia would be disgusted if she could see you now,” said Tarrabus. “Six years after her death, and you were sporting with that harlot sorceress from the Wilderland. Now you claim to be the Dragon Knight and have wed this ancient crone …”
“Aelia’s dead, Tarrabus,” said Ridmark. “I loved her, and I tried to save her, but I couldn’t, and she’s dead and gone to the realm of the Dominus Christus.” A strange tangle of emotion went through Ridmark. He had once hated Tarrabus as much as he had hated anyone. Now he felt only a strange mixture of contempt and…pity, perhaps. Or maybe regret. Tarrabus Carhaine could have been so much more. He could have been a great and noble lord of Andomhaim, a man worthy of respect like Dux Gareth or Prince Narzaxar.
Instead, he had become…this, a hollow-eyed man with shadows crawling up his right arm and devouring his soul.
“Do not weary my ears with platitudes,” said Tarrabus.
“Fine,” said Ridmark. “Have some hard truths, then. You wanted to turn mankind into gods. If that gate behind you opens all the way, you’ll kill us all.”
“Don’t be absurd,” said Tarrabus. “The shadow of Incariel will rise and free us from all constraint.”
“And are you mad enough to believe Imaria?” said Calliande. “Has her insanity infected you as well?”
Tarrabus smiled. “Imaria will have vengeance for Aelia as last.”
“Aelia is of no consequence,” said Imaria with indifference.
Tarrabus’s eyes snapped to her, shock forcing its way through his rage. “What? That was why you joined the Enlightened, to get revenge for the death of…”
“The woman I once was cared for such things,” said Imaria. “But she was the larval form of something greater. Now I see the truth. Perhaps the truth will fill you with horror, Tarrabus. For you are weak, as Aelia was weak. She put her trust in Ridmark, you put your trust in strength, and both failed. Now Incariel shall rise and devour all.”
“It will not,” said Calliande. “You saw the weapon of the high elves, Imaria. Once you reach the point of no return, Ardrhythain will destroy Tarlion and seal the Well.”
Imaria laughed, her double voice making the sound ghastly. “The high elves are also fools. They put their trust in their strength and their magic, and both failed them. Now only a remnant remains. They are blessed beyond all others of their dead kindred, for they shall know the madness of In
cariel when it comes to them. All shall know the madness of Incariel when…”
She struck in midsentence, the attack coming like a bolt of lightning, but Ridmark had expected it. He raised Caledhmaer and Calliande cast a spell as a torrent of shadows swept from Imaria’s hand. The sword’s fire blazed brighter, a dome of fiery light falling around Ridmark. The torrent of shadows winked out as it touched the harsh light. Calliande struck back at once, sending the Well’s fire lancing towards Imaria, but the Shadowbearer disappeared in a swirl of darkness.
Ridmark sprinted forward, hoping to reach the altar and the soulstone before Imaria could stop him or Tarrabus reacted. Yet Tarrabus snapped out of his stupor and charged with a snarl of fury, and as he had below the walls of Tarlion, Ridmark Arban battled Tarrabus Carhaine.
###
Calliande called the Sight to her.
She almost wished that she hadn’t.
Power surged around her, blazing like letters of fire to the Sight. She saw the grim, cold power of the citadel that the Frostborn had built over their world gate, saw the implacable power of their spells.
More terrifying by far was the dark power that swirled around Imaria.
She was stronger here, far stronger, able to draw more of the shadow of Incariel through the world gate behind her. The warped gate itself was a nexus of power, a wound in the walls of the cosmos, and it grew bigger even as she looked at it.
And through that gate, she saw Incariel itself.
Her mind could not comprehend it – creature or devil or fallen angel or false god or whatever it really was. Perhaps that was why both her eyes of flesh and her Sight saw Incariel and its shadow as a void, for to see the reality would destroy her sanity. But she sensed the malevolence radiating from that gate, and she knew that if Incariel broke free, it would plunge the world into the same madness that had consumed the fallen angel long ago.
Compared to the horror she saw beyond the gate, the Final Defense seemed like a mercy.
Yet the Sight also showed her the currents of dark power raging through the chamber, and she saw the swirl of shadow atop one of the menhirs. Imaria Shadowbearer reappeared there, already gathering power to strike. Calliande reacted first and hurled a blast of the Well’s fire at her, and Imaria leaped from the menhir, vanishing from sight once more. She reappeared between the altar and the gate and sent more darkness cascading towards Calliande, forcing her to deflect it with another ward.
As they had twice before, the Keeper and the Shadowbearer dueled each other below the Black Mountain, with the fate of the world as the stake of their battle.
###
Ridmark did not want to waste any time fighting Tarrabus, not when he needed to smash the soulstone.
He doubted Tarrabus would give him any choice in the matter, so as the former false king charged, Ridmark leveled Caledhmaer and called the sword’s power. A blast of fire erupted from the end of the blade, engulfing Tarrabus.
More shadows poured from Tarrabus’s flesh, seeming to engulf him. He was barefoot, wearing only a ragged tunic and a pair of trousers, but the shadows wrapped around him as if covering him in armor. The armor of shadows absorbed the fire of Caledhmaer, keeping it from killing him.
Tarrabus charged at Ridmark, and Ridmark raised his sword to block.
He expected that Tarrabus’s insubstantial blade of darkness would be solid against Caledhmaer, and his suspicion was proven right an instant later as the sword of shadows clanged against the blade of the Dragon Knight. Fire strained against shadow, and they broke apart, circling each other. The weeks of imprisonment had not dulled Tarrabus’s skill with a blade, and the shadow of Incariel made him stronger and faster than he should have been. Caledhmaer offered no such advantages to Ridmark.
He was tempted to use the sword’s power to stop time, but he dared not. He suspected that Imaria would be immune to that power, and Tarrabus might be as well. And if they were immune to that power, Calliande would not be, and stopping time would leave her at a hideous disadvantage.
“The Dragon Knight,” spat Tarrabus. “The Gray Knight was not enough for you? You always craved glory and renown, like a drunkard addicted to wine.”
“I’m not the one who tried to make myself High King,” said Ridmark.
Tarrabus snarled and attacked again, and Ridmark fought for his life.
###
Calliande would only need a second, maybe two.
The Sight showed her the tremendous forces flowing through the soulstone on the altar, forces that could bridge the distances between the stars themselves. The soulstone had enough capacity to channel the power of the Well, which now flowed through it in burning waves. But so much power in one place was vulnerable to disruption. If Calliande could attack the soulstone with the magic of the Keeper’s mantle for just a few seconds, the entire edifice of spells would collapse. The gate would close, the soulstone would shatter, and the Frostborn would be cut off from their Dominion and Incariel would remain secure in its prison. Even if Ridmark hit the soulstone with his sword, that would be enough to shatter the spells.
Yet Imaria refused to give her that second.
It was just like her previous battle with Tymandain Shadowbearer. Imaria flitted back and forth, unleashing storms of shadow at Calliande, and then vanishing against before Calliande could strike back. During the last battle, Morigna had beaten Imaria by catching her off guard and knocking her to the ground. But Morigna was not here this time.
And Imaria had not yet been the Shadowbearer then.
“Behold!” shouted Imaria, her voice ringing through the chamber. “The inevitable comes! The gate opens! Freedom from all boundaries is upon us!”
Calliande whirled, sending a wall of white fire hurtling across the ring, hoping it would be wide enough to catch Imaria. It almost hit the younger woman, but Imaria vanished again, reappearing atop another menhir near the black void of the world gate. Imaria hurled another torrent of shadows, and Calliande raised her staff, a dome of white light appearing around her. The shadows struck the dome and fractured into nothingness, and Calliande hit back, throwing more white flames at the menhir. The spell impacted against the standing stone, and for a moment the burning symbols on its surface sputtered and flickered, but Imaria was already gone.
“You struggle against the inevitable, Keeper of Andomhaim!” Imaria’s voice rang out, and Calliande turned, the Sight seeking for her opponent. She saw the torrent of raw magic from the Well feeding the soulstone, saw Ridmark and Tarrabus locked in battle, the furious rage of the Dragon Knight’s sword howling against the dark power that sheathed Tarrabus. Yet there was no sign of Imaria. Did Calliande have a free moment to strike at the soulstone…
A flicker of darkness overhead caught her attention.
Pure instinct and the amount of time she had spent fighting frost drakes saved her life. Calliande threw herself to the side, hitting the hard ground and rolling, and a half second later Imaria landed right where Calliande had been standing. Her black gauntlets had shifted form, growing long talons, and those talons of dvargirish steel slashed the stony ground with a spray of sparks. Imaria’s gaze snapped up, the mirrored eyes sweeping across the circle, and Calliande rolled to one knee and thrust her staff. A lance of white fire shot from the end of the staff, but Imaria vanished in a swirl of shadow before the spell could connect.
Calliande almost snarled in frustration.
“You are almost out of time!” came Imaria’s voice from a new direction. Calliande turned, casting a ward to absorb the attack that she knew was coming. She guessed right, and again the shadow fire of Incariel struck Calliande’s defenses. “The age of slavery is almost over. The age of madness and freedom is nearly upon us!”
Calliande remembered her final fight with Tymandain Shadowbearer, trying to think of any advantage she might use against Imaria. During that battle, the world gate had slowly been opening, and Tymandain had flitted back and forth across the circle, attacking Calliande from every direction and
refusing to stand still along enough to meet her attacks. It had been an effective strategy because he hadn’t needed to kill her to win. He hadn’t even needed to defeat her. All he had needed to do was to delay until her strength failed and she made a mistake or the world gate opened, and the Frostborn swarmed out to kill them all.
Imaria was doing the same thing. She only needed to delay until the world gate opened wide enough to rip apart Black Mountain. Already the gate had doubled in size since Calliande and Ridmark had arrived, and it was growing even faster. She did not know how much longer they had before it destroyed the Black Mountain, but she knew it could not be much longer.
But Imaria had made one mistake.
She wasn’t nearly as powerful as Tymandain Shadowbearer had been.
Tymandain had been an ancient archmage of terrible might, and he had unleashed spells of fire and lightning, spells to rip apart Calliande’s mind and rend her flesh. With the magic of the Keeper, she had blocked his attacks, but the effort had been exhausting, and he had hit her again and again. Imaria Shadowbearer lacked his raw strength, and while the spells she used were dangerous, Calliande could deflect them with relative ease.
One hit. She needed to land one solid hit on Imaria to end the fight, and then Calliande would have the seconds she needed to destroy the soulstone.
But how to land that hit?
Calliande craned her neck in time to see Imaria soar overhead, wings of shadow streaming from her black armor. She flung a blast of white fire mixed with elemental flame at Imaria, and the black-armored form vanished in a flicker of darkness. Calliande’s spell slashed into the dome, tearing into the ice, and a few cracks spread across its surface.
She turned, casting another ward, and a second later another lance of shadow ripped across her defenses. Calliande glimpsed Imaria again, and then the Shadowbearer disappeared once more.
Frostborn: The Shadow Prison (Frostborn #15) Page 38