Yet it looked as if she was breathing.
No. Impossible.
Gavin knelt next to her, and as he did, he noticed her hand. It was thin and pale, but it had lost the grayish pallor that had marked her skin. Confused, he touched her hand, and a bolt of shock went through him. Her skin was warm. What was more, he felt a pulse in her wrist.
She let out a startled gasp.
“Antenora?” said Gavin, unwilling to trust the hope that welled up within him.
She stirred and started to sit up, and Gavin helped her. The sleeve of the ragged coat felt warm beneath his fingers, and she reached up and pushed back her cowl.
Her face had changed.
It was the same face, but the gray, corpse-like pallor had vanished, the skin now pale and clear. The venomous yellow eyes had turned a bright shade of blue. The brittle hair was now thick and black and hung in curls around her neck and shoulders. She looked just like the beautiful illusion that Gavin had seen in Thainkul Morzan, but that had only been a cruel trick of the Sculptor’s urshanes. But this was real, as real as the shock and amazement he saw upon her face.
“I…I felt that,” said Antenora. Her voice had changed. Gone was the weary, croaking rasp, the sound of a voice worn down by the centuries. Now her voice was soft and throaty and full of strength. “I…my God, Gavin, you touched me, and I felt it. Why are you staring at me like that?”
“You look different,” said Gavin. He desperately wished for a mirror, and then yanked his shield off his back. The dwarven steel had been battered by the battle, but it still held enough a shine that Antenora could see her reflection.
Her blue eyes went enormous.
“I do not understand,” she whispered, touching her face. “I should have died.”
“Morigna,” said Gavin. “Her spirit appeared, and I don’t know what happened, but she pulled the blue light from you. Then she vanished and…”
“I can feel things,” said Antenora. “My God, my God, I can feel the wind on my face. I had forgotten. I can feel my heartbeat. You touched my hand, and I felt…”
She seized his hands, and a little cry came from her lips. Her fingers were warm and soft and alive against his.
“I forgot,” she said, “I forgot what it was like. I forgot…oh, I love you, Gavin, but I forgot was it was like to feel it…”
He pulled her close and kissed her. He had kissed her before, but she had been as cold as the grave, and she hadn’t felt it. Now her lips felt warm against his, and she let out a sound that was either a moan or a sigh, her arms wrapping around his back with surprising strength. Save for Antenora, Gavin had never really kissed a woman, and it hadn’t been like this.
When they finally broke apart he was breathing hard, his pulse a drumbeat inside his skull. Antenora stared at him with wild joy, her face flushed.
“I forgot,” whispered Antenora, “what it was like to be alive. This is…this is so much more than I deserve for what I have done…”
“Marry me,” said Gavin.
“Yes,” said Antenora, and she kissed him again, harder this time. She leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “Now. Right now. Let’s find a priest or Brother Caius. I want to feel it when you make me your wife.” She looked at him, her eyes full of tears. “I have a second chance now. I have forgotten so much, and I want to remember it with you and no one else.”
“We will,” said Gavin, getting to his feet and holding out his hand. Antenora grabbed her staff and got to her feet, taking his hand. “We’ll find a priest. There must be one in the city. And then…”
He knew what would happen then. The thought made him both frightened and excited, but excitement was by far the dominant feeling. Of course, he couldn’t think very clearly now at all. Had she asked it of him, he would have ripped down the thirteen moons one by one and offered them to her.
She started to speak, and then something strange happened. A sheet of pale light and mist rolled up from the ground. Ridmark Arban stepped from the strange gate, a sword of fire in his hand, and Calliande came after him. Mara was right behind Calliande, the blue fire of her power fading in her veins.
“I think it might be too late,” said Mara. “We knew this would happen. It…”
Mara fell silent, blinking in bafflement at Antenora. Calliande came to a stop as well, her eyes going wide with surprise. A wide smile went over Antenora’s face as she looked at the Keeper.
“Antenora?” said Calliande.
Antenora nodded, and then both women started laughing. Antenora released Gavin’s hands and hugged Calliande, still laughing.
“How?” said Calliande.
“Thank you, Keeper,” said Antenora. “Thank you. For fifteen centuries, I sought for a way to break my curse and atone, and you gave me the path.”
“But how?” said Calliande. “We both thought you would die when the curse was lifted. I had hoped otherwise, but…”
“Morigna,” said Gavin, and they all looked at him.
“Morigna?” said Calliande, a strange look going over her face.
“Aye,” said Gavin. “I don’t understand it. I thought Antenora had died. Then I saw Morigna’s spirit. She seemed to pull the magic of the curse away from Antenora, and then she vanished. And Antenora was healed. I don’t understand it.”
“One last gift from her, I suppose,” said Ridmark in a quiet voice.
“Gavin Swordbearer and I shall be wed,” said Antenora, reaching back and seizing Gavin’s hand. “Now. As soon as a priest can be found.”
Calliande smiled. “I am glad to hear of it. Shall we find Brother Caius?”
“Yes,” said Antenora. “Yes, I would like that. He has been with us since the beginning…”
“Since Aranaeus,” said Gavin, thinking of his father, of Father Martel and Philip and Rosanna and the others he had known in Aranaeus. He wondered what they would have thought of Antenora. Certainly, they would not have understood her. Gavin had thought himself in love with Rosanna, but he knew now he had not truly understood what that meant.
He hadn’t understood what that meant until he had stood over Antenora in the wreckage of Dun Calpurnia’s shattered gate, refusing to leave her as the medvarth warriors howled towards them.
Morigna’s spirit had said that Gavin would have been wasted in Aranaeus. He didn’t know if that was true or not. But he did know that his path had taken him far from Aranaeus, to many strange and dangerous places…and as he looked at Antenora, he was happy.
“He’s probably with King Axazamar yet,” said Calliande, her eyes going half-focused as she drew on the Sight.
“Do you remember your name?” said Mara.
Antenora blinked. “My name?”
“Yes,” said Mara. “You said you had forgotten your real name. Antenora was only a title you gave yourself.”
Antenora hesitated, and then a look of resolution came over her face.
“I do remember it,” she said, “after so long, but I reject it.”
“Reject it?” said Gavin, puzzled.
She smiled at him. “The woman I was on Old Earth was a fool. I betrayed Malahan Pendragon and sided with Mordred, and I suffered and suffered for my folly. Antenora is the woman who became the Keeper’s apprentice and became betrothed to Gavin Swordbearer. I would rather be her.” She grinned. “Third could pick a new name, so why can I not do the same?”
“Don’t forget,” said Calliande. “Antenora also helped save Andomhaim and the world. The Keeper and the Dragon Knight might not have gotten out of Khald Azalar or Khald Tormen or the Range without Antenora.” Her smile widened. “Come. King Axazamar and his guard are not far away, and Caius will be with them. It has been a grim day, and there are a thousand things to do, but when you wed Gavin, I want to be there.”
Ridmark clapped him on the shoulder.
“And I never thought,” said Ridmark, “that the boy I met fleeing from lupivirii in the woods of the Wilderland would one day become a Swordbearer who slew an urvuul in single c
ombat.”
Gavin laughed. “I suppose, in the end, I’m just surprised that we’re still alive.”
“Let us not wait,” said Antenora, squeezing his hand.
“No,” said Gavin.
“This way,” said Calliande, and she pointed with her staff.
In the end, Gavin didn’t understand how Antenora was still alive, how Morigna had saved her, or how Morigna had even managed to reappear.
He was just grateful for the miracle.
Wherever Morigna was, she had his thanks. And if this was Morigna's last joke on him, then Gavin was happy to laugh with her.
Chapter 31: The Keeper of Andomhaim
The wedding of Gavin and Antenora was a bright spot for Calliande, but the next five days were a whirlwind of grim labor.
There were so many wounded, men and orcs and Anathgrimm and dwarves and tygrai, and there were only so many Magistri and Swordbearers available who could use healing magic. To Calliande’s surprise, Jager had taken charge of the effort of housing the wounded, marshaling a small army from the city’s priests, monks, nuns, wives, and daughters to help care for the wounded and supply them with bandages and other supplies. In the process, he transformed every one of the city’s many churches and the Great Cathedral itself into hospitals. Calliande was less surprised that Jager had done an excellent job of it. The former Master Thief of Cintarra had persuaded, browbeaten, flattered, coerced, and bullied everyone into following his lead, though it probably helped that he had Khorzuuk standing behind him with a perpetual scowl.
Calliande and the Magistri moved from church to church, healing only those with the most threatening wounds and letting those with less severe injuries recover on their own. Her healing magic was powerful, but it was not without limit, and she reserved her spells only for those who would have died without her intervention.
Even so, there were so many of them.
They had been victorious, but war always had a hideous cost, even for the victors.
For five days straight, Calliande labored, snatching only a few hours of sleep. Again and again she healed wounds that otherwise would have been mortal. Again and again she pulled the pain of those wounds into her own flesh, and she experienced firsthand what it was like to have swords and axes pierce her flesh, for arrows to punch through her lungs, for hammers and maces to crush her bones, for medvarth jaws to close around her.
But she did not relent. Already the rumors said that the Dragon Knight and the Keeper had saved Andomhaim from the Frostborn, that the Keeper had returned from the dead to defeat the Frostborn, but Calliande knew that was not true. Perhaps she had broken the soulstone, but she could not have done it without the thousands and thousands of men who had fought to defend Andomhaim from the Frostborn and the world from the shadow of Incariel.
Ridmark remained with her the entire time. Gavin and Antenora accompanied her as well, though occasionally they disappeared, and it required absolutely no imagination to guess what they were doing. Calliande did not begrudge them that. Messengers came and went to Ridmark as she used healing magic, and sometimes Third did as well, but Calliande barely heard them.
Finally, after nearly six days of near-constant effort, she could do no more, and she could barely stay standing. Ridmark told her to get some sleep, but Calliande refused, saying she needed to do more. Then Ridmark simply picked her up and carried her from the Great Cathedral, and Calliande tried to protest, but she was too tired, and it just felt too good to be off her feet.
Then she knew no more for a while.
Slowly, slowly, Calliande regained consciousness.
She was lying in a soft, large bed, warm blankets pulled up to her chin, a pillow beneath her head. Morning sunlight streamed through narrow windows, and the air smelled of the sea, though she still caught the faint scent of blood and ashes from the battle. Her body ached from overexertion, but she no longer felt quite as tired.
Blinking in confusion, Calliande sat up.
She was wearing only a shift, and she was in a bed in a large round chamber built of marble, narrow windows looking down on Tarlion and a courtyard filled with ancient oak trees. She was in the Tower of the Keeper. But how had she gotten here? The last thing she remembered was almost collapsing in the Great Cathedral, and…
Boots clicked on the stairs, and a halfling woman in a sturdy black dress came into the bedchamber, her hair brown and curly beneath her kerchief, her eyes large and amber-colored over the sharp lines of her cheekbones. She carried a wooden tray with a plate on it.
Calliande stared at her, and recognition clicked.
“Dagma?” she said. Jager’s sister, that was it. Dagma had fled with many of the people of Dun Licinia to Nightmane Forest.
“Good morning, my lady Keeper,” said Dagma. “I hope you are feeling better. We’ve got the kitchen cleaned out, and I’ve brought you breakfast.”
Calliande opened her mouth, closed it, and Dagma set the tray on the edge of the bed. It held a plate of bread and cheese and a cup of steaming tea, and Calliande realized that she was ravenous. When was the last time she had eaten anything substantial? It had been at Cathair Solas, come to think of it.
She lifted the tea and took a cup, trying to clear her thoughts.
“How long was I asleep?” said Calliande.
“Four days,” said Dagma.
“Four days!” said Calliande, appalled. There was work to be done.
“You were, if you forgive my saying so, quite exhausted when you arrived,” said Dagma. “The Lord Dragon Knight made it very clear that no one was to wake you for any reason, and he’s not the sort of man to argue with, is he?”
“Not usually,” said Calliande. “How…did I get here?”
“The Lord Dragon Knight brought you,” said Dagma.
“How did you get here?” said Calliande.
“Well, the Lord Dragon Knight hired us and some other servants to work in the Tower of the Keeper,” said Dagma. “As for how we got to Tarlion, well…my husband Dieter and I followed the Anathgrimm when they marched. Someone had to clean and cook and look after Queen Mara. Who is much too good for my brother, I’ll add, but I think he knows that already. The Anathgrimm would try to look after Mara, of course, but that’s really not their strength. So, the Lord Dragon Knight asked my brother if he knew anyone who could help, and I volunteered, and I knew a few other of my kindred in Tarlion. We have been looking after the Tower while the Lord Dragon Knight deals with the kings and you rest.”
“Thank you,” said Calliande, blinking in surprise. She took another sip of the tea. “But…I do have one question."
“Certainly,” said Dagma.
“Jager’s the Prince Consort of Nightmane Forest,” said Calliande. “Why not stay with him?”
Dagma snorted. “And lounge around with Anathgrimm? No, no, my lady. The Anathgrimm are brave, no doubt about it, but they’re mad for war. Dieter and I must think of our children. What kind of life do we want them to have? A life of blood and battle? Jager might be able to thrive in that kind of life, but I am not my brother. No, we want our children to grow up safe, and to have lives of honorable service.” She shrugged. “And what is more honorable than serving the Keeper of Andomhaim?”
“Thank you, Dagma,” said Calliande. She had had servants, centuries ago. Calliande had grown up the daughter of a fisherman, so she still thought is strange to have servants. Nevertheless, it was one of the things that came with her station, and she knew better than to turn away help. “Do you know where Ridmark is?”
“I believe the Lord Dragon Knight was outside the walls,” said Dagma. “He was using his magic to open gates for the dwarves and the manetaurs to return to their homelands.” She shivered. “A strange thing, to walk through one of those gates. I shall never forget it. But it was still easier than walking all the way to Tarlion from Khaluusk.”
“Truly,” said Calliande. She pushed away the blankets. “I should join him, or speak with the High King or my apprentice.”
<
br /> “The Lord Dragon Knight said you were to rest here until he returned, my lady,” said Dagma.
Calliande laughed. “I am to be the maiden imprisoned in the tower, is that it?”
Dagma smiled. “If you will forgive the observation, as a married woman you are unlikely to be a maiden. Or, at least, it would be rather tragic if you were.”
Calliande laughed again. “You truly are Jager’s sister, aren’t you?”
“I am four years older, my lady. To be perfectly accurate, Jager truly is my brother.”
“I don’t doubt it,” said Calliande, taking another sip of the tea. It was quite good. And maybe it would be for the best if she rested, if only for a little while. She could hardly work to protect the realm of Andomhaim if she collapsed from exhaustion. “Thank you, Dagma.”
She ate breakfast, and then Dagma and several other halfling servants drew her a hot bath, which was wonderful. After Calliande dressed in some of the clothes she had left in the Tower of the Keeper centuries ago, a green gown and mantle and a leather belt and boots. She spent an hour or so wandering through the Tower, reacquainting itself with the ancient stronghold. The magical defenses must have disarmed themselves when Ridmark had carried her here, though she remembered how to rearm them. Fortunately, the wards were still active around the library and the armory, since the library held tomes of dangerous knowledge and the armory weapons and shields of magical power that the Keepers had collected over the centuries. There were ancient caves beneath the Tower where she could meditate in silence, and the Chamber of Sight at the apex of the Tower would let her send the Sight far and wide across Andomhaim.
All that would be useful in the work of rebuilding Andomhaim.
For Andomhaim needed to be rebuilt. The realm had suffered horribly in the last two years. Half of the nobles had been wiped out during Tarrabus’s siege of Tarlion and the following cull of the Enlightened. And any of the medvarth and the khaldjari who had survived the battle would have returned to their fortresses in the Northerland, and they would need to be dug out.
Frostborn: The Shadow Prison (Frostborn #15) Page 42