Yes, the Frostborn and the Enlightened might have been defeated, but Andomhaim still needed its Keeper.
She had climbed down to the entry hall with its mosaic floor and bronze lanterns and statues of white marble when Ridmark returned.
He looked tired, but otherwise unhurt. With him came Accolon, Arandar’s eldest son, who seemed to be serving as Ridmark’s squire again. Gavin followed him, arm in arm with a blue-eyed woman of remarkable beauty in a blue gown and mantle, a staff of black wood in her free hand.
Of course. Antenora. Calliande hadn’t recognized her at first.
“Prince Accolon,” she said with a bow.
The boy – the young man, really – gave her a sheepish smile. “Just Sir Accolon for now, my lady. Prince Cadwall knighted me after the battle. Father said I was to stay with Lord Ridmark for now, to learn to speak with the lords of other kindreds. I don’t think I had ever seen so many kindreds gathered in one place.”
“Yes,” said Antenora, “and half of them trying to kill the other.”
“Give us a moment, will you?” said Ridmark. “We’ll join you in the gardens and then continue to the Citadel.”
Gavin, Antenora, and Accolon left, leaving Ridmark alone with Calliande. He crossed the room and kissed her, and she took his hands.
“How are you feeling?” he said.
“Less exhausted,” said Calliande. “It might have been time for a rest.”
“Even Keepers need to rest from time to time,” said Ridmark.
“And now that I’ve had it, I should go see to the wounded again,” said Calliande.
Ridmark shook his head. “All that can be done for them has been done. Those who can be helped by magic have been helped. They now need time and rest and care, and I’m afraid not even magic can provide that.”
“No,” said Calliande. “No, I suppose not.”
“But if you are ready to work again,” said Ridmark, “we should go to the Citadel. The High King is planning a campaign to the Northerland. Many of the medvarth and the khaldjari escaped there, and they might be planning to carve out a kingdom for themselves. And Arandar needs to bestow the lands of Caerdracon, Calvus, Tarras, and Arduran on new nobles. He would likely appreciate counsel.”
“Yes,” said Calliande. “Yes, he would.” She hesitated. “But the dwarves and the manetaurs…”
“Already gone,” said Ridmark. “The last of them left yesterday. I held the gates open long enough for them to depart. They were grateful not to walk all the way back to the Range and the Three Kingdoms. Arandar sent ambassadors with them – once the realm has been brought to order, he may send Swordbearers to help the dwarves against the Mhorites or the manetaurs against the dvargir.”
Calliande nodded. “That is wise.” She squeezed his hands. “Thank you for looking after me while I slept. Why did you bring me here?”
Ridmark shrugged. “Tarlion is still full to bursting with soldiers. This place seemed reasonable enough. It belongs to you, and the magical defenses yielded before you.”
“How did you think to hire Dagma and her family?” said Calliande.
Ridmark smiled. “Jager suggested it. It seems his sister and her family were never at ease in Nightmane Forest. Between Dagma and Jager, they know quite a few people, so now the Tower of the Keeper has a full staff of halfling servants. I suspect Dagma has more or less appointed herself the seneschal of the Keeper’s household.”
“Well, she can have the job,” said Calliande, and she laughed.
“What?” said Ridmark.
“I thought hiring and dismissing servants was traditionally the wife’s prerogative in a noble household of Andomhaim,” said Calliande.
“It is,” said Ridmark, “but you were otherwise occupied.”
“Mmm.” She leaned up and gave him a quick kiss. “That’s all right. There are other prerogatives that are more interesting.”
“Such as?” said Ridmark.
She kissed him again, harder this time.
“What do you think?” Calliande said when they broke apart.
“I think,” said Ridmark, “that we can keep Sir Gavin and Antenora and Sir Accolon waiting for a little while.”
Calliande smiled, took his hand, and led him up to the bedchamber.
Chapter 32: The Guardian
Morigna stood in the threshold of the world, watching as Antenora’s curse burned around her fingers.
It was a strange thing, dangerous and powerful and ancient. It would have been absolutely lethal against anyone living, killing anyone who tried to remove it.
Against Morigna, of course, it could do nothing.
At last the ancient curse unraveled, its power dispersed harmlessly into the threshold.
Morigna lifted her gaze from her fingers and looked around her.
She had been to the threshold before, to the shadow the world cast into the spiritual realm. Though that had been Old Earth’s threshold, and she had been there with Mara during the Warden’s attempt to open a gate to Old Earth. Now Morigna stood on the threshold of Andomhaim, or at least the world that held Andomhaim. A hazy, misty reflection of the battlefield outside Tarlion spread around her. She saw flares of power from the soulblades of the Swordbearers or the taalkrazdor armor, their magic echoing in the mists of the threshold.
It was an eerie, strange sight.
It was also beautiful.
Morigna felt at peace here, in a way that she had never experienced while still alive.
Here, freed from the demands and constraints of the flesh, she could understand herself in a way that she had never quite achieved in life. She saw how the teachings of the Old Man had twisted her mind, made her crave power to the detriment of many other worthier things. Morigna had rejected those teachings in the end, of course, but they had always remained a part of her, like a poison settled into the bones.
Now she was free of them and many other things that had tormented her in life. Jealousy and arrogance and lust and fear, all of them had drained from her. And here, in the threshold, sometimes she could almost see…
Time. She could see time itself, the maze of a billion threads of individual lives weaving together into the tapestry of fate, like a billion grains of sand piling upon each other to make a beach. Ridmark had told her how Ardrhythain said the high elves could see the future like wavering shadows, and as she gazed at the flow of time, she understood that.
It was beautiful, utterly beautiful. It was the cosmos itself, the state of creation, and it spoke of Incariel’s malevolence that the creature had wanted to destroy such a wondrous design.
That was how Morigna had been able to warn Ridmark and Arandar and Calliande and Mara, nudging them to make sure they were in the right place at the right time to make certain shadows of the future become a reality.
Morigna contemplated the paths of fate for some time. She could not have said how long. A second? A millennium? Time no longer meant the same thing to her as it had in life.
After a while, she became aware of another presence.
Morigna turned and saw the last archmage of the high elves standing a few yards away.
“So you did not have to kill them all,” she said.
“No,” said Ardrhythain. He looked tired and sad…but it was a contented sort of sadness. Like a warrior looking over a victorious battlefield. “And I thank God for that.”
“You ought to thank Ridmark and Calliande,” said Morigna with some of her old asperity. A woman could only change so much.
“I know,” said Ardrhythain. His golden eyes shifted to her. “You took the curse from the Keeper’s apprentice and gave her a second chance at life. Why?”
Morigna shrugged. “Why not?”
Ardrhythain waited.
Morigna sighed. “How many reasons do you want? I did it because I could. Because Antenora was my friend and she deserved better. Because while Gavin may have been a bit thick, he did not deserve to see the woman he loved die in front of him. I saw the first man I
loved die in front of me, and I would not wish that on anyone. Or maybe because the curse would not hurt me. You may choose whatever reason captures your interest, my lord archmage.”
Ardrhythain nodded. “You helped them.”
“That was the point, yes,” said Morigna.
“Some of the blame for the disaster that nearly befell this world,” said Ardrhythain, “lies with me.”
Morigna laughed, and Ardrhythain looked at her in surprise.
“I have often wondered,” said Morigna, “if Ridmark’s and Calliande’s tendencies to blame themselves for everything under the sun was contagious, and now I know that to be true. Behold, for they have infected even the mighty Ardrhythain himself.”
Ardrhythain blinked in surprise, and then he threw back his head and laughed. The sound of mirth from the ancient archmage caught Morigna off-guard, and she started laughing herself.
It was a few moments before they calmed down.
“Perhaps,” said Ardrhythain when he had mastered himself once more. “But I did make once decision that helped cause this war. I unlocked the Well of Tarlion and founded the Order of the Magistri.”
Morigna frowned. “How did that cause the war?”
“The human heart lusts for power,” said Ardrhythain. “Your own heart did in life as well. You know this to be true.” Morigna nodded. There was no point in arguing with the obvious. “When I created the Magistri, I limited the locks on the Well, letting the Magistri draw forth power only for healing and knowledge and defense. Yet I knew even that would ignite a lust for more power in the hearts of some. It was that lust for power that Tymandain Shadowbearer found so useful, and from it Tymandain wrought the Eternalists and the Enlightened of Incariel. Your own enemy Coriolus was among them.”
Morigna nodded, considering his words. In life, it would have thrown her into a rage. But with the perspective of death…
“But not even you can see the outcome of all choices,” said Morigna. “Yes, the Enlightened arose from a lust for magic and immortality. But if you had done nothing, then the urdmordar would have conquered Andomhaim, and I likely would never have been born. Tymandain Shadowbearer would have taken the Well when the urdmordar destroyed Tarlion.”
“Yes,” said Ardrhythain. “You see the perils, then, of having power. Every choice I make has unforeseen consequences. When I founded the Swordbearers and the Magistri, I did not dream that four centuries later I would stand outside the walls of Tarlion, waiting to see if it would be necessary to use the Final Defense to save our world from the reach of Incariel.” He shook his head. “That is why our Threefold Law forbids us from wielding dominion over other kindreds. Our power is simply too great. Even our help carries grave risks.” He looked at her. “But yours does not.”
“What do you mean?” said Morigna.
“I did not expect you, Morigna of Moraime,” said Ardrhythain. “The dark magic you stole from the Warden bound you here when you were slain. You guided Ridmark and Calliande to Cathair Solas. You warned the High King and Queen Mara when they needed warning. You did this without imposing your will, with only words of warning at the right time and at the right place. And when Imaria’s gate shredded the boundaries between the worlds, you came at the call of the Dragon Knight, fighting alongside his predecessors against the shadow of Incariel.”
“So?” said Morigna with a shrug. “I did as I thought right.”
“You helped them,” said Ardrhythain, “in a way that I do not have the freedom to do, and if you had not done so, our enemies would have prevailed, and Incariel would now be free.”
“Then I am pleased I was effective,” said Morigna, “but I assume this has a point?”
“Yes,” said Ardrhythain. “Imaria was sealed within the Black Mountain. There will never be another Shadowbearer. The war of a hundred thousand years is over. But there are other threats to mankind. Some you know. There are still dark elven lords and urdmordar, and across the seas are empires of urdmordar and orcish warlocks of which you have no knowledge. The dvargir can still touch the shadow of Incariel, and they scheme to build an empire from Khaldurmar. Some of the ancient Wells have been corrupted and are a dire threat, and there are dangers of which you have no knowledge and no experience. Someday they will threaten your kindred…and I cannot help them unless they ask.”
“But I can,” said Morigna.
“Yes,” said Ardrhythain. “You can now see time as the high elves do. You can warn your kindred against threats of dark magic.”
“What are you saying?” said Morigna.
“You have a choice before you,” said Ardrhythain. “If you wish, I can remove the remaining taint of dark magic from you. You will then be free to continue on to what lies beyond this cosmos.”
“And what is that?” said Morigna. “Heaven? Hell? Something else?”
“That,” said Ardrhythain, “lies between you and God.”
Morigna nodded. She had to admit the idea had appeal. Beyond the tapestry of fate, she could sometimes glimpse whatever lay beyond the cosmos. Perhaps hell awaited her for what she had done in life, but somehow, she thought not. Brother Caius always used to say that a man needed to repent of his wrongs in life, and Morigna could see clearly now what she had done wrong in her years under the sun.
And yet…
She knew that she still had work to do.
“What is the other choice?” said Morigna.
“I drain the taint from the dark magic, and it simply becomes power,” said Ardrhythain, “and you use it to watch over humanity.”
Morigna frowned. “They already have Calliande.”
“The Keeper is mortal,” said Ardrhythain. “You have exited mortality. The Keeper has the Sight, but that is only a subset of the totality of your vision. She can guard humanity in one way…but you can guard it in another.”
Morigna nodded. All her life she had desired power, power enough to make sure no one could ever hurt her or control her again. Now, at last, she understood the true purpose of power.
The purpose of power was to protect.
Perhaps that was the reason she had been born all along.
“I graciously accept your offer, lord archmage,” said Morigna.
Ardrhythain inclined his head. “As you wish, then.” He gestured, white fire shining around his fingers. The fire slashed into Morigna, and she felt both lighter and stronger. “By my authority as the last archmage of the high elven kindred, I name you the Guardian of the kindred of humanity. Go with God, and remember that your purpose is to protect and defend and guide.”
“I shall,” said Morigna.
Ardrhythain offered her a bow, and then the archmage vanished.
The new Guardian turned and watched the tapestry of fate and time roll before her.
The Keeper would watch over humanity in the waking world, but here, in the threshold, Morigna would protect them.
Chapter 33: Destinies
A few years after the defeat of the Frostborn, Kharlacht stood with his wife in the hall of the King of Rhaluusk.
After the great battle of Tarlion, Kharlacht had accepted his old friend Crowlacht’s longstanding offer to join his warband, and he had traveled to Rhaluusk to take his place as one of King Ulakhamar’s warriors.
First, though, he had stopped at Nightmane Forest and married Mhaljaka at last.
Her family had been driven from Vhaluusk by locusari raiders during the war, and they had settled in Nightmane Forest under Queen Mara’s protection. Since they had been baptized into the church of the Dominus Christus, they had never been that welcome in Vhaluusk, and the family settled in Rhaluusk under King Ulakhamar’s protection.
Kharlacht had never thought to marry after losing Lujena all those years ago, but ten minutes after meeting Mhaljaka, he started to change his mind.
Now he stood in the King’s hall, watching as the headmen of Rhaluusk set torches to the pyre. King Ulakhamar had died at last, old and full of years and victories, and his three wives, nine
concubines, and thirty-seven children stood by the pyre as it was lit. Primogeniture was a human custom, and as the pyre burned, the headmen of Rhaluusk elected a new king.
Crowlacht won by an overwhelming margin. Even all of old Ulakhamar’s sons, headmen and warriors in their own right, voted for him.
After the pyre and the election, a grand feast was held to celebrate the rise of King Crowlacht, with singing, wrestling, duels, and many, many toasts. The duels were only to first blood, and Crowlacht appointed Kharlacht once of his new headmen to thunderous cheers.
“Now, Kharlacht!” boomed Crowlacht, waving his flagon. “Tell us a tale! You’ve seen a tale or three, aye!”
Kharlacht frowned. “I have little tongue for such things.”
Mhaljaka smiled. “Best you should speak, husband. Else they shall not stop pestering you.”
Kharlacht grunted. “True. Come to think of it, I have just the tale.”
He heaved to his feet and started to tell (yet again) the story of the fall of the Iron Tower and their battle with the Artificer.
###
After Taalkhan Azaanbar, the man who now thought of himself as Brother Caius, came home, he spent most of his time in the Dormari Market, the foreign quarter of Khald Tormen. The church that Azakhun had started in one of the warehouses had grown to several hundred members, and Caius had helped ordain three new priests. They now held masses every day of the week, and sometimes even humans and orcs from Rhaluusk and Khaluusk came to their services while visiting Khald Tormen on business.
The faith of the church continued to baffle the nobles and magistrates of the city, but some of their sons and daughters had begun attending. None of them had been baptized, but they came to listen.
That was good enough. As Caius had learned again and again, God did things in his own good time.
After the service had finished, Caius walked from the altar, past the rows of benches, and towards the doors to the Dormari Market. He made a mental note to speak with the carpenter about getting more benches. During the last service the church had been full, and many of the visitors had been forced to stand along the walls. Not that the dwarven kindred minded hardship, and in fact preferred to endure hardship in silent stoicism, but Caius was old enough (and had spent enough of his life traveling) to appreciate the simple pleasure of a bench.
Frostborn: The Shadow Prison (Frostborn #15) Page 43