Frostborn: The Gray Knight (Frostborn #1)

by Jonathan Moeller

  “None of that,” said Ridmark. “I don’t want to accidentally kill you.”

  “Is everyone all right?” said Joram, looking around. “Lady Calliande?”

  Alamur’s eyes went wide at the name. He hadn’t recognized her…but he knew her name. Did he know who she was?

  “Who am I?” she said, standing over him. His dark eyes rotated to face her. “Tell me. If you know who I am, tell me. Tell me now!” She kicked the staff in frustrated rage, and Alamur gagged again. At once she felt guilt…but then she remembered that this man had been plotting with Shadowbearer.

  And apparently he had been willing to betray every man, woman, and child within the walls to their deaths.

  “I don’t know,” he rasped. “He mentioned…he mentioned you when he came to me. He said that the shape of the world would soon change, now and forever, and that the Frostborn would return.” Ridmark’s face went motionless, his blue eyes cold and hard. “He said that your death would inaugurate the great change, and that a man of my skills and power would rise high in the new order…”

  “If you served him,” said Ridmark.

  “Yes,” whispered Alamur, his eyes full of terror. “Don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me. I’ll…I’ll tell you anything you want.”

  He tried to cringe away like a terrified dog, but Ridmark held him fast.

  “God and the archangels!” spat Joram. “You betrayed us, Alamur. Like one of the Eternalists of old. An enemy of the realm threatens to destroy the town, and you betray us for…for what? A scroll of gibberish?” He gestured at the scroll. “I will be well within my rights to have you hanged for treason.”

  “No,” said Ridmark. “He’s going to do something for us.” He leaned closer to the Magistrius. “You’re going to send a message to the Magistri of Castra Marcaine, right now. You will tell them of Qazarl’s attack, and you will tell them to ask the Dux to send aid immediately.”

  “Or?” said Alamur, a hint of his defiance returning.

  “Or I’ll kill you,” said Ridmark.

  “That would be murder,” said Caius.

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. “It would. But a lot more people will die if we don’t receive help from the Dux. So, Magistrius. Either send the message to the Dux’s Magistri, or prepare to account for your treachery before the throne of God. Decide now.”

  Calliande watched as the last hint of defiance drained from the Magistrius.

  “Yes,” said Alamur, closing his eyes, “yes, yes, I’ll do it.”

  “Calliande,” said Ridmark. “Watch him. Warn me if he tries anything.”

  Calliande nodded, and felt the power gathering around Alamur as he cast a spell. His eyes opened, shining with white light, and he spoke.

  “Brothers!” he said. “It is I, Alamur of Dun Licinia! A strong force of orcs marches against the town, led by a powerful orcish shaman. If we do not receive aid at once, the town shall fall. Warn the Dux. We must receive aid.”

  The light faded from his eyes, and Alamur slumped back against the floor, sweat dripping down his face.

  Ridmark looked up at her.

  “It is done,” said Calliande. “He sent the message.” She was not entirely certain how she knew that, but she was sure of it.

  In her previous life, it was plain she had known a great deal about magic. Did that mean she had been someone like Alamur, cold and arrogant and filled with spite? She hoped not. But if she had once wielded magic…could she do so again? She would no longer feel so helpless.

  And she could aid Ridmark against Qazarl.

  “Sir Joram,” said Ridmark. “I suggest that you restrain the Magistrius and put him under arrest. Bind his hands and blindfold him – it will make it harder for him to work his spells. You can also have one of the priests treat his broken fingers.” He thought for a moment. “If you like.”

  “You heard the Gray Knight,” said Joram to his men-at-arms.

  Ridmark got to his feet and removed his staff from Alamur’s neck. The Magistrius began coughing and wheezing, and the men-at-arms hauled dragged him away.

  ###

  “That was unpleasant,” said Sir Joram as they stepped out of the tower.

  Ridmark looked around. The sun was disappearing over the hills to the west. He would have to tell Joram to keep close watch on the ramparts. Qazarl might try to sneak warriors over the wall in the darkness, warriors who would then attempt to open the gates.

  “It was,” said Ridmark. “I hadn’t intended it to become so violent. I had simply hoped to bully Alamur into sending a message to the Dux.”

  “But you didn’t know,” said Calliande, “that he was a traitor. That he had sold out the town to Shadowbearer and Qazarl.” She gave a vicious shake of her head. “That he was no better than Talvinius.”

  “Would you have killed him?” said Caius.

  “If he had tried to attack us again?” said Ridmark. “Without hesitation.”

  “If he had refused to cooperate?” said Caius.

  Joram frowned. “The Magistrius betrayed the realm during a time of war. As the Comes of Dun Licinia, I would have been well within my rights to have him hanged. Indeed, I would almost have been obliged to do so. A traitorous Magistrius could provide powerful aid to the enemy. I would prefer to keep him for trial before his Order, but if he tries to escape during the fighting…I will have him executed.”

  “Forgive me, my lord knight,” said Caius, “but the question wasn’t for you. If he had refused to cooperate, Ridmark, and if he had offered no further resistance, would you have killed him?”

  Ridmark was silent for a moment. He felt the dwarf’s strange blue eyes on him, felt the steady weight of Calliande’s gaze.

  “No,” said Ridmark at last. “No, I would have let Joram imprison him. I am not a Swordbearer any longer, I am not a knight…but I am not a murderer. At least, I am not a murderer again. There is already too much innocent blood upon my hands.”

  Calliande opened her mouth, and he saw the question in her eyes.

  And the blast of trumpets rang out from the ramparts, echoing over the town.

  “The enemy is within sight of the walls,” said Joram. “May God be with us.”

  Chapter 18 - Siegecraft

  Ridmark followed Sir Joram to the walls, Caius at his side. He had sent Calliande to the keep, and to his relief, she had agreed without argument. She was neither a knight nor a man-at-arms, and the ramparts would be no place for her. Some of Kharlacht’s orcs might have survived the battle at the standing stones, and they would recognize her. They might try to snatch her off the walls and take her back to Qazarl, or at least steal the soulstone. She would be safe in the keep.

  Assuming the town did not fall.

  Sir Joram climbed to the ramparts between the twin watchtowers of the northern gate. “What news?”

  Thomas, the middle-aged man-at-arms who had challenged Ridmark earlier, bowed. “My lord knight. The enemy gathers north of the town. They are keeping out of bow range so far, and I suspect they are digging in for a siege.”

  Ridmark looked over the battlements and saw Qazarl’s host.

  Thousands of orcish warriors waited at the edge of the cleared fields to the north. Most of them wore leather armor, as had the Mhalekite orcs Ridmark had faced so far. Yet many wore chain mail and carried heavy axes. Dozens of banners flew over the orcish host, a black field with a single massive red drop in the center.

  He remembered seeing a much larger army in this valley five years ago.

  “Four thousand,” said Joram, squinting at the host in the dimming sunlight. “It looks like you guessed right, Ridmark.”

  Ridmark nodded, watching the orcs assemble their camp.

  “No siege engines, it seems,” said Caius.

  “Aye,” said Ridmark. “The orc tribes of the Wilderland rarely have the skill to build catapults or ballistae. But ladders are easy enough to assemble. I expect they will build a few dozen ladders and then try to overwhelm us in a single rush.” He sc
ratched his chin. “Or Qazarl will try something clever, send raiders to open one of the gates.”

  “My lord knight,” said Thomas, glaring at Ridmark. “Will you listen to this outcast?”

  Joram shrugged. “He defeated the Mhalekites once before, Thomas. I am inclined to heed his counsel.”

  Thomas scowled, but had no answer for that.

  “My lord!” said another man-at-arms, pointing over the battlements. “Look!”

  “What manner of creatures are those?” said peasant militiaman. “It looks like a lizard that walks as a man.”

  In the midst of the orcs Ridmark glimpsed gray-skinned figures the size of large children, tails coiling behind them. The shapes wore black veils to shield their large eyes, and carried spears and axes with obsidian blades.

  “Kobolds,” said Ridmark. “This is my doing. We annoyed them when we passed through the Deeps, and I suspect Qazarl welcomed them with open arms.”

  Thomas blinked. “You passed through the Deeps? And you’re still alive?”

  “Oh, aye,” said Caius with a grin. “It was a pleasant afternoon stroll, that’s all. Hardly worth the mention.”

  Ridmark rested his left hand on the rough stone on the battlements. “This is a problem.”

  “Obviously,” said Joram. “The enemy has greater numbers.”

  “It’s more than that,” said Ridmark. “Orcs see in the dark as well as we do, but they have keener noses. But kobolds have superior night vision. I think Qazarl will try to send them over the wall to open the gate in the night.”

  “We will have to remain vigilant,” said Joram.

  “Aye,” said Ridmark. “I suggest patrols all night along the ramparts. Split the men into two groups, and keep them sleeping near the northern and the southern gates.”

  “The Mhalekites are massed to the north,” said Joram.

  “Which would make it all the easier for some kobolds to slip south and scale the wall there,” said Ridmark. “Or Qazarl could launch an assault upon the northern wall, and try to send men to take the southern gate while we are distracted."

  Joram let out a long breath. “Your counsel is sound. I will see it done, and prepare the men to fight.”

  “We must delay,” said Ridmark. “That is the best strategy. Delay until the Dux arrives from Castra Marcaine with help.”

  “So be it,” said Joram.

  Ridmark looked at the men on the walls, at the bundles of supplies in the small square below the gate. Joram had done everything right, but there was one thing they could not prepare to face.

  Qazarl’s magic. Or, worse, Shadowbearer’s magic, if the renegade high elf wizard chose to join the fight on his minion’s side.

  The defenders would simply have to wait and see.

  ###

  Calliande climbed to the rooftop of the keep and looked over the town of Dun Licinia.

  It looked…new.

  From what she had heard, Mhalek had been defeated here in a great battle five years past, his horde of orcish warriors smashed. Most of the houses had been constructed of brick, their roofs covered in clay tiles. The keep, the church, the Magistrius’s tower, and the town’s wall had been built of stone. Most of the men were at the walls, preparing to fight, and most of the women were preparing food and bandages and arrows. Everyone else was in the church, praying for God and the Dominus Christus to watch over their husbands and sons and brothers, to see them safely through the battle to come.

  Calliande hoped that God was listening.

  She hoped that they all did not die within the next day.

  And she hoped, above all, not to fall into Shadowbearer’s clutches again.

  She shivered and leaned against the battlements, the stone rough and cool beneath her bare hands.

  Sir Joram’s majordomus had found new clothing for her, thank God. Ulazur’s foul-smelling clothes had been preferable to going naked, but it felt good to wear proper clothing. The majordomus had found her a green gown that almost fit, with a black leather belt and boots that did not hurt her feet. She had kept the dagger Ridmark had given her, it sheath clipped to her belt. She did not know how to fight, but his counsel of keeping a weapon near at hand was sound.

  Calliande’s eyes turned towards the northern wall, to the men standing guard there.

  And to the orcish host, just visible in the trees beyond the cleared fields.

  The defense was in Ridmark’s hands now. Sir Joram was in command, but she could tell the man was not comfortable in the role. He would defer to Ridmark. Indeed, he could have done much worse. Calliande had seen Ridmark fight, and if he wielded the defenders as skillfully as he wielded his staff, he could hold off the Mhalekites for a long time, perhaps long enough for aid to arrive from Castra Marcaine.

  But even the Gray Knight might not be able to hold off the Mhalekites long enough.

  Because Qazarl had magic and Ridmark did not.

  Had Ridmark still been a Swordbearer, it would have been different. The power of a Swordbearer’s Soulblade could deflect hostile magic, could shield Ridmark long enough to cut down the orcish shaman. But Ridmark had been expelled from the Order of the Swordbearers, though Calliande did not know why. If Alamur had not been a traitor, he could have blunted the power of Qazarl’s magic. Perhaps it was just as well – she had sensed the strength of Qazarl’s magic and of Alamur’s, and Qazarl was the stronger.

  But Shadowbearer was mightier than both men put together. Shadowbearer had claimed that the high elves were hunting him. If he escaped and joined Qazarl, Dun Licinia would fall in short order.

  Not even Ridmark could stand against Shadowbearer’s power. He might not be able to stand against Qazarl’s power.

  Ridmark needed magic of his own.

  And Calliande had to find a way to give it to him. Because if she did not, the town would fall…and Shadowbearer would claim her once more.

  The stone altar awaited her within its ring of standing stones.

  She sighed in frustration and gripped the battlements.

  It made sense that she would have magic of her own. She knew more about magic than she ought, and she had the ability to sense magic.

  If she could sense magic, could she not use it?

  Perhaps she had been a Magistria of the Order of the Vigilant, sleeping away the centuries beneath the Tower of Vigilance until the Frostborn returned.

  A darker thought occurred to her. Perhaps she had been an Eternalist like Talvinius. The Eternalists had been obsessed with immortality, and perhaps she had sealed herself away beneath the Tower to extend her life.

  Calliande hoped not.

  But no matter who she had been in her previous life, she would find a way to aid Ridmark.

  If she could.

  For the hundredth time, Calliande closed her eyes and tried to summon magic, tried to remember something, anything that would help her cast a spell.

  Nothing happened.

  She sighed in frustration and headed for the stairs. Useless, she was utterly useless. Both Shadowbearer and Talvinius had thought to claim her power, whatever it was. But what good was her power if she could not find a way to use it to help the others?

  Sir Joram had given her a small, but comfortable, guest room on the keep’s highest level, furnished with a narrow bed and a chair. Calliande sat upon the chair and closed her eyes, staining against the mist filling her mind, trying to remember something that might prove useful against the enemy.

  Nothing came.

  ###

  Night fell, and Ridmark strode the circuit of Dun Licinia’s ramparts, Caius trailing after him. He felt weary, but he did not want to sleep. Likely Qazarl would use his kobold allies in an attempt to seize the gates tonight, and Ridmark wanted to be ready.

  “Gray Knight.”

  A stocky, middle-aged man stood near the battlements, wearing leather armor with steel studs and holding a worn wooden spear with a sharp steel head. It was Peter, the belligerent freeholder who had accused Ridmark of stealing pig
s from his herd.

  “I fear I was unable to find your hogs,” said Ridmark, ignoring Caius’s puzzled look. “Most likely the Mhalekites ate them long before I crossed your path.”

  “Aye, I thought so,” said Peter. He scowled and spat over the wall. “Damned pagan orcs. Well, the warbands came down from the hills, and one of them set fire to my barn. My sons and I fought them off. Don’t think the green bastards expected to find fighting men. We rounded up all our folk and all our livestock and got within the town.” He shook his head. “I suppose God was with us. Hardly anyone in the outer freeholds made it to the town alive.”

  Ridmark nodded. “It is good you escaped. Stay vigilant. The Mhalekites will likely make an attempt on the town tonight.”

  Peter grimaced. “Do you think we can win? There are so damned many of the orcs. Not as many as the first time the Mhalekites came, but still too many.”

  “You were here for the first battle?” said Ridmark.

  “Aye,” said Peter, a grin flashing behind his graying beard. “I was a man-at-arms for the Dux Gareth Licinius. When Mhalek slew Galearus and the other commanders, I was sure we were done. But then you took command and whipped the Mhalekites.” The freeholder looked almost embarrassed. “If I had known who you were, I wouldn’t have accused you of taking my pigs.”

  “I am grateful for that,” said Ridmark.

  “Brother,” said Peter to Caius. “Would you give us your blessing? It cannot hurt to have God on our side before the battle.”

  “God watches over us all,” said Caius, “but of course.” Peter and the nearby militiamen went to their knees, and Caius started to speak in formal Latin. “In the name of God the Father, and God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit, I ask God, the archangels, and all the saints to…”

  A flicker of motion caught Ridmark’s eye.

  Four of the moons were out tonight, throwing pale silvery-blue light over everything. He saw no sign of motion outside the walls, nor any unusual activity from the Mhalekite camp. Yet the uneven ground offered plenty of cover for someone skilled at stealth.