Frostborn: Excalibur (Frostborn #13)

by Jonathan Moeller

  It seemed like a peaceful day. Gavin could almost forget that a battle was about to begin on the coast road.

  Almost.

  He felt like he should have been there with Antenora. Gavin knew that his place was here, that protecting Calliande as she finished her spell was the most useful thing he could do. For that matter, Antenora could defend herself far more effectively than nearly anyone else in Arandar’s army. Even Camorak and the other Magistri could not use their magic to harm other humans, but Antenora had no such limitation.

  Yet Gavin was surprised by how hard it had been to watch her go.

  He shook his head, rebuked himself, and turned his attention to his surroundings. Once Calliande breached the wall, the fighting would start. Likely Soulbreaker and Tarrabus Carhaine and Imaria Shadowbearer would arrive to attack Calliande, and Gavin would need to have his wits about him.

  “My lord Prince!” A messenger in the colors of Sebastian Aurelius reined up, breathing hard. “Dux Sebastian’s scouts report that Prince Cadwall has engaged the enemy reinforcements.”

  “Any sign of a response from Tarrabus?” said Arandar. The Prince wore plate armor and chain mail, his shield on his back and his helmet hanging from his saddle straps. Heartwarden rested in its scabbard at his belt. He looked every inch a commander of armies and the High King of Andomhaim. Gavin still thought it odd that he had met the future High King of Andomhaim fighting urvaalgs in the Torn Hills of Urd Morlemoch.

  “None yet, my lord Prince,” said the messenger.

  So far Gavin saw no sign of alarm from the crossbowmen upon the wall, though the section of the wall above the gate had been cleared. Lest Tarrabus realize that attack would come from that direction, dummies of straw had been placed there and given helmets and cloaks and crossbows.

  “Good,” said Arandar. “If we take Tarrabus unawares, we…”

  A thrumming went through the air and the ground beneath Gavin’s boots, as if the earth had just become a bowstring taut with tension.

  He turned to look as Calliande stopped before the whirling sigils of purple fire, outlined against their harsh light.

  ###

  The spell was finished.

  The power vibrated around Calliande, a massive ocean of gathered magical force ready to be unleashed. It put her in mind of an incipient landslide, a colossal wave of earth and stone and destructive power held in check by the slightest bit of inertia.

  Come to think of it, a landslide would be an appropriate metaphor.

  She took one final deep breath, grasped her staff in both hands, raised it as high as she could, and brought the end hammering into the ground with all her strength as she shouted.

  Her staff burned with purple fire, and a thunderclap rang out.

  Calliande sighed with exhaustion as the fire faded from her staff.

  For a moment, nothing happened.

  Then the thrumming sound grew louder and louder, the earth shaking beneath her boots. The sigils whirled around each other, and then they all collapsed into a single spinning globe of purple fire about a foot across, shining so bright that it painted everything nearby with shades of violet light.

  The sphere exploded in silence.

  A pulse of purple light rolled across the ground and through the assembled soldiers. The light touched them and the horses and the ground without harm and shot forward with terrific speed, washing over the siege wall like surf smashing against a sea wall.

  The light soaked into the earthwork wall like a sponge, and the ground shook again.

  Then all at once, the spell ripped open a breach in the siege wall.

  It happened with shocking speed, and it looked almost like someone smoothing a blanket. A section of the siege wall about seventy yards across sank into the ground, vanishing into the earth, and as the gap opened Calliande saw the same thing happening to Tarrabus’s circumvallation and contravallation walls. She heard distant screams as the watchmen upon that section of the circumvallation wall were thrown to the ground.

  The spell ended, and the gathered earth magic had ripped wide breaches in all three walls. Through the breaches, Calliande saw the massive gates of Tarlion, huge slabs of oak reinforced with steel bars, and the astonished watchmen standing over the barbican and upon the ramparts of the city.

  She also saw the exposed camp of Tarrabus Carhaine, saw hundreds of soldiers looking about in astonishment.

  “Now!” shouted Arandar. “Now! For God and Andomhaim! Now!”

  One of the knights sounded his horn, and an answering roar came from the orcish warriors waiting before the breaches. Calliande had been in countless battles, but the sound of the warriors of the three baptized kingdoms shouting their battle cries at once was still one of the most impressive sounds she had ever heard. The warriors and headmen of Rhaluusk, Khaluusk, and Mhorluusk charged into the breaches, weapons in hand, the Swordbearers in their midst. Calliande saw the shock on the faces of Tarrabus’s soldiers, saw them scramble for weapons, but it was too late. Thousands of howling orcs and hundreds of Swordbearers crashed into the camp.

  Calliande’s hands tightened against her staff as she caught her breath. The plan was working!

  There was a flash of blue light from the southeast, and she glimpsed a plume of blue fire rising over the walls of Tarlion, followed an instant later by a ringing thunderclap.

  “What the devil was that?” said Arandar.

  Calliande didn’t know.

  ###

  “A dvargir siege weapon!” said Caius as the echoes from the explosion died away. “Made from the poisonous gas of the Deeps. They must have dug a mine beneath all three walls at once and set off the weapon.”

  “They blasted a hole in their own walls?” said Cadwall. “Why?”

  Ridmark stared at the plume of dust billowing from the siege wall. It was starting to clear, and through the haze, he saw that a broad section of the siege wall, at least fifty yards across, had been knocked flat. Behind it, a similar breach had been blasted in the circumvallation and the contravallation walls. There had been no good reason for Tarrabus’s dvargir mercenaries to blast a hole in the circumvallation wall, but the contravallation wall faced Arandar’s siege wall, and…

  Suddenly Tarrabus’s plan became clear to Ridmark.

  “A trap!” he said, and Prince Cadwall gave him a startled look. “That was Tarrabus’s plan. He knew Dux Timon’s reinforcements were coming, and he knew we would march to meet them. Then he would blast a hole in his own walls, and attack to catch us between the siege wall and his own reinforcements.”

  Already there was movement in the cloud of dust covering the breaches.

  “But he didn’t know that only the horsemen would come,” said Cadwall. “He thought the entire army would march to meet the horsemen. He didn’t know about the Keeper’s plan.”

  “The enemy comes,” said Third.

  Through the dust charged a mob of kobold skirmishers armed with spears and bows, and after them came battalions of deep orcs in dvargir armor, swords and axes in hand.

  “We must hold them here,” said Cadwall. “If they circle the siege wall and charge through the breaches that the Keeper has made, our men will be trapped within the walls. It will be a slaughter. We’ll have to hold the enemy here.”

  “How?” said Caius.

  “He’s only sent kobolds and deep orcs against us so far,” said Ridmark. “No horsemen. We can charge them again and again, keep them off balance.”

  “The enemy horsemen will issue forth in short order,” said Kharlacht.

  “Maybe not,” said Camorak. “The Keeper will breach the walls at any moment. Soon Tarrabus will have another problem on his hands.”

  “God and the saints, this isn’t a battle, this will be bloody chaos,” said Cadwall. “Well, we’ve no choice but to see it to the end.”

  He barked orders to his standardbearer, and war horns rang out as the horsemen formed up to face the enemy.

  ###

  “There was an
explosion, my lord,” said another scout, reining up before Arandar. “Some sort of blue fire. It tore a hole in the siege wall, and kobolds and deep orcs have issued forth to engage Prince Cadwall’s horsemen.”

  Arandar frowned, his mind racing. It seemed that Tarrabus had blasted a hole in his own siege walls. The only reason the usurper might do that was to launch an overwhelming attack.

  “Of course,” Arandar said as the answer came to him.

  “Was it a trap?” said Calliande, who had come up next to him.

  “Yes,” said Arandar, thinking it through. “Yes, a trap. But one that only closed halfway.”

  He took a quick look around. Already the orcs and the Swordbearers had smashed into Tarrabus’s camp, cutting down everyone in their path. To judge from the response, Tarrabus’s army had not been prepared for an assault from that direction, and the orcish warriors and the Swordbearers were scything through the usurper’s unprepared soldiers

  “Or we sprang traps upon each other,” said Arandar. “That was the point of the reinforcements. Tarrabus thought we would march with the entire host to stop the reinforcements. Then he would blast a hole through the walls and attack, pinning us between his army and the horsemen from Arduran. But he didn’t know about the Keeper’s spell, and he didn’t know that I would send only our horsemen to contest with his reinforcements.”

  “Then it is like our two armies are chasing each other around the trunk of a tree,” said Calliande.

  “Aye,” said Arandar.

  He had to act now. But what was the better course of action? His horsemen were engaging Tarrabus’s reinforcements, and soon they would also face whatever troops Tarrabus sent from the new breach in the walls. But the orcish warriors and the Swordbearers were battling the enemy, and if Tarrabus’s army had been preparing to pour out through the southeastern corner of the walls, then the Swordbearers and the orcs were attacking the enemy from behind.

  Both Prince Cadwall’s horsemen and the men within Tarrabus’s camp needed aid.

  Arandar still had the bulk of his army’s footmen, men-at-arms and militiamen both, the soldiers waiting to charge after the Swordbearers and the orcish warriors. He could rush to the aid of Prince Cadwall, or he could send the army in through Calliande’s breaches to aid the Swordbearers and the orcs.

  But he could not do both.

  For an instant, indecision froze Arandar Pendragon, indecision and the dire certainty that valiant men would lose their lives regardless of what he decided to do.

  Then he made his choice, driven by the cold logic of the battle. The Swordbearers were the most potent fighters in his entire army, and the orcish warriors the fiercest infantry. They could hold for a while without aid. For that matter, if Corbanic Lamorus kept his word, he would charge from the gate of Tarlion to aid the battle, and he would reach the Swordbearers first. If Tarrabus had flung his whole power through the breach to the southeast, the Enlightened would be there with their dark powers, and only Camorak and Antenora were present to fight them with magic.

  “My lords!” said Arandar. “Signal at once! We march to aid Prince Cadwall with all haste!” His standardbearer blew the signal on his horn, and the gathered army began to move, preparing to march around the curve of the siege wall. The nobles galloped away to their individual commands, leaving Arandar and Calliande alone with their bodyguards. Arandar turned in the saddle. “My lady Keeper, will you accompany us? If Tarrabus and the Enlightened have gathered to attack, we shall need your magic to turn aside their dark powers.”

  “I shall,” said Calliande at once. Likely she wanted to go to Ridmark’s aid, but Arandar could not fault her for that.

  “Thank you,” said Arandar. “We…”

  Calliande’s head snapped around, her eyes widening, and Sir Gavin turned as Truthseeker burned with white fire in his hand. The other Swordbearers cursed and yanked their soulblades free from their scabbards, the blades blazing with white flame as they looked around for foes, and the Magistri started casting spells.

  The air at the foot of the hill rippled, and a creature appeared out of nothingness.

  Arandar had never seen anything like it before. It looked like a panther, albeit a panther the size of a pair of large oxen. Despite its size, the creature had a sleek and deadly look, and everything about it spoke of swift and brutal violence. Unlike a normal panther, it had six legs, the paws tipped with claws like short swords, and bony black armor covered the creature from tail to muzzle. Its tail looked like a barbed whip of thorns, thick and muscular, and it curled and uncurled like a snake preparing to strike.

  Shadows bled from the creature’s eyes and dripped from its fangs and claws, much in the same way the swords of the Enlightened crawled with shadows.

  “The Deep Walker!” shouted Calliande. “Soulbreaker has returned!” White fire burned up the length of her staff. “Defend yourselves!”

  Arandar yanked Heartwarden from its scabbard, and at once the sword’s power and fury surged through him as it responded to the dark magic of Soulbreaker.

  The panther-creature screamed a challenge and surged forward with blurring speed, and the battle was joined.

  ###

  The kobolds and the deep orcs rushed past Tarrabus, the kobolds screeching their shrill, hissing battle cries, the deep orcs moving in their accustomed silence. The slaves of the dvargir charged in an unruly mob, eager for blood and treasure, and Tarrabus made no effort to force them into disciplined order. They were fodder and nothing more, their role to weaken Arandar’s army and pin it down before Tarrabus’s own troops marched forth to join the fray.

  He smiled behind his helmet. The watchmen with their dvargir spyglasses had spotted the enemy horsemen attacking the resupply column. Dux Timon’s horsemen had broken, as Tarrabus had expected, but the attack had left the enemy disorganized, and the kobolds and the deep orcs would keep the enemy from reorganizing their lines.

  And then Tarrabus’s army would sweep them away. If he could kill Arandar and Calliande, he might win everything. Most of the traitorous Duxi would not swear to Tarrabus, of course, and he would have to hunt down and kill Gareth Licinius and Kors Durius and Leogrance Arban and the others, but without the Prince Regent and the Keeper, they were not a serious threat. Once Arandar and Calliande were dead, the heart would be ripped out of any resistance.

  Perhaps he could even manage to take the Keeper alive. She was an attractive woman, and Tarrabus had enjoyed the kiss he had forced upon her at Dun Calpurnia. He could further enjoy himself with her until he ordered her execution. Perhaps he could show her Ridmark Arban’s head upon a spear before he took her…

  No. He rebuked himself for the useless thought. The love of cruelty had often undone the plans of the dark elves, and Tarrabus would not follow their path into folly. Calliande was too dangerous to leave alive, and that was that.

  Soon the last of the kobolds and the deep orcs had left the camp, and Tarrabus turned to face the three Duxi and the Rzarn.

  “My lords,” said Tarrabus. “Prepare to march. As the kobolds and the deep orcs hold Arandar’s army in place, we shall march forth to smash them.”

  “Perhaps it is premature,” said Malvaxon. A wave of irritation rolled through Tarrabus, and he forced it from his expression. “We have so far seen only the horsemen. It might be wiser to wait until the enemy has revealed his full strength…”

  “The enemy has already revealed his full strength,” said Tarrabus. “Now we need only break it. Prepare…”

  Dux Timon scowled. “What is that noise?”

  Did every idiot in this camp think he had the right to interrupt the High King of Andomhaim?

  “What noise?” snapped Tarrabus.

  “That noise,” said Timon, waving his hand to the northwest. “A battle.”

  “Of course you hear a battle,” said Tarrabus. “There’s one outside the wall.”

  “So there is, High King of Andomhaim,” said Malvaxon, something like amusement on his face, “but that sou
nd is coming from the wrong direction.”

  Tarrabus opened his mouth to argue and then frowned. The dvargir was right. A flicker of misgiving went through him. Had Arandar launched an assault on the contravallation wall? No, that was impossible. The Prince Regent didn’t have enough men to successfully attack two places at once. Had another army joined the fray?

  “My lord High King!”

  A messenger forced his way to Tarrabus’s horse, breathing hard.

  “What is it?” said Tarrabus.

  “The enemy is in the camp, lord King!”

  “What?” said Timon. “Impossible. Impossible!”

  “Speak plainly!” said Tarrabus. “What has happened?”

  “I cannot explain it,” said the messenger. Dirt and blood smeared his face and tabard. “A strange purple light burst from the enemy, and wherever it touched an earthwork wall, the wall sank into the earth. A breach seventy-five yards wide was made in the enemy wall and both of our walls. A large force of orcish warriors and Swordbearers charged into the camp and attacked. Already we have lost control of your pavilion, and they are coming this way. My lord King, what are your commands?”

  For a moment, Tarrabus was at a loss.

  How could the enemy have breached all three walls at once? A dvargir siege weapon of their own? The Magistri? No – Arandar would not have used a dvargir weapon, and the magic of the Magistri could not control the earth.

  “The Keeper,” snarled Tarrabus. This had to be Calliande’s work. Damn her. Damn her! “That useless Deep Walker failed to kill her!”

  “I told you that you should not have summoned her,” said Malvaxon with placid calm.

  Only by the slimmest of threads did Tarrabus keep himself from drawing his sword and taking off Malvaxon’s damned smug head.