“That is dark magic of tremendous power,” said Antenora.
It was a dire sight. Shadows writhed and twisted around the circle, and liquid blood flowed through the circumference as if caught in an invisible pipe. Seven smaller circles intersected the larger circle, and two of those circles were empty. Within five of the smaller circles stood the corpses of five dead women in ragged clothes, their bodies held upright by the malign forces surging around them.
“Can you dispel that?” said Ridmark to Antenora.
“I do not know,” said Antenora. “Let me have a closer look.”
“This way,” said Ridmark.
He led the way down a ladder and walked towards the circle. As he drew closer, he felt a terrible chill radiating from it, a cold that seemed to bypass his armor and clothing and sink right into his bones. The others followed him, and Antenora stepped to the edge of the circle, her yellow eyes fluttering as she looked back and forth. The symbols on her staff burned to life, and she thrust the weapon towards the circle.
It rebounded as if she had struck a rock, and Antenora staggered back.
“This is beyond me,” she said. “I think Imaria Shadowbearer herself worked this spell. More than elemental magic is required to break this circle.”
“Camorak,” said Ridmark.
Camorak squinted and looked at the circle, and then shrugged. “I’ll try. I was never good at this kind of magic.” He flexed his hands, white fire burning around his fingers. “Or any kind of magic except healing.”
He thrust his hands, and white fire burst from his fingers, striking the edge of the circle. The flames shattered against the darkness. Camorak struck three more times, and every time the spell did nothing.
“It’s too strong,” said Camorak, shaking his head. “I can’t even start to dispel it. The Keeper could probably do it.”
“She’s otherwise occupied,” said Ridmark, looking north. He caught a brief glimpse of Soulbreaker’s dark form against the sky, fire pouring from her mouth. “A soulblade, we need a soulblade.”
“We could summon one of the Swordbearers,” said Third.
“They’re nearly a mile away by now,” said Ridmark. Third could cover that distance in a short time, and while she could sometimes take someone with her when she traveled, she would not be able to transport someone carrying a soulstone, and the soulblades all had soulstones. By the time even a Swordbearer could run to the circle, it might be too late. “For that matter, they might not be able to turn their attention from the battle.”
“Wait,” said Antenora, pointing her staff in another direction. “There is a source of magical power within that pavilion.”
It was the largest pavilion that Ridmark had seen in Tarrabus’s camp, and unlike the other tents, it was in good repair. The cloth of the pavilion was bright and blue, and before it stood a pole with a banner showing the black dragon sigil of Tarrabus Carhaine.
“What kind of magical power?” said Ridmark. Could it be something they could use to break the circle?
“I do not know,” said Antenora. “We are too close to the circle. It is like trying to view a candle flame through the light of the sun.”
“Let’s find out,” said Ridmark, and he hurried towards the pavilion.
###
More fire ripped down from above, lancing from Soulbreaker’s jaws, and Calliande once again cast the warding spell. The dome of light shimmered into existence above her, and the dragon’s fire splashed against the light and went out. The instant the dragon passed, Calliande called elemental fire of her own and sent a cone of flame howling into the sky, intending to set Soulbreaker’s wings ablaze and bring her crashing down to earth. Yet the Deep Walker seemed to have learned from her previous battle with Antenora, and shadows erupted from her sides, sheathing her in a protective mantle. The elemental fire splashed off the shadows, protecting her wings. The magic of the Keeper could have punched through the shadows, but Soulbreaker was so quick and agile that Calliande was having a hard time hitting the dragon with her spells.
There was another problem. Soulbreaker was a Deep Walker, an immortal creature without true physical form, and she currently inhabited the corpse of one of Tarrabus Carhaine’s victims. Calliande was a mortal human woman. She was already tired from the effort of the great breaching spell, and the battle had drained her further.
She was approaching the end of her stamina. The Keeper’s power was vast, but her endurance had its limits, and she was running at full speed towards those limits. It did not help that Soulbreaker’s fire was hot enough to melt steel, and it took all Calliande’s strength and will to deflect those lances of flame. Already the hilltop around her was scorched and smoking, and in places, the fire had melted the earth into twisted ribbons of black stone.
At the base of the hill the Swordbearers and the Magistri battled the shadow-panthers, led by Arandar, Constantine, and Gavin. A third of the Swordbearers and four or five of the Magistri had been killed. The Swordbearers fought with skill and fury, but for every one of the shadows they cut down, another one rose from the ground and attacked, formed by the wisps of shadow streaming from Soulbreaker.
Without help, Calliande did not think they could prevail against the Deep Walker.
Unfortunately, there was no help coming.
###
Ridmark pushed open the pavilion’s flap and stepped inside, his mouth twisting with contempt.
The army might have camped in squalor, but it seemed that Tarrabus had spared no efforts to ensure his own comfort. There was a thick carpet on the ground, and a large bed on the other side of the pavilion. Fine armor and weapons hung in wooden racks, and the large table and its attendant chairs gleamed with polish. Letters and maps covered the surface of the table, and a sheathed sword rested in its midst.
A startled gasp came from Antenora.
“That sword,” she said, her voice rougher than usual. “I know that sword. Arthur carried it, and then his grandson Malahan after the battle of Camlann. I have not seen that sword in fifteen centuries.”
Kharlacht frowned. “What is it?”
It was a soulblade, sheathed in a scabbard of polished red wood with golden inlays. The weapon was of an ancient design, thicker and slightly shorter than the soulblades created by Ardrhythain. The round pommel had a cross-in-circle within it, and the hilt had been wrapped with fresh leather.
“That’s Excalibur,” said Ridmark. “The High King’s sword since the days of Arthur Pendragon. Tarrabus must have left it here in his haste when the battle began. Not that he could use it, anyway.”
“Nor can we,” said Camorak. “None of us are Swordbearers, and the sword would reject us if we tried to draw it.”
“I know,” said Ridmark, stepping to the table.
“Wait,” said Caius. “Drawing a soulblade might kill you.”
“Heartwarden rejected me,” said Ridmark, standing over the table, “and I still used it to kill Tymandain Shadowbearer.”
“That almost killed you,” said Caius, “and the only reason you’re still alive is that Calliande was able to heal you as soon as she woke up.”
Ridmark shrugged. “I won’t need it long. Just long enough to break the spell.” A hazy memory flickered through his mind. “The taalkrazdor should have killed me in Khald Tormen, but it didn’t, because it knew we had common enemies. Perhaps Excalibur will do the same.”
Before anyone could stop him, he reached down, grasped the soulblade’s hilt, and drew the weapon.
For a moment, nothing happened. Excalibur’s blade gleamed with a bluish tint in the dim light, and the soulstone worked into the tang flickered with a white glow. Then the sword shivered in his grasp, and Ridmark felt it in his mind just as he had felt Heartwarden when he had been bonded with the soulblade.
Excalibur was old. Ancient, even, and it had been magical even before Ardrhythain had reforged it into a soulblade. It was old, and like the soulblades and the taalkrazdors, it had a will and purpose of its own.
That implacable, ancient will regarded Ridmark.
“Listen to me,” said Ridmark, looking at the sword. “I do not draw you for my own gain or my own power. I do not draw you to claim you for my own. I draw you because we share a common purpose. You were forged to destroy dark magic, and a creature of dark magic threatens both the successor of the Keeper of Andomhaim who forged you in the deeps of time and the heir who may lawfully wield you. Help me to destroy that creature of dark magic, and I shall gladly take you to your lawful bearer. This I swear.”
The sword vibrated again in his hand, and the pressure of the ancient will in his mind redoubled as if the weapon was sorting through his memories.
Then the blade burst into harsh white fire, filling the pavilion with its light.
The others took a prudent step back. Ridmark stared at the burning sword, waiting for the agony, but he felt no pain. The sword’s presence remained in his mind, stern and unyielding but not threatening, and he realized that the Excalibur’s will knew that they shared a common foe.
“It seems the sword has accepted your oath,” said Antenora. “If you had lied, it would have struck you dead then and there.”
“Did you just bond with the High King’s soulblade?” said Caius, his eyes a little wide.
“No,” said Ridmark. “It didn’t bond with me. It won’t make me faster or stronger. But it will let me wield it. No sense in getting greedy, is there? Hurry!”
He ran from the tent, the staff of Ardrhythain in his left hand and Excalibur in his right hand, and he realized that he was carrying weapons of legend. Had he the time, he would have taken a moment to appreciate that, but he had far greater tasks before him. Both Third and Calliande had said that the Deep Walker could transfer itself into a new vessel if the first one was destroyed, which meant that the logical place to begin was by destroying Soulbreaker’s spare vessels.
Ridmark ran up to the first corpse and swung Excalibur.
As he did another piece of lore about the ancient sword came to his mind.
According to the histories, Excalibur could cut through anything. Absolutely anything.
The soulblade sheared through the corpse’s neck as easily as if the flesh and bone had been made of butter. The head rolled away into the main circle, and instead of blood, shadows poured through the wound. The corpse shivered once, and both body and head crumbled into smoking black ash.
The main circle sputtered, and a strange whining noise came from it, like metal under pressure.
Ridmark ran around the circumference of the circle, beheading the corpses as he did. As he took the head from the fifth one, the whining noise from the circle rose to a howling scream. The last corpse crumbled into ashes, and the entire circle flared with shadows and then vanished, leaving behind only five piles of smoking ash that were already blowing away.
“Did it work?” said Ridmark.
“The spell has been broken,” said Antenora. “I do not know if that was enough to banish the Deep Walker.”
“Then let’s join Calliande,” said Ridmark.
He ran for the breaches that the Keeper had torn in the earthwork walls, Excalibur still burning in his fist.
Ridmark had the feeling he might need the sword again before too much longer, and to judge from the harsh eagerness he felt in his mind from the weapon, he suspected that Excalibur agreed.
###
Gavin cut down another panther-shaped shadow, his foe dissolving into smoke beneath the fury of Truthseeker’s blade. The soulblade’s power filled him, but he felt his shoulders and arms and knees screaming with weariness from the battle. The shadow-panthers were not as strong as Soulbreaker had been, but they were at least as strong as an ursaar, and the Deep Walker had a limitless supply of them.
Gavin didn’t know how much longer he could last. He fought alongside Prince Arandar and Sir Constantine, and both older men looked exhausted, their faces tight and glittering with sweat as their burning soulblades rose and fell. Whenever they took a wound, one of the Magistri ran forward and cast the healing spell, but the Magistri were just as weary. White fire and dragon fire snapped back and forth across the sky, and Gavin wondered how much longer Calliande could keep the Deep Walker’s fury at bay.
Another panther lunged towards him, and Gavin raised his shield to catch its raking claws.
The blow never landed.
He blinked in surprise and saw that the panther had frozen in place. A quick glance showed him that all the shadow-creatures had gone as motionless as statues. The Swordbearers and Magistri looked around in confusion. Had Calliande done something?
A furious scream filled the air.
Soulbreaker writhed as if she had been impaled, limbs and wings thrashing. For a moment, she hovered, and then with another shriek she crashed into the hillside with such violence that Gavin felt the impact through his boots. Soulbreaker thrashed again and began to shrink and shrivel. The shadow-panthers shivered and then unraveled as if they had never been.
Gavin turned as Calliande descended the hillside, her face drawn, white fire shimmering along the staff of the Keeper.
“What happened?” said Arandar. “Were you able to defeat the creature?”
“I did nothing,” said Calliande. “Someone must have gotten into Tarrabus’s camp and broken the spell used to bind the Deep Walker. One of the Swordbearers with Marhand and the orcs, probably.”
A shrill laugh came from the direction of Soulbreaker. The dragon had vanished entirely, shrinking to the form of a dead woman in ragged clothes with a slashed throat.
“Enjoy your victory while you can, Keeper of Andomhaim!” said Soulbreaker, tottering towards them. “For I have seen your fate! This doom I pronounce upon you! You shall send the man you love to his destruction, and you shall watch him die with your own eyes! Your heart you will tear from your chest with your own hands! You will wish that you had died at my…”
White fire burst from the staff of the Keeper and drilled into the corpse, and the creature fell to its knees, the corpse crumbling into smoking ash as it did so. A hooded shadow seemed to loom over the ashes, a creature that looked like a nightmarish combination of cowled specter and squid and insect, something malevolent and full of hatred and fury and hunger, and then it vanished without a trace.
The Deep Walker was gone.
Gavin took a deep breath, his heart thundering in his ears.
“A horse,” said Arandar, sliding Heartwarden into its scabbard. “I must have a horse at once. We need to join the rest of the army. They will be attacking Tarrabus at any moment.”
“And I must be there as well,” said Calliande. She looked exhausted, but her voice was as hard as iron. “If the Enlightened bring their dark powers to bear, I need to be there to counter them.”
“Some of the horses are over there,” said one of the Magistri, pointing. Their surviving horses had fled the battle and now waited near the ditch surrounding the camp of the Arbanii. As Gavin looked in that direction, a distant but familiar sound came to his ears.
It was the sound of thousands of men struggling with sword and spear and shield, the ring of steel on steel and the screams of rage and pain.
The battle had already begun.
“Hurry!” said Arandar, and they ran for the horses.
Chapter 19: Civil War
Tarrabus gripped his reins in an armored hand, watching the armies roll towards one another. Around him waited Dux Septimus of Calvus, Dux Timon of Arduran, and Dux Verus of Tarras, flanked by both Tarrabus’s household knights and their own men.
To Tarrabus’s very great annoyance, there was no sign of Rzarn Malvaxon or his dvargir warriors.
Malvaxon had been pleased to throw away his slave soldiers, but in the chaos as Tarrabus’s army formed up to face the infantry advancing from the north and the horsemen circling from the east, the Rzarn had disappeared. Tarrabus suspected that the dvargir had planned to make their escape long ago, and had only been waiting for a breach in the sie
ge walls. The scheming little rats had been keen enough to take Tarrabus’s coin and to help themselves to slaves from the countryside, but the minute they had faced the possibility of battle with a veteran army backed by Swordbearers, they fled. It seemed that when they had mined the walls, they had also dug themselves an escape tunnel, and the dvargir warriors had withdrawn in good order.
No matter. Tarrabus had needed the dvargir mercenaries for the siege. He did not need them to defeat Arandar’s army. Once he defeated Arandar, he would reunify Andomhaim and bring the power of the Enlightened throughout the realm. Once the power of the Enlightened overshadowed Andomhaim, he could rule as the immortal emperor of a powerful kingdom.
And then, once he was ready, he would descend into Deeps, raze Khaldurmar to ashes, and make the dvargir pay for their treachery.
First, though, he had to defeat Arandar.
Tarrabus’s infantry had formed in a long line facing north, the siege wall on their left. That would shield their left flank from any attacks, allowing Tarrabus to concentrate the entirety of his cavalry on the right. Arandar’s footmen formed up in a similar array, using the siege wall to shield their right flank, the horsemen flying the banner of Prince Cadwall taking position on their left. Prince Cadwall had at least two thousand more horsemen than Tarrabus, but that did not concern him.
For most of Tarrabus’s horsemen were the knights of Caerdracon, Calvus, Arduran, and Tarras…which meant they were nearly all Initiated in the Enlightened of Incariel, all of them able to wield the power of Incariel’s shadow.
At last, the Enlightened of Incariel had gathered for war, and Tarrabus had no doubt that they would shatter Cadwall’s horsemen.
He was more concerned about his infantry. Their lines were ragged and not nearly as sharp as those of Arandar. Worse, Arandar’s footmen were veterans of two long campaigns across Caerdracon and Calvus, and they had been well-supplied for the entire time. Tarrabus’s own footmen had been rotting away for the last year laying siege to Tarlion, and they had been denied sufficient food for the last several weeks. Their battle readiness had gone to rust. Tarrabus suspected that Arandar’s infantry would prove more effective, that his own men would break before Arandar’s began to waver.
Frostborn: Excalibur (Frostborn #13) Page 25