The Swordbearers had fallen back, clustering around Calliande’s wavering dome of light. Tarrabus’s knights and horsemen surrounded them even as the shadow of Incariel forced back the Keeper’s ward. Prince Cadwall’s horsemen and some of the infantry had tried to stop Tarrabus's charge, but the shadow of Incariel had left them stunned and unable to interfere. Arandar and Calliande were alone with a dwindling number of defenders.
Despite all the setbacks, despite the incompetence of his vassals and the faithlessness of his hirelings, Tarrabus was about to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.
He urged his horse closer. Just a little further…
A scream filled his ears.
He looked to the north just in time to see two of his knights fall.
The first thing he saw was the woman.
She was tall and lean, with dark hair and a gaunt, pale face, her body sheathed in black armor of dark elven design, and two short swords of dark elven steel in her fists. The shadows should have left her paralyzed, but she moved through them unhindered, dancing around the blows of his knights and men-at-arms like a grown man avoiding the lunges of a clumsy puppy.
Behind her…
Astonishment flooded through him.
Ridmark Arban fought behind her.
In his left hand was a staff of black wood shining with sigils of white fire. It was the staff once carried by the high elven archmage Ardrhythain, and it protected Ridmark from the shadow of Incariel, the dark haze flowing past him without touching him. Both Imaria and the Weaver had mentioned the staff’s ability, and it did not concern Tarrabus. One man could not stand against so many.
But in Ridmark’s right hand…
A flicker of fear went through Tarrabus.
Ridmark had a soulblade, the sword howling with white fire.
And it wasn’t just any soulblade.
It was Excalibur.
Impossible. Impossible! Ridmark shouldn’t have been able to touch a soulblade. Holding Excalibur should have filled him with excruciating pain, yet he fought alongside the dark-armored woman, cutting his way closer to Tarrabus with every step. Excalibur sliced through steel and flesh with ease, and Ridmark left a trail of dead Enlightened in his wake.
Tarrabus’s fear melted into a blinding rage.
The Weaver had failed him. Imaria had failed him. Paul Tallmane had failed him. Tarrabus’s servants had failed, but it was Ridmark’s fault. So many times the Gray Knight had hindered Tarrabus’s will.
No more!
Tarrabus screamed, called the full of the shadow of Incariel to himself, and thrust his sword in Ridmark’s direction.
###
The shadowy haze winked out.
Ridmark blinked in surprise, turning, and heard the shout of fury over the clash of arms.
He whirled just in time to see Tarrabus point his sword. The entirety of the shadowy haze collapsed onto his blade and into a spinning mass of darkness blacker than the cold void between the worlds. The shadows hurtled towards Ridmark in a shrieking river, and he raised Ardrhythain’s staff like a shield. The sigils blazed brighter, and the streams of shadows parted around the light of the staff, even as the grass at his feet withered and died.
The current of shadows winked out, and Tarrabus rode towards Ridmark, sword in hand.
###
Another sword slipped through Gavin’s guard, crunching through his armor to bite into his side. He stumbled, his head spinning, Truthseeker thrumming in his fist. The bulk of the sword’s power was going into driving back the shadows that sought to freeze him, with only a little of its power available to give him strength.
That strength, and his sheer refusal to yield, was the only thing that kept him on his feet.
He had been wounded a half a dozen times, and he felt his boot sloshing beneath him, filled with blood from a wound on his left calf. He had to keep fighting. He had to defend the Keeper. He had…
The haze of shadows winked out.
Gavin was so surprised that he stumbled, and he could not recover from that stumble.
He fell to one knee, wheezing, but was unable to get his breath. His head spun, and he could not make himself stand. A man-at-arms in Carhaine colors rushed towards him, mace rising.
Ah. So this was how he was going to die.
Gavin tried one last time to stand, but he had no strength left.
The mace began to fall towards his head.
There was a flash of yellow-orange light, and suddenly the man-at-arms went flying backward, a smoking crater blasted through his chest. Gavin turned his head as Antenora sprinted towards him, stark fear upon her gaunt face as she cast another spell. A gout of howling fire snapped into the charging men-at-arms, driving them back.
“Gavin Swordbearer,” she said. “You are wounded.”
“Antenora,” he croaked. “I…
Hard hands seized Gavin’s temples, and a freezing chill washed through him. A man grunted in pain, and when the hands withdrew, Gavin felt better. His wounds had shrunk, and Gavin found that he could stand.
A flicker of relief went through Antenora’s expression.
“On your feet, Sir Gavin!” called Camorak, already casting another healing spell. “There’s work to be done yet!”
###
Ridmark came to a halt, Excalibur burning in his hand.
Tarrabus rode towards him, shadows spinning around his sword, and more shadows poured from his eyes beneath his helm.
“You should have died in the Wilderland like the dog you are!” spat Tarrabus. “You should have died at Dun Licinia, at Dun Calpurnia, at Khald Tormen.” He snarled in pure fury. “You failed Aelia, and you should have died for it!”
Once that accusation would have set Ridmark on his heels or thrown him into a rage.
Yet as he looked at Tarrabus Carhaine, he felt neither guilt nor grief nor wrath. He had known Tarrabus for nearly twenty years and for the entirety of his adult life. They had always been rivals. Yet Ridmark had once believed Tarrabus to be a nobleman of Andomhaim, if a ruthless one. Then he had learned of the Enlightened, of the poison that Tarrabus had pumped into the realm. He had watched as Tarrabus murdered the High King and ripped Andomhaim apart in civil war for his own ambitions, leaving it weakened before the Frostborn.
Ridmark felt only disgust as he looked at Tarrabus Carhaine, and pity that a man who could have become a great and noble lord of Andomhaim had instead become…this.
“Aelia would rather have died with me than lived with you,” said Ridmark, “for you made yourself less than you should have been.”
Tarrabus flinched as if something had struck him, the shadows lashing angrily about his sword. For a moment, he sat frozen atop his horse, and then his blade came up.
“Then you can join her in oblivion,” he spat, and shadows exploded from him, mantling the battle around them in darkness once more.
Tarrabus shouted and spurred his horse, charging towards Ridmark. He snatched a lance from a passing knight as he did, and lowered the weapon to point at Ridmark’s chest.
###
Calliande gritted her teeth, holding the ward as she cast spell after spell, white fire bursting from her left hand.
She had abandoned her horse and now stood behind the struggling line of Swordbearers and knights. Her magic flung blasts of white fire, discomforting the Enlightened long enough for the Swordbearers to kill them, or healing what wounds she could. Yet Tarrabus’s forces were overwhelming them. Prince Cadwall’s knights and some of the footmen tried to come to their aid, but were repulsed by the whirling dome of shadows. Unless the Swordbearers arrived soon, Calliande and Arandar would find themselves overwhelmed.
An explosion of fire rolled through the enemy, and Calliande spotted Antenora, fighting next to Gavin and Constantine and Arandar. When had she gotten here? Ridmark and Antenora and the others had been with Prince Cadwall, and Calliande had no idea what had happened to them. She spotted Camorak casting healing spells, Kharlacht and Caius fighting along
side Dux Gareth and his men, but there was no sign of Ridmark or Third. Had they been slain?
Calliande started to call the Sight, and then the dome of shadows winked out.
She blinked in surprise, seeking for the source of the shadows. The Sight showed her a heated, flickering vision, and in that vision, she saw Tarrabus Carhaine charging towards Ridmark and Third. Third carried her short swords, but Ridmark held the staff of Ardrhythain before him like a shield, and in his right hand…
Impossible.
In his right hand, he held Excalibur, and the sword blazed with wrath, but its fury was turned towards Tarrabus.
Then the dome of shadows reappeared, cutting off the Sight. Calliande returned her attention to the battle, her jaw set. Ridmark was battling Tarrabus in the center of the shadows, and he needed aid.
She was going to bring him aid, whatever she had to do.
Calliande leveled her staff and walked forward, throwing all her will into her warding spell. The dome of white light flared brighter, and step by step she started to force back the shadows. If she could break Tarrabus’s dome of shadow, then the knights and the footmen could attack the Enlightened.
The battle raged around her, and Calliande poured her strength into the spell.
###
Ridmark watched as Tarrabus thundered towards him.
A man on foot was at a severe disadvantage against a competent knight upon horseback, and whatever else he had become, Tarrabus knew how to handle his weapons. The lance’s point swooped towards Ridmark’s chest, leaking shadows as it did. At the last minute, Ridmark dodged to the side, slashing up with Excalibur. The blade snipped off the end of Tarrabus’s lance, the steel point falling to the ground, and the broken staff bobbed in Tarrabus’s hand. Tarrabus wheeled, casting aside the lance, and shifted his sword to his right hand as he prepared for another charge.
Ridmark sprinted towards Tarrabus, hoping to attack before his enemy could charge.
Tarrabus’s warhorse started forward, then shuddered with a scream, front hooves lashing at the air.
It was considered unknightly to attack a mounted opponent’s horse, but Third had never been a knight. She slashed her short swords across the unfortunate horse’s back legs, laming the poor animal, and it collapsed with a crash. Tarrabus was hurled from the saddle, but he was too skillful of a rider to let that hinder him. He tucked his shoulder, hit the ground, rolled with a clang of his fine armor, and leaped to his feet.
Third was already moving to attack him, and Tarrabus’s shadow-wreathed sword snapped up in guard, darting back and forth to deflect her attacks. His armored left fist blurred out in a backhand, and Third’s head snapped to the side, blood flying from her mouth. She staggered several steps, and Tarrabus lunged after her for the kill.
But then Ridmark was on him.
Tarrabus spun as Ridmark lashed Excalibur at his foe’s face. The shadow-wrapped sword came up, and Excalibur rebounded from it. Ridmark had expected that the power surging through Tarrabus’s sword would be able to turn Excalibur’s otherwise unstoppable edge, and he jumped back as Tarrabus counterattacked. Ridmark shifted to a defensive stance, using the staff of Ardrhythain as a shield.
“A stick?” snarled Tarrabus. His voice reverberated with the dark power flowing through him “You were once a knight, and now you fight with a stick?”
“I would fight with just the staff,” said Ridmark, gesturing with Excalibur, “but it seems the sword that you claim has rejected you.”
Tarrabus growled and at came at Ridmark. Beneath Tarrabus’s helm, Ridmark saw that his face had taken a grayish tinge, that veins of black shadow were threading their way through his skin. The shadow of Incariel was starting to devour Tarrabus, just as it had devoured some of the other Enlightened and twisted them into monsters.
The false king fell upon Ridmark like a storm. Ridmark might have been able to wield Excalibur, but the soulblade would not augment his strength or his speed, and the shadow of Incariel gave Tarrabus both. Ridmark just barely stayed alive, his weapons drawing white blurs of fire through the air in front of him. Tarrabus was every bit Ridmark’s equal as a swordsman, and only his fear of the white fire coursing down Excalibur’s blade kept Ridmark alive.
Because Tarrabus did fear that fire.
Every time Excalibur came close to striking Tarrabus, the false king could not stop himself from flinching away. Even the Sculptor, as powerful as he was, had dared not stand and fight against a soulblade, and all those corrupted by dark power feared the wrath of those swords.
Yet unlike the Sculptor, Tarrabus did not flee, and he attacked in fury, driving Ridmark back, the shadows streaming from him.
Third struck from behind, and Tarrabus twisted like a serpent, his sword deflecting her swings. Third leaped back, and Tarrabus reached over his shoulder and drew a war axe in his left hand, the blade darkening with wispy shadows. Ridmark attacked from the right and Third from the left, but the shadow of Incariel let Tarrabus move fast enough to block both of their blows, sword and axe whirling around him with terrible speed. Tarrabus went back on the offensive, and both Ridmark and Third had to retreat, trying to stay ahead of the shadow-wreathed blades.
A blast of white fire shot over Ridmark’s shoulder and slammed into Tarrabus’s chest, and the usurper stumbled back with a grunt of pain. Ridmark risked a glance back and saw Calliande and Camorak and several other Magistri standing behind the line of Swordbearers battling before Arandar’s banner. Two more bursts of white fire struck Tarrabus, knocking him back, and he raised his weapons in guard.
And as he did, the dome of shadows over the battlefield winked out, disrupted as Tarrabus focused his attention on his own defense.
Third disappeared in a swirl of blue fire at once. Tarrabus started to look for her, and Ridmark threw himself at Tarrabus in a wild attack, staff and sword flying. The fury of his attack set Tarrabus back upon his heels, and Ridmark knew that his momentum would only last a second or two, that Tarrabus would recover his balance and take his head.
A second was all that Third needed.
Tarrabus’s haze of shadow rolled back across the battlefield, but not before Third reappeared behind Tarrabus, stabbing both her short swords into his back.
###
Tarrabus screamed in fury as the blades crunched into his back, and he whipped his axe around, hoping to disembowel the damned woman before she struck again. His blow forced her back, but she jumped out of the way, her short swords wet with his blood. Already Tarrabus felt the shadow of Incariel surging through him, repairing the wounds that the woman had inflicted.
The healing was fast.
It was just not fast enough.
Ridmark came at him hard, staff and sword flying in ribbons of white light. Another shaft of white fire struck Tarrabus, likely from one of the Magistri, and the pain of the Well’s magic disrupted his concentration and slowed the healing.
The dome of shadow collapsed. Tarrabus should have called it back at once. It was the only thing keeping his horsemen from being overrun, the only thing that would hold the Enlightened together long enough for them to kill Arandar and Calliande. Yet Tarrabus could not concentrate through the agony in his back, and he could barely keep Ridmark’s attacks at bay.
The harsh blaze of Excalibur’s fire filled his vision, so loud that it seemed to howl as Ridmark attacked.
It was howling at him.
With a shriek of fury, Tarrabus attacked, hammering at Ridmark with sword and axe. Yet the damaged muscles in his back seized up, and Tarrabus stumbled, his blow coming up short, and his stumble left him open for a fraction of a second.
That was all Ridmark Arban ever needed.
Excalibur hammered down, and the sword sliced through Tarrabus’s wrist, sending both his right hand and his sword tumbling to the ground. Pain exploded through Tarrabus, and he screamed in agony and horror, but that was nothing, nothing compared to the pain that followed.
The white fire of Excalibur poured into t
he wound, shooting up his veins and through his flesh like molten metal. It filled every inch of his body, seemed to burst from his eyes and nose and mouth. He felt the sword’s rejection of him as unworthy, felt its wrath howl through him, scouring the shadow of Incariel from his blood. Tarrabus clawed at his face with his fingers and the stump of his right hand, as if trying to rip the fire from his flesh, but it did nothing.
Ever since he had taken the shadow of Incariel into himself, ever since he had become one of the Enlightened, Tarrabus had felt like a god. He had known it was his destiny to rule Andomhaim, to fulfill Tymandain Shadowbearer’s plan, to lead humanity into a glorious new age.
For the first time since that day, Tarrabus felt weak.
He saw Ridmark’s staff hurtle towards his face.
White light flashed before his eyes, and then everything went black.
###
Blood and teeth exploded from Tarrabus’s jaw as his head snapped to the side, and the false king of Andomhaim fell to the ground, blood seeping from his mouth and the stump of his right hand.
He did not move.
Ridmark looked up, breathing hard, and belatedly a fact worked its way into his exhausted mind.
The battle was over.
Everywhere he looked he saw Tarrabus’s horsemen fleeing or throwing down their arms and surrendering. A large man who Ridmark thought was Dux Timon Carduriel was on his knees, his hands in the air as he screamed terrified denunciations of Tarrabus at the top of his lungs. As Ridmark looked south, he saw the victorious Swordbearers and the orcish warriors and Corbanic’s men striding forward, Tarrabus’s footmen surrendering as fast as they could throw down their weapons.
Third stood on the other side of Tarrabus, grimacing as she wiped the blood from her mouth.
She met Ridmark’s eye.
“It seems,” she said, “that we have won the day.”
“Thank you,” said Ridmark. “He would have killed me.”
Frostborn: Excalibur (Frostborn #13) Page 28