“Why have you made this so hard?” said Calliande.
“It is not I who have made things hard, but the nature of the world,” said Ardrhythain. “I wish it were otherwise, but there are limits to how I can act.”
“Why?” said Calliande again. “You’ve helped us before. You’ve helped Andomhaim and humanity before. You brought the first Keeper to Cathair Tarlias and had her convince Malahan Pendragon to settle there. You founded the Magistri and the Swordbearers among us to fight the urdmordar. You gave Kalomarus the sword. But why have you stood back and let so many die? You could have told me who I really was before Urd Morlemoch. You might not have been able to capture Tymandain, but the Enlightened were not so powerful, and you could have killed Tarrabus Carhaine and the other Enlightened and saved thousands of lives.” She shook her head. “That wretched soulstone. If you had taken it from us after we escaped from Urd Morlemoch, then Tymandain Shadowbearer wouldn’t have been able to open that gate, and none of us would be standing here.”
“Calliande,” said Ridmark, but she kept talking.
“You could have averted so much evil, but you have not,” said Calliande. “Why? That is all I want to know. Why?”
She tried to push her rebelling emotions under control, her breath coming faster than she would have liked.
“Our law forbids it,” said Ardrhythain at last. He did not seem angry, only…tired, somehow, and sad.
“Your law?” said Calliande, incredulous.
“Yes,” said Ardrhythain. “Humans have many laws to govern yourselves, for the law written in your heart is often occluded. Dwarves have many laws as well, for it is in their nature to love order above all things. The high elves of Cathair Solas have only three laws.”
“Three?” said Ridmark. “Only three?”
“That is all we require,” said Ardrhythain. “Our threefold law is this. First, we must honor God in all things. Second, we must resist the shadow of Incariel in all things. The third law is the most difficult, for we are forbidden from ever seeking power over other kindreds. That is why I have not given you more help than I have, Keeper of Andomhaim. I may aid you. I may offer advice to you. But I may not exercise any power over you.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” said Calliande.
“Doesn’t it?” said Ardrhythain. “For even the least of the high elves are so much stronger than you. You regard a man of eighty years as a wise elder. What is eighty years? A high elf who has not even reached his first century is regarded as a raw youth. Eighty years to us is an idle afternoon. Many things can be learned in eighty years, but how many more can be learned in a thousand or ten thousand?”
A flicker of some strange, alien emotion went over his face, and he stepped closer to Calliande, the end of his staff ringing against the pale stone of the floor.
“You all die so quickly,” said Ardrhythain. “Generations of humans come and go like grass upon the field, and the high elves are still there. Your realm of Andomhaim has not even stood for a thousand years, and you consider it ancient. The civilizations of humans upon Old Earth is barely five thousand years old, and you consider that unfathomably old. Five thousand years is but a chapter in the saga of the history of the elves. Have you ever considered how very easy it would be to enslave you all? Humans die so quickly, and every generation must learn anew the truths once known by the previous. If we but killed all your elders, it would be a simple matter to teach your children to revere us as gods. Within three of your generations, we would have trained every single human to worship us, and they would regard any attack upon us as an unspeakable blasphemy.”
“Ardrhythain,” said Ridmark, but the archmage kept speaking. Calliande found herself stepping back in alarm. Ardrhythain had so much power, but now the full attention of that ancient mind and will was bent upon her, and she found it intimidating.
“For next to humans, we might as well be gods,” said Ardrhythain. “You think your Magistri are mighty? Compared to our magi, they are but bumbling novices. One archmage of the high elves could destroy an army in battle. In a day, if I put my mind to it, I could conquer Andomhaim and make your armies as chaff upon the threshing floor. And I should I not do it? Do I not have the right? Look at humanity!”
His eyes were changing, Calliande realized with alarm. The brilliant gold was fading, and darkness was creeping into them.
Like the eyes of a dark elf.
Ardrhythain took another step towards her, and suddenly he reminded her of the Warden of Urd Morlemoch.
“What is darker than the heart of a human?” said Ardrhythain, the darkness in his eyes deepening. “You are a kindred of liars and thieves and fornicators and murderers. Your entire history is one of lies and deception and blood, blood without end, and you slaughter each other with wanton abandon. Do I not have the right to bring you to order? Do I not have the duty? If I ordered your lives and governed your nations, I would bring you to order, I would end your crimes and lies and murders, and I would…”
He stopped talking and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Calliande realized that she held her magic ready, that Ridmark gripped his staff as if intending to strike.
Ardrhythain let out a long breath and laughed to himself.
“Ah,” he said, calm once more. “After so long, the old temptations are still the strongest.”
He opened his eyes, and they had returned to a brilliant gold, the shadow gone.
“Forgive me for frightening you,” said Ardrhythain, “but I think you can see why no high elf, or especially me, can seek out power over another kindred.”
“That…was it, then?” said Calliande. “That is what created the dark elves? The desire to wield power over other kindreds?”
“In part,” said Ardrhythain. “Tymandain and those he seduced opened the way for the shadow of Incariel to touch us. Every heart has a weakness to evil within it. Among humans, the weakness is varied. Your weakness, Keeper of Andomhaim, is pride. Yours, Ridmark Arban, is despair, and if I may say so, a measure of lust. Among the high elves, our weakness is a love of power and a love of magic. Incariel offers us both. And if we seek to wield power over you, the shadow of Incariel consumes us, and we become one with the dark elves. That is why I did not aid you more, Calliande of Tarlion. I could not. I gave what aid I could when you asked. But I could not do more, for if I did, I would seek to rule you, and I would open myself to the shadow of Incariel. Should I do that, I would become like the Warden or the Traveler or any other dark elven lord. ”
“I’m sorry,” said Calliande. “I didn’t know. Forgive my hasty words...and please forgive that I awoke that temptation within you.”
He smiled. “Fear not. You did not put that temptation in my heart. It has been there since long before you were born, and I have lived with it just as long.”
“If we must ask you to help us,” said Ridmark, “then I ask now. Take us to the sword of the Dragon Knight.”
“As you wish,” said Ardrhythain. “It is but a short walk from here. As we walk, I must tell you of the true nature of our enemy.”
“Shadowbearer?” said Calliande.
“Yes,” said Ardrhythain. “The Frostborn are not your true enemy. Not even Imaria Shadowbearer is your true foe. The shadow of Incariel is the true enemy of us all…and it uses both the Frostborn and the Shadowbearer as its tools.”
He turned and gestured with his staff. The flickering mirror behind the dais vanished, revealing a gloomy cavern that descended deep into the earth, a pale glow coming from its depths.
“Come,” said Ardrhythain, and Calliande and Ridmark followed him into the cavern.
Chapter 11: The Queen
The patrol rode into the wooded hills of the Northerland, and Gavin looked around him with suspicion.
He did not have many memories of the Northerland, but most of them were bad. The first time he had come here had been after Khald Azalar and Dragonfall, with Mournacht and his host of Mhorite orcs chasing them. Then they had been fo
rced to flee Dun Licinia for Dun Calpurnia as the host of the Frostborn poured out of their world gate to invade Andomhaim. A year later he had returned with Calliande to find Ridmark and the Anathgrimm, and they had walked into Caradog Lordac’s trap and nearly been killed.
Gavin hoped this visit to the hills of the Northerland would not bring disaster.
He rode with Antenora, Sir Constantine, and forty mounted men-at-arms sworn to the House of the Licinii. Both Constantine and the men-at-arms were native to the Northerland and knew it well. Some of the men were experienced hunters, and possibly experienced poachers, and knew every back trail and path through the pine-cloaked hills. They made good time, making their way through the hills and past the ruined villages and shattered keeps that the Frostborn and their armies had left in their wake.
The Northerland had been razed. Gavin had seen more burned villages and ruined farms in Calvus and Caerdracon than he would have liked, but many villages had been left intact. Dead freeholders and burned fields could not produce a crop, and Tarrabus Carhaine and his cultists had still needed to eat.
In the Northerland, the devastation was total. The Frostborn had methodically destroyed every village and broken every keep, either slaughtering the villagers or taking them back to Dun Licinia as slaves. Gavin wondered how the Frostborn fed their armies. Had they started farming the valleys near their citadel and the Black Mountain? Or maybe they just brought supplies through their world gate.
Or perhaps they planned to kill off most of the population of Andomhaim, keep the survivors as slaves, and bring large numbers of their other slave kindreds through the gate to repopulate the world?
Gavin didn’t know. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to find out. Nevertheless, he brooded on it as they rode through the hills.
He also worried about the complete lack of enemies they encountered.
Soon after Prince Cadwall had reclaimed Dun Calpurnia, Arandar had arrived with the rest of the host, and they had set to work with a will. In short order, the damaged quays had been rebuilt, and large amounts of supplies secured within the town and the castra. Since the town was empty and most of the houses were ruined, there was ample space within the walls to store provisions and house the army. Poor Sir Joram looked more relieved than Gavin had seen him in weeks. Siege engines had been built and mounted on the walls and the towers of the castras, with the portable ballistae manned day and night. The men-at-arms manning the ballistae managed to shoot down two frost drakes before the Frostborn realized the danger and flew higher over the town.
Yet there had been no response from the Frostborn. In the few days after the horsemen had taken the town, Gavin had looked to the north constantly, expecting to see a strong Frostborn force marching south any moment. With the horsemen divided from the rest of the army, they were vulnerable, and if the Frostborn struck fast, they could retake Dun Calpurnia and wipe out the horsemen.
But they did not, and it left Gavin baffled.
It also baffled Arandar and the chief lords and knights. After discussing the matter, they had sent patrols ranging in all directions. Some of Dux Sebastian’s men rode east in search of the manetaurs, and others forded the River Moradel and rode west, hoping to find either the dwarven host or the Anathgrimm. Men chosen from the men-at-arms and militia sworn to Dux Gareth rode into the Northerland itself, trying to discover the location of the enemy forces. Two Swordbearers accompanied each patrol, and Gavin, Antenora, and Constantine rode with this one. Gavin supposed they could have stayed in Dun Calpurnia and protected the High King, but the Frostborn had not made any more attempts on his life, and Arandar was surrounded by the most powerful Magistri and the most veteran Swordbearers of the Two Orders. He was as safe as he was likely to be for the foreseeable future.
Besides, Third was with him, and she knew what she was doing.
So, Gavin and Antenora rode with Constantine. Gavin could have commanded his own patrol as a Swordbearer, but he was glad Constantine was here to do that kind of thing. The older Swordbearer had been raised to command, and would one day succeed his father as Dux of the Northerland.
Assuming there was anything left to inherit at that point.
At midday, they stopped at a ruined village. Once it had filled the top of a broad hill, a small keep rising from the center. The nearby hills had been terraced into fields, and Gavin saw the signs of long cultivation in the valley below the town. But the fields were overrun with weeds, and nothing remained of the village except the stone shells of its houses, church, and keep. It was a melancholy sight, and it put Gavin into a melancholy mood. He had seen so many ruined villages that he ought to have been used to the sight by now, but he never was. He had grown up in a place like this, and seeing it reminded him of watching Aranaeus burn, of what Agrimnalazur and her arachar orcs had done.
At least the Frostborn hadn’t planned to eat the people of the village as Agrimnalazur had done. Though Gavin still didn’t know what the medvarth ate.
He sat with Antenora on the step of a ruined house and ate a piece of bread and a piece of cheese. Antenora didn’t need to eat or drink, but still kept him company, which was nice. The other men either ate in groups or explored the ruins of the village, looking for anything interesting. Gavin hoped they wouldn’t loot anything. No doubt all the owners were long-dead, but it still would have bothered him.
“I can see why the Anathgrimm and the lord magister held the Frostborn here for so long,” said Antenora.
“Oh?” said Gavin.
“In the Northerland,” said Antenora. “All these valleys and hills make excellent terrain for ambushes and raids. The Frostborn would have been unable to bring their superior numbers to bear, and the lord magister and his warriors could have attacked their parties one by one.”
“That’s what he said,” said Gavin. Ridmark had spoken a little of the fighting in the Northerland during their journeys to Bastoth and Khald Tormen. “Quick raids and swift attacks. Keep the Frostborn off balance. It must have worked. It’s been over a year, and the Frostborn are only now just coming into Caerdracon.”
“It is an effective way of making war,” said Antenora. “I saw it many times on Old Earth, though I cannot recall all of the wars where I saw it.”
“That must be frustrating,” said Gavin.
“It is,” said Antenora, “but perhaps it is for the best that I cannot recall. Such wars are often savage. Yet they happened time and time again. A larger, stronger army invaded a hostile country, and their foes hid themselves and struck from the shadows. Inevitably the stronger army almost always collapsed in time, though such victories were long and costly and bloody.”
Gavin nodded. It also troubled him that there was no sign of the Anathgrimm in the Northerland. Either the Frostborn had indeed walled them off within Nightmane Forest…or the Frostborn had killed them all and razed the Forest to ash. Still, that seemed unlikely. If the Anathgrimm were not a danger, the Frostborn would not have exerted all that effort to build earthwork forts along the Moradel, and according to the scouts, those forts were there.
“I think,” said Gavin, “that we…”
“Frost drake!” someone shouted.
They reacted at once. Gavin stood up and stepped into the ruined house, Antenora at his side. The rest of the men-at-arms did the same, taking cover in the ruins. Antenora called her power, her staff starting to glow in the gloom. Gavin hoped that the frost drake and its Frostborn rider would not be able to spot the light from the air.
A moment later he saw the frost drake, a distant speck against the sky to the west. It was flying to the north, and it did not deviate from its course.
The creature vanished from sight, and the men-at-arms came out from hiding.
“I don’t think it saw us at all,” said Constantine, stopping next to Gavin and Antenora. He had grown grimmer since they had returned to the Northerland. It made Constantine look more like his father.
“It looked like it was in a hurry,” said Gavin.
“A courier, then,” said Antenora. “A messenger.”
“Carrying news of the fall of Dun Calpurnia?” said Gavin.
“Perhaps,” said Constantine. “But surely the Frostborn have learned of the High King’s arrival by now. Their scouts practically followed us from Castra Carhaine to Dun Calpurnia.” He shook his head. “No matter. We have our task, and we shall carry it out.”
“We’ll drive the Frostborn out of the Northerland,” said Gavin.
Constantine hesitated, and then grinned and clapped him on the back. “You cheer me, sir.”
“I keep hearing about Castra Marcaine,” said Gavin. “I would like to see it.” Truth be told, he doubted it would be as splendid as Tarlion, which had been an astonishing sight with its towers and the mighty Citadel of the High King. Yet he did want to see the entirety of the realm he had sworn to defend with Truthseeker. And Castra Marcaine, Gavin had learned, had been where all of this had begun. Ridmark had volunteered for the quest to Urd Morlemoch there.
Imaria Licinius Shadowbearer had grown up at Castra Marcaine. Gavin wondered if there would be some sign of what she would become, some hint that a young noblewoman would be twisted into a monster.
“And I would like to return to it,” said Constantine. “Once we’ve defeated the Frostborn and reclaimed the Northerland, we shall have a splendid feast in the great hall. I hope you shall come, Sir Gavin, and you as well, Lady Antenora. We shall have libations in honor of the fallen and tell of our deeds in the battle.”
“Yes,” said Gavin. “I would like that.”
But he knew it would never happen. If they were victorious, Antenora would be released from her curse, and a natural death would take her at last. The battles to come might well claim Gavin, or Constantine, or perhaps the entire host of Andomhaim.
With that somber thought in mind, he joined the others as they rode from the ruined village and continued their patrol.
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Later that afternoon, they walked right into the enemy.
Frostborn: The Dragon Knight (Frostborn #14) Page 14