Frostborn: The Dragon Knight (Frostborn #14)

by Jonathan Moeller

  Gavin sat in his horse’s saddle, his mind wandering, and then rebuked himself for inattention. Given how fast the locusari could move, he needed to keep his attention on his surroundings. Granted, it was hard to pay attention to yet another rocky hill and yet another stand of pine trees, but that was no excuse for…

  “Locusari!” someone shouted.

  Gavin’s gaze snapped to the trees ahead. The patrol was moving along a path in a valley between two rough hills. The pine forest filled most of the valley, and boulders jutted from the ground. The terrain here was not advantageous for fighting from horseback and was nearly perfect for an ambush.

  The boulders did not trouble the locusari warriors in the least.

  Something blue blurred through the trees, and then a dozen locusari warriors burst into sight, running towards the path on their segmented legs. Unlike the locusari scouts, the warriors lacked wings and could not take to the air. They made up for it in increased size and strength and toughness, and their scythe-like forelimbs could inflict terrible wounds

  The locusari froze, their wedge-shaped heads pivoting as they looked back and forth, their faceted black eyes glittering. Their alien features gave away nothing of their thoughts, and Gavin wasn’t even sure that the locusari had emotions. Yet he got the impression that the locusari warriors were surprised to see them.

  Then the warriors loosed their metallic cries and charged, raising their scythed limbs to strike.

  “To arms!” shouted Sir Constantine, leaping from the back of his horse and drawing Brightherald. “To arms!”

  Gavin had already followed suit, pine needles crunching beneath his boots as he charged. He felt heat against his face and neck, and a gout of flame shot across the path as Antenora brought her magic to bear. Her lash of flame swept across two locusari, immolating them.

  Five locusari warriors closed around Constantine, Brightherald whipping around him in shining arcs as he kept the creatures at bay. Gavin rushed to join the older Swordbearer, and he crashed into the melee, cutting the head from a locusari warrior even as Constantine killed another. One of the locusari wheeled and tried to drive Gavin to the ground, the bladed forelimbs bouncing off his shield. Gavin shoved, and the locusari rocked back, legs scraping through the pine needles. The locusari warriors had one serious weakness. They were fast and strong, but they were not all that heavy, and it was easy to knock them off balance. Truthseeker sliced through a locusari warrior’s rear legs, and before the creature could recover, Gavin killed it.

  Antenora flung another lash of fire, setting two locusari ablaze, and by then the men-at-arms joined the fray, swords and maces rising and falling. A moment later the battle was over, the locusari dead upon the ground, either charred black or leaking yellow slime into the dirt.

  “Is anyone wounded?” said Constantine, looking over the men, but no one had taken any wounds in the short, sharp fight.

  “Suppose it was just bad luck they found us,” said one of the men-at-arms.

  “They were not looking for us,” said Antenora, walking to join Gavin.

  “A patrol?” said Gavin.

  “Why patrol the Northerland at all?” said Constantine. “At least, why use locusari warriors for a patrol? With the frost drakes and the winged locusari, they can cover a vast distance far more quickly than any forces on the ground.”

  “Maybe they were looking for us,” said Gavin.

  “Aye, that must be it,” said Constantine. “Or someone else? The Anathgrimm? No, if the Anathgrimm had broken out, we would see far more dead locusari. They must be looking for us, which means that it is time to move.” He turned to give orders to his men.

  As he did, Gavin saw a flash of blue light in the trees ahead.

  He started to speak a warning, but then a distant roar rang out, the cry of an enraged medvarth.

  “There is fighting ahead,” said Antenora.

  “I saw blue fire in the trees,” said Gavin. “I think Third is here. The High King must have sent her as a messenger.”

  Another roar came from the forest, and this time Gavin saw a brighter flash of blue light.

  “God and the saints, let us hope that disaster has not befallen Dun Calpurnia in our absence,” said Constantine. “You, you, you, and you. Stay here and guard the horses. We will likely need them soon enough. The rest of you, follow me.”

  Constantine broke into a jog, and Gavin and Antenora and the others followed him. They hurried into the pine trees, and Gavin caught the familiar musky odor of the medvarth warriors, accompanied by the metallic scent of spilled blood. More furious roars rang out, and there was another flash of blue fire.

  Three medvarth lay dead upon the ground, their blood spilling upon the stones. Five more medvarth stood in a loose circle, swords and axes in hand, their black eyes glinting with rage, their muzzles pulled back from their fangs in a furious snarl. There were fighting someone, that was plain, but Gavin could not see who. Perhaps Third had traveled away or gone into hiding.

  The medvarth turned as the men-at-arms approached, raising their weapons.

  As they did, blue fire swirled behind them, and a figure appeared.

  It wasn’t Third. This woman was shorter, with pale blond hair instead of black. She wore blue dark elven armor over black clothing and moved with the same kind of fluid grace as Third. Before the medvarth could react, she leaped forward, landed on the back of the nearest medvarth warrior, and cut its throat with a short sword of dark elven steel and a bronze-colored dwarven dagger.

  She disappeared in blue fire before the dying medvarth fell to its knees, but not before Gavin recognized Queen Mara of Nightmane Forest.

  “At them!” shouted Constantine, and they charged into the foe. The medvarth roared and ran to meet their enemies. Antenora hit one of the medvarth with a spell, and the creature collapsed, writhing as her fires consumed its flesh. Gavin struck at another medvarth, dodging under the sweep of its axe and plunging Truthseeker deep into its side. The medvarth howled and then collapsed as the men-at-arms swarmed over it. Constantine struck down a medvarth warrior, and the last creature turned to fight, only for Mara to appear behind it and strike, plunging her sword and dwarven dagger into its neck.

  The last medvarth fell, and Mara stepped past it, breathing hard, and she shook the droplets of blood from her blades. She blinked, her green eyes seeming enormous in her delicate, pale face.

  Then she saw Gavin, and she grinned in surprise.

  “Sir Gavin!” she said, sheathing her weapons and stepping towards them. “Antenora! I am surprised to see you. Surprised, and very glad.”

  “Queen Mara,” said Gavin. “I think we are just as surprised.”

  “It is good to see you, my lady Queen,” said Constantine, sweeping into a proper bow. Gavin wondered if he should bow as well, which seemed odd since he and Mara had been friends long before she had become the Queen of Anathgrimm. Though she was a Queen now, after all, but fortunately Constantine kept talking. “Are you here with the Anathgrimm?”

  “No,” said Mara. “I am here alone.”

  Gavin blinked. “The Anathgrimm allowed that?”

  “My husband and my captains were not happy with the idea,” said Mara, “but it was the only way. We needed to send a message to Prince Arandar, and I was the only one who could make it through the Northerland without getting caught by the Frostborn.” She looked at the dead medvarth and shook her head. “Though they came close. I blundered into that patrol, and they started following me. We’ve had a running battle over the last three miles or so. Then the Sight showed me your soulblades shining like torches, and I headed towards you. Thank you for the assistance, by the way.”

  “You are welcome,” said Gavin, and Antenora inclined her head.

  “What news do you have?” said Constantine.

  “The Frostborn have built a line of forts on the eastern bank of the Moradel, sealing off Nightmane Forest,” said Mara. “The Anathgrimm dare not cross the river to attack because we would
be slaughtered. The Frostborn have been moving some of their soldiers across the Moradel into northeastern Khaluusk, but they haven’t crossed the river in strength.”

  Gavin frowned. “That makes sense, I suppose. The High King and his army are at Dun Calpurnia, and that’s on the eastern side of the river.”

  “The High King?” said Mara, blinking. “Then Arandar was victorious against Tarrabus?”

  Gavin blinked. “News has not reached you?”

  Mara shrugged. “How would news have reached Nightmane Forest?”

  That was a good point.

  “That I am very pleased to be the bearer of glad tidings,” said Constantine. “Tarrabus Carhaine was defeated outside the walls of Tarlion, and the power of the Enlightened broken. Arandar Pendragon is now the High King of Andomhaim, and the entire army of the realm has gathered at Dun Calpurnia for the campaign against the Frostborn.”

  “Oh,” said Mara. “Oh. That is very good news. The best news I’ve heard for over a year.”

  “It was Ridmark who beat him,” said Gavin. Jager and Arandar, Gavin recalled, had not gotten along at first, but they had later become friends over their shared enmity with Tarrabus Carhaine.

  “Truly?” said Mara.

  “Aye, my lady Queen,” said Constantine. “Ridmark stole into Tarrabus’s camp, retrieved the sword Excalibur, and with Lady Third, he fought Tarrabus while surrounded by the dark power of Incariel, yet he was victorious nonetheless.”

  Mara laughed. “Were you talking about anyone else but Ridmark and my sister, I would accuse you of spinning a tale, Sir Constantine. But I know them, and I am not surprised. Your news is better than mine, I fear.”

  “What is your news, then?” said Constantine.

  “Castra Marcaine has fallen,” said Mara, “and the Frostborn are moving south in great numbers. That is why they had the strength to bottle up the Anathgrimm and advance south at the same time. They no longer needed to hold a large force at Castra Marcaine.”

  “We feared as much,” said Constantine. “The freeholders and commoners of Caerdracon have seen scouting parties of locusari warriors and medvarth for several weeks.”

  “But my news isn’t all bad,” said Mara. “The southern border of Nightmane Forest is yet unguarded. I have commanded the Anathgrimm to march from the southern boundaries of the Forest in hopes of joining our forces to yours since the Northerland cannot be contested any longer.”

  “That is indeed good news,” said Constantine. “The High King thought to hold Dun Calpurnia and fortify it for the campaign north. The aid of the Anathgrimm would be most welcome.”

  “And I have another piece of good news,” said Mara. “Ridmark and Calliande must have been successful in their mission to Khald Tormen.”

  “They were,” said Gavin. “To both the manetaurs and the dwarves.”

  “The Anathgrimm encountered a dwarven scouting party,” said Mara. “They were still several days away from their main force, but the dwarves are marching through central Khaluusk. They are only a few days from the River Moradel.”

  “God be praised!” said Constantine. Gavin had seen firsthand the skill of the dwarves in war and seen the terrible power of their taalkrazdor weapons. If the dwarves came to join the battle with a thousand or even a hundred taalkrazdors, it would be a heavy blow against the Frostborn. “God be praised! I spoke too soon, Queen Mara. Today, you are the bearer of glad tidings.”

  Mara smiled. “We both were, Sir Constantine. Can you escort me to Dun Calpurnia as soon as possible? I might be able to make the journey faster alone. But if I pop up in the middle of a group of medvarth warriors,” she gestured at the slain creatures upon the ground, “they might take me off-guard.”

  “It would be our honor,” said Constantine. “We have enough remounts for you to have a horse, though of course you would be welcome to any one of our horses.”

  “I will be grateful for the help, Sir Constantine,” said Mara. She looked at Gavin and Antenora and smiled. “Are Ridmark and Calliande here?”

  “Ah,” said Gavin. “About that.”

  Chapter 12: Alliances

  As he had during the siege of Tarlion, Arandar rode from one end of Dun Calpurnia’s walls to another.

  Fortunately, Dun Calpurnia was smaller, so the ride didn’t take as long. Unfortunately, the town’s fortifications were not as formidable as those surrounding the capital, and they lacked the ancient wards that the Keepers and generations of Magistri had woven into the stones. Tarrabus Carhaine had not been able to take the walls of Tarlion, but he would have been able to storm Dun Calpurnia, and Arandar suspected the Frostborn could do the same.

  Nevertheless, the ramparts of the walls were wide enough to mount dozens of the mobile ballistae on their ramparts, and the men-at-arms manning the weapons made sure that the frost drakes and the locusari scouts did not descend low enough to cause trouble. Dux Kors had come up with the idea of offering a bounty to any men who managed to shoot down a locusari or a frost drake, and the men-at-arms had responded with enthusiasm.

  Dux Leogrance had suggested that Arandar base himself in the town’s castra, but he declined. There was too much work to be done, and the castra’s hill was steep enough that having messengers ride back and forth would waste valuable time. Plus, Arandar did not want to return to the castra. Uthanaric Pendragon had held court there the final time before his betrayal and murder, and the memory left a foul taste in Arandar’s mouth. Sometimes Arandar wondered how much evil might have been averted if he had just found a way to kill Tarrabus Carhaine then and there, even at the cost of his own life.

  Well, what was done was done.

  The army encamped outside the walls, ready to advance to the attack if the Frostborn showed themselves, or to fall back to the town if they were overwhelmed. Arandar rode through the camps with his lords, consulting with them, Third following him like a silent shadow if the Order of the Inquisition made another attempt on his life. Scouting parties had been sent into the Northerland, and to the east and to the west in search of the dwarves and the manetaurs. Once Arandar had more information, he could decide on a course of action.

  Until then, they had no choice but to wait.

  As it turned out, the wait did not take long.

  Arandar was riding with Dux Kors, Dux Leogrance, and Dux Gareth, discussing the position of the footmen when Dux Sebastian and a group of his knights and men-at-arms hastened to join them. Sebastian looked grim, perhaps even a little alarmed, and a sinking feeling went through Arandar.

  He suspected that the host of the Frostborn had been found at last.

  “Dux Sebastian!” said Arandar. “What news?”

  “The enemy has been sighted, my lord High King,” said Sebastian without preamble. “My scouts saw a strong force of medvarth, locusari, khaldjari, and cogitaers march south down the Moradel road, with hundreds of Frostborn in the rear. I believe it is the core of the Frostborn host, and they are coming to meet us.”

  “What numbers?” said Kors.

  “Between thirty and fifty thousand,” said Sebastian. “Perhaps more. My scouts did not dare remain long enough to count.”

  Arandar nodded, thinking hard. At its height, the army of Andomhaim had numbered over fifty thousand men, and that many had marched with Uthanaric when he had left Tarlion. The civil war had reduced that number grievously, however, and he suspected that the Frostborn would outnumber them by a significant margin. Numbers were not everything in a battle, of course. The protective spells of the Magistri could blunt the magical attacks of the Frostborn, and their healing spells could restore men who would otherwise die of their wounds. A single Swordbearer was worth any number of medvarth or khaldjari warriors, and a veteran Swordbearer was a terror on the battlefield. The ballistae would keep the frost drakes at bay.

  While numbers did not count for everything on the battlefield, they were nonetheless important, and Arandar did not like the difference in their numbers.

  “Has there been any
sign of the dwarves, the Anathgrimm, or the manetaurs?” said Arandar.

  “None, I fear,” said Sebastian.

  “Then it seems our options are to meet the Frostborn in battle,” said Leogrance, “or to fall back within the walls of Dun Calpurnia and wait for help to arrive.”

  “Neither choice is a good one,” said Gareth.

  “No,” said Arandar.

  “Better to ride out and face the foe,” said Dux Kors, frowning behind his bristling gray beard.

  “If we do that, we risk losing everything in a single battle,” said Leogrance.

  “If we retreat within the walls, help might not arrive before the Frostborn crush us,” said Kors.

  “If the Frostborn are going to crush us within the walls of Dun Calpurnia,” said Leogrance, “then they would defeat us on the field as well, albeit far more quickly.”

  They were both right, but Arandar thought Leogrance had the better grasp of the situation. They could hold out longer within the walls of Dun Calpurnia than they could without, and the Frostborn could not advance further south in large numbers without first taking the town. It reminded Arandar of the situation at Tarlion. Rather than risking an open battle, Tarrabus had built his circumvallation wall and contravallation wall, continuing the siege of Tarlion and holding off Arandar’s army at the same time.

  Of course, Tarrabus had been defeated.

  Then again, Tarrabus could just as easily have won if a dozen things had gone differently. A dozen minor decisions could have changed the outcome of that battle.

  Had Arandar already made the choice that would decide this battle?

  “Let us wait until the rest of the scouts return, and we have a better picture of the enemy,” said Arandar. “The Frostborn might not have equipped themselves for a siege. If they do, we would be better served to retreat behind the walls of the town and wait for our allies. If they come with a siege train, we would be wiser to march forth and attack them rather than letting us trap them within the town.”

  The Duxi frowned, but they did nod.