“How?” said Calliande. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“If I destroy myself with the sword,” said Ridmark, “it has the power to make it so that I never existed. All my decisions will be undone. All those I’ve failed will be saved.”
“No,” said Calliande. “No, that’s impossible. The sword doesn’t have the power to do that.” She looked at Ardrhythain. “Does it?”
His voice was solemn. “It does not. No magic has the power to change the past. Only God himself possesses that power, and he does not employ it.”
“No,” said Ridmark. “You don’t understand. The sword does have that power. I can undo it all, I can…”
“The sword is testing you,” said Ardrhythain, still calm. “It is preying upon your inner weaknesses and offering you a vision of something impossible to test your strength.”
“It’s not impossible,” said Ridmark. “I can see it. The sword has that power. I can repair everything. I can bring Aelia and Morigna back…”
“Ridmark,” said Calliande, taking another step closer. She wanted to touch him, but she didn’t know how he would react. “It wouldn’t work. The sword is just testing you. If you kill yourself…nothing will happen. You’ll have killed yourself for nothing.” She swallowed. “Please, please, don’t. Please.”
“All the pain I inflicted on you,” said Ridmark, “it can be taken away.”
“Pain?” said Calliande. “You saved my life. You saved my life a dozen times over.” She wanted to say something comforting, to say that he had never hurt her, but she suspected that lying to him would be a terrible idea. “Maybe…yes, there were times when you caused me pain. When we parted after Dun Calpurnia. Or when I saw you with Morigna, or when I feared for your life as I fear for it now. But I swear on all the saints and all the apostles that I don’t want that pain taken away. I wouldn’t trade it for anything, because I love you, Ridmark. Please don’t kill yourself. You promised that you would see me to the end of this. You promised that you would spend the rest of your life with me.”
With cold, horrified detachment, she realized he could fulfill that promise right now if he killed himself with the sword.
Ridmark shook his head. “But the sword…” He blinked several times and shook his head again, the fire in his veins pulsing. “It could undo all the horror we have seen. It…”
He grimaced, and Calliande had the impression that he was arguing with someone that only he could see.
“It can’t change the past,” said Calliande. “But maybe it can change the present.”
“What?” said Ridmark.
“Look,” said Calliande, pointing at the curtain of mist that Ardrhythain had conjured. “The Frostborn are about to destroy the army of Andomhaim. The realm needs us. It needs the Keeper and the Dragon Knight. It needs you, Ridmark. Are you going to let the Frostborn kill them all? Because if we do not act now, Andomhaim is doomed and all our friends will die.”
Ridmark stared at the curtain of mist, at the flickering images of the unfolding battle. The strange expression of mingled ecstasy and agony wavered, and confusion came over his face.
“I…” He shook his head again. “I can undo it. I…no, I cannot allow it.” His face turned stern. “No. I will not allow it.”
He slashed the sword before him, and to his right a curtain of mist rose from the ground, shining with an inner white light. The Sight responded to the power in the glowing mist, and Calliande saw that it was a gate of the same kind that Kalomarus had left in the Tower of the Keeper. She saw the currents of powerful magic flowing from the sword, forcing the gate open.
Ridmark turned and stepped through the gate.
It began to close behind him.
Calliande didn’t hesitate.
Just as he had thrown himself after her in the Tower of the Keeper, she sprinted after him and through the gate an instant before it closed.
Chapter 23: Dragon Fire
Gavin’s chest ached with every breath. He must have cracked a rib at some point. He didn’t think the rib had broken because he couldn’t taste any blood, just his sweat when it trickled down his face. A half-dozen minor wounds on his arms and legs burned with every movement, and he knew that the next hit he took would likely drive him to his knees, and that would be the end of his life.
The charge of the medvarth warriors and the newly raised revenants had driven great wedges into the lines of the men of Andomhaim. Perhaps the charge would have broken the host, but the Frostborn were beginning to encircle them, and anyone who tried to run would be cut down without mercy. Gavin wondered if the Frostborn had planned this as a battle of annihilation, if they intended to exterminate the men of Andomhaim and raise them as a vast new host of revenants
More and more, that seemed the likely outcome.
He had killed a Frostborn warrior a few moments earlier, dueling the towering creature until he had driven Truthseeker through its guard and into its crystalline skin, seeking its heart and releasing the blue fire that served as blood for the creature. The effort of fighting such a powerful foe had drained Gavin, and he had barely been able to fend off three medvarth that had rushed him. If Antenora had not incinerated the third medvarth, Gavin would have been killed then and there.
The High King’s bodyguard and some of the surrounding men-at-arms had been surrounded and pushed into a circle. Gavin fought alongside them, Antenora standing behind him as she cast spells again and again. Caius and Kharlacht were still on their feet, as was Camorak, casting his healing spells even though he looked on the edge of collapse. Third flickered in and out of sight, carving her way through the medvarth and leaving them dead in her wake.
Gavin felt a pulse of exhausted, grim pride. If he was going to die, at least he would die surrounded by men (and two women) who had fought to the bitter, bloody end. The Frostborn would pay a steep price for taking Andomhaim.
He managed to block the strike of a locusari warrior’s limbs, and he swung Truthseeker in a wobbly, drunken chop, taking off the creature’s head. It fell to join the dead, and Gavin saw another wave of medvarth warriors charging towards him.
A peculiar sort of peace fell over him.
This was indeed the end. Was this how his father had felt in the final moment of his life when he charged Agrimnalazur, knowing that it would mean his death, knowing that his efforts were likely futile?
Perhaps Gavin could ask him in person soon.
“What?” said Antenora.
He blinked. She was looking in the direction of Arandar, frowning.
“What is it?” said Gavin.
“I do not know,” said Antenora. She sounded bewildered. “I have never seen magic of this type or potency before.”
There was a flicker of white light.
###
Arandar sought out the Frostborn, killing them whenever he could manage it.
Excalibur gave him an advantage that no one could match. The Frostborn wore heavy armor and carried massive greatswords, but Excalibur cut through them with ease. Arandar attacked the Frostborn themselves, using Excalibur to slice off their greatswords at the hilt and carving through their armor.
After he had cut down seven Frostborn, the enemy grew wise to his tactics.
The Frostborn fell back, using their magic to hurl icy blasts at him. Excalibur protected him from those spells, but the Frostborn also sent the medvarth warriors to assail him, and some of the medvarth carried throwing axes. They hurled the axes with terrific force, and Arandar had no choice but to duck and dodge.
The handle of one of the axes clipped him on the jaw. The impact knocked his head back, and Arandar lost his balance and fell. The Swordbearers tried to rush to his aid, but the fight had carried Arandar too far forward, and they could not reach him in time. Two Frostborn warriors charged, their greatswords raised high. Arandar tried to regain his feet, but his head was spinning, and he could not get back up.
The Frostborn raised their greatswords for the kill.
Fire exploded before
Arandar’s vision.
Not the blue fire of the cold magic of the Frostborn, but the harsh yellow-orange flame of a blacksmith’s furnace.
Arandar’s first thought was that Antenora had come to his aid. But the fire was too concentrated for that, and it looked hotter and sharper than anything Antenora had ever conjured.
Then he saw Ridmark.
The Gray Knight attacked the two Frostborn, not with his black staff or with his dwarven axe, but with a longsword of red gold, its pommel worked in the shape of a dragon’s head, the blade burning white-hot with howling flames. Ridmark stabbed one of the Frostborn, and the tip of the red sword scraped along its crystalline skin. The flames exploded from the sword and ripped through the Frostborn warrior, and it fell dead to the ground. The second Frostborn warrior charged at Ridmark, and he swept the red sword up in a parry. The weight of the Frostborn’s massive greatsword ought to have broken both of Ridmark’s arms, but the greatsword shattered against the burning blade like rotten ice struck by a hammer. The Frostborn stumbled, and Ridmark ripped the burning sword across its throat. Even the slightest wound from the sword seemed to prove fatal to the Frostborn, and the fire exploded through its body, sending it dead to the ground.
Someone grabbed Arandar’s left temple, and the cold of healing magic washed through him. When it passed, his head was clear, and he got back to his feet.
“High King.”
Calliande stood behind him, the staff in her left hand glimmering with the white light of the Well’s magic. Her face looked tight with fear and strain, her eyes bloodshot.
“You…” Arandar looked at her, at Ridmark, and his brain caught up with his eyes. A surge of fresh hope went through him. Third had been right. They had done it! They had gone to retrieve the sword of the Dragon Knight, and they had been successful.
The hope faded. They had returned too late. No matter how powerful the sword, it could not turn back the tide of the Frostborn.
And Ridmark looked…
Arandar wasn’t sure, but he thought that Ridmark looked as if he had gone mad.
His face was locked in a grimace, the cords standing out on his neck. That alone looked disturbing, but his eyes were filled with flames, and more fire seemed to burn in his veins.
It looked like the sword was killing him.
“High King,” said Calliande.
“You did it,” said Arandar. “You found the sword of the Dragon Knight.”
“Yes,” said Calliande. She was staring at Ridmark. “But it’s devouring him. I don’t think he can control it. It…”
“It’s too late,” said Arandar, stepping in front of her and lifting Excalibur. “The Frostborn have us. We can’t withdraw, and we can’t win. Not even the sword of the Dragon Knight can turn the tide now.”
He saw the despair on Calliande’s face, something he had never seen there before. Even during the darkest days of the campaign through Caerdracon and the siege of Tarlion, she had always projected cool confidence.
It seemed that the Keeper, too, had realized that they had reached the end.
“I’m sorry,” said Calliande. “I should have…”
“No.”
Ridmark’s voice was hard, and it seemed to reverberate in time to the howl of the flames coming from the red sword.
“Ridmark?” said Calliande.
The fire in his eyes blazed. “This will not come to pass.”
He walked towards the Frostborn host, lifting the sword before him in a two-handed grip.
###
The sword’s power thundered through Ridmark’s mind.
He knew it had the power to undo him, to remove him from the pages of history. Ardrhythain had told him that it could not, but the archmage had never wielded Caledhmaer and had never felt that awful power burning through him. If Ridmark fell on Caledhmaer right now, he could undo all of this and prevent the battle from ever happening.
And yet…
When he looked at Calliande, his certainty turned to doubt. He felt as if the things the sword had been telling him were a delusion, a fever dream, and that she was telling him the truth. Kalomarus had told him to trust Calliande.
And yet…if he could undo all of this…
But something else demanded his attention.
The battle. He would not allow the Frostborn to destroy the men of Andomhaim and the kingdoms of the orcs. He would not allow the Frostborn to slaughter his friends.
If Caledhmaer had the power to rewrite time…then surely it had the power to defeat the Frostborn.
He walked towards the enemy, Caledhmaer raised before him. A band of revenants rushed towards Ridmark, and the sword’s fury burned hotter. Caledhmaer sensed the cold magic animating them, and it rose in wrath against the dark power.
“Burn with me,” said Ridmark.
He strode to meet the revenants, bringing the sword around in a crosswise cut, and power exploded from it.
###
Flames caught Gavin’s eye.
He thought that Antenora had cast a spell, or that one of the trebuchets had hurled their missiles into the High King’s bodyguard. But Antenora was standing right next to him, spinning another sphere above her staff, and none of the trebuchet missiles had reached this far yet.
“The Keeper!” said Antenora. “The Keeper is here!”
Gavin spotted Calliande standing next to the High King, her face tight with fear. The Swordbearers and knights around them were reforming. Something had driven back the enemy, given them a moment to catch their breath.
The fire was coming from a sword in the hands of Ridmark Arban. The flames from the sword seemed to be spreading into his flesh, turning his veins into a map of fire visible even through his armor.
“They did it,” said Gavin, stunned. “That must be the sword of the Dragon Knight.”
“It is magic beyond anything I have ever seen,” said Antenora. Her yellow eyes were wide with amazement. “But the power…the magic is killing him.”
Ridmark strode alone towards a mass of revenants and Frostborn, his eyes burning with the same fiery light as his sword.
“We have to help him,” said Gavin.
“He cannot fight them alone,” said Caius. Caius and Kharlacht had fought their way to Gavin’s side. Third was with them, her expression alarmed as she looked at Ridmark.
“Agreed,” said Third. “We must aid the lord magister at once.”
“He might not need our help,” said Antenora.
Ridmark swung the sword and drove the blade through the chest of the first revenant, an undead medvarth. The howling fire burned out the cold blue light in the creature’s eyes, and the two pieces of its corpse fell burning to the ground.
But the fire did not stop.
The flames exploded from the destroyed revenant, leaping into the nearby creatures. The fire ripped through them like a firestorm through chaff, spreading out in a widening circle. More revenants burned, more and more, and soon hundreds of the undead burned, and then thousands.
For an instant, it seemed as if thousands of giant torches burned on the field of battle below the scarred walls of Dun Calpurnia.
The revenants fell smoking and smoldering to the ground. Thousands of them had been destroyed in a single instant by the power of the Dragon Knight’s sword, and a shocked silence fell over the battlefield. The Frostborn and their creatures were stunned with dismay, while the men of Andomhaim were stunned with simple shock.
Ridmark kept walking forward, heading for the Frostborn themselves.
“Hurry!” said Caius, and they ran towards him.
###
The wrath of Caledhmaer snarled through Ridmark’s mind, hotter and stronger than he could have imagined.
The power of Heartwarden and Excalibur had been opposed to dark magic, had burned with fury when they encountered it. Caledhmaer had the same kind of power, but it was a thousand times stronger. Ridmark had set one revenant ablaze, and that fire had spread to every revenant upon the battlefield,
shattering the cold power in their undead flesh.
For a moment, he wondered if he could use Caledhmaer to turn the entire host of the Frostborn to ashes, but the sword’s magic did not work that way. It could destroy legions of undead in a single instant, but it could not do the same to living creatures.
But Caledhmaer had other powers to direct against the living.
Including Ridmark’s allies.
He lifted the sword and called upon its power, and more fire exploded from the blade.
###
Gavin ran towards Ridmark. The Frostborn around the Gray Knight seemed dismayed or at least shocked by the sudden destruction of their revenant horde, but Gavin knew that would not last. Ridmark himself had come to a stop, the sword’s hilt grasped in both hands as he lifted it before him, a miniature firestorm whirling around the blade.
Then he swung the sword, and the fire exploded from it. An expanding dome of yellow-orange light rose from Ridmark and swept across the battlefield. It passed through the Frostborn without touching them, and it moved through Gavin. He felt the power in the light, felt it tugging through Truthseeker, but it did nothing to him.
But Kharlacht and Caius and Third stopped, raising their weapons. Kharlacht’s greatsword was now wreathed in magical flames, as were the blades of Third’s twin short swords. Even the head of Caius’s mace of dwarven steel burned, making it look as if he held a torch.
Light shone across the army as the swords and spears and maces of the men of Andomhaim and the orcish kingdoms burst into flames.
“The sword,” said Antenora, her voice stunned. “It has shared its magic with the entire host.”
That seemed to snap the Frostborn from their paralysis. Drums boomed across the enemy lines, and the medvarth roared and charged, while the Frostborn themselves rushed towards Ridmark, intent on cutting down this new threat.
Frostborn: The Dragon Knight (Frostborn #14) Page 29