“There would have been no need to save your lives,” said Ridmark, “if I had not been there.”
She took a careful step towards him. “Let me show you.”
“Show me what?” said Ridmark.
“The Sight,” said Calliande. “I can use the Sight to show you what would have happened if you had never been born. It can do that, sometimes, when I turn it towards the past. It can show us things that never were but might have been if we had chosen a different path. I can use the Sight to show you that.”
Ridmark hesitated.
“Please,” said Calliande, taking another step towards him. “Let me show you. Do that for me. Let the Sight show you what would have happened if not for you, and…and if you don’t like what you see, I won’t try to stop you.”
He stared at her with fire-filled eyes, and Calliande desperately wished she could see his real eyes again.
At last, he nodded.
“All right,” said Calliande, her throat dry. She crossed the remaining space between them and grasped his free hand with hers. His skin felt dry and fever-hot. “All right. I will show you.”
She took a deep breath, calling on the Sight, and praying that it would work.
The Sight rushed up at her call.
###
Ridmark grasped Calliande’s hand.
She looked frightened, so frightened, and he wanted to comfort her. But she didn’t understand yet. If he used the sword on himself, she would be safe.
Her eyelids fluttered, and he felt power erupt from her and join his mind.
Visions flickered before his eyes, showing him the lives of his friends, of the path they would have taken had he not been there.
###
Kharlacht lifted his sword as he walked towards the walls of Tarlion, his arms heavy with fatigue. Around him marched the remnants of Qazarl’s men, all those who had survived the long campaign across Andomhaim to the gates of Tarlion.
Ever since Shadowbearer had opened the gate on the day of blue fire, the Frostborn had poured forth, conquering all before them. Qazarl and his orcs had been enslaved by the Frostborn, used by their new masters as fodder in their conquest of Andomhaim. Kharlacht had seen countless sieges and countless towns burn, until at last the remnants of the High King’s armies huddled behind Tarlion’s walls, waiting for the end.
Crossbow bolts streaked down from the walls, raking into the lines of enslaved orcs and medvarth and locusari that charged towards Tarlion. A crossbow bolt punched into Kharlacht’s stomach, two more into his chest, and another through his neck.
He fell, the blood pouring from his wounds.
He hoped the Dominus Christus would forgive him.
Death, when it came, felt like a relief.
###
The man who called himself Brother Caius stood behind the Great Gate of Khald Tormen, flanked by a thousand armored dwarven warriors and a hundred taalkrazdors. No enemy had ever broken the Great Gate, and many had tried.
Now the Gate shuddered and groaned, massive dents appearing on its surface.
Andomhaim had fallen to the Frostborn, and the Frostborn had turned their attention to the other kindreds of this world, breaking them and enslaving them one by one. The orcs of Kothluusk had been slaughtered, and the gates of Khaldurmar thrown down, the proud dvargir led away in chains to toil for the High Lords. The full fury of the Frostborn had turned to the Three Kingdoms of the dwarves, and Caius had returned to his people. They still did not approve of his worship of the Dominus Christus, nor of how the faith had spread among the younger generations of dwarves, but that no longer mattered.
The Frostborn would kill them all, no matter what gods they followed.
With a howling screech, the unbreakable gates shattered, and the hordes of the Frostborn charged into Khald Tormen.
Caius wondered if this was how his son Nerazar had felt in the final moments of his life.
He hoped Nerazar would forgive him when they met again because it would not be long now.
Caius fought and killed, raising a ring of the dead around him, until he fell to the greatsword of a Frostborn warrior and the horde poured into Khald Tormen like water through a breached dam.
###
Gavin stumbled through the burning village of Aranaeus, unable to believe the carnage.
After Rosanna had married Philip, Gavin had resigned himself to his life here, working with his father to farm their plot. There had been rumors coming out of the south and east, tales of a vast army of alien creatures sweeping across the High Kingdom, but he had paid little heed to them. The wars of the High King were no business of the men of Andomhaim.
Then the Frostborn came to Aranaeus.
The medvarth warriors swept through the village, setting it aflame. Any who resisted were killed. The survivors were rounded up in the village square and put into chains. A towering creature in gray armor with glowing eyes informed them that they were now the property of the Dominion of the High Lords, and since they had no other practical use, they would be worked in the fields until they died.
Gavin tried to fight back, and a medvarth axe split his skull.
###
Jager ran through the alleyways of Cintarra as the city burned, screams and shouts and howls of rage rising into the fiery night.
The invasion of the Frostborn hadn’t concerned him at first. The Northerland was a long way off, and surely the Swordbearers and the Magistri would put a stop to it. But battle after battle had been lost. The invaders had pushed into Caerdracon, and then Calvus and besieged Tarlion itself. Worse news had come as well. The Frostborn were enslaving humans and orcs, but evidently had no use for halflings, and had decided to exterminate them as a waste of resources.
And now the Frostborn had come to Cintarra. Jager should have fled long ago, but he had been searching for his sister, hoping to take her to safety, but he had never found her.
He skidded around a corner and came to a stop.
Six of the huge bear-like creatures were there, the ones the Frostborn called the medvarth. One of them growled and threw an axe. Jager dodged the first one, but not the second. It went hard into his back, and he fell, in too much pain to rise.
The medvarth closed around him, laughing at their good fortune.
The Frostborn had no use for the halflings, but the medvarth found them delicious.
###
The urdhracos who had once been a woman called Mara soared through the air as Nightmane Forest burned below her.
Once, she had been human, or mostly human, but her father’s song had filled her mind and overwhelmed her, and now his will was her will, and she served him in an ecstasy of joy. Or agony. She could no longer tell the difference between the two.
But she did not think her service to the Traveler would last much longer.
The Frostborn had shattered his wards, scattered his armies of Anathgrimm, and poured into Nightmane Forest. Already the forest burned beneath her, and the urdhracos who had been Mara and her few remaining sisters battled the Frostborn flying through the skies on frost drakes. She soared towards a frost drake, hoping to kill its Frostborn rider.
The drake snapped its head around and breathed, and the urdhracos dodged.
She almost made it. The mist hardened around her wings, encasing them in ice.
The urdhracos who had been Mara plummeted into the inferno that had been Nightmane Forest.
Her head struck the ground, and her father’s song ended, death bringing her peace at last.
###
Arandar killed and killed, Heartwarden blazing in his fist like a storm of white fire.
The sea of enemies outside the walls of Tarlion seemed endless. Arandar fought for his life, and he fought for his children. Accolon and Nyvane were within the walls of Tarlion, and if the Frostborn took the city, they would be enslaved or killed.
Arandar could not let that happen.
Though he did not see how he could stop it.
The assault was relen
tless. The Frostborn had overrun the rest of Andomhaim, and now their hordes battered against the walls of Tarlion. The remnants of the armies of the realm were exhausted, fighting on the final reserves of their strength. Arandar could not remember the last time he had slept, the last time he had eaten.
Another medvarth came at him, and Arandar raised Heartwarden to block.
But even with the soulblade’s strength augmenting him, his exhausted arms could not move fast enough.
The axe struck him in the chest with a hideous crunch, and Arandar fell off the ramparts.
The walls of Tarlion were tall and strong, which was just as well because the impact of his landing killed him at once.
###
Morigna half-ran, half-hobbled through the forest, breathing hard, trying to think through the pain.
When the first rumors of the war in Andomhaim had come to Moraime, she hadn’t cared. The High Kingdom and its woes were not her concern, and Morigna had bigger problems. She was more and more certain that the Old Man was plotting against her. She wasn’t sure what Coriolus had in mind, but she was certain it was nothing good, and she had begun preparing to fight him.
The preparations had proven unnecessary when the Frostborn had conquered Moraime, enslaved its people, and killed the Old Man.
Now they hunted her. Two khaldjari crossbow bolts had hit her in the leg, and while she had killed the khaldjari responsible with a cloud of acidic mist, she had no magic to heal wounds. The surviving khaldjari hunted her, along with their cogitaer leaders.
Morigna felt a surge of magical power, and she turned, leaning on her staff for balance.
They had found her. Twenty khaldjari rushed towards her, swords of ice in hand, and three cogitaers floated behind them, all three creatures casting spells.
Morigna worked a spell of her own, calling upon the magic of the earth. The ground before her rippled and folded, knocking the khaldjari from their feet. Unfortunately, the cogitaers were floating above the ground, and her spell did not reach them.
Three spikes of ice hurtled from the cogitaers and slammed into her chest, driving her to the ground.
###
Calliande lay naked on the altar of rough black stone, struggling against the ropes that held her wrists and ankles fast.
She didn’t know who she was, or why she had come here. All she knew was that her name was Calliande and that the orcs and Shadowbearer had been waiting for her. They had bound her and taken her to the ring of standing stones on the slopes of Black Mountain, tying her to the altar.
“Please!” she screamed. “Why are you doing this?”
No one answered her.
The orcish shaman continued his spell, placing the empty soulstone between her breasts. Calliande felt dark magic swirling and twisting around her, rising to a mighty climax.
The shaman raised his dagger high.
Calliande felt an overwhelming sense of failure, but she did not know why.
The dagger plunged into her heart.
###
Tymandain Shadowbearer strode into the Tower of the Moon as Tarlion burned below the Citadel.
He smiled at the gentle glow coming from the walls and at the mighty magic radiating from the Well. At last, at long last, after uncounted millennia of labor, the Well was his, and there was no one to stop him, no one to distract him.
He cast a long and complex spell, opening a gate to the threshold, and stepped into it.
A moment later the Well exploded with enough force to reduce Tarlion and everything within five miles of the city to smoking ashes. Hundreds of miles to the north, an earthquake shook the Northerland, and the world gate of the Frostborn expanded, swelling out of control.
It shattered the Black Mountain open like an egg, and the broken mountain vomited out shadow, endless shadow, shadow to engulf the entire world.
And the kindreds of the world screamed in horror as freedom from time and causality and matter overtook them.
###
Calliande jerked away from Ridmark as he let out a strangled gasp, the visions of the Sight draining away. She caught her balance, leaning on the staff of the Keeper for support, and Third and Caius rushed to her side. Ridmark staggered away, shaking his head, the fire in his veins flickering.
“Ridmark?” said Calliande.
He did not answer.
###
Ridmark struggled against the power in his mind, trying to make sense of the things that he had seen.
The visions Calliande had shown him had been true. He knew that beyond all doubt. If he had never been born, that was how the past would have transpired. The guilt from his mistakes remained with him, would remain with him until he died, but he understood now that it could have been far worse. A man made mistakes as he made his way through life. That was inevitable.
But choosing to do nothing would have been far worse. And if Ridmark chose to let the sword destroy him, that would be the same as doing nothing at all.
Had Caledhmaer lied to him?
“No, Ridmark Arban.”
He opened his eyes and saw the woman gowned in fire standing next to Calliande. Neither she nor Third nor Caius saw her.
“That was your trial,” said Caledhmaer. “That was always your trial. Always you have sought to sacrifice yourself. In pursuit of noble goals, true, but that was your weakness. Death is simple, but living is harder, and your duties lie in life. Would you be strong enough to resist the weakness of your heart? That was your trial.”
“I failed it,” said Ridmark.
“What do you mean?” said Calliande.
Caledhmaer smiled. “You would have failed it but for her. As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another. She has made you stronger, just as you have made her stronger. This was as it was ordained to be. Neither you nor the Keeper are strong enough to bear your burdens on your own. Together, perhaps you shall be victorious. And this was your first victory, Dragon Knight.”
Ridmark let out a long breath and nodded.
The woman gowned in flames vanished, and the sword unraveled and vanished from Ridmark’s grasp. But it wasn’t gone. He felt it within his mind and knew he could call it back to his hand any time he wished.
That was his right.
For he was the Dragon Knight.
###
Ridmark closed his eyes and opened them again as the sword dissolved and vanished from his grasp, and a wave of crushing relief went through Calliande.
His eyes were blue again. The flames had vanished from his veins and heart.
He was himself again.
“Ridmark?” said Calliande.
“Yes,” he said in a quiet voice. “Thank you.”
“I’m sorry,” said Calliande. “I’m so, so sorry I did that to you. I…”
He pulled her close in a tight embrace, and Calliande buried her face in his shoulder and wept.
Chapter 26: Joined
“It was a test,” said Ridmark.
They sat on the steps of the dais. They were safe enough for now. Calliande’s Sight had revealed no sign of any foes anywhere near Castra Marcaine. The Frostborn must have sent their whole strength south to attack Dun Calpurnia.
Ridmark knew they would have to return to Dun Calpurnia as soon as possible. Arandar needed the help of the Keeper, and he also needed the help of the Dragon Knight. Ridmark had taken the Frostborn by surprise at Dun Calpurnia, but they would be ready for him next time. He knew better than to think that the Frostborn would not find a way to counter Caledhmaer’s power.
But for now, they sat on the dais. Ridmark owed them an explanation, and there were some important things he had to do first.
Calliande sat on his left, pressed against him, gripping his hand as if she never intended to let it go again. He did not find that disagreeable.
“You were right,” said Ridmark. “All three of you were right. I always had that urge to sacrifice myself, to destroy myself somehow. I blamed myself for Aelia, and I blamed Imaria and the Weave
r for Morigna…” He shook his head. “And the sword knew that. That was the trial. To see if I was strong enough to resist the weakness within myself.”
“It seems that you were,” said Caius.
“Not by myself,” said Ridmark.
Calliande squeezed his hand. She was still a little teary-eyed.
Caius shrugged. “No man is an island. I think every kindred on this world speaks that proverb.”
“Aye,” said Ridmark.
“I am pleased you survived,” said Third, her face emotionless. “I would not be pleased to report to Queen Mara that I failed in my charge to protect you.”
Ridmark smiled. “Nor would I wish you to report failure to Mara on my account.”
Third’s cool mask cracked, and there was a flash of warmth there. “And I would have been displeased if you had been killed. We have been through too much together for you to kill yourself.”
“Thank you, Third,” said Ridmark.
She inclined her head and said nothing, but she did smile.
“We should probably get back to Dun Calpurnia,” said Calliande. “The High King will need us.”
“Yes,” said Ridmark. He stood, took Calliande’s hand, and drew her to her feet. “He does. We need to do something first.”
“What?” said Calliande as Third and Caius stood.
Frostborn: The Dragon Knight (Frostborn #14) Page 31