It was not as large as Castra Marcaine’s great hall, where Ridmark had first served as a squire and then as a Swordbearer in Dux Gareth’s court. He had met Aelia in that great hall. He had asked for her hand there. They had wed there.
And he had seen her die there.
The guards moved beneath the balcony, leaving Ridmark alone before the dais. Boots clicked against the floor, and Ridmark turned.
Tarrabus Carhaine, Dux of Caerdracon, walked towards him, flanked by a half-dozen knights.
The Dux had changed little from their last meeting five years ago. He was still tall and strong, his blue eyes icy, his blond hair close-cropped. Unlike many of the southern nobles, he remained clean-shaven. He wore a blue tunic, trousers, and gleaming black boots, a sword waiting in a scabbard at his belt.
He stared at Ridmark, his face blank and cold.
“See that we are not disturbed,” said Tarrabus at last. “I would speak with the prisoner alone.”
One of the Comes’s men-at-arms stirred. “The Gray Knight is under the protection of the Comes.”
Tarrabus gave the guard a mocking smile. “Oh, fear not. Your Comes’s precious honor is safe enough. Ridmark Arban will not die until after Corbanic finishes his little game. Go.”
The men-at-arms scowled, but moved to the edges of the hall with the knights. For a moment Tarrabus simply stared at Ridmark, and Ridmark met the Dux’s gaze without blinking. Ridmark remembered dueling him when they were squires together, remembered competing with him for Aelia’s hand.
“You look terrible,” said Tarrabus at last.
“I’ve been busy,” said Ridmark.
“So my men tell me,” said Tarrabus. “Saving Dun Licinia from the leftover Mhalekites. Fighting urdmordar and undead and mad wizards. And now you have the Red Family and the Mhorites angry at you. To say nothing of the last five years spent wandering the Wilderland in pursuit of the Frostborn. You really do look the worse for wear, Ridmark. A pity you are not dead.”
“You did your best to arrange that,” said Ridmark.
Tarrabus’s smirk returned. “Angry, Ridmark? You deserve to die. You know that.”
“But not by the methods you have employed,” said Ridmark. “I know you hired the Red Family and sent them after me. The Red Family, Tarrabus? You are a Dux of Andomhaim, not a thuggish merchant!”
“You have no proof of that, of course,” said Tarrabus.
“How is Sir Paul?” said Ridmark.
“Better,” said Tarrabus. “Imaria healed him quite nicely.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t have him killed for his failure,” said Ridmark.
“For failing to do what?” said Tarrabus. “Hunt a wyvern? That is why he left the Iron Tower and went into the Wilderland, you know. These fantasies of persecution you have, Ridmark. As if the Dux of Caerdracon could be bothered over the fate of one ragged exile.”
“Did he warn you?” said Ridmark.
“About what?” said Tarrabus.
“The Frostborn,” said Ridmark.
“The Frostborn!” said Tarrabus. “Your madness has not changed. The words of an urdmordar, an orcish madman, and an undead dark elven wizard, and you believe the Frostborn will return.”
“They will,” said Ridmark. “And you must be warned about the Enlightened of Incariel.”
Tarrabus raised his eyebrows. “The what?”
“A cult, a secret order within the realm,” said Ridmark. “They worship Incariel, the name they give the great void of the dark elves, and think to make themselves gods. Paul is one of them. Do not trust him. Do not trust them.”
“Such follies you spin,” said Tarrabus.
“I know you hate me, but I am telling you the truth,” said Ridmark. “You must be on guard against the Frostborn and the Enlightened of Incariel. Whatever else you are, you are a Dux of Andomhaim, and you must look to the good of the realm.”
For a long moment Tarrabus was silent.
“Did it ever occur to you,” said Tarrabus, “that our visions for the good of the realm might not be the same?” He shook his head. “Did you ever meet my father?”
“I did,” said Ridmark. Tarrabus Carhaine was a hard and brutal man, but the Dux Samothus Carhaine had made his son look as gentle as a kitten.
“He taught me that the strong rule and the weak serve,” said Tarrabus, “that mercy was folly, that cruelty inspired fear and obedience. I believed him, Ridmark. Completely and totally.” He smiled, as if at a pleasant memory. “More than he ever knew. And then I met Aelia…and I doubted. I saw how she cared for the people of Castra Marcaine, and I wavered. Perhaps the world was not as brutal as I believed.” His face darkened. “And then you failed to save her.”
Ridmark said nothing.
“I understood then,” said Tarrabus. “You were too weak to save her. I would have protected her, had she wed me instead of you. The realm needs to be strong as you were not, strong enough to endure, strong enough to crush the dark elves and the urdmordar and anyone else that stands in our way.”
And then Ridmark realized the truth.
“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” said Ridmark. “One of the Enlightened?”
Tarrabus smiled. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“Are you mad?” said Ridmark, trying to keep his voice under control. “You worship the great void?”
“Don’t be absurd,” said Tarrabus. “I worship nothing. There is no God or gods, only myths and superstitions. There is only strength. I am strong…and I shall become stronger yet. And I will make this realm strong, I will make humanity strong.” He stepped back. “You are weak, Ridmark. Too weak to save Aelia…and when I rid the realm of weakness, I shall start with you.”
He walked back to his knights. Ridmark watched him, his right hand curling into a fist. He had suspected that Tarrabus might be part of the madness of the Enlightened, but he had hoped otherwise. He did not like or trust Tarrabus, but had respected the Dux as a brave man and a fierce fighter.
Ridmark knew better now. If Tarrabus was a member of the Enlightened, a minion of Shadowbearer, he had to be stopped. Ridmark deserved death for what had happened to Aelia, but he had a duty as well. He had set out on his quest to stop the Frostborn from returning…but he had come to realize that the Enlightened of Incariel would be just as dangerous.
Perhaps even more so. The Frostborn were obviously the enemies of every living creature upon this world. But an enemy that wore the mask of a friend was far more dangerous.
The doors to the great hall swung open. Calliande, Morigna, and Caius moved to stand alongside Ridmark, while Imaria glided across the floor, serene in her white robes, and stood with the Dux. She smiled when she saw Tarrabus, and for an agonizing moment it reminded Ridmark of Aelia.
Then he wondered why Imaria was smiling at Tarrabus like that. Was she, too, one of the Enlightened? The thought that Aelia's own sister would have joined such a murderous cult chilled Ridmark.
“He knows,” murmured Ridmark.
“Who?” said Calliande.
“Tarrabus,” said Ridmark. “About the Enlightened. Probably about Shadowbearer and the soulstone as well. It is good we left Gavin and Kharlacht to guard it.” The door behind the dais opened, and Corbanic of the Lamorii, Comes of Coldinium, stepped upon the dais.
###
Calliande watched the Comes.
Corbanic looked like an older, grayer, and balder version of his son. Yet he was still strong and he bore his ceremonial steel cuirass and crimson cloak with ease. He seated himself upon the curule chair and looked over the hall. His son Cortin stood at his right hand, and Tarrabus and Imaria moved closer to the dais, attended by the Dux’s knights.
“Ridmark Arban,” said Corbanic, his voice gravelly and worn. “It has been a long time.”
“Five years since Dun Licinia,” said Ridmark.
Corbanic nodded. “A black day.”
“It was,” said Ridmark.
“Well,” grunted
Corbanic. “We have business to attend.” He turns his head. “Magistria, you have charges to bring?”
Imaria stepped forward, her white robe flowing around her. “I do, my lord Comes. Before your court, I accuse Ridmark Arban of the murder of my sister, Aelia of the Licinii.”
Corbanic frowned. “This matter was already raised before the court of the High King himself five years ago. Mhalek slew your sister, my lady Magistria, not Ridmark. For deserting his army in the field to pursue Mhalek, Ridmark was expelled from the Order of the Soulblade, stripped of his sword Heartwarden, marked as a coward, and banished from the realm.”
“Nevertheless,” said Tarrabus, his voice smooth and calm, “I would be indebted to you, my lord Comes, if you would revisit the matter.”
Corbanic gave him an annoyed glare. “Very well. Ridmark Arban, describe the circumstances of Aelia’s death in full detail.”
Ridmark took a deep breath. Calliande had heard bits and pieces of the story, but never its entirety. Ridmark had summarized it, but he refused to speak of it at length.
“You know what happened at the Black Mountain,” said Ridmark. “Mhalek murdered the embassy sent to him, your son and heir among them, my lord Comes, and many noble lords and knights perished. The host of Andomhaim was thrown into disarray, and I took command since there was no one else to do so. God was with us, and the knights and men-at-arms of the realm broke the Mhalekites and sent them fleeing into the Wilderland. But Mhalek and his most loyal followers rode for Castra Marcaine. I pursued with a guard of Swordbearers and chosen knights, leaving the host to finish the remnants of the Mhalekites. I caught Mhalek and his followers as they stormed Castra Marcaine, and my companions defeated Mhalek’s guard. I found Mhalek himself in the great hall, with my wife as hostage. He demanded that I surrender or she would perish, and claimed that even if I prevailed, the Frostborn would return and destroy the world. I drew upon Heartwarden, my Soulblade, for speed and strength, and struck Mhalek through the heart. But Mhalek…had cast a spell upon Aelia, linked his blood to hers. Any wound I dealt Mhalek would be duplicated upon Aelia. She screamed once, and then she died.” His voice was flat and empty, his face a mask. “I tried to heal her with the sword’s magic, but it was too late. I…tried to slay myself, but my companions stopped me. I fear I do not remember very much of the next three days.” He spread his hands. “That is the entirety of the tale, my lord Comes.”
Calliande stared at him. He had tried to kill himself? She could not imagine him doing it. Ridmark Arban was a man who never gave up, who never yielded. He had gone into battle again and again despite hopeless odds, never once turning back.
Yet he had almost killed himself after Aelia had died in his arms.
What must that have done to him?
She felt guilty about urging him to move on, to leave his grief behind.
“Thank you,” said Corbanic. “Do you dispute this account of events, Magistria?”
“No,” said Imaria.
“Then you can hardly accuse him of murder,” said Corbanic.
“But it was Ridmark’s hand that dealt the fatal wound,” said Tarrabus
“The law states that murder requires intent,” said Corbanic, “and it was Mhalek’s intent that transferred that wound to Aelia’s heart.”
“He should have done something!” said Imaria. “He should have used Heartwarden’s power to check for spells, rather than charge in like a fool. He should have waited for aid. He should have surrendered to Mhalek.”
“Yes,” said Ridmark.
Corbanic looked at him, and then back at Imaria. “Have you ever commanded men in battle, Magistria?”
“Of course not,” said Imaria.
Corbanic nodded. “If you had, then you would know that decisions often must be made in a split second. There is no time for consideration. A commander and a warrior must act as his best judgment allows. Sometimes the decision is simply wrong.”
Imaria trembled, and for a moment Calliande thought she would burst into tears of enraged frustration.
“He broke his exile,” said Imaria at last. “He should not have returned to the realm.”
“Well?” said Corbanic. “How do you answer this charge?”
“It was my intent to travel to Urd Morlemoch and discern the secret of the Frostborn from the Warden,” said Ridmark. “No doubt Sir Cortin has already told you. But some miles north of the Iron Tower, one of my companions, a baptized orc named Kharlacht, was poisoned by a wyvern. We came to Coldinium to obtain saltflower to cure him.”
“Were you successful?” said Corbanic.
“We were,” said Ridmark. “Our intent was to depart for Urd Morlemoch as soon as Kharlacht recovered.”
“This seems to me an honorable act,” said Corbanic.
“He brought the Mhorites here!” said Imaria. “That cannot be overlooked.”
“The Kothluuskan orcs have been stirring in any event,” said Corbanic, “though they have not been so bold as to come to Coldinium until yesterday.” He looked at Ridmark. “You have an explanation?”
“The Kothluuskans worship Mhor, the old orcish blood god of death,” said Ridmark. “So does the Red Family of Cintarra, assassins dedicated to the service of Mhor. Someone hired the Red Family to kill me.” He glanced at Tarrabus. Calliande wondered why he did not accuse the Dux, but likely Corbanic would not accept the accusation without proof. “I killed enough of the Red Brothers that the Matriarch of the Family has declared a vendetta against me. Apparently the Kothluuskan orcs regard the assassins of the Family as Mhor’s prophets, and so the Red Brothers sent the Mhorite orcs after me.”
“Then he admits he is a threat to Coldinium!” said Imaria.
“A threat that would be easily mitigated,” said Sir Cortin, “if we simply let him depart as he wishes, Father.”
Corbanic grunted. “You still intend to journey to Urd Morlemoch?”
“I do,” said Ridmark.
“You will likely die there, you understand,” said Corbanic. “You may have escaped once, but if even a tenth the stories and the legends about the Warden are true, he will not let you go a second time.”
“Nevertheless,” said Ridmark. “I will go.”
“So be it,” said Corbanic. “This, then, is my ruling upon the matter. Ridmark of the Arbanii cannot be charged with the murder of Aelia of the Licinii and the Arbanii. The intent and fault was clearly Mhalek’s. Additionally, Ridmark did break his exile, but for a justifiable reason. Let us recall the Dominus Christus's parable of the donkey and the well. So long as he and his companions depart the realm at once, I see no need to take any action against them.”
“No!” said Imaria, stepping closer to the dais. “He escaped justice for my sister once before! He will not escape it again. He will not!”
Corbanic’s voice was icy with contempt. “The Magistria will control herself, or I shall have her ejected.”
“Forgive her, my lord Comes,” said Tarrabus, his voice smooth. He put one hand upon Imaria’s shoulder and pulled her back. “I fear she is overwrought, and has forgotten the most critical charge of all.”
“And that is?” said Corbanic.
Tarrabus pointed at Ridmark. “That woman is an unlawful sorceress.”
No, he wasn’t pointing at Ridmark. For an instant Calliande thought he was pointing at Morigna, that her secret had been revealed.
But he wasn’t pointing at Morigna, either.
“Me?” said Calliande.
“Yes, you,” said Tarrabus. “I accuse you of falsely claiming the title and rank of Magistria. Such a crime is punishable by death.”
“But I am a Magistria,” said Calliande.
At least, she thought that she was. She had the powers of a Magistria, and one could not acquire those powers, the magic of the Well at Tarlion’s heart, without training in the Order of the Magistri.
“Then is your name recorded in the roll of the Order in Tarlion?” said Tarrabus. “Are you known to other Magistri?”
>
“Not to my knowledge,” said Calliande.
Corbanic frowned. “You are not a Magistria?”
“I am,” said Calliande. She lifted her hand, white fire playing around it. “How else could I do this?”
“A spell of illusion could easily do that,” said Tarrabus. “Some trick of dark magic you learned from the Mhorites, perhaps?”
“It is not,” said Calliande.
“Then prove it,” said Tarrabus. “There are records, if you are telling the truth. Tell us how you became a Magistria, and we shall confirm it with the records of the Order.”
“I don’t know,” said Calliande.
Tarrabus lifted his eyebrows. “So you are a Magistria…but you don’t know how you became one.”
She met his hard blue gaze. “I do not.”
“You don’t?” said Tarrabus, smiling. “An unlikely story.”
“It is not,” said Calliande. “I was injured on the day of the blue flame, and lost any memory of events before that.” She did not want to tell him the whole story. If Ridmark was right, if Tarrabus was Shadowbearer’s servant, then he would do his best to kill her. Perhaps that was the entire point of this farce, to kill her or at least imprison her until Shadowbearer could arrive to deal with her in person.
“And you have no way to prove that,” said Tarrabus.
“I…” said Calliande.
Knowledge flooded into her mind.
Something like this challenge had happened to her before, even if she could not remember it.
“I do, Comes,” said Calliande, addressing her words to Corbanic. “I can prove that I am a Magistria, and I will do so before you, here and now.”
“How, may I ask?” said Corbanic.
“By a Challenge of Magistri,” said Calliande.
Imaria’s eyes narrowed, and then she laughed.
###
Morigna watched the confrontation with growing unease.
Her instincts screamed that the great hall was about to erupt with violence. Tarrabus clearly hated Ridmark, and sought an excuse to kill him. Well, he was welcome to try. Morigna had kept her magic concealed, but if Tarrabus tried to take them prisoner or kill them, Morigna would strike back. She was reasonably sure she could disable or kill Imaria with a single spell, and without her wards, Tarrabus and his men would have no defense from Morigna’s magic.
Frostborn: The Master Thief Page 16