Blue fire flashed next to Ridmark, and the dark-armored woman Calliande had seen earlier reappeared. Up close, the Sight saw the tamed power within her, and Calliande’s eyes of flesh saw the blue fire burning in the veins beneath the woman’s pallid skin and in her black eyes.
“The dvargir are fleeing,” said the woman. “There is an entrance to the Deeps about eight miles to the east. Likely they are retreating there.”
“Let them,” said Ridmark. “Is Caradog still alive?”
“For now,” said the woman. She glanced at Calliande without expression, and then back to Ridmark. “What should we do with him?”
“Have Qhazulak join me,” said Ridmark.
Without another word, he walked away.
Calliande stared at him for a moment. She had often daydreamed about meeting him again, a fact she could admit to herself if no one else, and she hadn’t envisioned it going quite like this.
Later. As ever, she put aside her own feelings. There was work to be done, and people who needed her.
Calliande got to her feet with a grunt, leaning a little on the staff of the Keeper for support.
“You should lie down and rest, Keeper,” said Antenora.
“She’s probably right,” said Gavin.
“Once I’ve helped Camorak see to the wounded,” said Calliande.
Except that Camorak already had seen to the Anathgrimm wounded. The bone-masked orcs had hit the dvargir hard, and the dvargir warriors had elected to withdraw rather than suffer further losses. Sir Ector’s men were waking up one by one, and Ector himself had gotten to his feet, looking haggard and tired.
“You’re hurt,” said Calliande to Gavin.
He shrugged a little, wincing as he did. “Nothing Truthseeker cannot handle, given time.” Magic flared in the soulblade as it healed the wounds he had taken in the battle.
Calliande summoned power and stepped forward, putting her hands upon his temples as he protested. She sent the healing magic of the Well into him, and as she did she felt the pain of his injuries as if they were her own. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself through the agony. The pain intensified and then vanished, and Calliande stepped back, breathing hard.
Gavin swayed a little on his feet. “Thank you. That feels better.”
Calliande nodded, making her jaw relax. She clenched it when she healed wounds, and she had done that so often over the last year that it was beginning to ache. “We should talk to Ridmark, tell him…”
“It is good to see you again, Keeper,” said a deep, familiar voice.
Calliande turned and despite her doubts and worries, she found herself smiling.
Brother Caius and Kharlacht walked towards her. Both men had come through the battle no worse for the wear. Kharlacht remained tall and grim in his blue armor, his enormous dark elven greatsword in his right hand. Caius was shorter and stockier, his skin like gray granite, a mace of dwarven steel in his right hand. He still wore his brown friar’s robe, though from the way it hung Calliande knew he had donned armor beneath it.
“And it is good to see you both,” said Calliande. “It is always good to see a friend again…but when that friend arrives again in the nick of time, all the better! How did you know that Sir Caradog would come for me?”
“We did not, I fear,” said Kharlacht.
“Ridmark insisted,” said Caius. “One of the Magistri who sheltered in Nightmane Forest received a message from Master Kurastus. Ridmark feared that the Frostborn would waylay you on your journey. We had no idea the Enlightened would come for you.” He looked at the dead dvargir strewn across the ground. “I did not know Tarrabus could command the loyalty of the dvargir.”
“He doesn’t,” said Calliande. “He has hired large numbers of them as mercenaries.”
“A claimant to the throne of Andomhaim hiring dvargir mercenaries?” said Caius. “Surely that will turn the nobles against him.”
“I doubt it,” said Calliande. “Those that would turn against him already have done so. The rest are Enlightened…and I doubt there is any crime they would hesitate to commit.”
“Forgive me, my lady,” said Sir Ector, hobbling to join them. “I have failed in my charge to protect you.”
“No,” said Calliande. “I led us into this trap. The ultimate blame lies with Caradog Lordac.” She took a deep breath. “And let us see what he has to say for himself.”
She walked further along the road, Gavin, Antenora, Kharlacht, Caius and Ector following her. Ridmark stood in the middle of the road, next to a hulking Anathgrimm that Calliande recognized as Qhazulak, the Champion of Nightmane Forest. Caradog lay on his side before Ridmark, his face wet with blood and twisted with pain. A dagger jutted from his hands, and Calliande saw that someone had driven the blade through both his palms, pinning them to the road.
“You will regret this, gray exile,” hissed Caradog, glaring up at Ridmark. “I will repay you for this pain a thousand times over.”
“Probably not,” said Ridmark. His eyes flicked to Calliande for a moment, and then back to Caradog. “How did you know the Keeper would be here?”
“The ancient bitch herself,” said Caradog, spitting blood at Calliande’s feet, “the whore of the Magistri.”
Ridmark said nothing, but the chill around him seemed to deepen.
“Rope,” he said.
Qhazulak nodded and walked away.
“I see that defeat has not improved your manners, Sir Ector,” said Calliande.
“How did you find the Keeper?” said Ridmark.
Caradog smiled. “I followed the stench.”
Ridmark slammed his heel against the pommel of the dwarven dagger. Caradog spent a bad few minutes screaming, and Calliande shuddered. Caradog had tried to capture her and kill her friends, but she disliked the thought of inflicting torment upon him. She knew that Ridmark would have agreed, once, but it seemed he had changed his mind.
Perhaps more had changed about him than she thought.
“How did you find the Keeper?” said Ridmark in the same tone of voice.
“Imaria Shadowbearer,” spat Caradog. “She foresaw it. She and the High King are the chosen of Incariel’s shadow. Nothing can defeat them, and nothing can overcome their powers. Imaria knew you would come, and I was chosen for the honor of capturing the Keeper. Or killing her, if necessary.”
“The dvargir,” said Ridmark. “Mercenaries?”
“Indeed,” said Caradog with a smirk. “The dvargir have a great need for slaves, and many of the commoners and minor nobles near Tarlion have not been wise enough to support the High King. Therefore, Tarrabus has been selling them to the dvargir.”
“He claims to be the High King,” said Calliande, “yet he sells those he would call his subjects into slavery in the darkness of the Deeps?”
“The Enlightened walk the path of greatness,” said Caradog. “Sacrifices must be made…and some peasant rabble is no great sacrifice.”
“I see,” said Ridmark, still calm. “So I assume you joined the dvargir mercenaries, crossed the Deeps, and laid in wait for the Keeper here?”
“Yes,” said Caradog. “How did you find us? You shouldn’t have known we were coming.”
“We didn’t,” said Ridmark. “Whatever gifts the shadow of Incariel has given you, good luck was not one of them.”
Caradog let out an irritated snort. “A minor setback. Well, you can ransom me back to Tarrabus, or hold me in the sort of captivity a knight deserves. Perhaps that shall earn you a modicum of mercy when the High King at last destroys Arandar’s rebels and comes for you.”
Ridmark said nothing, turning as Qhazulak returned with two other Anathgrimm warriors, a coil of rope in his hands.
And with a cold rush, Calliande realized what Ridmark intended to do.
“Very well,” said Caradog. “I suppose I must be bound…”
Ridmark took the coil of rope and started looping it around Caradog’s neck. By the time he had tied it into a noose, Caradog had realized wh
at was happening. Shadows boiled around his hands as he called upon the power of Incariel, but one of the Anathgrimm punched him on the temple. Caradog’s head bounced off the ground, and the shadows unraveled, his concentration broken. By then Ridmark finished tying the noose, and the two Anathgrimm jerked Caradog to his feet, dragging him between them.
Calliande almost asked them to stop, almost asked for mercy for Caradog.
But she didn’t.
She thought of her mother and father, dead for centuries. They had been fisher folk living along the banks of the Moradel within sight of the walls of Tarlion. They would have been exactly the sort of people Tarrabus and Caradog would have enslaved and sold to the dvargir.
So Caradog’s death did not weigh upon her conscience. He had helped murder his lawful king, sold his soul to the powers of darkness, and tried to murder Calliande and her escort. He had brought his fate upon himself. It was Ridmark that troubled her. Something had indeed changed in him, become harder and colder.
Aelia’s death had driven him into isolating grief. Morigna’s death seemed to have burned all the mercy from him.
“You cannot do this!” screamed Caradog. “I am a knight! A noble! You cannot hang me like a criminal! I am a knight! I am a…”
The Anathgrimm dragged Caradog to a tree, looped the rope over a branch, and Ridmark and Qhazulak yanked on the other end of the cord. The Enlightened knight jerked and danced at the end of the rope, trying to claw at his throat with his ruined, pinned hands. Ridmark watched Caradog die without blinking, and his as cold and hard as if it had been carved from stone.
Once it was over, they released the rope, and Caradog’s corpse thumped to the ground. Ridmark retrieved the dwarven dagger, cleaning the blade on Caradog’s surcoat.
“We need to move at once,” said Ridmark. “At least two locusari flew overhead during the fight, and we’ll have the medvarth on our tail soon enough.”
“Or they will raise the dvargir as revenants,” said the strange black-eyed woman, who had come up behind Calliande during Caradog’s execution.
“Either way,” said Ridmark, “the sooner we return to Nightmane Forest, the better.”
“What about Caradog?” said Caius.
Ridmark shrugged. “Leave his corpse here to rot. Let it serve as a warning to the other Enlightened.”
Chapter 7: Ambassadors
At Ridmark’s insistence, they pushed on for the rest of the night and well after dark, trying to put as much space between them and the site of the battle. There was no way to hide that fighting had taken place on the Moradel road, and Ridmark wanted to be well away by the time the Frostborn investigated. His two hundred Anathgrimm and Sir Ector Naxius’s thirty men-at-arms made a formidable force, but the Frostborn could summon many times that number.
Once it was too dark to see, even in the light of the three moons that were out that night, Ridmark agreed to call a halt. The Anathgrimm were tired from fighting, and the men-at-arms were still weary from the sleeping mist. He would have preferred to keep moving all night, but men had limits, and both the Anathgrimm orcs and the humans had reached theirs.
They camped next to the bank of the River Moradel, and Ridmark set some of the Anathgrimm to guard.
“I do not yet require sleep,” said Third. “I can keep watch over the nearby hills.”
“Thank you,” said Ridmark. “Focus on the south, along the road. If the Frostborn come for us, they will likely come from that direction. It’s impossible to conceal the tracks of over two hundred men.”
“Indeed,” said Third. She did not hesitate, not exactly. Third was either as still as a statue, or she was moving, but for some reason, she seemed to be considering him.
“What is it?” said Ridmark, looking around for enemies.
“The Keeper has joined us,” said Third.
“Yes,” said Ridmark.
“I thought you would have been pleased to see her,” said Third.
Ridmark stared at her.
“You were comrades in battle,” said Third.
Ridmark let out a breath. “She should not have come here. The Prince Regent needs her…and she was almost killed.” If he had been a little slower, if he had not insisted that the Anathgrimm leave Nightmane Forest at once, Calliande would now be dead or a prisoner. “And if she is slain, the Frostborn will triumph.”
“She is the Keeper,” said Third. “Her powers will be useful against the Frostborn and consequently she is in danger wherever she goes.”
“Just by being near me, she is in danger,” said Ridmark.
“Why?” said Third, baffled.
Ridmark hesitated, trying to find the words. He had vowed to protect and love Aelia on the day he had married her. He had fallen in love with Morigna and tried to protect her, even if he could have done to save her. If Calliande was here, and she was in danger…
“I can’t protect her,” said Ridmark.
Third tilted her head to the side. “You just did.”
“That’s not what I mean,” said Ridmark.
Third considered this for a moment. “It is possible you are presently incapable of thinking rationally on the subject of the Keeper.”
“Go and scout,” said Ridmark. He didn’t want to talk about this with anyone, and certainly not with Third.
“Very well,” said Third, and she vanished in a swirl of blue fire.
Ridmark walked back into the camp. Ector’s men had raised their tents in a ring around the campfires. The Anathgrimm slept upon the ground, disdaining comforts as beneath them. Qhazulak had assigned different warriors to guard duty, allowing the bone-masked orcs to sleep in shifts. Ridmark stopped before one of the tents, where Gavin and Antenora stood guard.
“She’s asleep,” said Gavin, “if you came to talk to her.”
Ridmark shook his head. “No. She needs her rest. And I suspect you do, too. Even Swordbearers have limits.”
Gavin grimaced, started to answer…and then his mouth cracked in an enormous yawn. “Perhaps you are right.”
“If it makes you feel better,” said Ridmark, “we’ll leave again after dawn, so you’ll soon have the chance to suffer on the march once more.”
Gavin laughed. “And how I’ve missed it, too.” He hesitated. “Though it is good to see you again, you and Kharlacht and Caius.”
“You as well,” said Ridmark. “When I gave you Truthseeker, I didn’t think I would regret it…and I am certain that I will not.”
“Thank you. I think I shall take your counsel and get some sleep.” He nodded and walked off, wrapping himself in his cloak as he lay down near one of the fires.
“The woman,” said Antenora.
“I’m sorry?” said Ridmark.
“The woman who can travel through blue flame,” said Antenora. “I had thought her the Queen of Nightmane Forest at first, but I was mistaken. Who is she?”
“Third,” said Ridmark.
“The third of what?” said Antenora.
“No, that’s just what she calls herself,” said Ridmark. “She can’t remember her real name. It’s a very long story. She is one of Mara’s half-sisters. She used to be an urdhracos, but broke free from the dark magic and became…what she is now. She has the same sort of abilities as Mara, but lacks access to the Sight.”
Antenora considered this. “You spend a great deal of time with her.”
“She is an excellent scout,” said Ridmark. “That, and she served the Traveler for a thousand years. She knows the lands around Nightmane Forest like the back of her hand. Her knowledge helped us against the Frostborn again and again.”
“I see,” said Antenora. “The Keeper needs your help. That is why she risked the journey.”
“My help?” said Ridmark. “Why?”
“You saved her from the Mhalekites, rescued her from Urd Morlemoch, took her to Dragonfall, and slew both Mournacht and Tymandain Shadowbearer,” said Antenora. “To whom else would she turn?”
“No,” said Ridmark. He disl
iked the praise. If he had been cleverer, perhaps he would have seen the danger, and much evil would have been averted. “Why does she need my help?”
“It is her task,” said Antenora. “I should not speak of it.” The yellow eyes seemed to dig into him. “But will you help her?”
“Yes,” said Ridmark. “Of course.”
Antenora nodded and lapsed into silence.
###
The next morning they crossed the river at a hidden ford and approached the silent green wall of Nightmane Forest.
Thanks to Calliande’s spells, the crossing went easier than expected.
“A useful spell,” said Kharlacht, standing next to Calliande as the Anathgrimm crossed the hidden ford. Long ago the Anathgrimm had made the ford by piling boulders along the river’s bottom. It was well-concealed, and Calliande would have never found it if Ridmark and Qhazulak hadn’t known where to look. Nevertheless, it was a challenging crossing, and the current flowed swiftly along the piled boulders. A misstep could lead to drowning.
So Calliande froze the water over the ford.
Her spells gave her command over elemental forces, though she could not wield fire with the fury of Antenora or earth magic with the precise skill that Morigna had once employed. Nevertheless, she could wield it with a great deal of power, and so she froze the water over the ford.
With the icy bridge, the Anathgrimm and the men-at-arms crossed carefully but quickly over the ford. They were even able to bring the horses without difficulty, though the animals did not seem at all happy about the impromptu bridge.
“Aye,” said Caius, waiting next to Kharlacht. “I can think of a dozen of times when that would have been useful.”
“How many times have you crossed the Moradel in the last year?” said Calliande, concentrating as she held the spell in place.
“Dozens,” said Caius. “The winter crossings were the most onerous. The Moradel never completely freezes, so the water is icy cold. I was almost swept away.”
“That,” rumbled Kharlacht, “is your fault for being so short.”
“Nonsense,” said Caius. “I am the proper height. Humans and orcs are too tall. It is why dwarves live so long. Our hearts do not have to labor so hard to pump blood so high.”
Frostborn: The False King Page 11