Frostborn: The World Gate

by Jonathan Moeller

  So Morigna kept casting spells, drawing as much power as she could. The dark magic whispered in her mind, promising that she could blast a path to Ridmark, but she ignored it.

  She tried to ignore it, anyway.

  “The battle hangs in the balance,” said Mara. “Every blade is needed.”

  “Not the blade of the Queen,” said Calliande. “If you fall, what will the Anathgrimm do?” She thrust the staff, white fire blazing around her as she cast another ward. Crimson fire snarled overhead, the Mhorites shamans’ spell shattering against the power of the Keeper’s magic. “They will flee the field, or turn upon us, or go on a rampage. Your life is too important to risk.”

  “All our lives are at risk anyway,” said Mara. “I do not know how much longer the Anathgrimm can hold.”

  Morigna did not know, either. The Anathgrimm were determined warriors, but the Mhorites were ferocious, and the dvargir were just as disciplined. The combined weight of the Mhorites and the dvargir pushed the Anathgrimm back, and the constant sorties of the kobolds did not help matters.

  They were losing the battle.

  “Dux Gareth is coming,” said Calliande.

  “Dux Gareth will not get here in time,” said Mara. “Even if he sends his men at a sprint, they will not arrive in time, and will be winded anyway.”

  “Perhaps it is time to withdraw,” said Jager, his short sword in hand as he watched the fighting. “We…”

  The sound of distant thunder came to Morigna’s ears. She looked towards the sky, but it was clear. Her gaze turned towards the Black Mountain and Shadowbearer’s pillar of blue fire, but the sound hadn’t come from that direction.

  No, it had come from the south.

  The south…

  Suddenly she understood. The noise wasn’t thunder.

  It was the beating of hooves.

  “Mara,” she said. “Look. Look!”

  Mara turned her head as Sir Constantine Licinius led the knights and mounted men-at-arms of the Northerland into the battle. The horsemen crashed into the right wing of the dvargir, and the noise of horses and hooves and lances tearing into the dark-armored forms was like a thunderbolt. Had the dvargir been prepared, their armor and shields would have let them resist the charge. But their full attention was upon the Anathgrimm, and their formation had been disrupted. They were not ready to take a cavalry charge.

  Just as Ridmark had intended, Morigna realized.

  The horsemen tore through the right wing of the dvargir, riding into the disorganized mass of Mhorites in the center. A ripple went through the enemy army, and the Anathgrimm on Morigna’s left started to turn, following the horsemen to drive the disorganized dvargir before them.

  “Ah, well,” said Jager. “That changes things, doesn’t it?”

  ###

  Ridmark struck down another Mhorite, and then another, seeking for a new foe.

  For a moment, to his confusion, he could not find one.

  The enemy fled.

  Three horsemen galloped past, driving the Mhorites before them. Ridmark glimpsed Sir Constantine riding at the head of a band of knights, Brightherald flashing in his fist as he cut down dvargir after dvargir. A trio of kobolds charged at Ridmark, stabbing with their spears. He dodged the first thrust and spun his staff in a circle, deflecting the poisoned heads of their weapons. He then sidestepped and drove the length of his staff against one of the kobold’s lizard-like heads, the sound of snapping bone filling his ears. The kobold went down, and Ridmark blocked another spear thrust, bringing his staff down upon the kobold’s crimson crest with crushing force. The last kobold tried to attack again, only to meet the blade of Qhazulak’s massive axe.

  The old orc’s powerful blow cut both the kobold and its spear in half.

  “The dogs flee,” said Qhazulak, glaring at the Mhorites with contempt.

  “They were not ready to withstand a charge of horsemen,” said Zhorlacht, shaking some kobold blood from the blade of his sword. “Behold! Their entire line collapses.”

  He was right. Constantine’s charge had smashed through the dvargir on the left, and the horsemen had broken through, trampling the Mhorites. Already the Anathgrimm line curved to envelop the breaking enemy. The dvargir on the right wing kept their formation intact, but a little more pressure and they would break.

  Trumpets rang out, and that pressure arrived.

  The footmen from Dun Licinia had arrived at last. With the enemy pinned in place by the Anathgrimm, they had been vulnerable to an attack from horsemen upon the flank. After Constantine’s charge had ripped through their lines, the enemy did not have time to reform before another organized force hit them.

  Dux Gareth’s infantry provided that force, and the Mhorites and dvargir began to flee, vanishing towards the woods to the north.

  The battle was over, but the killing went on for some time.

  ###

  Calliande crossed the field, making her way toward the banner of the Dux. The dead lay on the ground around her, Mhorites and Anathgrimm and dvargir and kobolds and human men-at-arms and militiamen.

  She saw far more slain Mhorites and dvargir and kobolds than humans or Anathgrimm, though.

  A group of Anathgrimm walked towards Calliande, Ridmark, Zhorlacht, and Qhazulak at their head. Zhorlacht and Qhazulak stopped before Mara and offered bows. Morigna stepped past Calliande and kissed Ridmark, her relief plain.

  “My Queen,” said Qhazulak. “We bring you victory.”

  “The Anathgrimm fought well,” said Mara. “I am glad that you can fight in defense of a worthy cause, rather than the insane whims of my father.”

  “It is…a strange feeling,” said Qhazulak. “But not without merit.”

  “The battle is not over yet,” said Calliande. “This is not finished until we have stopped Shadowbearer.”

  “There is no sign of Mournacht, either,” said Ridmark. “Did you see him?”

  Calliande shook her head. “There were at least a score of lesser shamans with the Mhorites, but I saw no trace of Mournacht. I cannot believe he would refuse to fight while we put his army to rout.”

  “He must be with Shadowbearer, then,” said Morigna, looking toward the pillar of blue fire rising from the Black Mountain.

  “Then let us claim him,” said Zhorlacht. “It would please me greatly to present his head to the Queen as a trophy.”

  “Come,” said Ridmark. “We need to speak with the Dux and decide how to proceed.”

  They made for the Dux’s banner. Gareth stood there, speaking with Joram and Constantine and Tagrimn and his other chief lords. The knights and lords fell silent as Calliande and Ridmark and the others approached, their eyes turning toward the Anathgrimm.

  For a moment no one spoke.

  Then Jager cleared his throat and stepped forward. “My lord Dux, we are very pleased to meet you upon the field of victorious battle. My Queen was most impressed by the boldness and valor of the men of the Northerland.”

  Gareth nodded, a faint smile on his weathered face. “The skill and courage of the Anathgrimm are well-known to the men of the Northerland, for we have fought against them many times. It is good to have that skill and courage on our side for once.”

  “Our Queen wished us to fight,” said Zhorlacht, “so we fought.”

  Tagrimn grunted. “I am getting old. Never thought I would stand here speaking with an Anathgrimm.”

  “Nor I with a human knight,” said Qhazulak.

  “Fortunately,” said Jager, “we can be united by our hatred of the Mhorites.”

  “And the battle still to come,” said Calliande. “Lord Dux, we should move on the Tower of Vigilance at once. We only have a few days to keep Shadowbearer from opening his gate.”

  “If we hasten, we can reach the Tower of Vigilance before sundown,” said Ridmark. “From there it is only an hour’s walk to the standing circle.”

  And there, Calliande knew, she would face Shadowbearer for the final time.

  Twice before she
had fought him, and twice before he had escaped. This time, though, there would be no retreat for either of them. Either she would stop him, or he would kill her.

  “There is something else we should consider,” said Arandar. Gavin stood next to him, blood spattered across his dark elven armor, his hand resting on Truthseeker’s hilt. He still seemed young to Calliande, but he was growing into the role of a Swordbearer. Antenora had moved closer to him, seemingly relieved that Gavin had come through the battle unscathed. “The surviving kobolds and dvargir will flee back to the Deeps, but the Mhorites are a long way from home. The Tower of Vigilance is the logical place for them to use as a refuge, and they might have fortified it against us.”

  “The Tower is in ruins, Sir Arandar,” said Joram.

  “You mean the ruined fortress north of here, sir knight?” said Zhorlacht.

  Joram blinked in surprise. “That’s right. You would have passed it on your way here.”

  “It had not been rebuilt,” said Qhazulak. “Yet our scouts spotted Mhorite dogs skulking among the ruins. The Mhorite survivors may well withdraw there.”

  “Dun Licinia must be defended as well,” said Joram. “The enemy might try to attack the town.”

  “Then we shall act at once,” said Gareth. “Joram, take the footmen and withdraw back to the town. Tend to the wounded, and repair the gate. I will take our knights and mounted men-at-arms and ride to the Tower of Vigilance to escort the Keeper. Queen Mara, could you bid to the Anathgrimm to march after us?”

  “I shall,” said Mara.

  “If the Mhorites have fortified themselves at the Tower,” said Ridmark, “horsemen alone will not be enough to break through.”

  “Perhaps not,” said Gareth, “but I know from firsthand experience than the Anathgrimm can march at speed. If all goes well, we can break through the Tower and reach the circle with the Keeper. If not, we can at least scout the Tower and prepare for the arrival of the Anathgrimm.”

  “We must move with haste,” said Calliande, looking at each of the nobles and Anathgrimm. “My lords, this is the moment. What we do today will shape the history of Andomhaim and perhaps the entirety of this world. Lives beyond count depend on our decisions.”

  “I said I would see you to the end of this,” said Ridmark. “Let us see it done, then.”

  A short time later they departed, riding north into the hills below the Black Mountain, the Anathgrimm preparing to march behind them.

  Chapter 19: Wards of Vigilance

  Ridmark sat in his saddle, his horse following the Dux’s banner.

  Six hundred horsemen had departed the battlefield, taking the old road that led from Dun Licinia to the ruins of the Tower of Vigilance. The Dux and the Swordbearers rode in the vanguard, surrounding Calliande and Antenora, Ridmark following behind. If Shadowbearer tried to launch a preemptive attack and kill the Keeper, the Dux wanted as many Swordbearers around her as possible. Morigna rode on Ridmark’s right, Kharlacht and Caius following them. Mara and Jager had remained with the Anathgrimm.

  Ridmark shifted his grip on the reins. His axe hung from his belt, the orcish and dvargir blood cleaned from the blade. His staff had been slung over his shoulder, hanging from its leather strap. The rough soulstone in its pouch bounced against his hip with every stride of the horse. Ridmark wished he could have left the damned thing in Dun Licinia. He didn’t want to bring it within Shadowbearer’s grasp. Of course, it hardly seemed important. Shadowbearer already had the empty soulstone from Cathair Solas, and was using it open his gate even now. Still…

  Ridmark shook his head, trying to clear his wandering mind. The last several days had been exhausting, and there had not been much time to rest. If they lived through this, he could rest then.

  And if they failed…well, exhaustion would not matter, because they would be dead.

  “There,” said Caius, pointing at one of the rocky hills, its sides dotted with pine trees. “Right there.”

  “What is right there?” said Morigna. “I see nothing.”

  “The Gray Knight and I met upon that hill for the first time,” said Caius. He smiled at the recollection. “I had been taken prisoner by a band of Mhalekite orcs. I had hoped to carry the gospel to the pagan orcs of the Wilderland, but I think that plan may have gone somewhat awry.”

  “Has it?” said Morigna. “You have had the opportunity to carry the gospel to the pagan orcs of Urd Arowyn, the Mhorites of Kothluusk, the Devout of Urd Morlemoch, and the Anathgrimm. Though, alas, none of them have listened.”

  “Azakhun and his retainers listened,” said Kharlacht.

  “How did you get away from the Mhalekites?” said Gavin. Perhaps he wished to forestall an argument.

  “We fought our way past,” said Ridmark. “I was going to take Caius back to Dun Licinia before he got himself killed. Then the omen of blue fire filled the sky, and we saw that the Mhalekites had occupied the Tower of Vigilance. We were going to warn Sir Joram of the Mhalekites, but then we came across a Mhalekite shaman taking Calliande to the standing stones…and, well, you know what happened then.”

  Calliande looked back at them. “If ever I become too arrogant, Morigna, you can remind me of that.”

  “Why?” said Morigna.

  “Because I had planned to awaken surrounded by the knights of the Order of the Vigilant, ready to warn the High King of the Frostborn,” said Calliande. “I did not plan to wake up naked surrounded by Mhalekite orcs.”

  Morigna blinked. “Naked? Truly?”

  “I was asleep for nearly two and a half centuries,” said Calliande. “My spell preserved my body, but I neglected to preserve my clothing. I was naked and alone, and I could remember nothing. Then the Mhalekites found me.” She looked at Kharlacht. “If Kharlacht had not been there, it might have gone badly for me. And if Ridmark and Caius had not intervened, I would have died that day, Shadowbearer would have summoned the Frostborn back, and it all would have been for nothing.”

  “Fitting, then, that we should return to where it all began,” said Caius.

  “It started long before that,” murmured Calliande, gazing at the pillar of blue fire. Fingers of ghostly blue fire twitched up and down the slopes of the Black Mountain, as if it was reflecting the light. “Long before any of us were born. Long before humans and orcs and dwarves ever came to this world.” Her expression hardened. “But it will end here. One way or another, it shall end here.”

  They rode onward, the old road climbing higher into the hills of the Northerland, the Black Mountain looming larger. The pillar of blue fire sharpened and intensified, stabbing upward from the tallest of the mountain’s foothills. Ridmark wondered how much longer Shadowbearer needed to open the gate. Calliande seemed confident that he needed at least a few more days, but he wondered if she had misjudged. It would be grievous to have come so far and risked so much only for Shadowbearer to summon the Frostborn before they could reach him.

  A few moments later they rounded the slope of a hill, and the Tower of Vigilance came into sight.

  Once it had been a mighty castra, with a tall, tower-studded curtain wall that encircled the entire crest of the hill, its inner towers and central keep like small hills in their own right. Now its gates were broken ruins, its towers empty shells, its outer wall breached in several places. During the civil war of the Pendragon princes, the Order of the Vigilant had sided with the wrong prince, and the Order had been wiped out and its stronghold destroyed. Yet now Ridmark knew the war had all been part of Shadowbearer’s centuries-long plan to kill Calliande and open the gate for the Frostborn.

  “You should have seen this place in its glory,” said Calliande, her voice sad. “When the Order of the Vigilant was new and sure of its mission.”

  “It is deserted now,” said Gareth.

  “It is not, lord Dux,” said Antenora. “I see dark magic within the fortress. And…other magic, older magic, within the walls.” She blinked her yellow eyes and looked at Calliande. “The magic of the Keeper.”

/>   “Old defenses,” said Calliande, “that I worked and set into the stones. Alas, they were not enough to save the Order.”

  “Dark magic?” said Ridmark. “The Mhorite shamans?”

  “Likely they fled the battlefield at the first opportunity,” said Arandar. “In Kothluusk, the shamans of Mhor were eager to shed blood, but they were ever keen to save their own skins.”

  “It might be Mournacht’s personal guard as well,” said Calliande. “He gave them armor infused with blood spells to make them stronger and faster.”

  “Is Mournacht himself there?” said Ridmark. The warlord’s absence from the battle still baffled him.

  “No,” said Calliande. She hesitated. “At least…I don’t think so. We are close enough to the circle of standing stones that their presence distorts the Sight. Shadowbearer draws a tremendous amount of dark magic to work his spell. Looking for Mournacht in the midst of such a storm is like trying to find a candle in the light of the sun.”

  “If our enemies are waiting for us,” said Gareth, “let us not disappoint them.” He turned and gave instructions to his men. Gareth and Ridmark and Calliande and the others would go first, scouting the courtyard, while the rest of the knights followed. If the Mhorites tried to hold the Tower against them, they would storm the courtyard. Though Ridmark could not see how the Mhorites might hold the Tower. The gates were ruined, and there were too many breaches in the outer wall. The entire Mhorite and dvargir hosts combined might have been able to hold the Tower’s ruins, but the shamans and Mournacht’s elite guard could not.

  “We do not need to take the Tower, my lord,” said Ridmark. “Just get through it. The path to the circle of standing stones leads from the Tower’s western gate.”