Frostborn: The Broken Mage (40 page)

She fell silent, shaking a little with anger and sadness.

“Do you think us fools?” said Zhorlacht. There was no anger in his voice, only weariness. “We know what our god was. We were not blind. Yet he was our god. Our entire purpose was to serve him. What are we now that our god is dead?”

“Free,” said Mara at once. “You are free of him.” 

“What is freedom?” said Zhorlacht. “It is useless with purpose. Our entire purpose was to serve the Traveler. Without our purpose, we are nothing.” 

“Then what are you going to do?” said Mara.

“We are going to kill ourselves,” said Zhorlacht.

“What?” said Mara. “Why? No!” 

“Why not?” said Zhorlacht. “We are without purpose, we are without meaning. Our god has died, and we must die with him.”

Mara stared at him, and the dark truth occurred to her.

Zhorlacht and the other Anathgrimm were going to kill themselves because the Traveler had designed them to do it, had used his dark magic to burn a final command into the brains of his mutated orcs. It was his one last, spiteful blow, his final act of malice. If he was ever killed, he would make sure that all his slaves died with him. 

“No,” said Mara. “Don’t you see? This is something else he did to you. You’re not killing yourself because your god is dead. You’re killing yourselves because the monster that pretended to be your god is trying to torture you one final time.” 

“He was our god,” said Zhorlacht. “Our purpose is gone.” 

“You don’t understand,” said Mara, groping for words. God and the saints, but she wished she was more eloquent. “He did this to you. He’s making you kill yourselves out of spite. That’s all! You haven’t lost your purpose.”

“He was our god,” said Zhorlacht. “Now we have no other reason to live.”

Mara wanted to scream in anger. They were going to do it. They were going to kill themselves, and the Traveler would have one final victory over those he had tortured for centuries…

“Wait!” said Jager. 

Mara looked at him, and Zhorlacht and the others followed suit. 

“This is not your concern, halfling,” said Zhorlacht. 

“Of course not,” Jager agreed, brushing some dust from his sleeve. “Not my concern at all. In fact, I don’t even like you all that much. If you want to kill yourselves out of grief for that shrieking coward you called a god, well…far be it from me to stop you.”

Zhorlacht just stared at him. Mara did, too, wondering where he was going with this. 

“Though if you do kill yourselves,” said Jager, “you will be failing your god.”

“How?” said Zhorlacht. “The Traveler is already dead. How could we fail him further?” 

“Pardon?” said Jager. “Your god is dead? You are quite mistaken. Your god still lives.”

“Madness,” said Zhorlacht. 

Jager raised an eyebrow. “Madness? Me? Well, I’ve done my fair share of risky things, I do admit, but I’m not the one who thinks that a dead dark elf is God.”

“The Traveler is slain,” said Zhorlacht. “Mara of Andomhaim slew him. I saw this with my own eyes, as did hundreds of others, and we felt his song end with his death.” 

“True, true,” said Jager. He grinned and pointed at Mara. “But his heir yet lives.”

“Heir?” said Zhorlacht. 

“Heir?” said Mara, blinking, and suddenly she realized what Jager was doing. “Husband, wait, this isn’t…”

He made a quick, small shushing motion with his right hand. 

“The Traveler is dead, but his heir yet lives,” said Jager, gesturing at Mara. “So your allegiance must now transfer to her. She is your new god. Well, goddess, technically. Therefore you cannot kill yourself. Your service to your god has not yet ended.”

For the first time Zhorlacht looked bewildered. Yet around him the other Anathgrimm started to murmur, speaking to each other in low voices. 

“But,” said Zhorlacht at last, “but…the lord Traveler had other daughters, and they all became urdhracosi. They were his slaves as well.”

“Does she seem like the Traveler’s slave?” said Jager. “She defied him. God and the saints, she killed him! Could any of his other daughters have performed such a mighty deed? She was supposed to have transformed into an urdhracos years ago, yet here she stands!” His voice grew louder, more forceful, and with a surreal shock Mara realized that he was doing an excellent imitation of Ridmark. “So tell me, Anathgrimm of Nightmane Forest. Would you rather fall upon your swords and kill yourselves? Or shall you follow the heir of your god? You served the Traveler all your lives, and you know that he was a cruel and capricious master, a coward and a scoundrel. Yet you served him devotedly and without fault, and there is no man in Andomhaim who could doubt the valor of the Anathgrimm! So ask yourselves this! What might you do, I wonder, if you followed a master who was not cruel and capricious, a master whom no one could claim was a coward?” He smiled. “Or mistress?” 

“Jager,” said Mara. “I can’t do this. I’m not a goddess, and the Traveler was not a god. There is only one God…and it’s neither me nor the Traveler.”

“That’s true, that’s true,” said Jager, tapping his chin as if a thought had just occurred to him. “Well, if you can’t be a goddess…how about a Queen, then?” 

“Queen?” said Mara. 

“How about it, Zhorlacht?” said Jager. “You can kill yourselves if you like. Or maybe you can live, and maybe your lives can be better than you ever thought possible. Maybe instead of worshipping a madman who thinks he is a god, you can instead follow the Queen who slew your oppressor and talked you out of killing yourselves.” 

For a long time Zhorlacht said nothing, a muscle in his jaw working. 

“If we followed you,” he said at last, “what would you do with us?” 

“We’re going after Shadowbearer and the Mhorites,” said Mara. “He’s going to try and open a gate to another world to bring the Frostborn back to Andomhaim. We’re going to stop him, or at least we’re going to try. He still has Mournacht and all the Mhorites around him. We’ll have to fight.” Mara shrugged. “I won’t lie. If you follow me, there will be fighting. And after, if we win…after I will try to dismantle what my father built in Nightmane Forest. I will try to free all of his slaves.”

“Good,” rumbled Zhorlacht. “We were made to fight, and we have unfinished business with Mournacht and his dogs. I will speak with the other headmen and priests.”

He strode back into the ranks of the warriors, and Ridmark, Calliande, and Antenora hurried onto the platform, the others following. Ridmark crossed to Mara’s side, looked at Mara, at the Anathgrimm, and then back at Mara. 

“What’s happening?” said Ridmark.

“Well,” said Jager. “The Anathgrimm wanted to kill themselves in honor of the Traveler. I wouldn’t have minded very much, but Mara seemed upset. So instead I think I convinced them to make Mara their Queen.” 

Silence answered him.

“That,” said Morigna, “is not funny, even by your usual standards.

“It’s not funny because he’s not joking,” said Mara. She didn’t want to be a queen, didn’t want to be a leader of any kind. Yet she did not want the Anathgrimm to kill themselves. For that matter, she had wanted to do something for her father’s slaves, something to free them from the prison of misery the Traveler had constructed around them. The Traveler was dead by her hand, but if Jager was right, if she really was his heir, all his evil works had passed to her.

If they had, she could undo them. She could undo them all.

They waited, the day growing darker as the sun slipped away behind the mountains of Vhaluusk to the west. Calliande busied herself by going to the others and healing their wounds. To Mara’s Sight, the white light of the Well’s magic was joined by the deeper power of the Keeper, lending Calliande’s healing spells greater effectiveness. The staff had been the vessel for the Keeper’s mantle, and that mantle had returned to Calliande once again. 

At last Zhorlacht returned from the ranks of the Anathgrimm and gazed up at Mara. 

“We accept your offer,” said the orcish wizard. “If you will be our Queen, then we shall be your subjects. The halfling spoke truly. Our duty is not yet ended. If you lead us we shall follow…and we shall show your foes why the foes of the Traveler feared the Anathgrimm.” 

Mara took a deep breath, closed her eyes and opened them again. 

“So be it,” said Mara. 

With those words, she had just become the Queen of Nightmane Forest. 

The Anathgrimm shouted and cheered, banging the flats of their swords against their shields. On and on the thunderous noise went, until at last it faded away.

“What are your commands, then?” said Zhorlacht.

Mara blinked and looked around. Ridmark stepped closer and lowered his voice.

“Tell them,” he murmured, “to make a camp here and post sentries. They should prepare to march for the Black Mountain and Dun Licinia tomorrow.” 

Mara nodded and gave the commands to Zhorlacht, who in turn shouted orders to his men. The Anathgrimm host went to work, constructing a camp for themselves at the base of the hills. Somehow, it seemed, they had gotten most of their baggage and supplies out of Khald Azalar. 

“Oh, dear,” murmured Jager. “I’m going to become a king, aren’t I?”

Zhorlacht made a displeased growl. 

“Prince consort, I mean,” said Jager. 

Zhorlacht’s next growl sounded only somewhat less displeased. 

“If you didn’t want to be prince consort,” said Mara, “then you shouldn’t have made me their Queen.”

Jager shrugged. “I didn’t know what else to do. You didn’t want them to kill themselves. And we might have a use for them.”

“You have to help me,” said Mara. “Both of you. I don’t know anything about being a Queen. You’ve led armies in battle, Ridmark, and…husband, you just talked an army into swearing itself to me. I need your help.”

“You’ll have it,” said Jager, taking her hand. “As long as we both shall live.”

###

“Mara has an army,” said Morigna, still stunned by the unexpected events. 

“She does,” said Calliande. 

They stood together just within the Gate of the East, next to the roaring bonfire that Kharlacht and Caius had built. Ridmark and the others were with the Anathgrimm, giving the mutated orcs instructions before they began the long march south. Or, more precisely, they were giving Mara advice, and she in turn gave the Anathgrimm instructions. 

“She also has a kingdom, apparently,” said Morigna. “Nightmane Forest. I expect the High King will try to make war upon her and destroy her.”

“Probably not,” said Calliande, her voice distant as she gazed at Morigna. “I suspect, should we survive the events of the next few weeks, that Mara will swear as a vassal to the High King. It is not without precedent. Some of the orcish kings swore to the High King after accepting baptism. Our friend Crowlacht, for instance. His lord the king of Rhaluusk is sovereign in his own domain, but still comes at the High King’s call, and provides warriors for the defense of the realm.” 

“Tarrabus Carhaine will not like it,” said Morigna.

“He will not,” said Calliande. She tilted her head to the side, frowning as she scrutinized Morigna. Morigna wondered what the Keeper’s Sight detected. “He may not have a choice in the matter, though. If Mara becomes a vassal monarch of the High King, she will be Tarrabus’s equal in rank. If we defeat Shadowbearer and stop the Frostborn, that will help when it comes time to root out the Enlightened of Incariel from Andomhaim.”

“Poor Jager will be wroth,” said Morigna. “All his disdain for the nobles of Andomhaim, and he becomes one.”

Calliande smiled briefly. “Technically, I suppose he would be the Prince Consort of Nightmane Forest. Given that the position did not exist until about an hour ago, I expect he will bring his usual flair to it.”

Morigna snorted. “A kind way to put it. And as for you? If we are victorious, you will go to Tarlion and advise the High King, and never trouble yourself with the problems of commoners again?”

She expected Calliande to react to the barb, but the Keeper did not even blink.

“I am the Keeper of Andomhaim,” said Calliande, still staring at Morigna, “and I will defend the realm from dark magic, whether that takes me to the courts of Tarlion or the hills of the Northerland.” 

A little chill went through Morigna.

The Keeper defended Andomhaim from dark magic…and Morigna had powerful dark magic within her now. Was Calliande simply going to kill her? She might decide that she had the right. She certainly had the power. There was no way Morigna could match her power, even if she used every scrap of dark magic she had taken from the Warden. The Old Man’s teachings echoed in her head. Power was the foundation of strength and security…and Calliande had far more power than Morigna now.

“Well?” said Morigna at last, unable to wait any longer. “Are you going to kill me?”

“What?” said Calliande, her calm demeanor shifting to surprise. “Of course not. Why would I?”

“I have used dark magic,” said Morigna. “I am from outside the realm of Andomhaim. I am a user of elemental magic, which is forbidden in Andomhaim. One would think the Keeper would defend the realm from a dire threat like me.”

“For God’s sake,” said Calliande. “I’m not going to kill you. Ridmark would never forgive me. What, do you think I’m going to murder you and take your place at Ridmark’s side?” 

Morigna opened her mouth and closed it again.

“The thought did occur to me,” said Morigna.

“I do love him, you know,” said Calliande. She stared off towards the Anathgrimm for a moment. 

“I know,” said Morigna. 

“I am jealous of you,” said Calliande. “I’ve never had anyone. There was never time. You had Sir Nathan, even if you lost him, and now Ridmark.”

“You…still could, if you wanted,” said Morigna. She tried to keep her voice scornful, but more fear leaked into it than she would have liked. “I am sure he would not turn away from the noble and mighty Keeper.” 

“No. I am the Keeper,” said Calliande. “I have a duty, and I cannot flinch from it. And you are good for him, Morigna. If there was a chance such a love would have been part of my life, that chance ended the day the Keeper chose me to be her apprentice.” She sighed and gave Morigna a sad smile. “Please make him happy. That is all I will ask of you.”