Frostborn: The False King (16 page)

“My kindred are as you say,” said Caius, “but they will refuse to intervene in Andomhaim’s civil war. They will say that neither Tarrabus nor Arandar has a complete claim to the throne of Andomhaim, and they will not send aid until there is a High King with a unified realm.”

“By the time that happens,” said Kharlacht, “Andomhaim may well have fallen.”

“Perhaps,” said Calliande, and she smiled. “But what if Queen Mara dispatched the Keeper to ask for aid?”

Gavin blinked. That hadn’t occurred to him. The Queen of Nightmane Forest was a ruler in her own realm, well within her rights to ask for aid from other realms. And if those other realms chose to send aid to her against the Frostborn, they need not involve themselves in the war between Arandar and Tarrabus.

“Indeed,” said Mara. “We were discussing the possibility before Ridmark went to escort you here. The Anathgrimm are valiant, but we cannot stand alone against the Frostborn forever. Allies would be welcome. What do you propose?”

“Send me as your ambassador,” said Calliande. “I shall visit the manetaurs and the dwarves. Both will remember the Keeper and the threat the Frostborn posed.” Gavin supposed that some of the dwarves might even remember Calliande themselves. They could live for centuries, and Caius had been a young man during the first war against the Frostborn. “I can convince them to come to our aid.” 

Jager smiled. “I will even forge official documents to proclaim you the Queen’s ambassador.” 

Mara laughed. “They’re not forgeries when you’re really the Prince Consort of the realm in question.”

“Oh,” said Jager. “That’s rather disappointing, really.”

“This plan seems good to me,” said Mara. “Are there any objections?” 

There were none. 

“We should send an escort with the Keeper,” said Qhazulak. “To ensure that she safely leaves the Northerland. Do you wish to visit the manetaurs first, or the dwarves?”

“The manetaurs,” said Calliande. “The Lord Magister and I helped one of the Princes of the Range in the Vale of Stone Death. Prince Curzonar saw the danger of the Frostborn, and he would speak for us before the Red King himself.” 

“Then you will indeed require an escort,” said Qhazulak. “The Frostborn hold the bulk of the Northerland, and you will need to pass through their territory.”

“Or cut through the Wilderland and circle around the Northerland,” said Caius, “which carries its own peril.” 

Calliande took a deep breath. “I ask that Lord Ridmark and Brother Caius accompany me.” 

Ridmark frowned. “My place is here with the Anathgrimm.” 

“It is,” said Mara. “But if we are to have any hope of victory in this war, we need allies. I hope Prince Regent Arandar prevails against Tarrabus, but we cannot count on it.”

Qhazulak nodded in approval. “In war, victory goes to those who take the initiative, rather than responding to the foe.”

“You appointed me the magister militum of Nightmane Forest,” said Ridmark. 

“I did,” said Mara, “and I regret it not. But I appointed you to lead our warriors to victory…and the Keeper’s plan is our best chance for victory.” 

“Fear not, Lord Magister,” said Qhazulak. “I shall lead the army in your stead. We have learned much from you…and the Anathgrimm have been raiding the Northerland since the men of Andomhaim first settled beyond the Lake of Mourning.” He smiled, which made him look no less fierce. “It is a style of warfare we have practiced many times before.”

“I shall go by your leave, Queen Mara,” said Caius. “Zhorlacht and the other priests have been well-instructed in the faith of the Dominus Christus, and they can continue the teaching of the Anathgrimm in my absence.” 

They fell silent and looked at Ridmark. 

“So be it,” said Ridmark. He looked at Calliande. “I shall see you safely to the Range and back again.”

Calliande nodded, and Gavin saw the quiver of a muscle near her eye.

“Then it is decided,” said Mara. “You shall leave in the morning once you have been fed and equipped with supplies.”

“And I,” said Jager, “have some documents to forge.” 

“It’s not forgery if you are the Prince Consort,” said Caius.

Jager sighed and then grinned. “You know, I’ve missed how you take the fun out of everything.”

Chapter 8: Third’s Tale

Calliande was exhausted, but could not sleep. 

The accommodations were comfortable enough. They slept outside, but that was all right because it never rained or snowed or grew hotter or colder inside Nightmane Forest. A woman could sleep in perfect comfort upon the forest floor. The Anathgrimm women were as stern and fierce as their men, but they provided blankets and excellent food, and Calliande ate better than she had since leaving Castra Carhaine. There were also pools for bathing, thanks to natural springs rerouted by the Traveler’s engineers, and Calliande enjoyed a hot bath by the simple expedient of using a fire spell upon the water into it steamed. 

After a good meal and a hot bath, she should have been able to sleep, but she was restless.

At last, she rose from her blankets, donned a shirt and trousers and her boots, picked up her staff, and left her tent. Ector’s men had made camp not far from the clearing where Mara had held court, and the Anathgrimm had dispersed to their wives. The Anathgrimm considered it fortuitous to conceive a child after returning from battle, and Calliande was amused to reflect that she was not the only woman in Nightmane Forest who wasn’t getting any sleep. 

Outside of the tent, the camp was silent. Two of Ector’s men stood watch. Gavin had wrapped up in his cloak and lay sleeping outside of her tent. Antenora did not need sleep, but instead sat cross-legged upon the ground, her hands resting palms-up on her knees. Two spheres of fire orbited her head, throwing shifting shadows over her face and black-clad body as she practiced her magical skills.

Antenora opened one yellow eye.

“I can’t sleep,” whispered Calliande. “I’m going for a walk. Don’t wake Gavin up.”

Antenora nodded. “Gavin Swordbearer requires his rest.” The look she gave the sleeping Swordbearer was almost fond. Calliande wondered if Antenora was falling in love with Gavin, or if she was even still capable of feeling such an emotion.

“Yes,” said Calliande, and she left the camp, wandering through the blue gloom of Nightmane Forest. 

It would have been a terrifying place had the Traveler still ruled here. Now that Mara ruled Nightmane Forest, Calliande could admit it had a strange, eerie beauty. Spheres of blue light danced from tree to tree, and some of the ferns and mushrooms growing on the ground let off their own glows. The Traveler might have abandoned reason and forsaken mercy long before humans had ever come to Andomhaim, but he had possessed a keen eye for beauty. This place would have been a beautiful hell for the Anathgrimm, enslaved to the will of the mad prince they revered as their god.

Yet their god was dead now, slain by one of the daughters he had tried to enslave, and the Anathgrimm had a new God and a new Queen. Calliande knew the Anathgrimm would never live as other men did. Orcs loved to fight, but even the Mhorite orcs of Kothluusk settled in villages and raised crops and cattle and families. The Anathgrimm had been twisted into weapons, and weapons they would remain. 

It made her sad…but perhaps she was no different. When had she ever known peace? Her whole life had been spent in the war against the Frostborn and Shadowbearer. Centuries ago, she had sacrificed her entire life and everything she had ever known to stop the Frostborn and Shadowbearer, to keep the war from repeating itself on an even greater scale.

And she had failed.

God and the saints, how she had failed. 

Calliande paused for a moment, resting her forehead against her staff until she could get her emotions under control. She was the Keeper of Andomhaim, and it would not do for anyone to see the Keeper of Andomhaim sobbing alone in the forest. 

At last, Calliande took a deep breath and kept walking, her mind turning over her many failures, wondering what she could have done differently. Maybe if she had been able to defeat and kill Imaria Licinius during the Challenge of Magistri in Coldinium. Perhaps if she had been able to persuade Uthanaric that Tarrabus was a serpent. 

Or maybe it would have been better if she had died long ago, if she had passed the office of Keeper onto another. Perhaps her successor would have done better.

Wrapped in her black thoughts, she did not notice as the forest ended around her. Calliande blinked in surprise as she stepped onto a terrace of worked white stone. It overlooked one of the small valleys that riddled Nightmane Forest, a stream rushing through the center of the valley on its way to the River Moradel.

Ridmark stood with his back to her, his armor and cloak gone, his staff extended. 

For an instant, Calliande wondered what he was doing, and then she realized that he was practicing. He swept the staff through a series of swings, high and low and then high again, and repeated the sequence, his movements a blur. Calliande watched him, entranced. He moved with grace and power, and she could not look away. She had always been drawn to him, if she was honest with herself, had always been attracted to his strength and determination. 

Ridmark turned and saw her watching him. 

For a moment, they stared at each other. 

Calliande forced moisture into her dry mouth. “Couldn’t sleep?” she said at last. 

He thought he would walk away, but to her surprise, he spoke.

“No,” he said at last. “Bad dreams.”

“Ah,” said Calliande. “Morigna?”

He frowned, but not at her.

“That would make sense,” said Ridmark, half to himself, “but I rarely had nightmares. Not after Aelia, and not after Morigna.” He shrugged. “I suppose one advantage to wandering through the Wilderland all day is an exhausted night’s sleep.” 

“Truly,” said Calliande. “If I can ask…if you do not have dreams about them, what do you dream about?”

“I don’t remember,” said Ridmark. 

“You can’t remember these bad dreams?” said Calliande.

“No,” said Ridmark. He tapped his black staff for a moment. “I can never remember them, and they always jar me awake. For an instant, when I wake up, I can remember pieces of them. A white hall and…fire, lots of fire, I think, though I could be wrong. Then it fades entirely.” 

“I see,” said Calliande. She directed the Sight at him The Sight revealed the altered aura of the black staff in his hand, the glow of power from the dwarven dagger sheathed at his belt. As she focused the Sight, visions flickered through her mind. She glimpsed him standing over Aelia in the great hall of Castra Marcaine, her blood pooling upon the tiles of black and white, or standing over Morigna in the keep of Dun Licinia, her black eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling, and she glimpsed his rage, the fury eating him out from the inside…

She shivered a little and dismissed the Sight.

“You’re cold,” said Ridmark. 

“No,” said Calliande. “Well, a little. I just…I’m sorry, Ridmark. I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” said Ridmark. “You’ve done nothing wrong. You should get some sleep. It is a long journey from here to the Range, and you shall need your rest.”

Before she could answer, he turned and walked away. 

Calliande watched him disappear into the trees. He was in a great deal of pain, and some of it was her fault. If she had realized Shadowbearer’s true nature, or if she had killed Imaria, then the Frostborn would never have returned, and the Enlightened would have been defeated. 

Morigna would still be alive. 

She shook her head, annoyed with herself. She ought to go lie down. If she was going to rebuke herself, at least she could do so while wrapped in a warm blanket…

“You are the Keeper.”

The voice was flat and hollow and devoid of emotion. 

Calliande spun, raising her staff and drawing upon her power. A pale, black-haired woman stood a few yards away at the base of a tree, clad in dark armor, short swords of dark elven steel at her belt.

“Third,” said Calliande, lowering her staff. 

“I startled you,” said Third. “I apologize. That was not my intent.” 

Calliande hesitated, annoyance and surprise warring for control. 

“Mara once told me stealth is a difficult habit to unlearn,” she said at last. “It seems she was correct.”

Third stared at her, and one corner of her mouth started to smile. “This is so. My sister the Queen is wise.” 

“If you didn’t want to startle me,” said Calliande, “then what did you want?” 

“I wished to speak with you,” said Third. 

“All right,” said Calliande. “What did you want to talk about?”

“The Lord Magister,” said Third.

Something inside Calliande cooled. 

“What did you want to know?” she said. 

“I have observed him for nearly a year,” said Third. “I have seen him in every mood. Yet when he heard you were coming to Nightmane Forest, I had never seen him react that way. Therefore, I wish to learn what…”

Calliande’s last bit of patience vanished.

“Have you and Ridmark become lovers, then?” she said. “Is that it?”

Third displayed no reaction, save to look quizzical. 

“No,” she said. “I have no wish for physical contact.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” said Calliande. 

“For a thousand years,” said Third, “I served the Lord Traveler. Like all dark elves, he rejoiced in cruelty. Sometimes when he wished to slay prisoners in a particularly cruel fashion, he bade me to lie with them. Then, at the moment of their climax, I slew them. I fear the experience has left me with no desire for physical contact.”

“Oh,” said Calliande. “I’m sorry. I spoke rashly.” 

“It is of no concern,” said Third, still unruffled. 

Calliande frowned. “But who are you? You were one of the Traveler’s urdhracosi, were you not?”

“Yes,” said Third. “Long ago, the Anathgrimm took my mother captive, and the Traveler fathered me upon her. As happened to so many others, when I came of age the dark power in my soul transformed me, and I became an urdhracos, bound to the song of the Traveler’s will. I was among the greatest of his servants, and I killed and worked dark magic at his will for a thousand years. Then the Queen slew the Traveler in the depths of Khald Azalar, and his hold over me was broken.”