Frostborn: The False King (24 page)

“He is not sure he would win,” murmured Raszema, “and then Kurdulkar would become Red King, and disaster would truly befall the Range.”

“Does no one oppose Kurdulkar?” said Calliande.

“Prince Curzonar oppose him, does he not?” said Ridmark. 

“You see keenly, lord magister,” said Raszema. “My son is headstrong and rash, but a fierce Hunter and a fell warrior, and I am proud to say that he has seen Kurdulkar’s madness for what it is from the beginning. He opposed Kurdulkar so bitterly that the Red King sent him to the Vale of Stone Death as a trial, which he survived, thanks to you. Now that he has returned, he cannot be banished again, but the enmity between his followers and the supporters of Kurdulkar grows ever deeper. We do not have a civil war as you do in Andomhaim, but violence is in the air, and until this is resolved, the Hunters cannot aid you against the Frostborn.”

“Then how can we help?” said Calliande. 

“Carefully,” said Raszema. “You must not be seen to aid my son. For a Hunter to accept the aid of other kindreds in our own quarrels is among the gravest of crimes.” 

“I counsel that the Keeper and the Lord Magister present themselves to the Red King tomorrow,” said Tazemazar. “That will bring the question of an alliance before the Red King and the Princes, and will force Kurdulkar’s hand.”

“Agreed,” said Raszema. “If you will be guided by our counsel, Keeper, this is what I believe you should do.”

“We shall,” said Calliande, and she offered the First Queen a bow. “It is clear we have found allies.”

“You have,” said Raszema. “Remain in your lodgings this evening and tomorrow morning Tazemazar shall bring you before the court. From there, we shall see.” Her golden eyes shifted to Ridmark. “I urge you to remain on your guard, warrior.”

Ridmark frowned. “You believe Kurdulkar will act against us?” 

“It is likely,” said Raszema. “An ambassador’s life is to be inviolate within the walls of Bastoth, but Kurdulkar has grown strange. A Hunter would never dream of hiring assassins of another kindred to attack his foes, but I believe Kurdulkar has become twisted enough to consider such a crime. Be on your guard. Assassinating the Keeper would remove many of Kurdulkar’s potential difficulties.”

Rage burned through Ridmark at the thought.

“If they attempt it,” he said, “I promise you, First Queen, they shall regret it bitterly.”

The old woman’s yellowing fangs flashed in an approving smile.

Chapter 13: The Red King

The next morning, the embassy departed the Inn of the River and headed for the Red King’s palace, escorted by the arbiter Tazemazar and Imryr Zothal and his soldiers. Despite their formidable guards, Gavin remained watchful. There had been no sign of assassins at the Inn, but Ridmark thought the dvargir might have followed them to Bastoth, and Gavin would not let his vigilance lapse.

It was hard not to gape in wonder, though. 

They passed through another arch in a red stone wall, leaving the Outland Quarter for a broad avenue of paved stone. Plinths lined the street, and upon each plinth rested a statue of a manetaur, both male and female. Some brandished weapons, their forepaws raised and their mouths roaring in a posture of threat. Others sat in calm repose, and those with the cowls of arbiters held books and scrolls. 

“They look like sphinxes,” said Antenora.

“Sphinxes, Lady Antenora?” said Zothal. “This word is unknown to me. What are sphinxes?”

“Statues found upon Old Earth,” said Antenora. “They are sculpted as lions with the heads of men.”

“Like incomplete manetaurs,” said Gavin.

“Perhaps,” said Antenora. 

“Maybe our kindred visited Old Earth in the deeps of ancient time,” said Zothal. “Who knows what happened in epochs before the arbiters began their records? Myself, I have several theories…”

He expounded upon those theories at some length.

Still, there was an advantage to the chattiness of the tygrai. Gavin learned a great deal about Bastoth from them. It seemed that each of the pyramids was the palace of a Prince of the Range, one of the Red King’s dozens of sons by his wives and concubines. Each Prince received a demesne of land from which he alone could hunt, but the Princes shared those rights with their khalaths, their sworn-warrior companions. In hindsight, Gavin supposed that made Ralakahr a sworn khalath of Kurdulkar. 

“So the Princes are like lords,” said Gavin, “and the khalaths are their knights.”

“An imprecise analogy, Sir Gavin,” said Zothal, “but the closest comparison to human customs, I think.”

He went on to explain that the khalaths could recruit warriors sworn to them and that the entire manetaur nation was divided up between the retinues of the Princes, frequently changing as the Princes rose and fell and were slain in battle or during the hunt. Gavin thought it sounded somewhat like Andomhaim, with the Red King on the throne, the manetaurs serving as the nobles, and the tygrai comparable to the farmers and the merchants and the commoners. He wondered why the tygrai did not found their own nation, but Zothal seemed to that idea strange beyond reckoning, almost as if Gavin had asked why the tygrai did not fly like birds by flapping their arms. 

“How do the manetaurs…ah, find wives?” said Gavin. “Raszema was the Red King’s First Queen, but…forgive me if this is a delicate topic.”

Zothal shrugged. “The manetaurs speak frankly of such things. There are much more manetaur females than males, and a manetaur male can have as many wives as he can win and support. When a female enters her heat, the males that find her desireable battle to claim her hand. The victorious male then claims the female as his wife, and sires children upon her.” 

“And the manetaur women submit to this?” said Antenora. She seemed to find the idea repulsive. 

Zothal shrugged again. “The manetaur females say it is right and proper. They find the idea of mating with a weakling male as loathsome and repellent as a noblewoman of Andomhaim would find marrying a commoner. I confess I do not understand it myself. Among the tygrai, marriages are arranged in negotiation between the parents of the male and the female. I married my own wife this way, and it has been quite satisfactory.” A third time he shrugged. “We tygrai are alien to you, Sir Gavin, and in turn, the manetaurs are alien to us.”

“But you follow them,” said Gavin. 

“It is proper,” said Zothal. “We are great hunters, but they are greater hunters, and therefore we follow them. Together we are even greater, and the manetaurs do not harm or hunt the tygrai.”

“Imryr Zothal,” called Tazemazar from where he limped next to Calliande and Ridmark at the head of the line. “Join me for a moment.”

“Pardons, Sir Gavin,” said Zothal. “I hope to continue our conversation later.”

He hurried to join the arbiter.

“Gavin Swordbearer,” said Antenora in a low voice. “What do you think of the manetaurs?”

Gavin shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t understand them. They seem like they would be good friends and terrible enemies. Their way of ruling themselves seems so…so chaotic, so bloody. If we were manetaurs, we would say Tarrabus was the proper High King because he murdered Uthanaric, but that way is madness.”

“The manetaurs ought to rule the world,” said Antenora, “but they do not.”

“What do you mean?” said Gavin.

“You have seen the manetaurs in battle,” said Antenora. “They are fierce and hold injury and death in contempt. Were they unified, they could conquer the other kindred. Yet they do not, and it is because their Princes are constantly at war with each other. I wonder how often those palaces change hands. They must only unify when attacked from outside.”

“If the Keeper wins them to our cause,” said Gavin, “they will be powerfffulll allies. Remember how they carved through the Mhorites and the Anathgrimm at the Vale of Stone Death?”

“I do,” said Antenora, gazing at the red pyramids.

A thought occurred to Gavin. 

“Maybe that’s what Kurdulkar wants,” said Gavin. 

“To war against the Frostborn?” said Antenora.

“No,” said Gavin. “Maybe Kurdulkar has realized the same thing you have, how all the chaos weakens the manetaurs. Maybe he wants to unify the manetaurs around the shadow of Incariel.”

Antenora stared at him so hard that Gavin wondered if he had said something foolish. 

“Gavin Swordbearer,” said Antenora. “That is clever and almost certainly right. We must speak of it with the Keeper when time permits.”

“Oh,” said Gavin. “Thank you.” 

She smiled, and for just an instant she seemed…younger, less worn, less weary. Gavin found himself wondering what she would have looked like fifteen centuries ago, before Mordred Pendragon had seduced her and set her on the dark path she had spent millennia trying to escape. She must have been beautiful. He could see echoes of it now, and sometimes more than echoes. 

Then the moment passed, and she was Antenora once again. 

“We must be ready,” said Antenora. “The Red King’s palace draws near, and I suspect not all the manetaurs shall welcome the Keeper.”

###

Calliande walked between Ridmark and Tazemazar, wearing the calm expression of the Keeper.

She also wore the best clothes she had brought from Caerdracon, a green gown with gold trim and scrollwork upon the sleeves, the staff of the Keeper in her right hand. She had washed and bound her long hair in a braid, and on her head rested the bronze diadem she had taken from Dragonfall, the metal polished and cleaned.

If she was to be the Keeper of Andomhaim, then she might as well look the part. 

Ridmark walked next to her, still wearing his usual clothes beneath the blue dark elven armor, his gray cloak hanging from his shoulders and his black staff in his right hand. Calliande supposed the magister militum of Nightmane Forest would wear armor as a sign of his rank, especially since his staff had been given to him by the archmage Ardrhythain, his dwarven axe had slain Mournacht of Kothluusk, and his armor had been taken from the armories of the Warden in Urd Morlemoch. 

If that did not grant prestige, then nothing did.

The statue-lined avenue ended in a massive wall of towering granite. In the midst of the wall stood two huge doors of polished bronze, guarded by four manetaurs in ceremonial armor. Beyond the wall loomed the massive bulk of a red pyramid, the heart of the Red King’s palace.

“We are here,” said Tazemazar. “Until you are invited to speak, let me do the talking. Do not draw your weapons for any reason. You will not be attacked here, under pain of the Red King’s wrath, but some of the younger Hunters may try to goad you into doing something foolish.”

“We are ready, arbiter,” said Calliande. 

“Very well,” said Tazemazar. He turned towards the guards and growled a few words in the manetaur tongue. The guards listened, and then bowed and stepped back, pulling open the doors. Beyond was a large courtyard, with pillars marching along the walls to form a shadowed arcade. Tygrai went back and forth on errands, though they turned curious eyes at the newcomers. Tazemazar led them across the courtyard and through another set of bronze doors in the inner wall. They passed through the gate, and then into blazing sunlight.

Calliande blinked her eyes, clearing her vision.

A massive garden filled the heart of the Red King’s palace. 

It was a stylized reproduction of the plains outside the walls. A pond rippled in the center of the courtyard, and grass grew from the earth. Dozens of piles of boulders stood scattered around the courtyard, similar to the one that Raszema had used as a dais in her garden. 

Upon those daises lounged the Princes of the Range. 

The Princes wore armor of crimson chain and plate, brilliant and gleaming, swords and axes at their belts and bows and javelins slung over their shoulders. Alongside the Princes lounged female manetaurs adorned with silk and jewels and gold. These were the favored wives and concubines of the Princes. At the foot of each dais the Princes’ bondsmen and warriors – his khalaths, his sworn warriors, and his tygrai fighters and servants.

Calliande felt hundreds of pairs of golden eyes turn in her direction, and the weight of the gazes of all those predators made her skin crawl. 

“Steady,” murmured Ridmark.

Calliande nodded, keeping her face calm. The manetaurs would not attack unless she gave them cause. The Red King did not tolerate attacks upon ambassadors. Of course, if the Red King decided that she had given cause for offense, the manetaurs would tear her limb from limb along with all her companions. And if Tazemazar and Raszema were right, Kurdulkar and his warriors were no longer thinking clearly. 

Suddenly she thought of the tale of Daniel and the lions’ den from the scriptures.

Well, God had brought Daniel out of the lions’ den, and Calliande would trust that God would bring her out of this one.

Besides, the court of the Red King was less intimidating than Urd Morlemoch or Khald Azalar. 

“Follow me,” said Tazemazar, and the arbiter limped forward, his heavy red staff thumping against the ground. 

They circled around the pond. About halfway around the edge, Calliande finally spotted Curzonar. He sat atop a heap of boulders not far from the Red King’s own dais. If Raszema was the Red King’s first wife, then likely Curzonar was one of the Red King’s eldest sons, which gave him place of precedence. Curzonar gazed at her, his surprise plain, and she spotted his khalath Martellar at the base of the heaped boulders. 

Tazemazar stopped at the base of the pile of boulders at the far end of the garden and bowed, planting his staff in the grassy earth to keep his balance. 

“Red King of the Range,” said Tazemazar. Calliande’s Sight saw the minor spell he used to amplify his voice. “I present the Keeper of Andomhaim and the magister militum of Nightmane Forest, both of them acting as ambassadors of Queen Mara of Nightmane Forest.” 

Calliande looked atop the piled boulders and gazed Turcontar, the king of the manetaur kindred. 

He looked a great deal like Curzonar, though all the Princes of the Range were his sons, so they all looked like each other. The Red King wore gleaming red armor trimmed in gold, a jeweled spear in his right hand, a diadem of red gold on his mane. In Andomhaim the lion was often a symbol of kingly authority, and Turcontar looked the very image of regal majesty.