Frostborn: The False King (12 page)

“You will surrender and accompany me to Tarlion at once,” said Caradog. 

“Ah,” said Calliande. “Let me make a small guess. Comes Corbanic raised the wards of defense around Tarlion’s walls, and Tarrabus can’t break through them, is that it? So he thinks that I know how to lower them.”

“This is not a parley,” said Caradog. “You will come with me voluntarily, and surrender into my custody. If you do not, I shall kill all those with you, and take you by force.” He leered at her. “The choice is yours, though I would enjoy taking you by force.” 

Her stomach twisted with revulsion, but Calliande kept her face calm.

“I reject your demands,” said Calliande, “and you will get out of our way, or we will get you out of our way.” 

“Ah,” said Caradog. “I hoped you would say that.”

He shouted a phrase in a language Calliande did not recognize for an instant. Then the recognition clicked. Dvargirish, he was speaking dvargirish. Why would he do that? It…

Pain exploded through her, and something hard slammed into Calliande’s stomach. The impact hurled her backward from the saddle, and she hit the ground, fresh pain exploding through her. She would have screamed, but she could not draw breath.

A crossbow bolt of black dvargir steel jutted from her stomach, its side glistening with dark grease. On reflex, Calliande reached for magic, but burning pain spread from the wound in her stomach, disrupting her grip on the power.

The bolt had been poisoned, and the poison was blocking her magic. 

Then she realized greenish mist was rolling through the horsemen, causing them to fall from their saddles. It was sleeping gas, another weapon of the dvargir, and Calliande managed to turn her head to see short, stocky forms in black armor hurrying from the trees. They looked like dwarves, with the same granite-colored gray skin, but shadows filled their eyes, and instead of dwarven steel their armor had been made from a strange, wet-looking black metal that seemed to drink the light.

There had been reports that Tarrabus had hired great numbers of dvargir mercenaries. Some of them must have been shadowscribes, and they had used their power to cloak themselves. They had set a trap for her, and she had blundered right into it.

Fool, fool, fool!

“Take the Keeper alive,” she heard Caradog say, “and make sure you put the chains and the collar on her. Kill the rest of them.”

Calliande struggled to sit up, struggled to draw on her power, but she could barely breathe through the pain. 

Her head slumped against the road.

And as it did, she started to hallucinate.

At least that was the only possible explanation. A pillar of blue fire swirled at the edge of the river, and for a moment, Calliande was sure that she was about to see Mara. The fire vanished to reveal a gaunt, pale woman in black armor, blue fire crackling in her dead black eyes. 

No. Only Mara could do that. Calliande had to be hallucinating.

She fought against the pain as the dvargir warriors closed around her.

Chapter 6: Reunion

As Calliande fell from her horse and green smoke erupted around them, Gavin reacted on instinct. 

He leaped from his saddle, drawing upon Truthseeker’s magic, and the soulblade’s power flowed through him. The noxious green mist filled his lungs, but it didn’t do much physical damage to him, and the soulblade was able to heal it at once. 

His first thought was to charge Caradog Lordac and cut the treacherous knight down.

Then he saw the crossbow bolt jutting from Calliande’s stomach, her face glistening with sweat, her blue eyes wide and unfocused. He had to get that bolt out of her and heal her. He was the only other one with access to healing magic, though it would take Truthseeker a long time to heal a wound that severe.

“Gavin Swordbearer!” 

Antenora’s voice cracked over the road, and Gavin looked up. 

Everywhere he saw men-at-arms falling from their saddles. Sir Ector had already collapsed. Without the benefit of a soulblade’s healing, the green mist was putting them to sleep. Through the greenish haze of the mist, Gavin saw dvargir warriors advancing from the nearby hills.

This whole thing had been an ambush, and they had blundered right into it.

He spotted Antenora as she ran to Calliande’s side, coming to a stop to stand guard over the Keeper. Gavin wondered how Antenora had stayed conscious in the fog, and then remembered that she had no need to breathe save for the purposes of speech. 

“We must defend the Keeper!” said Antenora.

He nodded and stepped to her side, lifting Truthseeker, the blade glowing with white fire in response to the dark power around the dvargir. Gavin didn’t know how long he could last against dozens of dvargir, even with the fury of Antenora’s magic to back him up. 

“What’s this?” said Caradog. “The commoner with a soulblade and the withered wretch of a sorceress? Kill them both and bring me the Keeper!” 

Despite Caradog’s command the dvargir did not go any faster, black shields raised and swords drawn back. Gavin wondered if Caradog was in command or if he only thought that he was in command. For that matter, the Enlightened knight made no move to join the battle. Likely he was content to let the dvargir take the risks. 

Antenora thrust her staff, the symbols upon its length glowing, and a wall of flame erupted from the ground, cutting the road off from the hillside, the dvargir trapped on the other side. That left Gavin facing only Sir Caradog, and the traitorous knight showed no inclination to move. A dozen plans flashed through Gavin’s mind in a heartbeat. Perhaps he could take Calliande and escape. No, he could not abandon Sir Ector and his men. Maybe Truthseeker’s power would let him heal the men enough to awaken them, to allow them to fight back.

But there were two times as many dvargir as men-at-arms, maybe even three times as many. Even if all the men-at-arms had been awake and ready, they still would have been outnumbered. They had been prepared to avoid the patrols of the Frostborn. They had not anticipated that Tarrabus would go to such lengths to capture Calliande.

Gavin had to get her away, no matter what the cost.

He started to turn, and Antenora staggered, letting out a hissing breath.

The wall of fire flickered, and the dvargir began walking through it, shields extended. Symbols of shadow twisted and crawled across the front of their black shields, protecting them from the fire. More and more dvargir warriors passed the flames, and Antenora hissed again. The wall of fire winked out, and she started to gather power for another spell, a ball of flame spinning over the end of her staff. 

One of the dvargir warriors carried a set of chains connecting to loops of black metal. It was a metal collar, the chains joining it to ankle and wrist cuffs, and Truthseeker snarled in response to the dark magic of the thing. They were going to put that on Calliande, binding her for the journey back to Tarlion and Tarrabus Carhaine.

They would do it over Gavin’s dead body!

Which might not be difficult to accomplish.

Antenora gestured, and a ball of fire leaped from her staff end to slam into the dvargir. She hadn’t been able to gather much power, but the sphere nonetheless exploded in a bloom of fire a half-dozen yards across. The dvargir staggered, raising their shields to ward off the flames, and in that moment of hesitation Gavin attacked, the hot air from the fireball washing over him.

He crashed into the line of the dvargir, Truthseeker hammering down, and landed a hit on the nearest warrior. The soulblade crunched through the black helmet, and the dvargir’s void-filled eyes widened. Gavin ripped Truthseeker free and struck again, the soulblade sinking into another warrior’s neck. The dvargir went down, and Gavin stepped back.

By then the dvargir had recovered, and they were ready for him.

Gavin had battled dvargir before, and they always fought carefully, advancing in an orderly, disciplined formation, each warrior covering the other. Truthseeker made Gavin stronger and faster than the dvargir, but their heavy armor and shields could withstand all but the heaviest blows. He managed to cut down another dvargir warrior, but they continued their steady advance. Antenora flung burst after burst of fire, but the dvargir raised their shields, absorbing the spell upon the shadow sigils. 

Caradog had prepared his ambush well. 

Soon Gavin had to focus his whole strength upon his defense, working his shield and his soulblade to block the steady attacks of his enemies. A blow slipped past to strike his shoulder, and the flat of a sword clipped the top of his head as he ducked under the swing. He stumbled, and barely got his shield up to deflect another strike.

He was almost out of room to maneuver.

Odd that he had survived Urd Morlemoch and Khald Azalar and Dun Calpurnia only to die on a road in the wilds of the Northerland.

Blue fire swirled behind the line of the dvargir and surprise shot through Gavin. That blue fire…was Mara coming?

A woman stepped out of the fire, gaunt and clad in dark armor, black hair flying around her head as she attacked with twin swords of dark elven steel. She cut down two dvargir and spun, retreating from their surprised counterattacks, and Gavin broke free from the encirclement, attack with vigor. 

The strange woman’s cold, dead black eyes met his.

“Duck!” she shouted and then vanished in a swirl of blue fire.

Gavin glanced over his shoulder and saw a storm of javelins flying through the air. 

He ducked, raising his shield over his head, and one of the javelins rebounded from the dwarven steel with a tremendous clang. The rest crashed into the dvargir, killing several and wounding more. 

“What?” shouted Caradog. 

Gavin straightened up, his shoulder and his leg throbbing, and risked a glance over his shoulder.

A mass of armored warriors charged towards them, the green skin of orcish faces half-concealed behind masks of black bone. 

The Anathgrimm had found them. 

Caradog Lordac snarled and drew his sword, shadows wreathing the blade.

###

Ridmark sprinted forward, staff in his hand. 

The band of men-at-arms in the colors of Sebastian Aurelius lay prone upon the road, their horses walking back and forth in distress. Ridmark did not think the gaseous weapon of the dvargir had killed the men-at-arms, only stunned them. The white fire flared as Gavin battled the dvargir, retreating beneath their attack, and Antenora’s staff blazed with flames. Antenora had not changed in the last year, but Gavin looked older, a little taller, his face harder. 

Ridmark couldn’t see Calliande anywhere. The mist must have stunned her. A wave of fear went through him, followed by a torrent of furious rage. What the hell had she been thinking to come here? Didn’t she know it was dangerous? Didn’t she remember what happened to women who got too close to him? 

His anger focused upon the dvargir. Wallowing in emotion was useless…but here was a worthy target for his rage.

Qhazulak bellowed a command, and the Anathgrimm flung another volley of javelins as they charged, sending a rain of sharpened iron at the dvargir. Again the lines of the dvargir reeled under the impact, and Gavin recovered his balance, going back on the attack as Truthseeker shone like a torch. 

“The exile!” 

A blond-bearded man in the colors of the Carhainii strode towards Ridmark, shadows wreathing his sword and seeming to flow in the veins beneath his face. It was Caradog Lordac, a household knight of Tarrabus Carhaine and one of the traitorous Dux’s loyal henchmen. Ridmark had hoped that Caradog had fallen in the fighting at Dun Calpurnia…but if he had not, then Ridmark could rectify that error. 

“Truly, the shadow of Incariel favors the bold,” said Caradog, lifting his sword. The shadows made it look like a rip in the wall of the world, a gash into bottomless nothingness. “Today I shall take the Keeper back in chains to the true High King, and lay the head of the Gray Knight as his feet as well.” 

“No,” said Ridmark, lifting his staff. “Today is the day you will die.”

He said it without rancor, without threat, without challenge. That made Caradog flinch a little, but the knight’s sneer soon returned. 

“You are deluded about so many things, Ridmark Arban,” said Caradog. “What is one more delusion before you die?” 

As the Anathgrimm crashed into the dvargir, swords rising and falling, Caradog sprinted towards Ridmark with enhanced speed, shadows trailing from his blade. Ridmark wasn’t sure he could take Caradog alone, but the Anathgrimm and Gavin and the others were engaged against the dvargir. 

Ridmark’s anger reasserted itself. 

He had told Jager he wanted a second chance to kill some people…and his chance had come.

Ridmark ran to meet Caradog. The Enlightened thrust his sword, and a stream of shadows erupted from the blade, coiling towards Ridmark like a nest of enraged serpents. Ridmark swept the staff before him, and as he did, symbols of white light appeared on its length. The high elven archmage Ardrhythain had carried the staff for centuries, altering its nature so it could wound creatures of dark magic and resist the shadow of Incariel. The torrent of shadows splintered as they brushed the gentle glow of the symbols and Ridmark charged unhindered. Surprise went over Caradog’s face for a moment, and then the rage returned.

Sword met staff with a clack of metal on wood, and Ridmark blocked a dozen blows in as many heartbeats. Caradog attacked in a storm of steel and shadows, driving Ridmark back with every step. The Enlightened knight was fast and strong, and veins of shadow bulged and writhed beneath his skin. It took all of Ridmark’s skill and strength to stay ahead of the Caradog’s furious attacks. Caradog should have killed Ridmark within the first moment of the combat.

Yet he could not.

Ridmark had other advantages. His staff had a longer reach than Caradog’s sword, and he could shift from one-handed to two-handed at will, altering the length and reach of his swings in response to Caradog’s blows. Soon he had taken the initiative, forcing Caradog back. Caradog snarled and cursed, but soon fell silent, his full attention turned to his defense. Ridmark did not let up, hammering swing after swing as Caradog retreated. Fury filled Ridmark, but he did not let it drive him. The Enlightened had ripped apart Andomhaim and brought back the Frostborn. They deserved to die for what they had done.