Frostborn: The False King (39 page)

They needed the food. Turcontar said they would march with a force of fifteen thousand manetaur warriors and thirty thousand tygrai soldiers. It was a vast army, a match for the assembled might of the realm of Andomhaim, and such an army might well turn the tide for the Anathgrimm against the Frostborn. 

It would be a start. 

“We shall accept your counsel, Keeper,” said Turcontar. “In ancient days you guided the Red King as the Hunters marched to war against the Frostborn. We had victory then, and we shall have victory again.”

“We shall, father,” said Curzonar. Turcontar had named him the adad-khalath of the Great Hunt, which Calliande suspected was a similar position to the Constable of Tarlion or the magister militum of Nightmane Forest. Curzonar would act as his father’s second-in-command and strong right arm in all things, and Calliande realized that Turcontar was grooming Curzonar as his successor. In time, when age weakened him, Turcontar would submit to defeat and let Curzonar tear out his throat. 

And if the battle went ill, if Turcontar fell, then Curzonar could claim the Red King’s crown without contest. 

It was strange. When Calliande had met Arandar, he had been a Swordbearer, and Curzonar had been fighting for his life in the Vale of Stone Death. Now Arandar was the Prince Regent, struggling to reclaim his father’s throne from the man who had stolen it, and Curzonar was the heir presumptive to the throne of the Range. The wheel of fate, Calliande reflected, turned in unpredictable directions.

Of course, when Ridmark had met her, she had been alone and helpless, her memory lost. Little did he know, little did either of them know, that she was the most powerful wielder of magic in the realm of Andomhaim. For that matter, she hadn’t known that Tymandain Shadowbearer had been on the verge of ultimate victory when Ridmark had smashed his plans like a stone thrown through a window of stained glass. 

Fate was strange.

But Caius, she knew, would say that there was no such thing as fate, that the hand of God directed events. 

Calliande hoped that was true. 

And yet, that thought gave her hope. She had become increasingly certain that failure was inevitable, that their efforts were doomed. Maybe that had been prideful folly. If she had not seen the fates of Arandar and Curzonar, how then could she presume to see the future of an entire world? 

She realized the manetaurs were waiting for her to speak.

“My counsel, then,” said Calliande, “March as fast as you can, and reach the Northerland as soon as possible. The Frostborn are strong, but at present they are as weak as they will ever be. With every day that passes, the greater the chance they can draw further reinforcements through their world gate and launch a new offensive into Andomhaim. The sooner you join forces with Queen Mara and the Anathgrimm, the better. The Anathgrimm have stood alone against the Frostborn for a year, and they shall make worthy allies to the Hunters of the Range.” 

“It will take us several weeks to prepare for the march,” said Curzonar. “Supplies must be gathered, and we shall call the Hunters and the tygrai from the outermost reaches of the Range. We must also provision a garrison to hold Bastoth from dvargir raids while our main strength is away.”

“The dvargir,” said Tazemazar, “will not stop their raids simply because Kurdulkar has been slain.”

“No,” said Turcontar. “They shall not. They never have.”

“Perhaps it would be well to send an advance party,” said Calliande, “to scout the way, and to offer what aid they can to the Anathgrimm. They can prepare the way for the main host of the Range.” 

“This counsel seems good to me,” said Turcontar. “Prince Curzonar?”

“This counsel seems good to me as well, father,” said Curzonar. 

“See to it, then,” said Turcontar. “Keeper, shall you accompany us as we march?”

“No,” said Calliande. “I would, but my duties will take me elsewhere. My companions and I will travel to Khald Tormen, to speak with the kings of the Three Kingdoms of the dwarves. I hope to ask them to march against the Frostborn.”

Curzonar’s growl was almost a laugh. “The might of the Hunters is not enough for you, Keeper?”

“To face the Frostborn?” said Calliande. “Lord Prince, our enemy is powerful enough that I wish to gather every nation and tribe and kingdom under the sun to fight them. Aye, even the dark elves and the urdmordar, if they were not too prideful to see the danger! The entire world is in danger. We must fight alongside each other, or we shall all perish one by one as the Frostborn choke the world in ice.” 

“When will you leave?” said Turcontar. 

“This very day,” said Calliande, “if possible.”

And she hoped to convince Ridmark to come with her. He would want to return to Nightmane Forest, to resume his duties there. Yet without Ridmark, she would have failed in the Range. Kurdulkar would have assassinated his father and seized his throne, and she would not have seen the danger until it was too late. 

She would need his help in Khald Tormen.

“Very well,” said Curzonar. “We shall regret your absence, but perhaps we shall meet again upon a field of victory.”

“I pray that it is so,” said Calliande.

“Keeper,” said Turcontar. “Walk with me for a moment. Alone, please.”

“Of course, Red King,” said Calliande, and she followed Turcontar away from the other manetaurs below the wall. Even in his red armor, even with his bulk, Turcontar moved over the ground in absolute silence. It was almost eerie, and a reminder of why the manetaurs were such potent hunters. 

“You think to gather a grand alliance,” said Turcontar, “as you did against the Frostborn in the days of my fathers.”

“Yes, Red King,” said Calliande. “If the Frostborn are not stopped, they shall subjugate the world.”

He looked down at her, towering over her like a wall of red steel and golden fur. 

“Answer a question,” said Turcontar, “and answer it truly.”

“Of course,” said Calliande. 

“Do you think we can win?” said Turcontar.

Calliande hesitated. A few weeks ago, her honest answer would have been no. The Frostborn were too strong, and they merely needed to wear away their enemies bit by bit over the decades. But now…

But now she did not know.

“I do not know,” said Calliande. “I have had a long life, and if it has taught me anything, it is that no one, not even the Keeper of Andomhaim, can see the future. I do not know if we can defeat the Frostborn. But I hope, and I will fight as long as I have breath.”

The Red King’s nostrils flared. “Your answer smells of the truth.”

Calliande smiled despite herself. “Do humans give off a smell when we lie?”

“Humans become sweaty when they lie,” said Turcontar. He looked back at the city. “And this is a truth, Keeper of Calliande. I am leaving Bastoth for the final time. This is my last hunt.”

“You cannot know that,” said Calliande. 

“No,” admitted Turcontar, “but, like you, I have lived a long life, and I feel it in my bones. This is my final hunt. Perhaps that is a worthy punishment for my folly. Certainly, it is more than I deserve for my mistakes.” He let out a rumbling sigh. “Either Curzonar shall return to Bastoth and take my place as Red King…or else he shall not return at all. Then the Hunters shall be the Hunters no more, but instead, we shall be the thralls and drudges of the Frostborn.”

“So long as we have strength,” said Calliande, “we shall keep that from coming to pass.”

“Yes,” said Turcontar. “Let us hope that is enough.” 

Chapter 24: The Future

Five days later they descended from the pass, returning again to the hills of eastern Caertigris.

“By God and the saints!” said Sir Ector Naxius, a broad smile splitting his leathery face. “A score of times I have made that journey, Gray Knight, and a score of times I have returned to Caertigris. Yet never have I been so glad to return!”

“I imagine not,” said Ridmark, giving his horse a gentle tug on the reins to keep the beast upon the path. “Though you’ve never returned with an army of manetaurs and tygrai following you.”

Ector laughed. “I confess that I have not, sir. Pardon. I must send out scouts. Perhaps we can hear news of Prince Arandar and the war against Tarrabus.” 

Ridmark nodded, and Ector turned his horse. He watched the knight ride off down the line of men-at-arms, and Ridmark looked at the others. Calliande sat atop her horse, staff laid across her saddle, her eyes distant with thought beneath her bronze diadem. Gavin and Antenora followed her, as usual, though now Third walked alongside Antenora’s horse. The two ancient women seemed to have struck up an odd sort of friendship. Behind them came Kharlacht and Caius, arguing good-naturedly as ever, and Camorak rode with the men-at-arms, sharing tales with them. 

Fewer men-at-arms had returned to Caertigris than had left …but they had been successful. Against all odds, they had been successful. They had won a mighty ally in the war against the Frostborn. As loath as Ridmark had been to leave his charge in Nightmane Forest, he had to admit that this would help Mara and the Anathgrimm more than anything else he could have done, save perhaps beating Tarrabus to death with his own hands. 

Much blood had been shed, but Ridmark knew that more lives would have been lost if he had not acted. 

Perhaps they could yet save more. 

Calliande urged her horse forward, pulling apart from the others and settling next to him. 

“Ridmark,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

“By all rights better than I should,” said Ridmark. 

She let out a quick breath. “I suppose that is true of all of us. At least those of us who are still alive.”

“You can ask,” said Ridmark, “if you want.”

Her blue eyes widened. “Ask what?”

“What you’ve been working up to ask me for the last day,” said Ridmark. 

She scowled at him.

Ridmark waited. 

Finally, Calliande sighed and looked away.

“Will you come with me to Khald Tormen?” she said.

“Yes,” said Ridmark.

Calliande blinked. “I thought you would want to go back to Nightmane Forest.”

“I do,” said Ridmark, “but this is the best thing I can do to aid the Anathgrimm. If I had spent every day of the last month killing medvarth and locusari warriors, it still would not be as effective as bringing the entire might of the manetaurs to aid the Anathgrimm.” He shrugged. “Perhaps we shall be as successful in Khald Tormen.” 

“Thank you,” said Calliande. “Ridmark…we could not have done this without you. I could not have done this without you.”

Ridmark shrugged. “I did what I could. Hopefully, it was enough.” 

“I suppose we shall find out,” said Calliande. She smiled a little. “I did miss you, you know. After we left Dun Calpurnia.”

“Did you?” said Ridmark. 

“We…always worked well together,” said Calliande. 

He could see the longing in her face. He would have been blind not to see it. Part of him pointed out that if he leaned closer and kissed her, she would not stop him, would welcome him. The rest of him remembered Aelia and Morigna, remembered how their deaths had filled him with different kind of jagged pain that still marked his mind like scars upon flesh. 

He couldn’t do that to himself again. 

Losing Calliande, right now, would rip his heart in half. But if they became closer, if he lost her then…he wasn’t sure what that would do to him. Perhaps he ought to end the conversation and check on the others, just as he had done when she had found him practicing with his staff in Nightmane Forest.

And yet…

“Thank you,” said Ridmark in a quiet voice. 

She blinked. “For what?”

“For saving my life in the Labyrinth,” said Ridmark. “Another minute or two and I would have bled out on that bridge.” 

Calliande made a dismissive gesture. “It was something I have done many times before.”

“But you still did it,” said Ridmark, “so thank you.”

“Well, it was only fair,” said Calliande. “You saved my life at the Moradel road.”

Ridmark grunted. “Before that, you saved my life at Dun Licinia.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You saved my life on Black Mountain. A couple of times, actually.” 

Ridmark laughed. The sensation felt strange. He did not laugh very often. “Very well. If you like, I will tell Sir Ector to stop the column, and we can compare lists to see whether you have saved my life more than I have saved yours. Or you could just accept my thanks and move on.”

She grinned. “We are in a hurry, so that seems the wiser course.” Her smile faded. “And you can’t die yet. You still have work to do.”

“Mmm?” said Ridmark. 

“You told me you couldn’t die before you killed Imaria and the Weaver and Tarrabus,” said Calliande. “That was what you had to live for. Vengeance.”

“Yes,” admitted Ridmark. “I am going to kill them. If I don’t, someone has to do it. But…” He hesitated. “But there are other reasons to live. You saved my life all those times, and it would be churlish to simply throw it away.”

“Hope,” said Calliande. “You have hope again.”

“Perhaps,” said Ridmark. “I thought we would fight until we were slain, but maybe we have a chance of victory after all.”

“I can understand that,” said Calliande. She stared at him for a moment, took a deep breath, and seemed to gather her courage. “I’m…glad to have you back, Ridmark. With me. Watching you leave after Dun Calpurnia…I’ve had to do a lot of hard things, but that was hard.” She blinked and licked her lips. “I wish…I wish…” 

He stared at her, and the silence stretched on. A tangle of regrets went through him. She was the Keeper of Andomhaim, the bearer of a heavy burden, and for her to fall in love with someone like him was a monstrous injustice. Again he felt the urge to end the conversation.

And yet…

He had missed her, too. More than he had realized. 

“Maybe, in time, I can find something else to live for,” said Ridmark. Her eyes widened again. “In time. You know what I’ve lost, twice before. I can’t do that again. But…I think I could learn to take the risk again.”

To his surprise, she smiled. “If there’s anything we’re good at doing together, it’s taking risks. Urd Arowyn, the Iron Tower, Urd Morlemoch, Khald Azalar…”