Frostborn: The False King (22 page)

Zothal’s eyes widened, and his fur bristled. “You have met the archmage Ardrhythain?” 

“Aye,” said Antenora. “At Urd Morlemoch, where he escaped from the grasp of the Warden. It is also where he became a Swordbearer.” 

Gavin shrugged. “I was just trying to stay alive. I suppose it worked out.”

“My words may be strange to you, Sir Gavin,” said Zothal, “but your words are just as strange. The archmage Ardrhythain and the Warden are figures from the distant past, and you have spoken with them both. It is said the Warden was the greatest wizard the dark elven kindred produced…”

“He probably was,” said Gavin with a shudder. 

“Yet you and the Keeper and the Lord Magister escaped him,” said Zothal. “These are great deeds.”

“Thank you,” said Gavin. 

“It is good you are visitors of renown,” said Zothal. “Perhaps you can convince the arbiters and the Red King that the words of Kurdulkar are folly.”

“You do not agree with him?” said Gavin, remembering what Calliande had told them about her meeting with Tazemazar. 

“No,” said Zothal. “He seeks to change our nature. Or the nature of the manetaurs. This is madness. We are what we are, and the manetaurs are what they are, just as humans are what they are. To change what we are courts disaster. I hope the advice of Kurdulkar does not carry the day, for I have no wish to follow it.”

“But if he prevails and becomes the Red King, you will follow his will?” said Gavin.

“Of course,” said Zothal.

“You…would not fight back? You would not rebel?” said Gavin.

Zothal blinked as if Gavin had started speaking gibberish. 

“Rebel?” said Zothal. “Defy the will of the Red King?”

“Yes,” said Gavin. “If the Red King’s will was turned to folly.”

“Then he would be killed and replaced by a stronger, worthier Red King,” said Zothal. “It is the way of the manetaurs. And it is our nature to follow them.”

“That…” Gavin shook his head. “I do not understand it.”

“Nor do we understand you,” said Zothal. “You humans are full of…chaos and disorder.”

“Yes,” said Antenora, her tone dry. “You have no idea, Imryr.”

“The civil war in your realm is puzzling,” said Zothal. “Why humans do not submit to your High King is confusing. Is he not the…dominant hunter of your pact? Should you not submit to him?”

“I suppose we humans do not have much submission in us,” said Gavin. 

###

“You are troubled,” said Caius. 

“Is it that obvious?” said Calliande.

The column had stopped for the night, the tygrai raising tents in neat rows, the manetaurs roaming outside the camp. Calliande had settled near a campfire, her staff across her knees as she stared into the flames. Nearby Kharlacht and Gavin practiced their swordplay together as Antenora watched, while Ector and his men busied themselves preparing dinner. The sun faded to the west, six of the thirteen moons appearing in the sky amongst countless stars.

She wasn’t sure where Ridmark had gone. 

“Not even remotely,” said Caius, The shadows from the fire made him look even older, as if his face had been carved from gray stone. “You are the Keeper of Andomhaim, wise and powerful, and anyone who looks at you will see that.”

“Except you, it seems,” said Calliande with a little smile. “What do you see?”

“Wisdom and power,” said Caius. 

“Then I have nothing to worry about,” said Calliande.

“But also doubt,” said Caius. 

“Yes,” said Calliande. “Everyone has doubts.” 

“What do you doubt?” said Caius.

Calliande let out a breath. “Everything.” 

“That is understandable,” said Caius. He poked at the fire with a stick, sending a spray of embers into the night. 

“Why?” said Calliande. “Because of my many failures?” 

“I would hardly say that you have failed,” said Caius.

“I prepared the Order of the Vigilant to watch for the Frostborn, and I failed them. I set out to stop the return of the Frostborn, and I failed,” said Calliande. “I tried to save Uthanaric and denounce Tarrabus, and I failed. I tried to reunify the realm, and so far we’ve managed to take Caerdracon and nothing else.” 

Caius pondered that for a moment, tapping the fire with the stick. 

“If you had not founded the Order of the Vigilant,” said Caius, “likely Shadowbearer would have corrupted or killed your successors. If not for your efforts, we would not be having this conversation.”

“Yes, because I would have died centuries ago,” said Calliande. 

“True,” said Caius. “And there would have been no one at all to stop Tymandain Shadowbearer. He would have opened the world gate on the day of the omen of blue fire, and the Frostborn would have swarmed across the Northerland in a week. No one would have been prepared to fight them, and no one would have anticipated Tarrabus’s treachery. We have suffered defeats, yes, but not a total defeat. Everything would have been lost if you had not acted.” 

“More would have been saved,” said Calliande, “if I had acted sooner.”

“How?” said Caius. 

“If I had realized that Shadowbearer’s mantle could be passed,” said Calliande, “Imaria would not have become the new Shadowbearer, and the gate would not have opened. If I had secured the empty soulstone better. Maybe if I had forced Ardrhythain to take the damned thing after Urd Morlemoch. The high elves refuse to involve themselves in the affairs of other kindreds, but maybe if I had made him listen. Or if I had made Uthanaric listen, he might still be alive.” 

“Not even Ardrhythain realized that the mantle of Shadowbearer could be passed,” said Caius, “and Uthanaric made his choices. He could have listened to you, Dux Gareth, Sir Marcast, Mara, and everyone else who told him that Tarrabus was a serpent, but he did not. Once Uthanaric had made up his mind upon a subject, it would not change. Even if the Dominus Christus descended in glory, flanked by the twelve apostles and the entire company of the saints, and told Uthanaric to change his mind, the High King still would have resisted.” 

“I cannot say you are wrong,” said Calliande, remembering her own conversations with Uthanaric Pendragon. “I wonder, though, if it has all been for nothing.” 

“That is merely your exhaustion speaking,” said Caius. “Many people are alive who would now be dead if not for your actions. Myself, for one. You have used your powers to heal my wounds more times than I can remember.” 

“I’ve done this all before,” said Calliande. 

“What, precisely?” said Caius.

“This,” said Calliande, waving a hand at the camp and the Range beyond the firelight. “Gathering allies to stand with us against the Frostborn. I thought we had won the first time. Shadowbearer had been driven off, and the world gate closed. Then my apprentice tried to murder me…and I knew it would all begin again. All that death, all that destruction. All of it would begin again unless I acted, and you know what happened next.” She gave a tired shake of her head. “I failed to keep it from happening again, and here we are.” 

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the crackle of the fire and the sounds of the camp. 

“I forgot,” said Caius.

Calliande blinked. “Forgot what?

“How young you are,” said Caius.

Calliande laughed. “I’m not, you know. Not even remotely. I don’t know how old I am, but it’s at least two hundred and fifty years old.”

“But you were asleep for two hundred and twenty of those years,” said Caius. “Of those two and a half centuries, you were awake for…twenty-five years? Twenty-eight? I have never been skilled at gauging the age of humans, save to note that you do not look two and a half centuries old.” 

“High praise, indeed,” said Calliande. “But what does that have to do with failure?”

“You’re not used to it,” said Caius. “I fear that is a lesson that comes with age. No matter how prepared you are, no matter how smart, no matter how diligent, something always goes wrong.”

“For the race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong,” murmured Calliande, “but time and chance overtake them all.” 

“As King Solomon knew in ancient days upon Old Earth,” said Caius. “In the face of setbacks, one must simply…persist. It is something my kindred know well, for all our grim mood. Persistence is not the greatest of the virtues, but it is still important.” 

“Have you persisted?” said Calliande.

“For centuries.” The smile behind his graying beard made his face look older, every line in sharp relief. “And through grave failures. Not just through simple mistakes, though I’ve made those, or mere setbacks, for I’ve experienced those too. But true failures, times when I made the wrong decision and have regretted it ever since.”

Again they lapsed into silence.

“Thank you,” said Calliande. “I don’t think I feel better…but I suppose I feel calmer.”

Caius inclined his head.

“I’ve missed these talks,” said Calliande.

“As have I,” said Caius. “You and Ridmark…”

“What?” said Calliande, suddenly embarrassed. “What about Ridmark and me? What are you going to say?” Was he going to reprove her for how she felt about him? Calliande might have wished that things had turned out differently, but at least she knew she had not done anything inappropriate or dishonorable with Ridmark. She could not control her heart, but she could control her actions, and she had done so.

Caius gazed at her for a moment.

“I…may have overreacted,” said Calliande.

“I was going to say,” said Caius, “that you and Ridmark have more in common than you think. Or he’s worn off on you. He spent all those years blaming himself for his wife’s death. It seems you have acquired his taste for blaming yourself for things beyond your control…”

Calliande sighed. “I now understand how he felt when I lectured him about it.” 

Caius laughed. “The shoe is ever uncomfortable on the other foot, is it not? At least Ridmark does not blame himself for Morigna’s death.”

“No,” said Calliande, the flicker of amusement vanishing. “No, he’s too angry for that. That’s all he has left within him. Rage and a thirst for vengeance.” She shook her head. “I wish…”

Her voice trailed off and she stared into the fire.

“He does love you,” said Caius.

Calliande’s eyes snapped up. 

“What?” she said. “How…how did you know that? Did he say something?”

“Because it is obvious,” said Caius. “Maybe not to you, and maybe not to him, but to anyone with a pair of eyes.” 

It took Calliande a moment to gather her thoughts.

“Then,” she said in a small voice, “what should I do?” 

“Give him time,” said Caius. “A loss such as he has suffered…a wound such as that never goes away, not really, but in time it becomes a scar instead of a bleeding wound. That is what he needs, I think. Time.”

“And assistance,” said Calliande. “Neither one of us could have come this far without the other.”

Caius snorted. “None of us could have come this far without the Gray Knight. The Mhalekites would have slain us both on the day of the omen.” 

“Truly,” said Calliande. She stood up. “Thank you. I will think on what you have said.”

“Good night, Keeper,” said Caius.

Calliande headed through the camp to her tent. She did feel better than she had in some time. Caius was a wise man, though if Calliande had been awake for all of her two and a half centuries, maybe she would be wise as well. But Caius was right. She ought to stop brooding upon what was done and focus on what could yet still be. 

She turned a corner around a tent and almost walked into Ridmark. 

His eyes widened with surprise, and Calliande skidded to a stop and tripped over one of the ropes holding the nearby tent. She stumbled, losing her balance, and Ridmark caught her by the elbows. 

God, but he was strong. And quick. 

“Thank you,” said Calliande, regaining her balance. “You seem to keep saving me.”

For a moment he seemed frozen, his hands still upon her arms, and then he stepped back. “I don’t think I saved you from anything more serious than a fall.” 

She smiled. “You did protect the dignity of the Keeper of Andomhaim. It wouldn’t do to trip like that in front of the manetaurs and the tygrai.”

He didn’t smile. “No. Can you call upon the Sight?”

Her own smile vanished. “Is something wrong?”

“Maybe,” said Ridmark. “Come with me. I thought I saw something.”

She nodded and followed him to the edge of the camp, reaching for the Sight. Some magical auras shimmered before her senses. The Sight saw the harsh power in the dwarven dagger and axe at Ridmark’s belt, the steady vibration of earth magic around old Tazemazar, the aura of Gavin’s soulblade.

Nothing stirred in the gloom outside the camp.

Ridmark stopped at the edge of the road, frowning at the dust. There were footprints there, footprints that…

“Those don’t look human,” said Calliande. “Or manetaur or tygrai.”

“No,” said Ridmark, voice hard. “Those are dvargir tracks.”

Tazemazar sent his warriors to sweep the surrounding countryside, but they found nothing.

###

Four days after leaving Oppidum Aurelius, Tazemazar bade them stop atop a low hill.

“Behold,” he said, sweeping his staff to the east, “the city of Bastoth, seat of the Red King and the capital of the Range of the manetaurs.”

Ridmark had to admit that it was an impressive sight. 

Ahead of them a broad river, nearly as wide and as deep as the Moradel, flowed eastward on its way to the distant sea on the far side of the continent. The great city of Bastoth filled the river’s southern bank, dozens of ships docked at the city’s piers. According to Tazemazar, tens of thousands of tygrai and thousands of manetaurs resided in Bastoth, and Ridmark could believe it. A massive wall of the Range’s unique blood-colored granite surrounded the city, studded with bastions and fortifications. Within the walls rose towering pyramids built of the same red stone, their sides stepped and their terraces covered in statues and reliefs and designs. These were the palaces of the Princes of the Range, the sons of the Red King.

The Red King’s palace itself was huge, nearly a city within the city, a massive complex of walls and courtyards surrounding the single largest pyramid within Bastoth.