Frostborn: The False King (28 page)

Their horses were not fond of the manetaurs, and the manetaurs said the horses’ strong odor disrupted their sense of smell, so the manetaurs ranged well ahead, though sometimes Martellar, Curzonar, or Tazemazar dropped back to speak with Ridmark and Calliande. Gavin was glad that the manetaurs, or at least the group of thirty manetaurs that accompanied Curzonar, was on their side. He had seen the manetaurs fight at the Vale of Stone Death, and he would not wish to face that savagery and strength in combat.

Though Kurdulkar might insist

On the other hand, Gavin was a Swordbearer. Kharlacht and Caius were capable warriors. Calliande was the Keeper of Andomhaim, and Third possessed the same kind of deadly powers that Mara wielded, along with centuries of experience in killing. Antenora could call up firestorms, and the manetaurs burned just as quickly as any other mortal creatures. Camorak could heal the wounds of those injured in the fighting. And Ridmark Arban was the Gray Knight, the man without whom they all would have been dead. 

If Kurdulkar came at them, he might wish that he had done otherwise. 

“I think,” said Gavin, watching as Tazemazar discussed something with Ridmark and Calliande, “that Tazemazar is the oldest manetaur I have seen.”

“Oh?” said Caius, scowling at his horse. The dwarven friar rode competently, but his shorter stature meant he always preferred his own feet. 

“Aye,” said Gavin. “When we rode through Bastoth, we saw many female manetaurs, far more females than males. There were many old females …but very, very few old males.” 

Kharlacht and Caius shared a look.

“Why do you think that happens?” said Caius.

“The male manetaurs all kill each other, don’t they?” said Gavin.

“Not all of them,” said Caius. “Some die in battle, or in wars against the other kindreds. But, yes, most of the male manetaurs meet violent deaths at the hands of each other. Very few survive to old age. A male manetaur the age of Turcontar has defeated many challengers.”

“They are a murderous kindred,” said Antenora. 

“It is their nature,” said Kharlacht.

“It is also the nature of orcs to fight,” said Antenora, “yet from what I have seen, even the Anathgrimm regard it as a crime to slay one another.”

“Unless the proper laws and customs are observed,” said Kharlacht. “To the manetaurs, a lawful challenge is the proper custom.” 

“And their nature is different from that of humans,” said Caius. “Humans have animal impulses, the urges of a beast, but also a rational mind, and much of the time the bestial nature is subsumed to the rational mind. The manetaurs are also rational, but their bestial nature is far stronger.” 

“Is it?” said Antenora. “I saw the lupivirii. They were as bestial as the manetaurs, but they were savages who dwelled in the woods. The manetaurs dwell in fine palaces and a grand city. Clearly, they can resist their bestial natures when they wish. If they can do so long enough to construct palaces, why not in other aspects of their lives?”

“I do not know,” said Caius. “Perhaps they can. Perhaps they cannot. Or their challenges and ways are a custom that can be changed…though it is dangerous to change customs. It must be done slowly and carefully or not at all.” He shrugged. “My own kindred, the khaldari, revere tradition above all. Missionaries from Andomhaim came to the Three Kingdoms for a thousand years, yet as far as I know, I was the first khaldari to be baptized.”

“A thousand years is only two or three dwarven lifetimes,” said Kharlacht. “Hardly enough time for anything to change, knowing how stubborn you are.”

“True, true,” said Caius. 

“Perhaps humans are no different,” said Antenora. “Many times I saw human lords and princes slaughter each other as readily as the manetaurs, and claim they had been justified, or that their strength gave them the right of conquest.”

Gavin shrugged. “We saw the same thing when Tarrabus murdered the High King.” He frowned, trying to work through the problem. Caius and Kharlacht had always been fond of theological debates. “Except…these challenges are lawful among the manetaurs, just as a knight can demand a trial by combat. There is a proper way to do such a thing. Tarrabus did not.”

“All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God,” said Caius, “whether human, orc, dwarf, or manetaur. It simply afflicts us in different ways.” 

Gavin opened his mouth to answer, and then saw Third walking towards them, her black hair stirring around her gaunt, pale face like a veil. 

“Mistress Third,” said Caius. “What is your opinion on the matter?”

Third shrugged. “My opinion is that we should put aside the philosophical debate and turn our attention to practical matters. There may be a problem.” 

###

Calliande watched as Curzonar and his warriors moved back and forth across the grass. The others reined up next to them, hands lingering near their weapons.

“A large party, lord Prince,” one of the manetaur warriors declared. “At least forty Hunters, maybe more. They are moving south with great speed.”

“Can you recognize their smells?” said Curzonar.

“Nay,” said Martellar, straightening up with a grunt. “They are too mingled together. They were Hunters, I can tell you that much. No tygrai.”

“Kurdulkar?” said Ridmark.

Curzonar let out a long, displeased rumble. Calliande had changed back to her traveling clothes of jerkin and trousers and boots and green cloak, though at Ridmark’s insistence she was wearing a chain mail hauberk again. The damned thing was heavy and pulled at her shoulders, but Ridmark had been adamant.

If Kurdulkar was ahead of them, she might need that armor.

“I do not see how he could be ahead of us,” said Curzonar. “We told no one save ourselves and my mother of our plans.”

“Perhaps there is a spy in your household,” said Tazemazar. “A tygrai secretly sworn to Kurdulkar. Such things have happened before.” 

“It might not be anything so simple,” said Calliande. “If Kurdulkar is using the shadow of Incariel, he or his warriors might have been able to spy upon his from afar.” Tymandain Shadowbearer had been able to use the Sight, and Imaria had likely received the ability as well. It was possible that Kurdulkar might have acquired a similar power. 

“It might be a coincidence,” said Caius. “Another party of manetaurs on their way for discreet commerce at Shakaboth.”

“No,” said Ridmark, voice grim. “No, there’s too much at stake for us to lower our guard. We will need to assume that Kurdulkar or his warriors have gone ahead to set an ambush.” He looked at Curzonar. “Is there a good place between here and Shakaboth to lay a trap?”

“Several,” said Curzonar. “The entrance to the Deeps is within a group of hills. That would be the best place to prepare an ambush on the surface, or within the tunnel to Shakaboth itself.”

“Then,” said Ridmark, “we shall have to be on our watch. Both Calliande and Antenora possess the Sight, and that may give us an edge. We should continue on.”

###

But during the two days’ journey to Shakaboth, no enemies showed themselves.

Ridmark remained on edge, his eyes sweeping the grassy plains and the hills. They saw no one else, whether manetaur, tygrai, dvargir, or human, and reached the rocky hills south of Bastoth without incident. 

The entrance to the Deeps yawned in the side of the hill like the mouth of a hungry beast.

Ridmark had seen dozens of such entrances to the Deeps scattered over the Northerland and the Wilderland during his travels. There were scores more within Andomhaim, but whenever the local knights and comities discovered such entrances, the caverns were walled up or placed under guard. Yet the dvargir and the kobolds and the deep orcs often dug new tunnels, and some entrances remained hidden.

Likely the Red King and the Princes tolerated this entrance as a way of obtaining trade goods from the Deeps. 

There were no signs of any other manetaurs, and the ground was too rocky to hold tracks, though Curzonar’s warriors said they smelled the passage of many other creatures, kobolds and deep orcs and dvargir and others. Ridmark and his companions, leaving the nervous horses under the guard of some of Curzonar’s Hunters.

Then they entered the tunnel, descending into the gloom of the Deeps.

Many tunnels and galleries of the Deeps had no light, but patches of ghost mushrooms clung to the walls and ceilings of this tunnel, throwing their pale gloom over the rough walls and floor. Ridmark picked his way forward with care, staff ready in his hand. The tunnel looked deserted, but kobolds could have dug hidden trapdoors, or the dvargir could be standing invisible. 

Yet the tunnel remained quiet, and after several hours’ walk, they came to the gates of Shakaboth.

“God and the saints,” muttered Gavin, looking back and forth.

Ridmark had visited a few trade towns of the Deeps over the years, the first time as a squire in Dux Gareth’s service, and he understood Gavin’s reaction.

It was a lot to take in…and every sight dripped with danger.

The tunnel opened into a wide, oval-shaped cavern, a mirror-smooth pond taking up the central third of the floor, stalactites and stalagmites jutting from the rock like the fangs of an enormous stone beast. Stone houses ringed the pond, some of them of sturdy dwarven make, others with the haphazard construction preferred by the deep orcs and the kobolds. Ridmark supposed this place had once been an outer outpost of one of the lost kingdoms of the dwarves, only to fall to the dark elves or the dvargir long ago. 

Between the houses and the pond lay a market square.

It was one of the most peculiar market squares that Ridmark had ever seen. Dvargir and orcish merchants operated stalls, flanked by orcish mercenaries, and dvargir and kobolds and orcs and a few tygrai moved through the square, inspecting the weapons and books and elixirs and tools on display. At the far end of the pond stood a massive house of gleaming black stone, illuminated by highlights of flickering purple fire. No doubt that was the dvargir embassy. Kobolds moved here and there among the shoppers, their bodies lean and scaly, their tails twitching back and forth. All the kobolds carried bows, the tips of the arrows smeared with poison. 

Zuglacht did not tolerate troublemakers in his market town. 

Calliande stiffened next to Ridmark, her blue eyes narrowed as she gazed at Shakaboth. 

“What is it?” said Ridmark.

Calliande blinking, shaking her head. “Nothing. Sorry. It’s…kobolds bring up bad memories.” 

“Ah,” said Ridmark.

“I do not care for them myself,” rumbled Curzonar. “Vile things. Scavengers that reek of carrion.” 

“Whatever they smell like, there are more of them than there are of us, so we’ll have to be polite,” said Ridmark. “The Keeper, the Prince, and the arbiter and I will go into the town. Kharlacht, Caius, Gavin, Antenora, Camorak, and Third will accompany us. I doubt Zuglacht will let us bring the rest of the warriors into the town so they will have to remain here.”

“We will make a peculiar company,” said Tazemazar. “What will we say to explain our presence?”

“Nothing,” said Ridmark. “This is the sort of place where questions earn a quick knife in the back. When the guards approach us, we’ll say our business is with Zuglacht. Perhaps if we bribe him enough, we can learn something useful from. Otherwise, we’ll take a quick look around and see what we can find.”

“One thing,” said Caius. “Do not wander off on your own. The dvargir have an insatiable appetite for slaves, and many of the rogues that frequent places like this think nothing of kidnapping travelers and selling them to the dvargir.”

“If they attack us,” said Third, “they will regret it presently.”

“Let us hope so,” said Ridmark. “Ready?” 

No one had any questions, and Ridmark led the way towards Shakaboth. The little town had no walls or gates, but several of the larger houses looked like small fortresses. Likely the wealthier residents withdrew to safety when raiders attacked, leaving the poorer merchants and shoppers at the mercy of any attackers. Ridmark and the others drew cautious, veiled looks as they entered the market, but none of the merchants or the shoppers approached, probably because eight of the kobold guards drew near. 

Calliande drew in a hissing breath, and Ridmark stepped in front of the others, raising his hands, though he kept a firm grasp upon his staff. The kobolds’ bows shifted to aim at him, their yellow, black-slit eyes staring at him. They looked a bit like gray-skinned lizards that had learned to walk on two legs.

“I wish to trade,” said Ridmark in the orcish tongue, which usually served as the common language of the Deeps.

One of the kobolds tilted its head to the side, nostrils flaring, the crest of red scales on its head quivering. “Humans, an orc, a dwarf, and manetaurs traveling together. Strange, very strange.”

“I imagine strange people come to Shakaboth to trade often,” said Ridmark.

“Mmm,” said the kobold. “This is so.” Its eyes turned to Third. “What is she? I do not think she is a human.”

“A witch, a wielder of dark magic,” said Ridmark. “She fled from the Magistri in the High Kingdom, and made her way here to learn from the dvargir.” 

“Foolish of her,” said the kobold. “She shall clean the tables of the dvargir Rzarns and Dzarks as a slave. Or the dvargir shall give her to their favorite human gladiators as a brood mare.” 

The right side of Third’s mouth curled a little. The kobold must have found that a disturbing sight because its crest flared and its yellow eyes turned back to Ridmark.

“We have come to trade,” said Ridmark. “We wish to buy secrets from Zuglacht, not to banter with his guards. Where is he?”

He waited. Their bows did not waver, but they carried out a brief consultation in their rasping, scratching language. At last, the lead kobold looked back at Ridmark. 

“You may speak with Lord Zuglacht,” said the kobold. Curzonar let out a harsh laugh at the honorific, but the kobold didn’t care. “He is in the tavern. Tread lightly, all of you. Those who violate the peace of Shakaboth are slain…and Lord Zuglacht pays us in food.”