Frostborn: The False King (8 page)

Yet she could not remember how he had become the Dragon Knight. 

She knew he had been a minor knight when she had met him as the Keeper’s apprentice, and she knew that he become the Dragon Knight a few years after she had taken up the Keeper’s mantle…but she had no memory of how he had become the Dragon Knight, which seemed strange because it was an immensely important question. 

There was only one possible explanation.

Calliande had removed the memory of the Dragon Knight’s sword from her mind.

When Tymandain Shadowbearer had captured her on the first day she had awakened, he had asked her about a staff and a sword. In hindsight, he had been trying to find the staff of the Keeper, hoping to claim the power of the Keeper’s mantle or at least neutralize it as a threat to his plans. The sword must have been the sword of the Dragon Knight. From what Calliande understood, the sword held the power of the last of the dragons that had once ruled this world before the high elves, and it bestowed that power upon its bearer. 

Yet she didn’t know how Kalomarus had found the sword, or what had happened to it or him after the Frostborn had been defeated the first time. 

She must have removed the memory from herself, just as she had hidden her memory the first time. 

But why? It made no sense. Calliande had recovered her full powers. If ever she needed the sword of the Dragon Knight, it was now, in the hour of the realm’s dire peril. So why had she hidden it from herself?

For a moment, Calliande was so irritated with her own past decisions that she wanted to hit herself. 

Once again, she could just imagine what Morigna would have said. Ridmark would have…

She pushed the thought of Ridmark out of her head. If she thought about him for too long, she would get upset, and she dared not show weakness before the lords and knights. The Keeper was supposed to be a figure of authority and calm and cool judgment, not a young woman weeping because her heart had been broken. 

“I do not know,” said Calliande. “Perhaps after we take Tarlion and Arandar is crowned, we can search the records of the Magistri.” 

“Many such records are recorded there, sealed only for the eyes of the Magistri,” said Master Kurastus. “There is also the Tower of the Keeper, sealed since you disappeared two and a half centuries ago. Perhaps there are secrets hidden within.”

“Perhaps,” said Calliande. “But for now, I believe we should focus upon the allies that we can recruit, and I believe we can gain the manetaurs and dwarves to our cause. If not to fight against Tarrabus, then to fight against the Frostborn alongside the Anathgrimm and Queen Mara. With your permission, Prince Arandar, I would like to depart at once.” 

Arandar said nothing for a while, tapping his fingers on the table.

“Very well,” he said at last. “Your counsel seems good to me. I am loath to be deprived of your assistance, but your logic rings true. It means little if we defeat Tarrabus only to be overwhelmed by the Frostborn.”

“I shall leave before the day is out,” said Calliande. 

“You will not go alone, I trust,” said Arandar. 

“No,” said Calliande. “I will have my apprentice with me, along with Sir Gavin.” 

“And additional men-at-arms,” said Arandar. “You plan to go to the Range first?” Calliande nodded. “Dux Sebastian. Please choose thirty men-at-arms to accompany the Keeper, preferably ones that have experience with the manetaurs and the tygrai.” 

“It will be done,” said Sebastian. 

“I will need to visit Nightmane Forest first,” said Calliande. 

Arandar blinked. “Why?”

“Ridmark was the one who saved Prince Curzonar’s life,” said Calliande. “The manetaurs will respond favorably to him. Additionally, Brother Caius was with Ridmark, and Brother Caius was a noble of the dwarves before he became a friar. He will make a useful guide in Khald Tormen.”

Arandar stared at her, and Calliande felt a wave of embarrassment her. She half-expected Arandar to accuse her of going to Nightmane Forest to see Ridmark again. The truth of the matter was that they desperately needed allies, and the help of Ridmark and Caius would increase their chances of success. For that matter, she wanted to check on Queen Mara and the Anathgrimm. The warriors of Nightmane Forest had been fighting the Frostborn alone for a year, and she wanted them to know that they had not been abandoned, that as soon as the realm had been reunified the armies of Andomhaim would march to their aid. 

All those were excellent reasons to go to Nightmane Forest. 

Her heart dwelled upon a different reason, and she expected Arandar to accuse her of it. 

“Again, you speak wisely,” said Arandar, and Calliande kept the surprise from her expression. Again she rebuked herself. She was the Keeper, not a love-struck girl. “Truth be told, I will be relieved if the Gray Knight travels in your company. If Tymandain Shadowbearer and Mournacht could not kill him, our enemies will find it hard to kill you in his company.”

Calliande glanced at Leogrance Arban, but the Dux of Taliand said nothing. He never did when the topic of Ridmark came up, and it annoyed Calliande. Arandar had lifted the decree of banishment against Ridmark. He was no longer exiled from the High King’s realm, but that did not seem to matter to Leogrance. 

“I hope so,” said Calliande.

“Take our greetings to Queen Mara,” said Arandar, “and to Lord Ridmark as well.”

“I shall,” said Calliande.

“I will send messages ahead,” said Kurastus. “I know that some Magistri had to take shelter in Nightmane Forest as the Frostborn overran the Northerland. If Queen Mara has news of your coming, perhaps she can send an escort of Anathgrimm.” 

“And our prayers go with you,” said Arandar, “for we need allies. Go with God, Calliande of Tarlion, and may the Dominus Christus watch over you.”

“Thank you,” said Calliande, and she turned to go.

“Lady Calliande?” said Arandar.

She paused. “My lord Prince?”

“Please,” said Arandar, “give my greetings to my children, once you arrive in Nightmane Forest.”

“I shall,” said Calliande, and she went to prepare for the journey. 

###

Gavin laughed as he steered his horse through the northern gate of Castra Carhaine.

“Is something amusing?” said Antenora. 

“A bit,” said Gavin, twisting in the saddle to look at her. 

Thirty horsemen in the tabards of the House of the Aurelii, a golden lion’s head upon a field of green, rode around them, led by Sir Ector Naxius, a bearded middle-aged knight in Dux Sebastian’s service. Calliande rode in their midst, wearing her usual green cloak and jerkin, the staff of the Keeper across her saddle.

“What is amusing?” said Antenora. 

“We went to so much work to enter Castra Carhaine,” said Gavin, “that it seems odd to leave the next day.”

“It is the nature of war,” said Antenora with a shrug. “One is ever on the move, and the fortunes of war change quickly.” 

“Yes,” said Gavin. He hesitated. “I am looking forward to seeing the Gray Knight and the others again.”

“We have gone into great perils together,” said Antenora. “That creates a bond.” 

Gavin sighed. “If they’re still alive.”

“We may hope,” said Antenora. “Though I am certain the Gray Knight is still alive.”

“Really?” said Gavin. “I suppose we would have heard if he was killed.”

“Perhaps,” said Antenora, “but we would know at once. Calliande still carries the dagger he gave her. Every night, she casts the spell to track his location. If he had been slain, she would know.” 

“Every night?” said Gavin, blinking in surprise. 

“She misses him,” said Antenora, her voice a quiet rasp. “She is the Keeper, powerful and wise. It is easy to forget that she is relatively young.”

“She’s two hundred and fifty years old,” said Gavin. 

“And she spent two hundred and twenty of those in enspelled sleep,” said Antenora. “Her heart is young…and it belongs to the Gray Knight.” 

“I thought that,” said Gavin. “Of course, it is none of my business.” 

Antenora said nothing for a while.

“Have you ever been in love, Gavin Swordbearer?” she said.

Gavin shrugged. “I thought I was. A girl named Rosanna, in my village of Aranaeus. She married my friend Philip. A year and a half ago, I thought she was all I wanted in the world. And now...” He shrugged. “I could not go back to Aranaeus. I have seen too much. And I have no family left.”

Antenora said nothing, gazing at the road.

“What about you?” said Gavin. “Have you been in love?”

She looked at him, opened her mouth, and closed it again. 

“Oh,” said Gavin, and he remembered her history. Mordred Pendragon had seduced her long ago, leaving her cursed with dark magic that would not let her die. “Forgive me. That was rude.” 

To his surprise, she smiled a little. It almost made her look alive again. “You are many things, Gavin Swordbearer, but rude is not one of them.” 

They rode on in silence, heading north along the River Moradel.

Chapter 4: The Queen

Ridmark waited as the last of the Anathgrimm crossed the River Moradel. 

The Moradel was the largest river in Andomhaim, broad and wide and deep, but in centuries past, the Traveler had commanded the Anathgrimm to construct hidden fords in the river. The High King had tried to destroy the fords whenever the Anathgrimm constructed them, but the Anathgrimm had built new ones. Qhazulak had pointed out three that Ridmark never even suspected existed. 

He rolled his shoulders, stretching tired muscles, and looked at his soldiers. The bulk of the Anathgrimm tended to their arms and armor. Kharlacht and Caius stood at the edge of the bank, arguing about some obscure point of theology. Qhazulak supervised the crossing, snarling imprecations at any Anathgrimm warrior who failed to meet the Champion’s standards. Accolon waited with Camorak, questioning the Magistrius on the nature of healing spells. Camorak, when he was sober, was an excellent teacher, and if Accolon lived to become High King, he would take the throne with a thorough knowledge of magical theory.

Blue fire swirled next to Ridmark, and Third appeared out of nothingness, a dark shadow in her armor. She stumbled on the uneven ground, and Ridmark caught her elbow, helping her to recover her balance. 

“Thank you,” said Third, pulling away from him. She hated to have anyone touch her for any reason. 

“Anything?” said Ridmark.

“As far as I am able to determine, we are unobserved,” said Third. “This ford will remain hidden for now.” 

“Good,” said Ridmark. “We might need it again. The scouts have seen the locusari and the medvarth moving along the eastern bank in heavier numbers than usual.” 

“Our raids have drawn a response,” said Third. “We may need to adjust our strategy.” 

“Probably,” said Ridmark. “We will need to discuss it with the Queen and the Prince Consort.”

Third said nothing to that, her attention turning to the river, and Ridmark looked at the towering green wall of Nightmane Forest. 

It was a huge line of oak trees, some of them rising over a hundred feet tall. The edge of the forest was as sharp and clear as if it had been cut by a razor. Beneath the boughs, Ridmark saw nothing but shadows. It was strange that he had come to think of the Forest as a refuge. All his life, the Traveler and his Anathgrimm had been mortal enemies of the High Kingdom. Then Mara had killed her insane father, and only Queen Mara and the Anathgrimm had kept Tarrabus Carhaine from total victory. 

“Lord magister,” said Qhazulak, cutting into Ridmark’s thoughts. “All the warriors have crossed.” 

“Good,” said Ridmark. “Into the Forest. Best not to linger.”

The Anathgrimm formed up, and they marched into Nightmane Forest, passing the boundary of the outer wards. Ridmark had no magical ability, and so could not sense when they passed the mighty layers of wards the Traveler had laid across the boundaries of his realm. Yet the symbols upon his staff flared with white fire for a moment, and Camorak grimaced and shook his head, rubbing his temples. 

Nightmane Forest might have become a refuge, but Ridmark had to admit that it looked damned strange. 

The maze of branches overhead blocked out most of the light, but Ridmark had no trouble seeing. An eerie, pale blue glow illuminated the trees, seeming to come from no obvious source. Strange plants grew upon the ground, odd ferns of blue color and mushrooms that gave off a flickering light. Here and there stood menhirs of white stone, carved with dark elven symbols and glowing with the blue fire of the Traveler’s spells. Between the menhirs ran a road of white stone, leading deeper into the Forest. The Traveler had never bothered constructing a citadel within the forest, save for the storehouses that held his vast hoard of weapons and food. Yet he had built roads within the trees, allowing the Anathgrimm to march in haste to the borders of his realm. 

Four Anathgrimm moved along the road, crossbows in hand, and stopped as Ridmark and the others approached.

“Lord Magister, Lord Champion,” said the lead Anathgrimm in greeting. “The Queen bade us to wait for your return.”

“Where is she?” said Ridmark. “We have news for her.”

“The Eastern Court,” said the Anathgrimm.

“Lead on,” said Ridmark.

###

Two hours later they came to the Eastern Court of Nightmane Forest. 

Most of Nightmane Forest was illuminated by the strange blue glow of the Traveler’s wards, motes of blue light dancing from branch to branch. Silence hung over the Forest, yet ahead Ridmark heard the murmur of voices and saw the flare of firelight. It never rained in Nightmane Forest, and it never snowed, but at the same time, it always remained a little chilly, so the fire’s warmth was a welcome relief as they approached. 

“Qhazulak,” said Ridmark. “Make sure the men have rest and food.”

“It shall be done,” rasped the old orc, and he snapped orders to his lieutenants. 

The Anathgrimm dispersed to their camps and barracks, and Ridmark, Qhazulak, Kharlacht, Caius, Camorak, Accolon, and Third walked into the Eastern Court.