“Why would you show us this?” said Ridmark.
“My own amusement,” said the Warden, “and you will not understand the origins of the Frostborn until you understand the nature of your own world.” Again he gestured at the archway. “Though understand this. Upon this world, according to your calendar, it is the year 1478. Upon Old Earth, it is the year 2012.”
“Why?” said Calliande. “Have our calendars grown out of sync?”
“Yes,” said the Warden, “but that is not the primary cause. Time flows at different speeds in different parts of the cosmos, for reasons that have to do with the mass of nearby stars. For every year that passes upon Andomhaim, close to a year and four months pass upon Old Earth.” He swept his long, bony hand before the archway. Again the image changed, and Ridmark saw a strange city spread out on either side of a broad river. Towers of glass and steel rose from the land, separated by black roads. Peculiar vehicles of glass and metal moved along the roads, seemingly by their own power. Vast throngs of people strode on paths of concrete below the great towers, most of them wearing sleek suits of stark black and white. Many held metal rectangles against their heads, speaking into them at a rapid pace.
“What is this place?” said Ridmark.
“Old Earth,” said the Warden. “Specifically, the city of London, or Londinium, as it was known during the Empire of the Romans. The men of Old Earth have no skill at magic and have deluded themselves that there are neither God nor any gods in the universe, only natural forces, yet they have acquired a modicum of skill at manipulating those natural forces. The rectangles they carry? Those are speaking devices that allow them to communicate with anyone in the world with a similar device. The vehicles upon their streets? They are propelled by fire, allowing them to travel many times the speed of even the fastest horse. The men of Old Earth have even conquered the air.” The view swept up from the gleaming city of steel and glass, showing metal birds soaring through the air that carried hundreds of people in their hollow bellies. “With such machines, do you know what else the men of Old Earth have fashioned?”
The others looked confused, but Ridmark understood with a sinking feeling.
“Weapons,” he said. “They have fashioned weapons.”
“Of such destructive power that you can scarce imagine,” said the Warden. “Behold.”
The scene changed from the city of steel and glass to images of horrific carnage. Ridmark saw machines that spat thousands of metal balls of a second, ripping men to bloody pulp. Metallic casings held poisons and plagues and exploded among men huddling in muddy trenches, killing them horribly. Metal birds flew in formation over cities, throwing down canisters of explosive fire. A single metal device exploded with such force that an entire city burned, a glowing cloud shaped like a giant mushroom rising overhead.
“If my kindred had been just a little more patient,” murmured the Warden, “if we had not summoned the urdmordar and instead claimed the weapons of natural force the men of Old Earth would one day fashion, we would have destroyed the high elves and founded an empire that would last for eternity. Perhaps it is just as well. The bearer of shadow would have betrayed us eventually.”
“Betrayed?” said Ridmark. “Shadowbearer betrayed you?”
“The high elven archmage you know as Shadowbearer was not the first bearer of the shadow of Incariel,” said the Warden, “and likely he shall not be the last. When my kindred first worshipped Incariel and drew upon his power, the bearer of shadow came among us and taught us secrets. In time I realized his secrets and his power were a trap, a lure designed to convert us into his tools and weapons. We thought we were the masters, but we were fools. I realized it in time. My fellows did not, and the dark elves were ground into the dust.”
“What did Shadowbearer want?” said Ridmark.
“What do we all want?” said the Warden. “Freedom.” His cold smile returned. “But this is supplementary to the main point. I have only shown it to you so that you may understand.”
“Who are the Frostborn,” said Ridmark, “and how are they returning?” He looked at the archway. “They’re…a kindred from another world, are they not?”
“Yes,” said the Warden. “Humans, elves, dwarves, halflings, and orcs all have a great deal in common, despite our differences. An elf will leave nearly forever, barring mischance, while dwarves endure for centuries. Humans and orcs and halflings have much shorter lifespans, but reproduce far more quickly, hence your greater numbers. Yet we all require food, water, air, shelter, much the same things. The urdmordar are considerably alien to us. They are born with an aptitude for dark magic that took me millennia of study to achieve, and can survive, even thrive, in conditions that would kill any of us. The Frostborn,” said the Warden, considering, “the Frostborn are even more alien than that. Observe.”
The view in the archway changed from scenes of mechanical carnage to a frozen world sheathed in ice, the sun concealed forever by gray clouds. Massive citadels of ice and stone covered the world, and within them strode towering creatures with skin like crystalline ice and eyes that burned with cold blue flame. The creatures wore elaborate armor of steel plate and carried massive swords, and even through the image Ridmark felt their terrible power, the same sort of aura of power that surrounded an urdmordar.
“The Frostborn,” whispered Calliande, her eyes wide.
“You remember,” murmured the Warden. “They are immortal and very difficult to kill, being impervious to most forms of attack. They possess tremendous natural command over the elemental magic of wind and water and ice, more than any human or dark elven wizard could hope to achieve. They are arrogant and without mercy, and crush any who stand in their way. They have conquered world after world, using magic to open the gates, and exterminate any who oppose them and enslave those they find useful.”
“Worlds?” said Ridmark. “They came here, didn’t they? They opened a gate from one of their worlds to this one, and came forth to conquer.”
“Precisely,” said the Warden, “save for one aspect. The Frostborn did not open the gate. Shadowbearer did, and he invited them to this world.”
“Why?” said Ridmark.
“To utterly destroy the High Kingdom of Andomhaim,” said the Warden. “The Swordbearers and the Magistri had become a threat to his plans, and he wished to see you removed. When you proved strong enough to defeat the Frostborn, he turned to another plan. He created the Eternalists and then the Enlightened of Incariel, and provoked fifty years of war between the five Pendragon princes a century past, undermining your realm from within. That way, when he summoned the Frostborn to this world once more, you would not be strong enough to withstand them. Nor will you be.”
“The empty soulstone,” said Ridmark. “That is the tool he needs to open a gate between worlds. He needs the strength of a powerful wizard to charge the stone. That is why he tried to sacrifice Calliande upon Black Mountain, and why his servants have sought the empty soulstone ever since.”
“Correct,” said the Warden. “Shadowbearer desires the utter destruction of Andomhaim. So he will summon the Frostborn and invite them to add this world to their empire. With the Enlightened of Incariel infesting the nobles and the Magistri, your realm will be too weak to fight them off a second time.” He spread his hands. “Now you know the truth, Ridmark of the House of the Arbanii. Now you know how the Frostborn shall return.”
“And how they shall be stopped,” said Ridmark.
Assuming he could figure out a way out of Urd Morlemoch.
“No,” said the Warden. “They will not be stopped again.” His terrible eyes turned to Calliande. “Would you like to know how they were stopped the first time?”
Calliande said nothing, fear and hope warring upon her face.
The Warden’s cruel smile widened, making his gaunt, pale face look all the more like a grinning skull. “Would you like to know who you really are, Calliande of Tarlion?”
Chapter 15 - Who Am I?
Calliande
forced moisture into her dry mouth.
“Yes,” she said. “If you know.”
Her heart hammered with anticipation and fear. Ever since awakening in that dark vault below the Tower of Vigilance, she had sought to recover her lost past. The Watcher had been able to guide her without telling her much, bound by her own forgotten command to keep from speaking of her past. Coriolus had known some things about her, as had Talvinius in the village of the Blue Hand kobolds. She had glimpsed an image of her father the day Ridmark had found the stoneberries, the day he had kissed her. Yet, in the end, she knew nothing of significance, save only that she needed to find Dragonfall and her staff…and that it was her duty to stop the return of the Frostborn.
“Tell me,” said the Warden. The malevolent weight of his dark magic washed around her like the wind of a freezing storm, and the horrible pressure of his empty black eyes fell upon her like a physical blow. She forced herself to meet his gaze, refusing to show any weakness before this ancient monster. “The magic of the Magistri and the Swordbearers allowed Andomhaim to defeat the urdmordar and then the Frostborn. Yet Ardrhythain did not found the Two Orders until the year 953. Andomhaim was founded in 538, and the sons of Malahan Pendragon waged war against the orcish tribes and petty dark elven princes for centuries, all foes that possessed potent magic. How did they prevail without magic of their own?”
“Because they did have magic of their own,” said Calliande. “The Keeper of Avalon wielded her powers against the foes of Andomhaim, and her staff was passed from apprentice to apprentice for generations.”
“It was the Keeper of Avalon who traveled with the knight Calobrand to Cathair Solas,” said Ridmark, his face grim as he watched the Warden, “to ask Ardrhythain for aid against the urdmordar.”
“And so Calobrand became the first Swordbearer, the first Master of the Order of the Soulblade,” said Arandar, “and his sister became the first Master of the Order of the Magistri.”
“And the realm was saved in glorious battle,” said the Warden, his words heavy with mockery. “Until then, the Keeper’s magic stood against the powers of Andomhaim’s foes. For the Keeper’s magic was of Old Earth, and no magic of this world could contest it. Hence the Keeper could match the power of dark elven wizards a thousand times her age. Tell me, then, Calliande of Tarlion. What became of the Keeper?”
“The Keeper oversaw the Order of the Magistri,” said Calliande, “and usually a Magistria became the new Keeper. She led the realm of Andomhaim against the Frostborn when they appeared, and she summoned Kalomarus the Dragon Knight to defeat them. And then…and then…”
“The Keeper disappeared,” said Arandar, “from the histories and chronicles of Andomhaim. No one knows what became of her.”
“She had been slain fighting the Frostborn,” said Ridmark, “and she left no apprentice to pass on her staff…”
His voice trailed off as he stared at her.
They were all staring at her.
“No,” said Calliande, her voice hoarse. “I…I cannot be…”
“The Keepers never revealed their names and only used their titles in public,” said the Warden. “So no one recorded that Calliande of Tarlion was the last Keeper of Avalon. No one knew that she was the only daughter of a fisherman who lost his wife to the plague. No one knew that on the day her father drowned her power manifested as she tried to save him. No one remembered that the Magistri took Calliande as a novice, that her grief for her father’s death drove her to become the most gifted healer the Order had seen in its two and a half centuries. Certainly no one recalled that Calliande’s talents caught the eye of the Keeper, that she became the Keeper’s new apprentice after the Frostborn slew the first. All of this was utterly forgotten.”
Every word hammered in Calliande’s mind. She wanted to scream a denial. But she knew in her bones that he was right.
“I was the last Keeper of Avalon?” said Calliande.
A small voice whispered that the Keeper would have taken no husband, that Calliande could have kissed Ridmark without hesitation. That she had let him go to Morigna for no good reason.
But even that paled to insignificance against the Warden’s next words.
“You were,” said the Warden. “Actually, you still are, since you never passed your staff and office to a new bearer. You were a remarkable woman, for a human. I watched your progress from afar with great interest. When the old Keeper fell in battle as the Frostborn began their final assault, you took up her staff and mantle. You rallied the lords of Andomhaim and led them to victory. You could speak with lords and commoners both. Your powers were immense, and your skill in wielding them considerable. You were the architect of Andomhaim’s victory against the Frostborn. You convinced Ardrhythain to give you the Dragon Sword, which you bestowed upon the knight Kalomarus, making him the first human Dragon Knight.”
“So the Keeper and the Dragon Knight led the hosts of Andomhaim in the final battle,” said Ridmark, quoting the chronicles of the High Kings of Andomhaim, “and shattered the host of the Frostborn and destroyed them utterly.”
“More accurately, you closed the gate to the world the Frostborn had used for their invasion,” said the Warden. “Cut off from their world, they could not survive here, and so they perished and Andomhaim had the victory.”
“Why?” said Calliande. “Why did I do this to myself? Why did I cut out my memory and bury myself alive?”
The Warden’s smile grew crueler. “Because your apprentice was one of the first Eternalists.”
“What?” said Calliande.
“The apprentice betrayed you and tried to kill you at Shadowbearer’s bidding,” said the Warden. “What you did next…in a way, it was farsighted. For a human. Humans are blind. Your lives are so short, and every generation must learn anew the fundamental truths. Little wonder so much is lost between generations. Little wonder the bearer of shadow has found humans so easy to corrupt. But you saw the dangers of the coming corruption. You realized that Shadowbearer had summoned the Frostborn the first time, and would do so again. You also realized that he had set in motion secret societies that would eat away at the foundations of the realm, so that when the Frostborn returned, Andomhaim would be ill-equipped to resist. You saw the danger, as did your contemporaries…but would your children? Would their children? In two hundred years, would anyone believe that the Frostborn would return,” he gave a contemptuous flick of his hand at Ridmark, “or would only ragged exiles see the danger while the lords of Andomhaim rested secure in their pomp and pride?”
“I did this to myself,” said Calliande, “to…prepare for the return of the Frostborn?”
“Indeed,” said the Warden, “and to keep your most potent weapons from falling into the hands of the bearer of shadows.”
“When I awoke,” said Calliande, “Shadowbearer looked into my mind. He kept asking about a sword and a staff…he meant the Dragon Sword and the Staff of the Keeper, didn’t he?”
“That is correct,” said the Warden. “The woman you were foresaw the danger. So she prepared. You founded the Order of the Vigilant, to keep watch for the return of the Frostborn. You hid the sword of the Dragon Knight in a place hidden even from me and the Staff of the Keeper at Dragonfall. Then you cast a spell beneath the Tower of Vigilance, binding your memories to your staff and putting you into a deep sleep. The Order of the Vigilant would guard you and keep watch until the day of the omen of blue flame. When the omen came, they would awaken you, you would retrieve your staff, and defend the realm from the danger. A solid plan.”
“But it went wrong,” said Calliande, “didn’t it?”
“Remarkably so,” said the Warden. “You hid your staff and the sword too well for Shadowbearer to claim them, but he could move against you in other ways. He founded the Eternalists and the Enlightened, and after the Eternalists were destroyed the Enlightened of Incariel grew strong. He instigated the civil war within Andomhaim simply to destroy the Order of the Vigilant. The spells upon your vaul
t meant that he could not enter…but he knew you would awaken on the day of the omen of blue flame. He simply needed to await you, kill you, and use your stolen power to activate his empty soulstone. From there he would proceed to the circle of standing stones atop the Black Mountain to open his gate, and the Frostborn would come to Andomhaim once more.”
“My God,” said Calliande, shaken. She looked at Ridmark. Shadowbearer had come so close, so utterly close, to complete triumph. If Ridmark had not rescued her from the Mhalekites, if they had not defeated Qazarl’s siege of Dun Licinia, then she would have been killed and Shadowbearer would have opened the gate. The Frostborn would have returned, and everything Calliande had done would have been in vain.
Everything would have been in vain. The destruction of the Order of the Vigilant. The Watcher’s long vigil. The terrible things she had done to herself…it would all have been for nothing.
“Yes,” said the Warden. “He almost prevailed…but the Gray Knight intervened. Such is his gift. His destiny and his curse, as it were.” He turned in a circle, regarding them with his deadly smile. “Now you know the truth. You know what the Frostborn are, and you know who Calliande really is. Tell me. Does the knowledge comfort you?”
“It does,” said Ridmark, “save for one thing. Where is Dragonfall?”
“Dragonfall,” said the Warden, “is the tomb of the last of the ancient dragons. It is located in the heart of the ruins of Khald Azalar, beneath the mountains of Vhaluusk.”
“Khald Azalar!” said Caius. “That is preposterous. Khald Azalar was one of the Nine Kingdoms of my kindred. Surely the stonescribes would have known if a dwarven kingdom had been built around such a place.”
The Dark Warden (Book 6) Page 18
