“A scout?” said Kharlacht.
“A messenger, maybe,” said Ridmark. “He must have had the bad luck to stumble into the locusari warriors…no. Look at the tracks.” Ridmark walked back and forth a few paces, examining the ground. “He galloped into the clearing.”
“The locusari warriors were pursuing him,” said Kharlacht. “That seems plain.”
“He wasn’t a scout,” said Ridmark, frowning at the ground. “No supplies, no waterskin, and his armor is too heavy. He was a man-at-arms or a knight. Which means…he would not have come out here alone. I think we might find a battle to the south.”
He started jogging into the trees, staff in hand, and Kharlacht followed. Ridmark wove his way through the hills, following the trail. They passed the carcasses of three more locusari warriors. The horseman, whoever he had been, had given a good account of himself before the locusari warriors had finally overwhelmed him.
After two miles, Ridmark heard the sound of fighting, the cries of shouting men and whinnying horses mixed with the tearing metallic battle screams of the locusari warriors. He broke into a full run, Kharlacht following him, and a moment later they burst from the trees and onto the cleared ground near the Moradel road.
The sight of the battle greeted him.
The road curved away to the south, broad and level, following the course of the River Moradel. Upon the road stood a band of about thirty horsemen in the blue and red colors of the House of the Arbanii, facing as many locusari warriors. The charge of the locusari had taken the horsemen off guard, and they were scattered, the locusari warriors overwhelming them one by one. If the horsemen recovered, they could sweep the locusari warriors away.
A distraction was necessary.
“Ready?” said Ridmark.
Kharlacht nodded and drew his greatsword, the orcish battle rage glimmering with crimson fire in his eyes once more.
Ridmark raised his staff and sprinted into the road, shouting at the top of his lungs. Some of the locusari at the edge of the fight started to turn, and Ridmark attacked, whipping his staff back and forth. He hit a locusari warrior across the head with three quick blows, battering its head to yellow slime. Another locusari slashed at him with bladed forelimbs, and Ridmark parried with his staff. A third locusari charged at him, and Ridmark sidestepped, sweeping his staff down in a low strike. Like a horse, the biggest weakness of a locusari warrior was its feet. All of a locusari warrior’s weight came down upon a relatively small area, and damage to even one of a locusari warrior’s legs severely impacted its ability to maneuver. Ridmark’s staff bounced off the locusari warrior’s middle two legs, and the creature reared back, raking its bladed forelimbs. Ridmark got his staff up in time to deflect one of the limbs, and the second hit him in the stomach. It should have opened him up from neck to groin, but the steel of his dark elven armor blocked the edge, the impact sending him stumbling.
The locusari warrior followed him for the kill, and Kharlacht cut off its head. Ridmark nodded his thanks and charged into the fray, attacking with his staff. His axe would have worked better against the armored carapaces of the locusari warriors, but the longer staff let him strike from farther away. It also had the useful effect of drawing the attention of many locusari warriors at once.
Given that well-armed knights and men-at-arms surrounded Ridmark, that proved advantageous.
The horsemen rallied. A half-dozen of the locusari warriors fell, pierced by spear thrusts or crushed by the blow of maces. Kharlacht beheaded two in quick succession, and the locusari skittered away, falling back from the rallying horsemen. One of the horsemen, a towering knight in a blue surcoat, stood up and brandished a sword, shouting orders muffled by his full helm. The knights and men-at-arms charged, striking down another half-dozen locusari, and the surviving creatures fled for the forest, vanishing into the pine trees.
“After them!” shouted the knight, pointing his sword.
“Wait, my lord!” shouted Ridmark, and the horsemen glanced in his direction. “Wait! I have fought these creatures before. Venture into the trees and they’ll surround you and lame your horses one by one.”
The horsemen stared at him.
“A branded coward?” said a man-at-arms. “Shall we listen to the words of such a renegade? Likely he is a bandit skulking in the hills, thinking to win favor.”
“Wait,” said the helmeted knight. He spurred his horse forward, reining up a few yards from Ridmark, and pulled away the helmet to reveal his face. He was about forty, with graying black hair, a thick, jowly face, and sharp blue eyes.
Kharlacht looked back and forth in surprise.
“Sir Tormark,” said Ridmark.
“Ridmark,” said Tormark Arban, Ridmark’s oldest brother and the heir to Castra Arban and the duxarchate of Taliand. His voice was a mixture of bemusement, annoyance, and relief.
“If this is the coward of Dun Licinia,” said the first knight who had spoken, “then he is banished from the realm, and…”
“Be quiet, Septimus,” said Tormark, still staring at Ridmark. Septimus sputtered and fell silent. “It’s been a long time.”
“Five years,” said Ridmark. “Five and a half. Since Mhalek and Dun Licinia.”
Tormark gave an irritated shake of his head. He had gained quite a bit of weight since Ridmark had seen him last, and it made him look like a cranky bulldog. “You should never have submitted to that banishment. God and his saints, why couldn’t you have seen sense? You had to have known that it was Tarrabus’s grudge against…ah, never mind. What is done is done. You and your orcish friend came along at a good time. Those damned giant insects had us cold. Sir, what is your name?”
Kharlacht offered a short bow. “Kharlacht of Vhaluusk, Sir Tormark.”
“Vhaluuskan, is it?” said Tormark, surprised. “And you follow Ridmark? He wiped out most of your kinsfolk at Dun Licinia.”
“Mhalek and his followers were madmen,” said Kharlacht. “The peace of Vhaluusk is well-improved for their absence, and many of my countrymen even now turn to the church of the Dominus Christus, as I do.”
Some of the horsemen nodded their approval.
“Well, Kharlacht, Ridmark, you have my thanks,” said Tormark. “Those blue devils…”
“Locusari,” said Ridmark.
“Those locusari had us,” said Tormark. “You came along in a timely fashion.” He stared at Ridmark for another moment. “A question, brother.”
“Yes?” said Ridmark. He was surprised how glad he was that Tormark was still willing to call him “brother”.
“Just what the devil is going on in the Northerland?” said Tormark. “You’ve been making trouble wherever you go. First Tarrabus Carhaine claimed you turned bandit and sacked the Iron Tower. Then Corbanic Lamorus claimed that Tarrabus had allied with the Mhorites and abandoned the Dominus Christus to pray to the gods of the dark elves, and Sir Marcast Tetricus claimed that Paul Tallmane had worshipped this dark god as well.”
“He did,” said Ridmark.
“After that, we received word from Dux Gareth that the Mhorites were about to descend in great numbers upon the Northerland,” said Tormark. “The High King had no choice but to call his vassals, and the army of the realm marched north. Now everywhere we hear rumors of strange creatures in the hills, and we’ve seen those blue devils flying overhead. Ridmark, what is going on?”
“The Frostborn have returned, as I always feared,” said Ridmark.
Tormark scoffed. “The Frostborn! The Frostborn are extinct. You’ve been on about the Frostborn since…”
“They are not extinct, Sir Tormark,” said Kharlacht. “I saw them myself from the walls of Dun Licinia, as did thousands of others before the town fell.”
Tormark’s scowl deepened. “Dun Licinia has fallen?”
“Aye,” said Ridmark. “I assume the High King sent you to scout?”
“And to make contact with Dux Gareth’s forces, if possible,” said Tormark. “The army of the realm is encamped arou
nd the town of Dun Calpurnia a day’s march to the south. The High King and his lords wished for news before they marched north.”
“We’d better go, then,” said Ridmark. “Dux Gareth’s camp is not far from here, and the Dux and the Keeper of Andomhaim will wish to speak with you at once.”
He had the satisfaction of seeing a little flicker of surprise go over his older brother’s face. Five years and thousands of miles might have passed since Ridmark had seen Tormark last, but some things never changed, and the competitiveness between brothers was one of them.
“The Keeper?” said Tormark. “The last Keeper perished two and a half centuries past!”
“For all that,” said Ridmark, “she is in quite robust health.” He pointed to the road. “This way, Sir Tormark.”
###
“An utterly astonishing tale,” said Tormark Arban once Dux Gareth finished speaking.
Calliande watched Tormark from across the map table of the Dux’s pavilion, surprised at how fascinated she was. Not for Tormark’s sake, of course – she did not find him in the least attractive, though he seemed a brave knight and a loyal vassal. Tormark looked a great deal like Ridmark, if Ridmark had suddenly aged fifteen years and put on about sixty pounds. Ridmark looked like a gaunt wolf, a fell warrior who had faced terrible foes. Tormark looked like a well-fed lord, a man accustomed to ruling and to giving orders.
Yet she found his relationship to Ridmark fascinating. Ridmark had come into her life like a storm, rescuing her from the altar of sacrifice when she had been bound and helpless and lost. To her, he had always been the Gray Knight, implacable and determined and unyielding. The thought that Ridmark had once been a boy was almost incomprehensible. She found herself wondering what he had been like as a child, if he had been so grim before Aelia had died.
There were a thousand things she wanted to ask Tormark.
Calliande pushed the idea out of her head. There were far more serious matters at stake.
“An astonishing tale,” said Tormark, shaking his head. “The Frostborn and the Keeper of Andomhaim returned. Mournacht of Kothluusk slain upon the slopes of the Black Mountain, and the Mhorites scattered and broken. The Traveler of Nightmane Forest overthrown by one of his daughters, and the Anathgrimm marching alongside the men of the Northerland. God and the saints! Can so much upheaval come so quickly? It seems a drunkard’s tale.”
“Nevertheless, Sir Tormark,” said Caius. “It is all true. Every word of it. And we have not even told you all the wonders and horrors we have seen traveling with your brother.”
Calliande glanced at Ridmark. He stood silent near Mara and Jager.
“I do not doubt you, Brother Caius,” said Tormark. “I heard you preach in Tarlion. Nor do I gainsay Dux Gareth’s word, or the word of two Swordbearers,” he glanced at Arandar and Gavin, “or the word of the Keeper of Andomhaim, returned from death in the realm’s hour of need. Since you are, apparently, truly the Keeper of Andomhaim.”
“She is, Sir Tormark,” said Camorak, who stood near Antenora. “All the Magistri who have spoken with her agree. She is the Keeper of Andomhaim, and possesses the power the Keeper once wielded.”
“Then it is true,” said Tormark in a heavy voice. “The Frostborn have indeed returned.”
“You saw the locusari,” said Ridmark. “You were always a better scholar than I was, brother. You know the Frostborn commanded many different kindreds.”
“Aye,” said Tormark. “I almost wish you had not defeated Mournacht. An army of Mhorites descending upon the Northerland was bad enough. The Frostborn returned is a far more serious situation.”
“The threat is grave, Sir Tormark,” said Calliande. “Yet it is only beginning. If we act at once, attacking with the realm’s full strength, we can reach the world gate and collapse it once more. The battle will be long and bloody, but we can prevail before it is too late.”
Tormark grimaced. “Ah. That may be a challenge.”
“Why?” said Calliande. “The need is dire.”
“The events related to your return, my lady Keeper,” said Tormark, “have caused something of an…upheaval in the High King’s court. Factions have developed. On one hand we have Tarrabus Carhaine and his friends. Tarrabus accuses Ridmark of banditry and sacking the Iron Tower. On the other hand we have our father and his friends, who agree with Ridmark.”
“He does?” said Ridmark. He looked so surprised. Knowing Ridmark, he had likely assumed that his family had turned his back on him, blaming him for Aelia’s death.
Tormark snorted. “Of course he does.”
Ridmark looked even more baffled. “Why?”
“Because he knows you, Ridmark,” said Tormark. “You were the most obnoxiously righteous child I had ever met. You blamed yourself for your wife’s death when the fault was clearly Mhalek’s, and then you marched off into the Wilderland on some self-imposed quest of redemption that should have gotten you killed.” He scratched his jaw. “Of course, it turns out you were right about the Frostborn, so there’s that.”
Jager snickered a little. Tormark gave the halfling a bemused look but kept speaking.
“So we do not think you turned bandit and attacked the Iron Tower,” said Tormark. “You wouldn’t have done so without a good reason. And this would not be the first time in Andomhaim’s history that nobles had been seduced into worshipping dark gods. The Eternalists a century and a half ago, you will recall. Or those who worshipped the Shadowed King in the early days of the realm, or who founded cults in secret to worship the urdmordar.”
“Or the Red Family of Mhor,” said Mara in a quiet voice.
“Quite right, mistress…er, Queen Mara,” said Tormark. “So Corbanic Lamorus believes you, and he is well respected. Our father believes you, so naturally all his vassals and friends believe him. Tarrabus Carhaine, by contrast, claims you’ve become a renegade bandit warlord.”
“Preposterous,” said Calliande.
“I quite agree,” said Tormark, “but Tarrabus likewise has many friends and vassals, and of course they believe him. Politics, I fear, is older than the realm.”
“To the point, then,” said Gareth. “What does the High King think?”
“The High King,” said Tormark with a sigh, “thinks the entire matter is a personal dispute between Ridmark and Tarrabus. Ah…I do not know how much of recent history you know, my lady Keeper, especially about the Mhalekites…”
“Enough of it,” said Calliande.
“Suffice it to say,” said Tormark, “Mhalek killed Lady Aelia, Ridmark’s wife, at Castra Marcaine. Ridmark blamed himself, the proud fool.” Ridmark’s expression did not change. “Tarrabus also blamed him, largely because he had been courting Aelia for years before she chose Ridmark over him.”
“Given that Tarrabus has revealed himself to be a serpent,” said Gareth, “clearly that was the right decision.”
“So the High King thinks that Tarrabus and Ridmark are feuding over the love of your deceased daughter, my lord Dux,” said Tormark.
“For the sake of God and the apostles,” snapped Gareth. It was the most irritated Calliande had ever seen the old man. “This is a serious matter, and the High King thinks it a personal grudge?”
“In truth, I think the High King is annoyed by the whole affair,” said Tormark. “He doesn’t believe my father, and he doesn’t believe Tarrabus, either. He knows that my father and Tarrabus are not fond of each other, and the High King believes that both Tarrabus and my father are using the Iron Tower as an excuse to bring charges against each other.” He shrugged. “In truth, he’s not entirely wrong…”
“Save that Corbanic and Dux Leogrance are telling the truth,” said Calliande.
“Regardless, my lady Keeper,” said Tormark. “I am sure you have spent enough time around nobles to know that when it comes to contests of power, the truth matters less than loyalty. Dux Tarrabus says one thing and his friends support him, and Dux Leogrance says another and his friends support him, and that is t
hat.”
“Except that the truth is more dangerous than loyalty this time,” said Calliande, keeping the anger out of her voice. The nobles had played these foolish games during the first war against the Frostborn, and it had almost led to ruin on more than one occasion. “Tarrabus is the leader of the Enlightened, and they have forsaken the Dominus Christus to worship at the feet of the shadow of Incariel. He was in league with Mournacht, and now he is league with the heir of Shadowbearer. I have absolutely no doubt, none at all, that he means ill to Andomhaim.”
Tormark spread his hands in a gesture of peace. “You’ll have no argument from me, my lady, nor shall you have argument from my lord father. However, we are not the ones you shall have to convince.”
“No,” said Calliande, conceding the point. “The High King.”
“He will hear the truth from me,” rumbled Gareth. “Tarrabus’s treachery and dealing with dark powers has cost me my remaining daughter.” Ridmark stirred a little, but said nothing. “Had Tarrabus not given his allegiance to the Enlightened, my daughter would not have become the…creature she is now.”
“I suspect the High King would have preferred to deal with the entire matter once the Mhorites were defeated,” said Tormark. “Dissension in the face of a foe as powerful as the Mhorites is folly. Dissension before the Frostborn is far worse.”
Calliande frowned. “Then you think the High King will not believe us about the Frostborn?”
“Oh, he will have to believe you about the Frostborn,” said Tormark. “The carcasses of the blue locusari devils will prove that the Frostborn have returned beyond all doubt. There are enough learned men in the High King’s court to recognize the locusari from the old chronicles. The High King will have to move at once to defeat the Frostborn.” He hesitated. “Yet this business about the Enlightened…he will think it only another calumny.”
“Then we shall change his mind,” said Gareth. “Sir Joram, please give the commands. We shall join the High King’s host at Dun Calpurnia.”
Frostborn: The High Lords Page 12
