Frostborn: The High Lords

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Yet the High King will only see it as two factions competing against one another,” said Caius. “All our proof, alas, is eyewitness accounts, and from men friendly to us. From Uthanaric’s viewpoint, it only seems that Dux Leogrance and Dux Tarrabus are the heads of hostile factions of nobles.” Caius shrugged. “I understand such things have happened several times before in Andomhaim’s history, and that accusations of demon-worship or consorting with the enemies of the realm are common in such contests. During the war of the five Pendragon princes a century past, or the war against the Eternalists a century and a half ago.”

  “It is akin to when a chief of Vhaluusk has two headstrong warriors in his warband,” said Kharlacht. “The warriors might hate each other, but the chief will force them to work together under penalty of his wrath. Likely the High King sees himself fulfilling a similar role.”

  “But this time my…the High King is simply wrong,” said Arandar. “Dux Leogrance and Tarrabus head opposing factions…but Tarrabus is the leader of the Enlightened. We have seen the havoc the Enlightened have worked.” Morigna’s unblinking eyes flashed through Ridmark’s mind, followed by a pulse of anger. “This is not a struggle against two factions who are nonetheless loyal to the realm. Tarrabus and his allies have betrayed both God and Andomhaim. I fear that the High King is a fool not to see it.”

  “The High King,” said Calliande in a quiet voice, “is being poisoned.”

  They all started at her in shock for a moment.

  “Crown Prince Kaldraine as well, I suspect,” added Calliande.

  “Can you prove this, my lady?” said Constantine.

  “I fear not,” said Calliande. “Nonetheless I am certain of it. Among the dvargir, there is a rare poison called the shadow of sorrows…”

  “The shadow of sorrows?” said Caius, surprised. “I know of it. It is exceedingly rare, and can easily cost ten thousand golden coins to prepare a single ounce.”

  Calliande grimaced. “Yet it is worth the price to the poisoner. The poison is odorless and tasteless. Additionally, it is not magical. It is simply prepared from a variety of rare fungi and animals of the Deeps. No spell or test can detect it. It works very slowly, but is inevitably fatal. Before death, symptoms appear…loss of appetite, crippling cramps in the limbs, insomnia, loss of balance, and violent mood swings.” Calliande looked at Arandar. “The High King and Prince Kaldraine showed signs of some of those. The High King has lost weight since you last saw him, have you not?”

  Arandar offered a hesitant nod. “He has. He was never…fleshy, but he has deteriorated since I departed Tarlion for Urd Morlemoch.”

  Caius nodded as well. “I saw the High King before I left Tarlion for the Northerland. He seemed in better health before I departed.”

  “Did you see how Crown Prince Kaldraine almost lost his balance a few times on the dais?” said Calliande. “I suspect that Tarrabus has just recently started administering the poison to him.” She let out a sigh. “I fear we must assume that the High King’s other two sons have been poisoned as well. If the High King has always been this irascible…”

  “He has,” said Gareth, Caius, and Arandar in unison.

  “If he has, then the poison would be seen as a natural disease,” said Calliande, “an ill-tempered man growing more ill-tempered as he ages.”

  “And we already know,” said Jager, “that Tarrabus has allies among the dvargir. There were dvargir warriors guarding the soulstone and the Iron Tower, and the dvargir marched alongside Mournacht at Tymandain Shadowbearer’s call.”

  “Arandar,” said Ridmark, his dark suspicions hardening further, “I must ask you a delicate question, but it is necessary.” Arandar nodded, his hand clenching near Heartwarden’s hilt. “Does the High King have any other bastard children that you know of? Or any of his sons?”

  Arandar hesitated. “I do not believe so. I was an…indiscretion,” the word had a bitter twist in his mouth, “from before he assumed the crown. Evidently the matter taught him better self-control.”

  “I know of no other bastards of the royal line,” said Gareth. “If they exist, they have been well-concealed.”

  “Then Tarrabus has gathered every living member of the House of the Pendragons together,” said Ridmark, “where he can kill them all at once. That must be what he intends. He would have let the horrors of Urd Morlemoch kill Arandar, and then Accolon and Nyvane would conveniently disappear. The High King and his sons would die of the shadow of sorrows, and Tarrabus could seize the throne for himself.”

  They stood in silence for a moment.

  “Thank you,” said Arandar. “For sending Nyvane and Miriam to the Anathgrimm. I would not have thought of it. At least we can be sure the Enlightened have no infiltrators among the Anathgrimm.”

  Qhazulak snorted. “Bah. We followed the Lord Traveler in all his majesty and terror. What could shadow-tainted humans offer us?”

  “The High King saw the same facts that we do, Ridmark,” said Gareth, “yet he refuses to believe.”

  “Then we must find proof, absolute and irrefutable proof,” said Ridmark. “And we must do it soon. If the army of Andomhaim goes into battle alongside the Frostborn with Tarrabus Carhaine it will be a disaster.”

  “Tarrabus has but a tenth part of the realm’s strength at his command,” said Constantine. “Only six thousand men, against all the rest of the Duxi and Comites and knights.”

  “Sixty men,” said Ridmark, “at the right place and the right time can turn the course of a battle.”

  Constantine frowned. “True. And a serpent’s fangs can kill the strongest man…and in Tarrabus, the High King unknowingly holds a serpent to his chest.”

  “How then shall we find such absolute proof?” said Kharlacht.

  “It is simple,” said Ridmark. “We find and free Accolon.”

  Arandar stirred. “I wish to save my son…but how will that give us proof?”

  “Because,” said Ridmark. “Tarrabus lied. He said that Accolon was still in Tarlion. Why say that?”

  “To keep Accolon in his power, of course,” said Caius.

  “Why bother?” said Ridmark. “He could have Accolon killed and say the boy suffered an accident, fell from his horse or slipped on the stairs. For that matter, Tarrabus had no reason not to send Accolon back to Arandar at once. If he let Accolon return to Arandar, he would know exactly where both Arandar and Accolon were, and could kill them both at leisure.”

  Qhazulak scowled behind his mask of black bone. “This traitor lord would not wish for the boy to come under our protection.”

  “True, but that is not the reason. When Tarrabus told the High King that Accolon was still in Tarlion, he didn’t know that we had sent Nyvane to the Anathgrimm,” said Ridmark. “Aventine and Caradog hadn’t had a chance to tell him yet.”

  “Ah!” said Jager. “I understand. So the reason Tarrabus doesn’t want to release Accolon…”

  “Is that Accolon knows something, or has seen something, that puts Tarrabus in danger,” said Ridmark. “Something that he doesn’t want us or the High King to learn.”

  “If you are right,” said Arandar, his voice dark, “then it is in Tarrabus’s interests to kill Accolon as soon as possible.”

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. “Which is why we are freeing him tonight.”

  “How?” said Arandar.

  “We’re going to find him and break him out of wherever Tarrabus is holding him,” said Ridmark. “It has to be somewhere nearby.”

  “There are five thousand people in the town,” said Gareth, “and nearly sixty or seventy thousand fighting men camped outside the walls. That is a vast host in which to find one boy.”

  “I will ask one of Tarrabus’s knights,” said Ridmark.

  “They will not be willing to speak,” said Kharlacht.

  “I’ll ask forcefully, then.”

  Calliande gave him a hard look. Likely she feared his rage would drive him to foolish recklessness, as it had in the burning ruins o
f Dun Licinia’s keep. Ridmark conceded that was a danger, but he felt in control of himself. The rage was always there, but now he felt…cold. Cold and clear and focused.

  There were a lot of people who needed killing…and he might as well get started.

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

  “Of course,” said Ridmark. In truth, he would have preferred that Arandar remained behind. The Swordbearer had many virtues, but stealth was not one of them, and this task would require stealth. Still, Ridmark was going to rescue Arandar’s son, and there was no way Arandar would remain behind.

  And if it came to a fight with the Initiated of the Enlightened and their shadow-powers, a man with a soulblade would prove useful.

  “Good,” said Arandar.

  “And Jager, too,” said Ridmark.

  “Me?” said Jager, blinking. “Why me?”

  “You’re the Master Thief of Cintarra,” said Ridmark. “You have the most experience breaking into places. Besides, you owe Tarrabus a debt of pain. How better to repay it than by foiling his plans?”

  “I should come as well,” said Mara.

  At once Qhazulak and the other Anathgrimm protested.

  “No,” said Ridmark. “I would like your help, but I fear your place is with the Anathgrimm.”

  “Fine,” said Jager. “But if we’re going to do this, then for God’s sake listen to me when I say something. In this kind of business, a sneeze at the wrong time or a half-second’s hesitation will mean death. If I warn you about something, listen to me. I’m not talking to amuse myself.”

  “That would be a first,” said Kharlacht.

  “Not when I’m working,” said Jager, as serious as Ridmark had ever seen him.

  “Just you three, then?” said Calliande.

  “A smaller group has a better chance of success in these matters,” said Jager.

  “You realize,” said Gareth, “that if Tarrabus or his men capture you, he will execute you…and what is more, he will be able to justify it before the High King.”

  “I know,” said Ridmark. “It is a grave risk, but it is one we must take.”

  “We shall simply have to follow the first law of all thieves,” said Jager.

  “What is that?” said Gareth.

  “Don’t get caught.”

  Gareth snorted out a laugh.

  “What of the rest of us?” said Calliande.

  “Go to the High King’s council of war with Dux Gareth,” said Ridmark. He supposed that she should have been telling him what to do. She was the Keeper, after all, and he was a landless exile, even if Mara had made him the commander of her army. But old habits were hard to break. “Try to convince him to see reason, and do what you can to prepare the men for battle. Because I think the Frostborn will strike soon. They will not be idle. The gathered host of Andomhaim is our best chance to win a quick victory…but it is also their best chance to destroy the realm’s defenders in a single heavy stroke.”

  “The Gray Knight speaks truth,” said Antenora. “The veil of the Frostborn has been moving steadily south. It blocks all Sight, so I know not what happens beneath it.”

  “But the fact that the veil moves south,” said Kharlacht, “is a warning all of its own.”

  “The orcish warrior is right,” said Antenora. “We escaped the foe at Dun Licinia, but he will not have forsaken his hunt.”

  “Queen Mara,” said Ridmark. Mara blinked at him, surprised at his formal tone. “I suggest that the Anathgrimm camp to the southeast, between the town and the hills proper, and well away from the other camps. If the Frostborn come, they will likely march down the Moradel road, and the Anathgrimm can choose the best moment to intervene, as they did at Dun Licinia. If Tarrabus attempts some treachery, the Anathgrimm can react to that as well.”

  “I agree with the Gray Knight’s counsel, my Queen,” said Qhazulak. “We should stand in readiness, prepared to take our foes in a moment of weakness.”

  “So be it,” said Mara. “Best to keep the Anathgrimm away from the main camp anyway, I think. I do not want to have accidental quarrels.”

  “If there are quarrels, my Queen, it shall not be the Anathgrimm who start them,” said Qhazulak.

  Mara raised a pale eyebrow. “But you would end any such quarrels?”

  “Violently.”

  “You should camp well away from the main host, then,” said Caius.

  “It will also make it harder for Tarrabus to get at Nyvane,” said Arandar.

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. “We should go immediately.”

  “God will be with us,” said Caius, “for our cause is a just one.”

  “I hope so,” said Ridmark.

  “The Gray Knight, a Swordbearer, and the Master Thief of Cintarra,” said Jager with a flourish. “If we live through this, I hope someone make a song out of it.”

  “Perhaps,” said Ridmark.

  He wished Morigna were here. For one, her skills would have been well-suited to such a task. She had been able to move as stealthily as Ridmark or Jager, and her spell of sleeping mist would have dealt with any guards. If she helped Arandar rescue his son, she would never have let the Swordbearer hear the end of it…but she would have done it without hesitation.

  Ridmark’s hand curled into a fist.

  Morigna was not here. The Weaver and Imaria had killed her.

  Ridmark would kill them…but since he could not find them, he would start with their allies.

  Chapter 13: Council of War

  As the sun set, Calliande prepared herself for the High King’s council of war.

  The flustered-looking seneschal of Dun Calpurnia’s castra, a halfling man of middle years, had found Calliande a room atop one of the towers. A small army of halfling servants descended upon the room to make it ready, and Calliande accepted their labors with gratitude. A thousand different fears warred for attention in her mind – Tarrabus’s plans, the Frostborn, Imaria Shadowbearer, fears for Ridmark and her other friends.

  Yet at the moment she could do nothing about those fears, and the past several weeks were a blur of fighting and blood and weariness. The halflings drew her a bath in a copper tub, and after Calliande thanked them and ushered them out of the room, she stripped off her travel-worn clothes and sank into the hot water with a sigh of relief. She washed the grime from her limbs and hair, and then dozed for a while in the hot water. When she awoke it was lukewarm, so she toweled off, lay upon the bed, and slept.

  In the past, when she had slept, the spirit of the Watcher, her old mentor Marius, had counseled her. Yet no dreams came to her sleeping mind. Marius’s spirit had moved on to his eternal reward, and Calliande could ask no more of him. Nonetheless she wished she could have talked to him, or to Ruth, the woman who had borne the burden of the Keeper’s mantle before her.

  She desperately craved their counsel…but both Ruth and Marius were long dead, and their duties had passed to Calliande.

  The setting sun awoke her, and Calliande dressed for the council. The halfling servants had provided clothes, so Calliande chose a green dress that mostly fit her, leather boots and belt, and the bronze diadem of her office in her hair. With the staff in her hand, she examined her reflection in the mirror.

  She no longer looked like a ragged wanderer, which was good, though she looked far too young to be the Keeper, even though she was hundreds of years old. She supposed care and worry would erode her youth soon enough. A pity that Ridmark wasn’t here to see her now that she had cleaned up. Of course, if he was here, she would have done more, would have donned jewelry and makeup, arranged her hair, maybe a dress both tighter and less conservatively cut…

  God and the saints. The world was burning and she was thinking of…such things. What was wrong with her?

  A wave of guilt went through her, and Calliande shoved all thoughts of Ridmark out her head.

  She opened the door and stepped into the narrow hall to find Gavin and Antenora standing against the opposite wall,
speaking in low voices.

  “Were you waiting for me the entire time?” said Calliande.

  Gavin looked at her, his brown eyes going wide.

  “What is it?” said Calliande. “What’s wrong?” She turned, half-fearing to find a locusari scout or the Weaver or some other horror creeping through the window.

  “Nothing,” said Gavin. “Nothing’s wrong.” His face started to turn red. “It’s just…well, I’ve never seen you in a dress before.”

  Calliande blinked. “Really?” She supposed the last time she had worn a dress had been the day before she had left Dun Licinia in pursuit of Ridmark and Kharlacht, and that had been weeks before she had met Gavin for the first time. “I suppose you haven’t at that. How do I look?”

  Gavin’s face got a little redder. “Good. Nice. Yes.”

  “You’ve very kind,” said Calliande. He looked so embarrassed that she decided to change the subject. “I hope you weren’t waiting for me all afternoon.”

  “Ah…Antenora thought it wise to stand guard,” said Gavin, recovering his poise. “Given how many people have tried to kill you. I wouldn’t put it past Tarrabus to send someone to slip a knife between your ribs.”

  “I hope you got something to eat, at least,” said Calliande.

  “I did,” said Gavin. “Antenora stood guard while I did.”

  “I require neither rest nor sustenance,” said Antenora in her raspy voice, “and therefore can stand guard as long as required.”

  “Any news?” said Calliande.

  Gavin shook his head. “Nothing. The lords have started to gather for the council in the basilica.”

  “The veil of the Frostborn has advanced further south,” said Antenora.

  “How much further south?” said Calliande, drawing upon the Sight. The Sight was difficult to control, yet she drove it north, seeking for the Frostborn. For a moment the world seemed to spin around her, the Northerland laid out before her eyes like a map. The Sight revealed the veil of the Frostborn to her, a shimmering blue haze that seemed to cloak everything beneath it.