Frostborn: The High Lords

by Jonathan Moeller

  He pointed with his staff at Aventine’s right arm, and Arandar shuddered. Aventine’s sword hand had indeed healed, but the flesh had turned gray, the veins black with corruption, and his fingernails had turned into claws.

  The shadow of Incariel had indeed come at Aventine’s call…but the price might have been more than Aventine was willing to pay.

  Perhaps Arandar had done Aventine a mercy by killing him before the transformation could take hold.

  “We really need more help,” said Jager.

  Arandar shook his head. “If you wish for additional assistance, go back. I cannot delay. There is every chance that Tarrabus may try to kill Accolon as soon as possible.”

  It was also possible that Accolon was already dead. But Arandar dared not consider that. The despair would break him.

  “I’ll go on,” said Ridmark,

  They both looked at Jager.

  The halfling sighed. “I’m an idiot, you know. I used to be a sensible man, and then I fell in with you madmen. Lead on.”

  They left Aventine’s corpse behind and headed deeper into the hills.

  Chapter 15: Seventh Circle

  Calliande paused on the stairs, just below the level of the balcony.

  “This is a bad idea,” said Gavin.

  “I’m just going to talk to him,” said Calliande.

  “Gavin Swordbearer is correct,” said Antenora. “The Dux of the Enlightened is your enemy. There is nothing to be gained by speaking with him.”

  “He may not yet be past all repentance,” said Calliande.

  Antenora fell silent for a long moment. The argument had struck home.

  “I should come with you,” said Gavin. “We both should.”

  “No,” said Calliande. “Stay back, out of earshot.”

  “Very well,” said Antenora. “But we shall watch closely. If the Dux of the Enlightened lifts his hand against you, I shall burn the flesh from his body.”

  “Very well,” said Calliande. “Wait at the top of the steps, please.”

  She took the final twist of the spiral stairs and stepped onto the balcony.

  It was a broad, wide space, with benches so people could watch the Comes of Dun Calpurnia hold court in the hall below. Motes of dust danced in the air, illuminated by the dying sunlight coming through the top of the lead-framed windows that admitted light to the basilica.

  Tarrabus Carhaine stood alone at one of the windows, gazing at the courtyard. He must have heard her coming, yet he gave no sign that he noticed her presence. Calliande crossed the balcony, her boots clicking against the floor, the staff of the Keeper tapping with her stride.

  She stopped four yards from him, and at last Tarrabus looked at her.

  He was, she realized, a strikingly handsome man, tall and strong with blond hair and bright blue eyes, his clean-shaven face stark and confident. Little wonder that he commanded loyalty from his followers.

  Of course, according to the scriptures the devil had once been an angel of light.

  They stared at each other in silence for a moment, like swordsmen waiting for their opponent to strike first.

  At last Tarrabus’s lip twitched. “I suppose I may as well get started.” He sighed. “Such an honor to receive your visit, Keeper. Why, I am humbled by your august and ancient presence.” He gestured. “Now you say something suspicious and accusatory, and I will smile and shake my head.”

  Calliande let out a breath. “You think to make jokes?”

  “Why not?” said Tarrabus. “We both know how this conversation will play out. You will make false and spurious accusations. I will deny them, and nothing will be accomplished.” He smiled. “Unless you have come to kill me, of course.”

  “No,” said Calliande. “Not yet. Not today.”

  “Pity,” said Tarrabus, looking back out the window at the lords and knights departing the castra. “That would prove your perfidy to the High King beyond all doubt, and he would see you for the serpent that you…”

  “Do you ever get tired of lying?” said Calliande.

  Tarrabus smiled at her. “I never lie.”

  “It is just us here,” said Calliande. “The Keeper of Andomhaim and the leader of the Enlightened. We both know who we are. There’s no need for prevarication.”

  “Such fanciful tales you tell,” said Tarrabus.

  “Why?” said Calliande, changing tactics.

  “Why what?” said Tarrabus.

  “Why did you join the Enlightened?” said Calliande.

  Tarrabus sighed. “Truly, you must be two centuries old, for you certainly seem to have the senility of a woman that age.” He turned to go. “Good evening to you, Keeper. I fear this conversation has become tiresome.”

  “It was Aelia, wasn’t it?” said Calliande.

  Tarrabus stopped, motionless as a statue.

  “You understand nothing,” said Tarrabus.

  “So that was it,” said Calliande. “The High King was right after all, but about you, not Ridmark. Aelia Licinius rejected you and chose Ridmark. You’ll abandon the Dominus Christus, make yourself a slave of the shadow of Incariel, destroy the realm, and kill tens of thousands of people all because a pretty girl once broke your heart…”

  Tarrabus turned to face her, his mouth a hard line, and then to Calliande’s surprise, he threw back his head and laughed.

  “No,” he murmured, once he had calmed down. “No, you’ve got it quite backwards. Tell me, Keeper. Who was your father?”

  “My father?” said Calliande, surprised.

  “You said there was no need for prevarication,” said Tarrabus, stepping closer. “So. Let us be honest with one another. I could find out very little about you. The last Keeper disappeared soon after the defeat of the Frostborn…but lo, she returns to save the realm after two and a half centuries! Not even Shadowbearer knew where you had come from, and he usually knew everything. Who was your father? A king? A noble?”

  “A fisherman,” said Calliande, watching him for any sign of danger. The sudden change in his mood alarmed her.

  “A fisherman,” said Tarrabus, but there was no scorn in his voice. “You were born a commoner, but now you are the most powerful woman in the High Kingdom. Truly, the will to power is no respecter of birth.”

  “I didn’t want power,” said Calliande. “It came with responsibility, and that was thrust upon me.” What she had wanted…what she wanted was her mother and father back. As a child, she had thought one day she would marry another man of her village, and tend to their house and children and household as her husband joined the other men upon their boats in the Moradel.

  That had been a very long time ago.

  “Your father,” said Tarrabus. “Did he love you?”

  “Yes,” said Calliande. “Yours didn’t?”

  “Certainly not,” said Tarrabus. “He thought such things were a weakness. My father, Samothrace of the House of the Carhainii, Dux of Caerdracon. My father, who preserved the secret given to us by Shadowbearer and the other Enlightened. We were the chosen ones, he said. We were the ones who would transform humanity, who would turn all of mankind into immortal gods. Heroes like us did not have time for such weaknesses as love and mercy and charity. Certainly, we could mouth such empty platitudes in the churches of those who prayed to the superstitions of a lost world. The great mass of mankind is too stupid and ignorant to behold the truth. But when the time came, we could be the chosen ones. We would transform humanity.”

  “And you didn’t believe him?” said Calliande.

  “On the contrary,” said Tarrabus. “I believed him. I believed every single word.” He smiled. “I believed him so well that soon after my twentieth birthday, I returned to Castra Carhaine, put a pillow over his face, and held it there until he died. God, but that was satisfying! I was so sick of his voice.”

  “You murdered your own father,” said Calliande, sickened.

  “By his own teachings, he deserved it,” said Tarrabus. “The weak deserve to perish in the
service of the stronger. If he had wanted to live, he should have been strong enough to get the pillow off his wretched face. Do you not see, Keeper? I believed my father’s teachings, completely and with all my heart.” He shook his head. “Aelia did not drive me into them.”

  “She…made you doubt,” said Calliande. “Didn’t she?”

  “She did,” said Tarrabus. For the first time there was something other than pride and anger and contempt in his voice. “She did. I know not how, even to this day.” He shook his head. “She looked after the poor of Castra Marcaine with such diligence. At first I thought she did it to impress her father or her brother. But…she believed in charity. She believed in mercy. I saw her forgive a man who had tried to rob her. She believed, Keeper.” He shook his head again, wondering. “So many people say they believe in God’s mercy and God’s charity, but those are just empty words, made up to cover up their own lies. I had never known doubt in my life, Keeper, but she made me know it. She made me…wonder. I would have left it all for her. I would have left everything for her.” His eyes narrowed, the softness fading from his voice. “Instead, she chose to marry Ridmark Arban.”

  “She loved him,” said Calliande.

  “Ridmark Arban is a fool,” said Tarrabus. “He was a fool then, and he is a fool now. He has no vision, no wisdom, no wits. He’s good with a sword, yes, I’ll grant that…but to what end? He will blunder along swinging his sword in service to one lord or another until he meets his end, and then it will be as if he had never been born.”

  “Whereas you will live forever,” said Calliande, but Tarrabus kept talking.

  “If Aelia had married me, she would still be alive,” said Tarrabus. “Instead she married that fool Ridmark, and he was too weak to save her.”

  “Mhalek killed her, not Ridmark,” said Calliande.

  “Of course Mhalek killed her,” said Tarrabus with exasperation. “Ridmark was just too weak to stop him. He should have killed himself then. He should have died in the Wilderland like he was supposed to. Instead he came back with you…and you stand in the way of humanity’s ascension.”

  “Mankind’s salvation,” said Calliande, “will not be at the hands of the shadow of Incariel. And you sent the Red Family and Paul Tallmane to stop Ridmark, and he beat them all. Perhaps he is not as weak as you seem to think.”

  “Ah,” said Tarrabus. “I see. Are you a virgin?”

  The question was so unexpected that it threw Calliande off-guard.

  “What?” she said at last.

  “It is an exceedingly simple question,” said Tarrabus. “Are you a virgin? You understand the concept, I trust? Or must I explain it to you in simple terms? Have you ever lain naked upon a bed and opened your legs to a man while he…”

  “I understand the concept, thank you,” said Calliande with as much scorn as she could muster. “I am an unmarried woman and the Keeper of Andomhaim, which is all the answer you shall receive.”

  “So Ridmark hasn’t touched you, then,” said Tarrabus. He took a step closer to her, and Calliande’s fingers tightened against her staff. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve fallen in love with him.” His laugh was scornful. “The centuries-old Keeper of Andomhaim, the bearer of wisdom and strength and magical power…and you’ve fallen in love for the dashing outlaw like any peasant girl in heat. It seems you are a commoner after all.”

  Calliande said nothing, swallowing the furious anger that rose within her. Tarrabus had spotted a weakness, and he would not hesitate to exploit it if she responded to his insults.

  But he kept talking.

  “He does seem to have a charisma that women enjoy,” said Tarrabus. “Or perhaps it is some defect in the feminine mind that finds him attractive. Either way…you’ve traveled with him for months, and he still hasn’t touched you? Well, there was that woman I saw in Coldinium, wasn’t there? That Wilderland sorceress? Aelia’s skin was darker than hers, but her hair was the same color. I suppose you are just a touch too fair and blond for Ridmark’s taste.”

  “Does this have a point?” said Calliande.

  “You asked me about Aelia,” said Tarrabus. “It is only fair that I ask you about Ridmark. What a sad creature you are, Keeper. You have renown and power, and you craved none of it. You simply wanted a quiet little life in your quiet little fishing village, did you not? Children and peace and a family. The dream of every orphan.”

  “What I want,” said Calliande, “is less important than my duty, Tarrabus Carhaine. A pity your father failed to include that in his teachings.”

  Tarrabus’s eyes narrowed for a moment. “You could have it, though. You could have everything you want. Both power and a family. Everything you might wish.”

  “And the shadow of Incariel can grant that, I take it?” said Calliande.

  “Yes,” said Tarrabus. “You know it can. All your heart’s desires.”

  “I’ve heard this speech before,” said Calliande, “though it was delivered more persuasively.”

  “I see,” said Tarrabus.

  He moved before she could react. Calliande summoned power, expecting that he would attack, or that he would draw upon the shadow of Incariel to strike at her.

  Instead, he kissed her.

  For a moment sheer shock froze Calliande. Tarrabus’s left hand twined in her hair, and his tongue forced its way between her lips. Then a wave of the most profound physical revulsion she had ever known roared through her, and she jerked backwards with a snarl. Tarrabus started to reach for her again, and Calliande reacted on angry instinct. The end of her staff cracked Tarrabus across the jaw, and the Dux of Caerdracon stumbled with a grunt.

  “Do not,” said Calliande, “touch me.”

  Tarrabus smiled and licked his bleeding lips, and another wave of revulsion went through her.

  Firelight played across the floor, and Antenora sprinted to Calliande’s left side, her staff blazing. Gavin appeared on her right, Truthseeker in his hand, though the soulblade remained dark. Calliande had no doubt that Tarrabus possessed tremendous powers with the shadow of Incariel, but he would not be goaded into using them now. All it would take was for the High King or one of the Magistri to glance at the balcony, and Tarrabus would be finished.

  “Ah,” said Tarrabus. “Your little helpers. The relic of Old Earth and the rustic simpleton from the Wilderland.” He smiled at Gavin. “You know, my ancestor carried that soulblade into Urd Morlemoch. By rights it belongs to me.”

  “Then come and take it,” said Gavin.

  Tarrabus laughed. “A good answer.” He offered a mocking little bow to Calliande. “Farewell, my lady Keeper. I do hope we can continue our conversation soon.”

  “Not likely,” said Calliande.

  Tarrabus smiled, strolled past them, and disappeared down the stairs.

  “Well,” said Gavin a moment later. “That was…unexpected.”

  Calliande shook her head. “You were right, Antenora. That was a mistake. I thought…perhaps he had turned to the Enlightened out of grief or tragedy. But he didn’t. He was raised in it, and choose the Enlightened openly when he came of age. Aelia made him waver, but not for long.”

  For that matter, his tragic tale about turning to the Enlightened after Aelia’s death did not add up. Aelia had died at Castra Marcaine five, nearly six years ago. But Tarrabus had already been the Dux of Caerdracon during Mhalek’s invasion of the Northerland.

  Which meant that Tarrabus had murdered his father and taken his place while Aelia had still been alive. Perhaps his feelings for her had made him waver…but they hadn’t made him waver enough to spare his father. He had also failed to mention Imaria Licinius. Though mentioning that he had taken comfort in the bed of his lost love’s sister would have made his tale sound much less sympathetic.

  “What should we do now?” said Gavin. “Can we go to the High King?”

  “I fear not,” said Calliande. “What would he tell him? No. We have other work.” She looked at Antenora. “We need to work the warding
spell of fire before the Frostborn arrive.”

  “When do we begin?” said Antenora.

  “At once,” said Calliande.

  Chapter 16: The Order of the Inquisition

  Finding the ruins where Tarrabus had placed his hidden camp turned out to be easy.

  Getting inside, Ridmark suspected, would prove much harder.

  The old town of Dun Calpurnia had been built upon a lower hill than its successor, which had no doubt contributed to its downfall. Three sides of the hill were steep, but the northern face was gentler, providing an easy way to reach the crest. The remnants of the old town crouched atop the hill, half-consumed by the pine forest, but little remained of the ruins. The new town to the west had consumed most of the building stone, and time and weather had conquered much of the rest.

  Yet the shell of the old keep rose from the center of the hill, and a crumbled watch tower stood at the edge of the hill’s crest. Ridmark saw a sentry waiting atop the old watch tower, armor glinting in the light of the moons.

  “Well,” muttered Jager. “That’s a problem, isn’t it?”

  Ridmark crouched back behind the boulder, thinking hard.

  By mutual agreement, Arandar had remained waiting in concealment at the bottom of the hill. The Swordbearer was a terror in battle, but he was not stealthy. He said he had once crept into a Mhorite stronghold in Kothluusk, years ago, but the Mhorite orcs had been performing a rite to Mhor and had not been paying attention. Ridmark could move silently and quickly through the trees. Jager’s skills at stealth were better in the city and the town, but he was quiet enough in the forest.

  Morigna would have moved like a ghost. While Ridmark wished she was here for many reason, right now he wished she was here so she could cast her sleeping mist over the vigilant guard.

  “We have to kill him,” whispered Jager. “He’s the only one here. If he sounds the alarm, he’ll rouse the others.”

  Ridmark nodded.

  “Can you shoot him?” said Jager.