Frostborn: The High Lords

by Jonathan Moeller

  He turned to the west and started to run, the others following him.

  Already the sun was starting to rise in the east.

  Chapter 17: Blessing of Fire

  Calliande and Antenora labored through the night, Gavin standing guard over them. Kharlacht and Caius had wanted to stand guard as well, but Calliande had sent them to watch over Mara instead. The Anathgrimm obeyed Mara, but Mara was the only thing that kept them loyal. If she was assassinated, the Anathgrimm would likely go berserk. If Calliande had realized that danger, then Tarrabus had likely seen opportunity in it as well. The more defenders that Mara had, the better.

  So Calliande, Antenora, and Gavin had withdrawn to a hill southeast of Dun Calpurnia, just overlooking the Anathgrimm camp to the north and the pine-forested hills of the Northerland to the east. From the hill’s rocky crest she saw Dun Calpurnia, the army of the High King spread out in its camp below the town, and the broad expanse of the River Moradel.

  From here, she would work the spell to shield the army of Andomhaim from the cold of the Frostborn.

  The Keeper’s power was immense, but it still possessed limitations. Calliande’s spells could shatter the defenses of any other wielder of magic, and her wards could withstand nearly any attack. Yet she could only channel so much power at once. Wizards like the Warden or Ardrhythain could summon stupendous amounts of magical force in an instant, far more than Calliande could manage.

  Yet with long enough time to work, Calliande could summon a considerable amount of power.

  It was, she thought, much like water. Mighty wizards like Ardrhythain or the Warden were like a flood. The mantle of the Keeper was a steady stream. With enough time, a steady stream could wear away even the biggest mountain…and no other magic of this world could withstand the Keeper’s mantle.

  As the night wore on, Calliande assembled the power for the great spell, casting wards over and over again

  She had discarded her gown in favor of her usual clothes of boots and trousers and jerkin (though thankfully they had been washed), and her green cloak, the worn staff of the Keeper in her hand. Calliande walked in a circle around the hilltop, over and over, casting the warding spell. She could only work so much power at once…but the warding spells lingered, building upon each other like a mason laying course after course of bricks.

  The circle served to focus and augment the power. The dark elves had left circles of standing stones scattered throughout Andomhaim, circles designed to channel and focus dark powers. Yet a circle could be used to focus other kinds of magic, and she used it now to channel the warding power.

  After she completed every circle, Antenora stepped forward. She used the time of Calliande’s casting to summon a fireball, pouring elemental power into it until the sphere swelled to the size of a wagon wheel and blazed like a second sun. The sphere held enough power to burn a score of men to ashes.

  Antenora thrust her staff, and the fireball crashed into Calliande’s circle. It started to explode, but the circle of spells Calliande had laid down caught the fire, channeling it into the circle and trapping it within the ring of wards. To Calliande’s Sight, the circle looked like a chalice of white light that held a pool of fire.

  She cast the circle again, walking around the hilltop as the moons and the stars wheeled overhead, and Antenora threw another fireball into the ring.

  She did it again.

  And again.

  And still again.

  “I don’t understand,” said Gavin as Calliande began another circle, sweat dripping down her face from exertion. The conversation was a distraction to her concentration, but not a serious one. She had worked far more powerful spells under far more demanding circumstances. “How is this supposed to work?”

  “The mantle of the Keeper is power,” said Antenora in her rasping voice, another fireball spinning to life over her staff. “Power that no other form of magic can resist. Neither the Traveler nor the bearer of shadow could stand against her magic.”

  “Which is why Shadowbearer kept flickering around when we fought him,” said Gavin.

  “Yes, Gavin Swordbearer,” said Antenora. She never seemed to tire of talking to him, nor of his questions. The two had formed a peculiar sort of friendship. “More to the point, the Keeper’s power can augment other magic. Including my own magic of elemental fire.”

  “I’ve seen your fire,” said Gavin. “Won’t you wind up burning everyone to death?”

  “That is a possibility,” said Antenora. “However, the Keeper’s skill is sufficient to contain the fire. Additionally, there are sixty thousand men outside the town, fifteen thousand orcs from the baptized kingdoms, and six or seven thousand Anathgrimm. Divided among that many targets, the power will not harm them, but it should ward them from the cold of the revenants.”

  “I hope so,” said Gavin. “If we had been able to ward against the revenants, maybe we could still hold Dun Licinia. It would have been better, I think, to keep the Frostborn tied up there and wait for the High King to arrive.”

  “Undoubtedly,” said Antenora, the fireball burning hotter as it spun faster.

  Gavin shook his head. “Though Tarrabus would have found a way to make trouble.”

  Antenora shrugged. “I fear so.”

  “Still, he only has a tenth of the realm’s strength,” said Gavin. “Even if he rebels openly, the other nobles will crush him.”

  Antenora shook her head. “A man such as Tarrabus Carhaine will find many willing to believe his lies. I saw such things happen often on Old Earth.”

  Calliande finished another circle, and Antenora thrust her staff, another fireball hurtling across the hillside to explode into the wards. The fireball erupted, and the ring of wards drank its power, adding it to the magical force waiting within the circle. The hilltop all but vibrated with the magical force that Calliande and Antenora had summoned.

  And still she needed more.

  Another circle she cast, and another, until to her Sight the hilltop seemed to writhe with flames and the magic of the Keeper’s mantle. So much magic had gathered atop the hill that even Gavin could see it, and she saw him looking back and forth with concern, his hand resting upon Truthseeker’s hilt. Calliande ignored that, ignored his quiet conversation with Antenora, ignored everything. She put all distractions out of her mind – her fear for the future, her fear for Ridmark, her plans to deal with the treachery of Tarrabus Carhaine and to close the world gate that Imaria had opened. Her entire mind focused upon the potent spell she was building, the ring of fire blazing hotter and brighter before her Sight.

  At last, shortly before dawn, Calliande was ready.

  The hill trembled with the gathered power as the sky over the eastern hills started to brighten. Antenora cast her final fireball, the flames washing into the maze of hundreds of interlocking wards that Calliande had cast. Calliande’s arms trembled with exertion, her shoulders aching, her breath coming hard and fast. Magic, in many ways, was as taxing an exertion as vigorous exercise.

  Yet she had once final exertion to perform.

  Calliande strode into the center of the circle and lifted the staff of the Keeper high, calling upon both the magic of the Well and the mantle of the Keeper’s power. With the magic of the Well she cast a spell, a ward to protect against elemental cold and ice. She drew the spell through the mantle of the Keeper, augmenting it and charging it with irresistible force.

  Then she cast the spell into the ring of wards and Antenora’s fire.

  She hadn’t been entirely sure what would happen, but the results were impressive.

  The ring burst into flame with a roar, and a howling shaft of elemental fire shot skyward. For a moment Calliande stood in the center of a towering cylinder of flame, her hair and cloak billowing around her in the gale of hot air. Then a gentle yellow-orange light sank into her skin as the ward took effect, and the cylinder of fire expanded, rolling from the top of the hill in a similar wave of yellow-orange light. Gavin flinched as the light touched h
im, but as with Calliande, a corona of light surrounded him for a moment, and then sank into him. The light touched Antenora as well, and then spread away to the north, rolling over the Anathgrimm camp, and speeding through Dun Calpurnia and the camp of Andomhaim and the camps of the allied orcish kings.

  For a moment magic shone before Calliande’s Sight, and she saw the ward wrapping itself around the tens of thousands of fighting men and orcs below the walls of Dun Calpurnia. The glow faded away, but Calliande saw the faint flicker remaining, the magic still clinging to the men of Andomhaim. The power had vanished from the hilltop, and the ground around her was still and quiet and dim once more.

  The spell had worked. The men of the army were protected from the freezing touch of the revenants.

  A wave of crushing exhaustion rolled through Calliande, and she leaned hard upon the Keeper’s staff to keep from falling over.

  “That was,” said Gavin, his eyes wide. “That was…that was…impressive. I don’t really understand what happened, but…God!”

  “The spell was successful,” said Antenora.

  Calliande nodded, still clutching her staff as she tried to catch her breath. The spell had taken a tremendous amount of effort, and the price for that effort had just caught up to her. The last time she had felt this tired had been when Shadowbearer had overcome her within the stone circle, in the final moments before Ridmark killed him.

  “How long will it last?” said Gavin.

  “Years, likely,” said Antenora. “Perhaps three or four. Though I suspect this war shall be decided long before that. Keeper?”

  Calliande opened her mouth to answer, and the world started to spin around her.

  Both Antenora and Gavin were at her side in a moment, catching her arms and helping her stand upright.

  “We must find another Magistrius at once,” said Antenora, her raspy voice filled with urgency. “Gavin Swordbearer, use your soulblade’s power to heal her…”

  “No, no,” said Calliande, finding her voice at last. “No, I’m fine. I’m not hurt. Just tired. The spell was…draining. A moment. A moment and I will be fine.” She considered. “Well. Maybe a few moments.”

  “When you feel strong enough, we should return to the town,” said Antenora. “Any wizards among the Frostborn or the Enlightened would almost certainly have detected your spell, and may decide to strike while you are weakened.”

  “Yes,” said Calliande, taking a deep breath. “Yes, you are right.” She looked at the walls of Dun Calpurnia, the rising sun throwing bright colors across the weathered stone. “We must tell the High King that the great ward was successful. Then we should make for the camp of the Anathgrimm. Ridmark and the others might have returned by now, and if they rescued Accolon, they would have taken her to Mara and the Anathgrimm.”

  If they had been successful. If they had not been taken captive. If Ridmark and the others had not been killed in the attempt.

  Calliande swallowed and put the thought out of her head.

  “We should go soon,” said Antenora.

  “I think I can walk now,” said Calliande. Antenora and Gavin stepped back, though they hovered next to her with a solicitousness that she found touching. “Back to the town. And then…”

  “What’s that?” said Gavin.

  Calliande frowned, and then heard the distant sound.

  Drums. The booming of drums, coming down from the north. Drums that sounded like those the Frostborn had used during their assault upon Dun Licinia…

  An instant later the sound of hundreds of trumpets rose from the camp of Andomhaim, blasting the same sequence of notes over and over again.

  “That’s the call of general assembly,” said Calliande. It had not changed since she had ridden with the Dragon Knight against the Frostborn two hundred years ago. “The High King is summoning the host to arms. That means…”

  “The Frostborn,” said Gavin. “Those are the drums the Frostborn used with the medvarth.”

  “Their host is here,” said Calliande. “Now. Right now.” She looked up, reaching out with the Sight. She spotted a dozen locusari scouts circling overhead, well out of reach. But the veil to block the Sight had extended far to the south, stopping only a few miles north of Dun Calpurnia. “I don’t know how, but they’re here.” She turned, releasing the Sight. “We’ve got to get to Mara’s camp, now. If the Frostborn are here, the High King will need every warrior to drive them back.”

  “What about Tarrabus?” said Gavin.

  “We might not have to worry about Tarrabus,” said Calliande. “If the Frostborn advanced so quickly, it might have taken him off guard. We…”

  “Calliande!” screamed a man.

  It was Ridmark’s voice…but filled with an anguish she had never heard in it before. Even during the awful night after Morigna had been killed, consuming rage had filled his voice, not this terrible pain.

  She spun as Ridmark staggered to the crest of the hill, wobbling with every step.

  He had been wounded horribly, the left side of his face torn to tatters, his dark elven armor ripped away, and his innards on the verge of falling out. Only the black staff of Ardrhythain kept him from collapsing, and he fell to one knee, his face a bloody mask of pain.

  “Help me,” he croaked. “Please…help, I…”

  Horrified, Calliande rushed towards him, summoning as much of the healing magic of the Well as she could draw through her exhaustion.

  “Oh, God, Ridmark,” she said. “What happened?”

  She started to reach for him with her free hand, white fire glimmering around her fingers.

  “The Frostborn,” said Ridmark. “They surprised us. Kharlacht and Caius were wounded, too, and…”

  Calliande blinked. Kharlacht and Caius hadn’t gone with Ridmark. Kharlacht and Caius had gone to guard Mara in the Anathgrimm camp. In point of fact, they were probably safer than anyone else within twenty miles of Dun Calpurnia.

  She hesitated, and that moment of hesitation save her life.

  A dagger flashed in Ridmark’s hand, and he lunged at her. Calliande yelped and jumped back as reflex took over, sweeping the staff of the Keeper before her to deflect the dagger. She lost her balance and fell, landing hard upon her back. Ridmark leaped to his feet with smooth, inhuman grace, raising the dagger. Calliande struggled to draw power for her spell, but between her exhaustion and the shock of her hard landing, she could not focus …

  A gout of fire slammed into Ridmark, throwing him back. He retreated, snarling and slashing the dagger back and forth before him, and Calliande scrambled to her feet as Gavin raced to her side. Antenora hit Ridmark with another gout of flame…and this time Ridmark exploded into a snarling maze of thousands of shadowy black threads, each of them snapping and coiling around each other like a nest of furious snakes.

  Then the shadowy threads knit themselves together, becoming into a kindly-looking old man in a brilliant white robe.

  “Toridan,” spat Calliande.

  “Oh, dear,” said the Weaver. “You have a bad habit, Calliande. Trying to protect others before you first protect yourself.” He smiled a gentle, kindly smile. “It’s going to be the death of you.”

  “Come here and say that,” said Gavin, pointing with Truthseeker as the sword crackled with white fire.

  “You young Swordbearers,” said the Weaver. He remained motionless at the edge of the hill. “All your brains are in your sword arm. No matter, though.”

  Calliande gripped her staff, summoning as much power as she could hold. Why wasn’t the Weaver attacking? When she was at full strength, with the Keeper’s mantle at her command, he was no match for her. His only hope had been to take her unawares as she recovered from casting the great ward. So why was he standing there talking?

  She gathered power to blast him to ashes, and then darkness swirled at the corner of her eye.

  Imaria Shadowbearer appeared out of nothingness, the hilltop reflected in the quicksilver of her eyes, the veins of shadow beneath her palli
d skin pulsing and throbbing. Imaria thrust out her hands, and a torrent of shadow erupted from them. It hit Antenora first, and she fell, her power drained away by the clinging shadows. Gavin raised Truthseeker in defense, and Calliande had no choice but to use the power she had summoned to cast a ward. Imaria’s shadows shattered against the ward, but Calliande’s will wavered. She was still exhausted from the effort of the great spell, and Imaria was rested.

  The Weaver exploded into a maze of black threads again, and reformed into one of his preferred battle forms, a hulking monstrosity that looked like an ursaar with a row of spikes running down its back. Imaria’s attack ended as she prepared another spell, and Calliande slammed the end of her staff against the ground, throwing out as much power as she could call. A ring of white fire erupted from the staff and rolled out from her, knocking both the Weaver and Imaria back.

  But it did not slow them for long.

  The Weaver rushed at her in silence, and Gavin hurried to meet the creature, Truthseeker flashing. Imaria threw another blast of writhing shadows at Calliande, and she had no choice to but channel all her power to a ward.

  “You should not resist,” said Imaria in the same malevolent double voice that Tymandain Shadowbearer had once possessed. “Your death is but the beginning. Behold, I shall free mankind from the flesh, from the material, from the mortal, from time itself.” She laughed, her eyes wide and wild. “And your death will pain Ridmark, so all the better.”

  She attacked again, and Calliande struggled to hold her ward in place as Gavin retreated before the Weaver’s furious assault.

  Chapter 18: Shadow Threads

  Ridmark hurried through the woods, urgency driving him onward. Arandar and Jager and Accolon ran after him. Accolon was clearly exhausted from his long imprisonment in the cell, but he kept running, trying to keep up with his father, who every so often stopped to help the boy along.

  Ridmark didn’t dare slow down. The letters that Accolon carried proved Tarrabus’s treachery beyond all doubt, and Tarrabus’s treachery was far larger than even Ridmark had feared. If Tarrabus was not stopped, he would destroy Andomhaim, but it was not yet too late. If Ridmark brought the letters to the High King, then Tarrabus was finished. The Duxi of Calvus and Arduran and Tarras could be arrested. If Tarrabus tried to resist, not even his shadow-powers could withstand a hundred Swordbearers and a hundred Magistri at once.