Frostborn: The Shadow Prison (Frostborn #15)

by Jonathan Moeller

  They marched fast, brutally fast, a harsh pace that made it difficult for the wounded and the sick to keep up, but anyone who fell behind was probably going to die.

  Yet push on they did. The march was aided by the absence of the enemy. From time to time a flight of locusari scouts or a frost drake passed overhead, but the Frostborn did not launch any attacks.

  Gavin wondered why. Surely if the Frostborn realized that Arandar knew their plan, they would smash the army of Andomhaim and the Anathgrimm in the field rather than let them take shelter behind the mighty defenses of Tarlion. It was easier by far to destroy an army in the field rather than one sheltering behind stone walls. Perhaps the Frostborn had decided to take their time, using the frozen river to bring south a vast quantity of supplies for a leisurely siege. Or maybe they thought to conquer the rest of Andomhaim before taking Tarlion. That seemed unlikely – if Imaria had convinced the Frostborn that the key to defeating Andomhaim was the Well, they would come for the city. Certainly, the full attention of the Frostborn seemed to be on marching south to Tarlion. Else why freeze the Moradel?

  It was something of a relief that such decisions were beyond Gavin’s reach. Arandar and Mara would have to make the hard choices about strategy, advised by high nobles like Prince Cadwall and Dux Kors and Dux Constantine. It was odd to think of his friend as a Dux. Constantine wasn’t that much older than Gavin, and he had fought alongside the older Swordbearer in a dozen battles and countless skirmishes.

  The hard march continued. It helped that the men knew their best chance of victory was behind the walls of Tarlion. It also helped that the Anathgrimm had arrived and that the men knew the Dragon Knight was coming with more allies.

  It also helped that Jager was, to Gavin’s mild surprise, something of a genius at moving things in wagons and on the backs of horses and mules. Maybe it shouldn’t have surprised Gavin. Jager had always claimed to be an excellent merchant, and merchants needed to know how to move goods. He had never given Jager’s claims much thought, likely because soon after meeting Jager for the first time, Gavin and Kharlacht had tried to track him down and capture him for stealing the empty soulstone from Calliande.

  That seemed like such a long time ago. Gavin hadn’t been a Swordbearer back then, and he hadn’t even met Antenora yet. It was such an odd thought. He sometimes felt that he had known Antenora his entire life. He found it hard to imagine the future without her.

  Except if they were victorious, the curse would end and she would die.

  Gavin pushed the thought out of his tired head. It seemed too distant to worry about. For Antenora’s curse to end, they had to defeat the Frostborn, and right now that seemed unlikely. He knew that his exhaustion was affecting his mood and making him grim, but he was too tired to care.

  “Why did you let the wagon drivers take bribes?” said Sir Joram Agramore, his tone exasperated.

  Gavin blinked, realized that he had lost track of the conversation, and made himself pay attention.

  He was riding with Antenora, Kharlacht, and Jager. Mara was with the High King, the kings of the orcish kingdoms, and the high nobles. Jager had gone to talk with Sir Joram about the supply train, and the knight and the Prince Consort had started arguing.

  “Efficiency, of course,” said Jager, unruffled.

  “But the drivers have taken the High King’s coin to carry supplies,” said Joram. When Gavin had met him at Dun Licinia before Mournacht’s attack, the knight had been stout, verging on fat. A year and a half in the field had taken its toll, and now he was almost painfully thin, with dark circles under his eyes and deep lines in his face.

  Jager sighed. “My dear Sir Joram, I fear that is naïve. It is impossible to have an army without bribery in the ranks. If you try to stamp out bribery, it goes underground, and you can’t control it. But if we keep the bribery within acceptable ranges, supplies get delivered faster, and matters become more efficient.”

  “That’s very cynical,” said Joram.

  Jager grinned. “And yet that last group of supply wagons got across the River Mourning in time, didn’t it?”

  He had a point. That had been the fastest river crossing Gavin had ever seen. Jager, Joram, and Dux Tormark had marshaled a small fleet of barges, rafts, and fishing boats to get the host of Andomhaim and the Anathgrimm from Castra Carhaine to the southern bank of the River Mourning in less than a day and a half. Arandar and the other lords had feared the Frostborn would catch them and attack at Castra Carhaine, but they had gotten across the river and continued south.

  “It did,” conceded Joram.

  Jager nodded. “I know you don’t approve of my methods, but they do get results, and that’s the most important thing in a war, isn’t it? Let’s check on the barges. They ought to be pulling ahead of the main host by now.”

  Jager and Joram turned their horses to ride south, Kharlacht riding with them, and Gavin and Antenora followed them.

  “Shall we return to the High King’s side?” said Antenora.

  “Not yet,” said Gavin. “Let’s stay with Jager. He’s right. He did get the supply train moving faster.”

  “And if any of the knights and teamsters disagree with his methods,” said Antenora, “he will need the help of a Swordbearer to back him up?”

  “Well,” said Gavin. “Yes. He does have something a smart mouth, doesn’t he?”

  “Sometimes, yes,” said Antenora, a rare smile going over her gaunt face. “But he does have charisma.”

  “He wages a different kind of war,” said Gavin.

  “What do you mean?” said Antenora.

  “It…” Gavin frowned, trying to put his tired thoughts in order. “He can’t fight as I can. But he can talk to people and make them do things. Even the Anathgrimm. You’d think they would kill him the first time they look at him. But he can convince them to do what Mara wants.”

  “Perhaps leadership is its own kind of weapon,” said Antenora.

  They rode on, following the army south.

  ###

  Twelve days after they began the frantic, miserable march from Dun Calpurnia, Arandar saw the walls of Tarlion rising to the south.

  He rode with the advance party, pushing towards Tarlion as the rest of the army wound its way south on the Moradel road like a giant, plodding snake. Arandar needed to reach the city as soon as possible. He would have instructions for Sir Corbanic Lamorus, the Constable of Tarlion, to prepare the city for the coming siege. The rest of the army could make its way into Tarlion as the city prepared for the arrival of the Frostborn.

  The familiar landmarks of Tarlion came into sight as they drew closer. There were the dual towers of the Great Cathedral of Tarlion, where the high lords had celebrated after the defeat of Tarrabus Carhaine, the slender spire of the Tower of the Magistri, where the masters of the Magistri charted the course of the thirteen moons, and the stern octagonal towers of the Castra of the Swordbearers, where the Knights of the Soulblade took their formal oaths and unused soulblades were stored until they were bestowed on a new bearer. Behind the Castra rose the tarnished copper dome of the Tower of the Keeper. If they won the war, Arandar supposed Calliande would take up residence in the Tower, with the Keeper resuming her traditional role as advisor to the High King on matters of magic.

  “My God,” said Mara.

  Arandar looked at her. Mara and Jager were riding with him, accompanied by Gavin, Antenora, Kharlacht, and Camorak. None of the other high nobles were with him, since they had scattered along the line of march to attend to their men, though Master Marhand and Master Vesilius and the rest of his bodyguard were still with Arandar. Qhazulak, Zhorlacht, and several of the Queen’s Guard were there. They scowled at everyone and everything, though that was normal for the Anathgrimm.

  “Foes?” said Arandar, looking around.

  “No,” said Mara. “I’ve never seen Tarlion before, that’s all.”

  “It is an impressive sight,” said Gavin.

  Jager snorted. “Cintarra is a m
ore impressive city by far, I should think.”

  “Cintarra is bigger,” said Mara, “but Cintarra doesn’t have wards woven into its walls.”

  “The Sight?” said Jager.

  “Aye,” said Mara. “We shall likely have better luck defending Tarlion than Dun Calpurnia, High King. I had no idea the wards on the walls of Tarlion were so strong.”

  “They did keep Tarrabus and his devil-worshippers at bay for nearly a year, Queen Mara,” said Master Marhand.

  Jager laughed. “And how that must have annoyed him. Pity I couldn’t have seen his face.”

  “He wasn’t pleased,” said Arandar.

  As they drew closer, Arandar saw the remnants of the siege walls. Tarrabus had raised an earthwork circumvallation wall around Tarlion with the aid of his dvargir engineers and then had built a contravallation wall when Arandar had arrived with the loyalists. To counter that, the host of Andomhaim had raised a siege wall of its own, trapping Tarrabus Carhaine within his own walls. The gambit had worked, though at the cost of a tremendous amount of labor and many lives when the battle began at a place of neither Arandar’s nor Tarrabus’s choosing.

  The battle had also damaged the siege walls. Calliande’s magic had torn a wide corridor through all three walls towards the northern gate of Tarlion, and the dvargir mine had blasted away a large section of the southeastern section of the siege walls. Nevertheless, most of the walls still stood.

  Arandar had asked Sir Corbanic to work towards taking the walls down, but the Constable of Tarlion had a thousand tasks, and most of them were more urgent. The walls might hinder the movement of the Frostborn as they prepared to attack Tarlion, but the same walls might block the arrival of their allies. He would discuss the matter with Sir Corbanic, who had more experience defending Tarlion from a siege than anyone else in Andomhaim.

  “The last time I was here,” said Jager, “I don’t recall the ground being so…uneven.”

  “Siege walls,” said Gavin. “Tarrabus laid siege to Tarlion, and then we laid siege to him.”

  “Just as well that he did,” said Master Marhand. “Tarrabus would have been better served to attack us at once. Aye, he might have lost all, but he hid behind his walls, and he lost all anyway.”

  “I still can’t believe you didn’t kill him,” said Jager.

  “Not yet,” said Arandar. “We ripped the Enlighted of Incariel out by the roots, but I want to make sure nothing like them ever arises again in the realm of Andomhaim. I want Tarrabus’s crimes documented and recorded and set down in the chronicles, and records of those crimes sent to every town and castra in the realm. I want history to see the Enlightened for what they really were, the pawns and dupes of Shadowbearer, and I want future generations to know the truth, so that young fools do not again feel the temptation of playing with dark magic. Only then, after everything has been recorded, only then will we execute Tarrabus.”

  Though Arandar wondered if he wasn’t a fool himself. He could not control the course of the realm after his death. Calliande had tried to alter the future long after she should have died, sleeping beneath the Tower of Vigilance until the realm needed her once more, and Tymandain Shadowbearer and the Frostborn had still almost triumphed.

  Still. Arandar had to do what he could. It was his duty. The outcome was in the hands of chance and God.

  He rode on, eager to reach Tarlion and begin preparations for the defense of the city. They passed through the remains of the army’s old camps, and then through the gap Calliande’s magic had torn in the outer siege wall. Ahead of them rose the remains of Tarrabus’s contravallation wall, still strong despite the wide breach that Calliande’s power had opened. Beyond that Arandar could see the circumvallation wall, and then the northern gate of Tarlion. He glimpsed the sentinels upon the walls and saw them hurrying back and forth. His banner had been spotted, and likely they had sent a runner to the Constable to inform him that…

  “Wait,” said Mara, her voice hard.

  Arandar looked at her. “Queen Mara?”

  “Stop,” said Mara. “Stop! Don’t go any further!”

  “All of you, stop!” said Arandar. The horsemen reined up, coming to a halt. The Anathgrimm looked back and forth, their perpetual scowl intensifying. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Mara. “The Sight…” She peered at the contravallation wall, her green eyes narrowing.

  The skin between Arandar’s shoulder blades started to crawl.

  Was something wrong? They had not seen any locusari scouts or frost drakes for several days. They had also passed the point where the Moradel had frozen, though the ice continued its relentless southward advance. Arandar supposed there was little risk of an enemy attack, but he had been wrong before.

  Something else occurred to him. The gap between the circumvallation and contravallation walls was relatively narrow. A large force could not maneuver in the space without drawing attention, but it might be possible to hide a smaller force there under cover of night. Corbanic might not have thought to have the ruins of the siege camps regularly patrolled, especially since most of them would have been visible from the ramparts.

  “Wait here, please,” said Mara. She disappeared from the back of her horse in a swirl of blue fire, and Jager leaned over and took her reins.

  “You have the Sight,” said Jager to Antenora. “Do you see anything?”

  Antenora stirred. “Not yet. But Queen Mara’s Sight is more intuitive and reactive than mine.” Her yellow eyes narrowed as she looked at the contravallation wall. “But there is something…”

  Mara appeared in a pulse of blue fire at the base of the contravallation wall. She disappeared again, and a heartbeat later reappeared atop the rampart, gazing down into the wreckage of Tarrabus’s old camps.

  At once she turned and threw herself off the rampart, plummeting towards the earth.

  “Mara!” said Jager.

  Mara disappeared in a swirl of blue fire before she hit the ground.

  In the same instant, a plume of white mist swept across the rampart where Mara had stood, sheathing it in glittering ice.

  “High King!” snapped Antenora, a sphere of fire coming to life at the end of her staff. “The enemy comes!”

  Arandar yanked Excalibur from its scabbard, the blade starting to glimmer with white fire.

  Mara reappeared atop her horse. “Frost drakes! Four of them, and many locusari. They’re coming!”

  All at once Arandar saw the trap.

  The Frostborn had known he would try to reach Tarlion in haste, and they had known about the ruined siege walls. The frost drakes must have arrived during the night and concealed themselves on either side of the cleared passage through the walls. Once Arandar and the advance party rode into sight, the drakes would unleash their freezing breath, wiping out the High King of Andomhaim and any of the high nobles that happened to be with him.

  It was a brilliantly planned assassination attempt, and he had almost ridden right into it.

  There was a metallic roar and a whooshing sound, and a frost drake leaped into the air behind the contravallation wall, its wings clawing at the air. An armored Frostborn sat upon its back, pulling at leather reins, and the creature’s head turned, white mist glimmering behind its fangs.

  He just had time to feel a surge of gratitude that his children were with Prince Cadwall today, and then the reflexes of battle took over.

  “Scatter!” shouted Arandar. “Take cover!”

  The horsemen broke apart as horns blew the alarm from the walls of Tarlion, and the frost drake breathed its plume of white mist across the ground.

  ###

  Jager turned his horse and booted it to a gallop, wondering how the devil he kept finding himself in these situations.

  He wasn’t a soldier or a warrior, and yet he had lost track of how many battles he had seen. There had been the fight against the Mhorites at Tarrabus Carhaine’s domus in Coldinium. Then the Iron Tower, then the Devout of Urd Morlemoch, then th
e war between the Anathgrimm and the Mhorites in the Vale of Stone Death, then the battles at Dun Licinia, and then…for God’s sake! He was a merchant and a master thief. Couldn’t people just resolve their differences through vigorous mercantile competition?

  A pity most people weren’t as civilized as he was.

  Jager rode alongside Mara, Qhazulak, and Zhorlacht, the Anathgrimm of the Queen’s Guard keeping pace alongside them. The frost drake unleashed a plume of white mist that turned into a jagged wall of ice as it struck the ground, but thanks to Mara’s warning, the horsemen had scattered in time.

  It was Paul Tallmane’s fault, Jager decided. Yes, it was definitely Paul Tallmane’s fault. If he hadn’t murdered that freeholder, it wouldn’t have set Jager on the path that had led him to an adventurous life filled with constant battle. Of course, if that hadn’t happened, then Jager would never have met Mara, so it had worked out.

  The frost drake loosed a brassy bellow and started circling for another attack. Three more frost drakes rose from the gap between the circumvallation wall and the contravallation wall, their broad wings flapping, and dozens of smaller blue shapes shot past them.

  Jager grinned at Mara. “I think they’re mad you wrecked their fun!”

  Mara smiled back at him, and then her eyes turned towards the blue shapes. The locusari scouts were scattering in all directions, but a dozen of them veered towards Jager and Mara and the Anathgrimm.

  “My Queen!” roared Qhazulak, brandishing that huge axe of his. “The foe comes!”

  “Off the horses!” said Jager, jumping from his own saddle. One of the favorite tricks of the locusari scouts was to cut the throats of a man's horse, sending the rider tumbling to the ground so the locusari could finish him off.

  Mara jumped off her saddle, and Jager followed suit. He tucked his shoulder and rolled, coming back to his feet as he yanked his dark elven short sword and dwarven dagger from his belt. Mara had her own short sword out, and then the locusari scouts fell on them.