Frostborn: The Shadow Prison (Frostborn #15)

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Then you are arrogant,” said Ridmark, “and pride is going before your fall.”

  “We are not,” said Arlmagnava without rancor. “We are the High Lords. We shall conquer the cosmos and perfect it. Many kindreds and empires and kings have stood before us and boasted of their power, and we have laid them all low. Neither the Shadowbearer nor the Dragon Knight will be able to stop us. Take them!”

  The medvarth roared and charged, brandishing their swords and axes. The locusari surged forward in silence, raising their scythe-like forelimbs, and the four cogitaers began casting spells. All three Frostborn began casting spells as well, blue fire and cold white light flashing around their armored fingers.

  Ridmark thrust Caledhmaer towards the enemy and called on the sword’s power.

  The blade flared, and a bolt of fire leaped from the end of the sword and hurtled towards the charging medvarth. The bolt struck the ground at their feet and exploded, killing a dozen medvarth and a dozen locusari in a single instant, sending their burning bodies tumbling through the air to land amidst the trees. The fire rose in a wall, cutting off the surviving soldiers from reaching Ridmark and the others.

  The Frostborn finished their spell, and freezing mist washed across the fire, quenching it. Calliande started her own spell, and Third disappeared in a swirl of blue fire, reappearing behind the cogitaers. She thrust with her short swords, killing one of the gray-robed creatures, and vanished as the other three whirled to face her.

  Ridmark sprinted forward, taking Caledhmaer in both hands, and called on the sword’s power to stop time. The world around him went hazy and out-of-focus, the medvarth and the locusari and the cogitaers freezing like statues. Calliande and Caius and Third all went motionless, frozen in their poses.

  But the three Frostborn did not go out of focus, remaining sharp and clear to his vision. Symbols of blue fire started to burn upon the right bracer of each of the Frostborn. Arlmagnava and the two Frostborn men walked towards Ridmark, swords raised.

  “You did not expect that, I see,” said Arlmagnava. She gestured with her right hand, the bracer on her forearm glowing. “The last time we fought the Dragon Knight, we had no countermeasure for his power to stop time, and he inflicted grievous losses upon us. After two centuries of experimentation, we have developed a defense.”

  “You all have those, then?” said Ridmark, watching the Frostborn. They started to spread around him, and he backed away, trying to keep all three of them in sight at once.

  “Not yet,” said Arlmagnava. “The cost was prohibitive, and only a few of the Seekers among the Order of the Inquisition carry such bracers. Fortunately, it is of no consequence. After we kill you and claim the sword of the Dragon Knight, we shall study it at leisure…”

  Her free hand came up mid-sentence, blazing with magical power, and an icicle the size of a ballista bolt hurtled towards Ridmark. He had been expecting a surprise attack, remembering their confrontation near Dun Calpurnia before Tarrabus’s treachery, and raised Caledhmaer in guard. The icy bolt hit the sword and shattered into steam, its magic unraveled by the blade’s fire.

  Arlmagnava and the other two Frostborn charged him, swords raised to strike.

  Ridmark ought to have retreated, but instead, he attacked, driving at the Frostborn man on his left. As he had guessed, the Frostborn warrior retreated. They knew the threat that Caledhmaer presented to them, and they did not want to stand and face it. Arlmagnava and the other Frostborn warrior closed on his left, slashing with their greatswords, and now it was Ridmark’s turn to retreat.

  For a moment they danced around each other, fighting across the frozen instant of time. The Frostborn were much stronger than Ridmark, and a single hit from one of those massive greatswords would cut him in half. Yet Ridmark was slightly faster than the Frostborn, and he managed to stay ahead of their blows.

  But for all Caledhmaer’s terrible power, the sword did not strengthen and refresh him as a soulblade would have. He had no doubt that the Frostborn had greater stamina, and if they were patient and careful, they would outlast him. He could use Caledhmaer’s magic against them, but it would take him a few instants to concentrate and call on his bond with the sword, and the Frostborn would kill him in those few instants.

  Which meant Ridmark needed to do something to change the terms of the battle now, right now.

  He retreated as fast as he could, the Frostborn pursuing him. They thrust and swung with their massive greatswords, but Ridmark kept them at bay with quick slashes of Caledhmaer. Their swords were larger and heavier than Caledhmaer, but he knew that his sword’s fire would shatter their blades into glittering shards if they made contact for too long. The Frostborn knew that as well, and they kept back from him, using quick attacks and feints to keep their swords from touching Caledhmaer for too long.

  Arlmagnava slashed at him, and Ridmark ducked under the blow, the greatsword blurring an inch above the top of his head. The Frostborn woman stepped back, recovering her balance as she did, and the light in her magical bracers blazed before Ridmark’s eyes.

  Those bracers were the key. They had given the three Frostborn immunity to Caledhmaer’s time-stopping effect. No, that wasn’t quite right. Rather, the bracers had let them follow Ridmark into the instant of frozen time.

  If he broke the bracers, would they be pushed back into the flow of normal time?

  Again, the three Frostborn attacked, trying to spread around him like the points of a triangle. Ridmark retreated, breaking out of the triangle by turning to attack the Frostborn warrior on his left. The warrior stepped back to avoid Caledhmaer’s blade, and Ridmark raised the sword, drawing on its power.

  There wasn’t time to do anything elaborate. The blade pulsed, and fire exploded in all directions, like the rings of dispelling white fire that Calliande sometimes used to break spells. But this was elemental fire, harsh and deadly, and Arlmagnava and the two other Frostborn stepped back, raising their swords and casting spells to ward themselves from the fire. Shimmering auras of cold white-blue light shimmered around them, quenching the blast of magical flame.

  But the Frostborn hesitated for the instant it took them to deflect the fire, and Ridmark seized that instant to strike.

  He attacked the nearest Frostborn warrior, hammering with Caledhmaer. Ridmark aimed the blow for the warrior’s right hand, and his blade cracked into the glowing bracer. Caledhmaer’s fire shattered the bracer into glittering shards, and the Frostborn warrior went motionless and blurry, caught in the instant of frozen time.

  Arlmagnava shouted a command, and she attacked, the second Frostborn warrior moving to strike at Ridmark. He reacted, raising his sword in a two-handed parry, and caught the descending greatsword. The impact of the blow screamed through his shoulders, but the fire of Caledhmaer burned hotter, and the greatsword exploded into glittering shards. The Frostborn stumbled, off-balance from the loss of his weapon, and Ridmark hit his right wrist.

  The bracer shattered, and the Frostborn froze, his form going blurry.

  Ridmark turned, but Arlmagnava was already moving. Her greatsword swept towards him in a freezing blur, and he had no time to get Caledhmaer up in guard. Instead, he managed to shift his stance at the last moment, taking the blow on his chest and hoping his dark elven armor would keep the sword from slicing him in half.

  It did. It did nothing to stop the mighty power of the blow, or the freezing cold that blasted from the weapon. The impact knocked Ridmark back, and he stumbled several steps and landed hard on the ground. Arlmagnava sprang after him, raising her greatsword for a killing blow, and Ridmark forced his aching, shivering muscles to throw himself to the left. The greatsword hammered into the ground, sinking into the earth, and Ridmark called on Caledhmaer’s magic. Fire blasted into Arlmagnava, and she stumbled back with a shriek of pain.

  He surged to his feet and swung the sword of the Dragon Knight. The blade struck the bracer on Arlmagnava’s arm and shattered it. She just had time to shout in alarm, and then she fro
ze as well, her form going blurry as the moment of frozen time caught her.

  Ridmark caught his breath, letting the sword’s fire warm him.

  That had been close. Ridmark ought to have known the Frostborn would not confront him unless they were prepared to win the fight, and if he had been a half-second slower, he would have died…and Calliande and Third and Caius would follow soon after.

  The sword of the Dragon Knight gave him great power, but great power did not make a man invincible.

  Tymandain Shadowbearer had found that out the hard way.

  Ridmark looked at the Frostborn and grimaced as he took Caledhmaer’s hilt in both hands. He disliked simply killing them while they were caught in the frozen time. But they were too dangerous to leave alive, and if he fought them when time flowed again, they might well kill him.

  They had started the war, not him.

  Ridmark lifted the sword and did what he had to do.

  ###

  Calliande started casting a spell, and then the battlefield blurred and changed.

  It happened so fast that she could not follow the movement.

  One moment Ridmark had been charging the three Frostborn, the sword of the Dragon Knight trailing fire from its blade. The next instant he was standing twenty yards closer to the lake, breathing hard, and Arlmagnava and the other two Frostborn warriors lay dead on the ground, the blue fire that served as their blood leaking and dissipating into the air.

  Ridmark must have used the sword’s power to stop time and defeat the Frostborn. He looked as if it had been a hard fight, for he was breathing hard, and there was frost on the blue metal plates of his dark elven armor.

  Seeing him move so swiftly was a shock, but it was not enough of a shock to break her concentration.

  Calliande finished her spell, and a dome of white light appeared in front of her just as the three remaining cogitaers finished their attack. They hurled another volley of razor-edged ice bolts at her, but the attack struck the dome of light and shattered. Third appeared behind a cogitaer, landing a mortal blow with her short swords.

  Ridmark stepped forward, and he blurred and disappeared.

  When he reappeared an eyeblink later, a dozen medvarth fell dead, and a dozen locusari fell in smoking pieces to the ground.

  Ridmark let out a long breath, turning to face the cogitaers.

  The soldiers of the Frostborn had seen enough at that point. The surviving medvarth and locusari whirled and fled to the west as fast their legs could carry them, and the cogitaers disappeared as they cast their concealment spell. Blue fire flashed and Third reappeared next to Calliande, her swords ready.

  “Should we pursue them?” said Caius.

  “No,” said Ridmark. The frost had vanished from his armor, but he looked as if breathing was paining him. “There’s no point, and we might blunder into another ambush.” He looked at Arlmagnava’s corpse. “That was clever of them, to lie in wait for us. And those bracers…”

  “What about those bracers?” said Calliande, stepping closer and checking him for wounds. He had a bruise on the right side of his jaw, and some scratches on his hands, but from the way he was breathing, she thought he had cracked a rib again.

  “They made the bracers to fight the Dragon Knight,” said Ridmark. “I don’t know how they work, but when I used the sword to stop time, they were able to…move with me. They weren’t caught in the frozen time with everything else.”

  “What?” said Calliande, alarmed. Ridmark had fought three Frostborn by himself and survived? A surge of retroactive fear went through her. Still, should she be surprised that he had won? He had fought and killed Lord Commander Rjalmandrakur at Dun Calpurnia, and he had done that without a soulblade or the sword of the Dragon Knight.

  “I almost wish I could have let one of the Frostborn escape,” said Ridmark, looking towards the fleeing medvarth. “They could have carried back the warning about Imaria. Even if Arlmagnava was too arrogant to listen, Lord Commander Kajaldrakthor or some of the other Frostborn might have been willing to pay heed and kill Imaria for us.”

  “Doubtful,” said Third. “The Frostborn possess great power, but their arrogance exceeds even their power. Else Arlmagnava would not have tried to kill the Dragon Knight with such a small force.”

  “Reassuring, I suppose,” said Ridmark. “Even the Frostborn can be overconfident.”

  Calliande gave the side of his chest a sharp tap, and event through his armor, Ridmark winced.

  “You did break a rib,” said Calliande. “Hold still.”

  Ridmark nodded, and Calliande flexed her hands, drawing the magic of the Well to her. She reached up and put her hands on Ridmark’s temples, preparing the spell of healing. An odd but nonetheless pleasant feeling went through her. She had healed Ridmark from his wounds and injuries a hundred times. But she always had to touch him to heal him, and the last time she had touched Ridmark had been when they had slept together. The thought gave her a warm feeling, like it was a secret that only they shared, that they would share with each other and no one else.

  Yes, she liked that thought a great deal.

  She took a deep breath and cast the healing spell, sending the magic rolling through Ridmark. At once she felt the pain of his broken ribs – two of them, on the right side – and the minor aches and scrapes he had picked up in the fight. Calliande drew the pain of the broken ribs into herself. It was hardly a pleasant sensation, but she had endured much worse, and she held the spell as it did its work.

  Ridmark took in a sharp breath, shivered, and Calliande released his temples.

  “Thank you,” said Ridmark. “That feels better.”

  Calliande nodded and looked at him. She felt the sudden overwhelming urge to kiss him, but this was neither the time or the place. She was the Keeper, she had her duties, and…

  Oh, for God’s sake. They were married, weren’t they?

  She gave him a quick kiss and grinned as he blinked in surprise.

  “Good,” said Calliande, and stepped back.

  She could kiss him whenever she wanted now.

  Though as her eyes strayed to the dead Frostborn, she realized that there might not be much time left.

  “The manetaurs are coming,” said Third.

  Ridmark looked away from Calliande and to the east. In the distance, beyond the trees, she glimpsed moving figures, sunlight glinting off steel spearheads and armor.

  “Tygrai, I think,” said Ridmark.

  “Most likely,” said Third.

  “Just as well,” said Ridmark. “They can lead us to Red King Turcontar faster.” He took a deep breath. “And we can convince them to do what is necessary.”

  Calliande studied her husband. “You’re about to do something dramatic, aren’t you?”

  “Dramatic?” said Third.

  Caius laughed. “The Dragon Knight has a penchant for dramatic gestures, Lady Third. I recall a time we were traveling through the marshes of Moraime in the Wilderland, and Ridmark wished to demonstrate the dangers of swamp gas. So, he threw a torch into the marsh and caused a small explosion.”

  “It made my point,” said Ridmark.

  “And you did use it to blow up those assassins from the Red Family,” said Calliande.

  “That seems like an excellent use of improvised tactics,” said Third. “But you do not need to persuade me. I recall Ridmark arriving in a taalkrazdor at the last minute to battle the Weaver, and later taking up Excalibur to fight the false king.”

  “Both were rather more dramatic than exploding marsh gas, as I recall,” said Caius.

  “If all goes well,” said Ridmark, “I won’t blow anything up or fight anyone. Let’s meet the tygrai, and find our way to the Red King.”

  He led the way into the trees, and Calliande, Caius, and Third followed him.

  Chapter 11: The Hunters

  Ridmark walked into the trees, Caledhmaer burning in his hand.

  He thought about dismissing the sword but decided against it. Both the
manetaurs and the tygrai were predators, and while their rational minds ruled their predatory instincts in a way that the minds of the lupivirii could not, they were nonetheless predators. Predators would not respond well to weakness, and Ridmark could think of no better way to project strength by carrying a burning sword of ancient magical power.

  They walked for a about half a mile and came to a small clearing, fallen trees lying scattered upon the ground, their sides covered with moss. Ridmark came to a stop and waited, and Calliande and Third and Caius joined him.

  “They will be here any minute,” said Third.

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. “Remember not to show any weakness. They’re our allies, but they are still predators.”

  Calliande nodded, and her face seemed to settle into the aloof, calm mask of the Keeper of Andomhaim.

  A moment later a troop of tygrai soldiers came into the clearing.

  The tygrai had human-shaped bodies, though orange and black striped fur covered their skin, and their heads looked like those of tigers. They had human-shaped hands and feet, but both hands and feet were topped with claws, and they were comfortable going barefoot in a way that humans never would be, which was just as well because their claws would make short work of even the sturdiest boots. The tygrai wore trousers and polished cuirasses over gambesons, spiked helmets on their heads, and they carried spears and gleaming round shields.

  One of the tygrai stepped forward, raising a clawed hand for his soldiers to remain behind. His helm had a red plume of rank, which meant he was an Imryr, the tygrai equivalent of a decurion or perhaps a centurion of the ancient Romans.

  Ridmark recognized him from Bastoth.

  “Greetings, Imryr Zothal,” said Ridmark. “It is a long way from Bastoth and the Range of the Red King, but I am pleased that we shall be able to hunt the Frostborn together.”

  Zothal blinked his golden eyes. “And I am pleased to find your scent again, Ridmark Arban the Gray Knight and Calliande the Keeper of Andomhaim.” His voice was higher-pitched than the deep rumble of a manetaur, and he spoke clear Latin despite the mewling purr of his voice. His nostrils flared, and his eyes focused upon Caledhmaer’s flame. “But your scent has changed since last we met. That scent…that scent is known to both the tygrai and the Hunters. The arbiters made sure we knew of the scent from the last war. Is that truly the sword of the Dragon Knight?”