“It is,” said Ridmark.
Zothal let out a purring laugh. “Then you answered your own riddle, Ridmark Arban. The Red King and the arbiters asked you what had become of the Dragon Knight, and you knew not. So, to answer the Red King’s question, you became the Dragon Knight yourself. An elegant solution.” The other tygrai laughed as well. Ridmark suspected that touched on some obscure point of tygrai humor. “But do not misunderstand. These are glad tidings. For the past several days we have fought skirmishes with the creatures of the Frostborn, and the news that the power of the Dragon Knight has come to aid our hunt will be great news indeed. Best not to confront the prey without your strongest bow and your sharpest spear at hand.”
“Agreed,” said Ridmark. “Is the Red King nearby, Imryr? The Keeper and I must speak with him as soon as possible.”
“We are a scouting party under the command of the khalath Martellar, Dragon Knight,” said Zothal. Ridmark remembered Martellar from both the Vale of Stone Death and the fighting at Bastoth. He was a khalath sworn to Red Prince Curzonar, similar to a knight sworn to a lord in Andomhaim. “The creatures of the Frostborn have attacked often enough that the Red King suspected we approached their main host.”
“No,” said Ridmark. “These are just raiders.” And assassins sent to kill him, but he could share that part of the story later. “The host of the Frostborn is marching down the River Moradel. Their magic has frozen the river, and they are using it as a highway.”
“That is fell magic indeed,” said Zothal.
“Then you see why we must speak with the Red King,” said Ridmark. “I request the honor of your escort to his presence, Imryr.”
“It shall be done,” said Zothal. “This way, please.” He growled a command to his men in the tongue of the tygrai. The tygrai soldiers formed up in an honor guard, and they set off through the trees to the southeast, making a good pace through the forest. Ridmark thought about dismissing Caledhmaer but instead kept the sword in his hand, though he pointed the tip towards the ground. The manetaurs, like the tygrai, respected strength above all else, and they might even take it as an insult if Ridmark approached them without weapons. If he lived through this, perhaps he ought to get another axe or at least a dagger to carry. He would need a dagger – Caledhmaer might have been an ancient weapon of legendary power, but he couldn’t use it to cut his meals.
After a mile, Ridmark saw flashes of golden fur and steel armor in the trees ahead, heard the crashing noises of something heavy moving through the underbrush.
“Ah,” said Zothal. “The khalath Martellar has found us.” He growled a command to his soldiers, and they came to a stop.
A moment later twenty manetaurs came into sight.
The commoners of Andomhaim said that the manetaurs had the bodies of lions, the heads of lions, and the torsos of humans, and they were not entirely wrong. The approaching manetaurs had the heads and thick manes of a mighty lion and the well-muscled torsos and arms of a human man, albeit covered with fur. The creatures had the lower bodies of lions and four muscular legs that terminated in paws equipped with deadly claws. Every single manetaur was armed for war, clad in chain mail and carrying swords and spears and bows. Some of the manetaurs had helms, while others did not. All twenty of the manetaurs came to a stop and regarded Ridmark and the others with unblinking golden eyes. Ridmark felt a familiar chill as he did. The manetaurs were intelligent and civilized, but they were still hunters, and in the right circumstances they thought nothing of killing and eating humans. The manetaur khalath Ralakahr had almost torn apart Ridmark in the Labyrinth, and Ridmark still remembered the agony of the claws slicing into his flesh.
But Ralakahr was dead at Ridmark’s hand, along with his master Red Prince Kurdulkar. The manetaurs were powerful and dangerous and formidable…and they were on Ridmark’s side against the Frostborn.
One of the manetaurs moved forward, his paws making no sound against the forest floor. His armor was finer than the others, a cuirass of steel over chain-mail, and his leonine face and muzzle bore scars of battle.
“Lord khalath Martellar,” said Zothal with a polite bow. “I am pleased to say that we have found the scents of the Keeper Calliande and the lord magister Ridmark Arban.”
Martellar growled and took another step forward, both his nostrils and his whiskers quivering. “Your scent has changed.”
“Aye, lord khalath,” said Ridmark, raising the burning sword for all to see. A few of the manetaurs reached for their weapons in alarm. “Red King Turcontar asked me what became of the Dragon Knight. I did not know, but in the months since we met, I learned of his fate and became his successor.”
“Then the Dragon Knight walks under the sun once more,” said Martellar. “This is good news. It is well to start a hunt with powerful allies, and the Frostborn are deadly and dangerous prey.” The other manetaurs nodded their agreement. It was always odd to see those lion-like heads nodding in a human gesture, but Ridmark supposed some things were universal. “Please come with us, Keeper and Dragon Knight. Red King Turcontar will wish to see you at once. For all the Red Princes and the Hunters and the tygrai have gathered in a Great Hunt against the Frostborn, and we shall see them cleansed from the face of the world.”
“Lead on, then,” said Ridmark.
###
The tygrai and the manetaurs made good time through the forest. They made such good time that Calliande’s legs started to ache from the effort of keeping up with them, but she did not complain. The sooner they reached Turcontar and his court, the better. Besides, Caius had shorter legs than she did, and he wasn’t complaining.
As they walked, Ridmark spoke with Martellar, and the khalath told him about the march west from the Range.
“Once the Hunters and the tygrai gathered,” said Martellar, “we set out to the west, and we departed the Range and entered Caertigris. We left the humans and the orcs sworn to the High King alone, but the bone orcs of the Qazaluuskan Forest attacked us several times.”
“How did they fare against you?” said Caius.
“Badly.” Martellar showed his fangs in the manetaur equivalent of a smile. “They are tough and stringy, but nonetheless digest well. Their undead creatures, though – pah!” He spat in disgust, his tail lashing with irritation at the memory. “The meat is rotting and fouled with the vile chemicals of their necromancy. The undead creatures are fit for nothing but burning. A waste of good meat. But the bone orcs were an irritant and nothing more. We did not venture into their forests, and after we had devoured a few of their raiding parties, they chose to walk the path of wisdom and leave us alone.”
“When did you start encountering the Frostborn?” said Ridmark.
“Once we entered the lands you call Caerdracon,” said Martellar. “Their scouts had followed us one we entered Caertigris, the flying insect-creatures the arbiters called locusari. Their flesh makes for poor eating, but their hides make an admirable trophy.” He gestured at one of the other manetaur warriors, and Calliande saw the Hunter had augmented his armor with plates of chitin carved from the carapace of a locusari scout. “After we shot down a few dozen of them, they learned greater caution. After the Hunters came to Caerdracon, we encountered the other slaves of the Frostborn.”
“How did you fare?” said Ridmark.
“The medvarth are fierce foes,” said Martellar, “worthy prey for a hunter, and their flesh is delicious and their hides make for good cloaks. Many a Hunter shall return to the Range with a necklace of medvarth claws and a cloak of medvarth fur. The khaldjari are harder to kill, and their ice magic is a deadly weapon. Their flesh is less toothsome but suitable enough for a meal. The cogitaers are dangerous, and best shot from a distance, and have little enough meat on their bones. The locusari are simply vermin.”
“And the Frostborn?” said Calliande, wondering if the manetaurs had attempted to eat one.
“Dangerous,” said Martellar. “They are not creatures of flesh and blood, but of magic and ice. They a
re dangerous prey, but they cannot be consumed. Best to kill them all, or else they shall conquer the world, and the Hunters will be made the prey of the cold Frostborn.”
“Then you see why I came to Bastoth and asked for the help of the Red King against the Frostborn,” said Calliande.
“Yes,” said Martellar. “You were wise to do so. The Hunters are the greatest warriors in the world, and none can stand against our wrath or our skill at war. But the Frostborn are not of this world. Perhaps it will take all kindreds allied against them to prevail, as it did in centuries past during the first war.”
“I know that for certain,” said Calliande. “I was there when the Frostborn were defeated the first time. Without the Dragon Knight, without the dwarves and the Hunters and the Swordbearers and the Magistri, without them all, we would not have been able to win against the Frostborn.”
“Perhaps,” said Martellar. “How fares the realm of Andomhaim? We have heard many rumors, all of them contradicting one another.”
“That news should wait,” said Ridmark, “until we speak with the Red King. The realm of Andomhaim fares better than it did, but it still faces deadly peril from the Frostborn.”
“As do all kindreds,” said Calliande. She did not think the manetaurs would abandon their war against the Frostborn, not after Turcontar had declared a Great Hunt against them. That said, the manetaurs might decide to pursue the war in their own way, but their best chance of victory against the Frostborn and Imaria lay in having all the armies act in unison against the Frostborn.
As Calliande recalled from the first war against the Frostborn, that was far easier said than done. She had spent a great deal of time and energy and effort forging that first alliance, first as the Keeper’s apprentice and then as the Keeper in her own right. The allied kings and lords spent as much time bickering as they did acting against the Frostborn. At the time, that had infuriated her. Now she was just grateful that Arandar was a strong enough High King to keep his lords following his will.
“As you say,” said Martellar, and the manetaur khalath lapsed into silence.
Zothal and Caius filled the silence. Both the tygrai in general and Zothal, in particular, liked to talk, which was just as well because Caius liked to talk. They discussed various battles against the Frostborn and the finer points of technique of fighting medvarth before the conversation turned to obscure points of theology.
The trees thinned, opening into the empty fields surrounding the nearby villages. The manetaurs and the tygrai headed into a narrow dirt lane that ran along an irrigation ditch.
The host of the manetaurs spread before them.
It was an immense army. Before Calliande had departed Bastoth, Red King Turcontar and Curzonar had estimated that they could raise a force of fifteen thousand manetaur warriors and thirty thousand tygrai soldiers. Clearly, the Red King and his son had succeeded. Calliande saw hundreds of tents flying the personal banners of the Red Princes and their khalaths, thousands of manetaur warriors attending them. Behind the vanguard of the manetaurs came the ranks of the tygrai soldiers, thousands of them, and behind them, Calliande glimpsed a vast supply train of ox-pulled carts driven by tygrai soldiers. Likely the tygrai kept the oxen away from the manetaurs lest the scent of the Hunters drive the beasts into madness.
Patrols of manetaur warriors and tygrai soldiers guarded the camp, and one of the patrols challenged Martellar as they approached. Martellar growled out a response in the manetaur tongue, and the patrol looked at Ridmark and Calliande and then took off at speed for the camp.
“It seems that our coming is news,” said Caius in a dry voice.
“One does not meet the Dragon Knight every day, presumably,” said Third.
They waited, and a few moments later the manetaur patrol returned and spoke to Martellar.
“The Red King and the adad-khalath request your presence at once, Keeper and Dragon Knight,” said Martellar.
“Let’s not keep them waiting,” said Ridmark. “Please lead the way, khalath.”
Martellar nodded, and they set off across the camp. Calliande felt the weight of the manetaurs' gaze as they passed, and a low rumble of conversation rose behind them. The manetaurs knew their history, and they knew that the Dragon Knight had gone to war alongside them during the last war with the Frostborn.
Besides, she supposed Third was right. One did not encounter the Dragon Knight every day.
Martellar and Zothal led them to a cleared space in the heart of the camp. Here Calliande saw manetaurs in red armor and diadems – the Red Princes, the sons of the Red King by his various wives and concubines. There were also manetaurs who carried carved staffs and wore mantles and cowls of blood-colored leather. They were the arbiters, the wizards of the manetaurs, and they served a neutral role in the endless vicious conflicts between the Red Princes. For the conflicts were vicious – the manetaurs resolved their disputes by single combat, with the victor killing the vanquished, and the manetaurs regarded this as right and proper. With their martial prowess, had the manetaurs been as organized and as regimented as the dwarves of Khald Tormen, they could have conquered the world several times over. As it was, they spent most of their time in endless internal disputes.
Save in times of a Great Hunt, when the manetaur kindred and their tygrai vassals banded together to crush a foe who threatened the existence of the manetaurs themselves.
Calliande saw the arbiter Tazemazar first. The arbiter was old for a manetaur male, which was unusual since the manetaur men usually were killed in battle or in challenges long before reaching advanced age. A set of vicious scars marred his muzzle and neck, and his left eye was milky white. He carried a staff of carved crimson wood in his left hand, leaning on it as he walked, and wore a mantle and cowl of blood-colored leather.
Red Prince Curzonar stood next to Tazemazar. He was a manetaur male in the prime of his strength, his head rising a good two feet taller than Ridmark, his fur golden and thick, his claws and fangs long and sharp. Curzonar wore the red armor of a Prince of the Range and a diadem of his rank upon his mane. His preferred twin war axes of red steel hung from his belt, though he also carried a recurved hunting bow and a quiver of arrows.
His father, the Red King Turcontar, stood next to him.
The Red King looked a great deal like Curzonar, but older, leaner, and far more weathered, his fur going white in places. Turcontar wore gleaming red armor trimmed in gold, a jeweled spear in his right hand, a diadem of red gold upon his mane. In Andomhaim the lion was often a symbol of kingly authority, and Turcontar looked the image of regal majesty.
But the signs of age hung heavy upon him, and he looked grimmer than he had in Bastoth. The death of First Queen Raszema, killed in Kurdulkar’s abortive seizure of the crown, had hit the old manetaur hard. His mane was nearly entirely gray, and there were many, many scars on his face and neck and arms. Turcontar had seen countless battles, and Calliande saw the marks of every single one of them on him. Someday soon, one of his sons would challenge him, kill him, and take the mantle of Red King.
Likely it would be Curzonar himself. Turcontar had named his son the adad-khalath of the Great Hunt, a rank somewhat like a marshal of the realm or the Constable of Tarlion, the right hand and second-in-command of the Red King. It also meant Turcontar would prefer that Curzonar succeed him. That meant when Turcontar faltered, Curzonar would kill his father and take his place. Calliande had loved her parents and could not imagine raising her hand against them. Yet not only would Curzonar do it, he would consider it a great and solemn honor, and Turcontar would take pride in his son’s strength in the final moments of his life.
Truly, the manetaurs were an alien kindred.
“Red King, adad-khalath,” said Martellar. “I bring before you Calliande, Keeper of Andomhaim, and Ridmark the Dragon Knight.”
Tazemazar stepped forward, his nostrils flaring, and cast a spell, pale gray light flashing around his staff. With the Sight, Calliande recognized the spell to sense the pres
ence of magical forces.
“It is true, Red King,” said Tazemazar. “The scent is the same, and so is the aura of magical power. This is the sword of the Dragon Knight. It seems that Ridmark Arban has indeed taken up the mantle.”
“Welcome, Ridmark Arban and Keeper Calliande,” said the Red King, his voice a basso purr. “When last we spoke, you did not know what had become of the Dragon Knight. It seems that you have since unraveled the mystery.”
“We have, Red King,” said Calliande with a bow. Best not to let Turcontar think that she had lied to him. The manetaurs rarely lied to each other, which was part of what had made Kurdulkar’s betrayal so shocking. “After I went into the long sleep below the Tower of Vigilance, Kalomarus the Dragon Knight left a trial for his successor in the Tower of the Keeper in Tarlion. When we defeated Tarrabus Carhaine and purged the blight of the Enlightened from among us, Ridmark and I entered the Tower, and he underwent the trial. He emerged victorious, and is now the Dragon Knight.”
“Then you have defeated the Enlightened?” said Curzonar. His voice was not as worn and as tired as his father’s. “The realm of Andomhaim is reunited under one High King once more?”
“It is, Red Prince,” said Ridmark. “Tarrabus Carhaine was defeated, and the Enlightened were brought to justice for their crimes, just as Kurdulkar and his followers were purged from among you. Now Arandar Pendragon sits upon the throne of his fathers, and leads the realm of Andomhaim in war against the Frostborn.”
“That is good news,” said Turcontar. “We had no wish to take sides in a civil war. Especially since one of the sides was dominated by the same dark power that corrupted Kurdulkar.”
Frostborn: The Shadow Prison (Frostborn #15) Page 15
