Frostborn: The Shadow Prison (Frostborn #15)

by Jonathan Moeller

  Arandar knew that would not last.

  He wished he could have spent more time with his children. He saw them every day at services in the Great Cathedral. Arandar supposed that would have to be enough. Accolon was serving as a squire to Prince Cadwall, and that kept him busy. He supposed that Cadwall might knight Accolon before the battle, and Arandar had no objection. Arandar would have sent Nyvane to the Citadel and kept her there, but his daughter had grown attached to Mara and wished to continue serving as her handmaiden. So had Miriam, for that matter, which surprised Arandar, but Mara and the Anathgrimm had kept them safe during the civil war.

  And when the Frostborn arrived, Nyvane and Miriam would remain in the Citadel anyway, the safest place in Tarlion.

  As safe as anywhere could be, these days.

  That afternoon Arandar made a circuit of the ramparts with Sir Corbanic and the Masters of the Two Orders, Mara, Gavin, Antenora, Camorak, and Kharlacht accompanying him, along with a guard of Swordbearers and Magistri lest the Frostborn make another attempt on his life. Jager was off somewhere with Sir Joram terrorizing the porters into greater efficiency.

  “We’ll have trebuchets on every other tower,” said Corbanic, pointing at one of the massive engines. It filled the entire top of the stone watchtower, but unlike the walls of Dun Licinia, the towers lining the walls of Tarlion were thick enough to support the weight of a trebuchet and its supply of missiles.

  “That’s good,” said Arandar. “It was the khaldjari trebuchets that doomed us at Dun Calpurnia. If we had been able to destroy their engines, we would have been able to hold out for far longer.”

  “We will have four trebuchets on the western wall overlooking the river,” said Corbanic, “and two more on the northern wall able to hit the Moradel. If the Frostborn and their servants build siege engines and drag them onto the frozen river, we’ll be able to destroy them.”

  “Have some on the eastern wall as well,” said Arandar, and Corbanic nodded. “They will almost certainly attack from the north and from the river, but they might have enough forces to launch a simultaneous assault from the east.”

  “It will be done,” said Corbanic. He paused. “Do you think they will be able to freeze the sea as well, your Majesty?”

  “I doubt it, Lord Constable,” said Antenora. “Their magic drains away the heat from the water they freeze, and the ocean stores a tremendous amount of heat. On the river, they can brace the ice against either bank. This is impossible on the ocean. Though they might be able to send a small force into the harbor.”

  “Best to keep a guard on the harbor walls, then,” said Corbanic. “A small force breaking into the city at the wrong moment could decide the battle.”

  “Agreed,” said Arandar. “At least we have one advantage from squeezing so many men into the city. We’ll be able to man all the ramparts at once.” Granted, having the entire army in the city would exhaust their food supply in short order, to say nothing of the risk of disease spreading through the cramped quarters.

  But Arandar feared the siege would not last long enough for either hunger or disease to be a factor. The Frostborn were coming, and either Ridmark would bring their allies, and they would be victorious, or they would all be slain.

  And then Imaria would seize the Well and shatter the Black Mountain, and the chaos and madness of the shadow of Incariel would drown the world. Arandar was fighting to save his children and the realm of Andomhaim from the Frostborn, but he supposed he was also fighting to save the world from Imaria and Incariel’s shadow.

  Had any other High King ever fought a war with such stakes?

  Likely they had unknowingly. Had the urdmordar seized Tarlion, or the pagan orcs or the dark elves, then Tymandain Shadowbearer would have entered the Citadel and drawn on the power of the Well. For all its history, Andomhaim had been fighting to defend the world from the shadow of Incariel.

  Perhaps Arandar was the first High King to do so knowingly.

  He could have done without the weight of such terrible knowledge. He was fighting to save his children and his homeland, and anything beyond that was far too large for him to grasp. It was important, true, but it was not something he could let dominate his thinking. Perhaps such things were the rightful concern of the Keeper and the Dragon Knight, not the High King of Andomhaim.

  After Corbanic had finished showing him the state of walls, Arandar went to speak with Sir Joram and Jager.

  Jager had commandeered the Forum of the Sea, Tarlion’s southernmost forum, and had solved the problem of storage by piling their supplies in both the Forum and upon the stone quays jutting into the harbor. Corbanic’s son Sir Cortin had command of Tarlion’s militia, and Jager and Sir Joram had also commandeered Tarlion’s militia, using them to guard and distribute the supplies.

  “How much are we paying to use those warehouses?” said Arandar, baffled.

  “A very reasonable fee, your Majesty,” said Sir Joram. He seemed increasingly pleased with Jager’s assistance. Joram had done an exemplary job as the army’s quartermaster. While rations had been tight, no one had starved, and they hadn’t run out of arrows and other equipment. Though there had been shortages of everything, but Arandar had never been on a campaign where there hadn’t been shortages of something or another. “Prince Jager negotiated the rates. I was surprised. I expected that we would pay much more.”

  “The food is the most important thing in a siege,” said Jager. “That will be the first thing people attempt to steal, rather than crossbow bolts or spear shafts.” He gestured at the various piles of quivers of crossbow bolts. “So we’ll store the food in the warehouses, and everything else out here under tarps. Nothing that will rot in the weather, obviously.”

  “How did you get the merchants to agree to such a low rate?” said Arandar.

  Jager grinned. “I pointed out that they can’t rent out the warehouses to anyone else, since no one is presently coming to Tarlion to buy anything. And if the city falls to the Frostborn, they’ll lose all their property anyway, so they may as well turn a little profit while they can.”

  “We did need the space,” said Joram. “With so many men and orcs packed into the city walls, we have men raising their tents in all the Forums and every street wide enough to hold them. It’s just as well that the Anathgrimm are willing to camp outside the walls, else we might have run out of room entirely.”

  “Though once the Frostborn arrive,” said Jager, “we will have to bring the Anathgrimm into the walls anyway.”

  “Aye, we will,” said Arandar. “But once the Frostborn arrive, so many of our men will be on the walls anyway that it might not matter.”

  And he feared that the number of living soldiers within Tarlion would drop quickly once the Frostborn launched their attack.

  “Well, at least we shall be well-supplied for it,” said Jager. “Logistics is the sinews of war.”

  “It is infinite money that is the sinews of war,” said Master Vesilius. Like many of the high nobles, he seemed bemused that Jager had basically appointed himself quartermaster, but there was no arguing with the Prince Consort’s results. “Marcus Tullius Cicero said that upon Old Earth.”

  Jagger shrugged. “Until he turns up with that infinite money of his, we shall have to do the best we can with what we have.”

  After that Arandar had another meeting, and then another, all of them preparing every aspect of the city and the host of Andomhaim to face the Frostborn.

  And every time Arandar went to the walls, he looked at the river and to the north, waiting to see if the Frostborn had arrived or if the dwarves or the manetaurs had come.

  So far, neither allies nor enemies had arrived.

  ###

  Arandar spent his nights sleeping in the High King’s apartments in the Citadel.

  They seemed unbearably luxurious, but in truth there was nowhere else for him to sleep. He would have preferred to raise a pavilion in the Forum of the North or the Forum of the Crown, but between Sir Joram, Jag
er, and Prince Cadwall, they had soldiers bedding down on every available flat space within the walls, and any men who had relatives or kin inside the city were staying with them. It was just as well that Corbanic had seized the domi belonging to Tarrabus Carhaine and his supporters since that gave them more space for housing.

  Despite the crowding, no one but the High King could stay within the High King’s apartments, so Arandar slept alone in the High King’s oversized bed. Given that his father’s wife had been dead for years and that Uthanaric had been too foul-tempered to take a mistress in the final years of his life, Arandar wondered why his father had needed such a large bed, but it was comfortable enough that he didn’t care.

  He had a brief idea of finding a woman to share the bed with him, but sheer exhaustion squelched that thought. If he survived the war to come, he would have to remarry at some point. Besides, he had to set an example for Accolon and Nyvane, and it would not do for them to see their father carrying on with a mistress.

  Arandar slipped off into sleep, and in his sleep, he dreamed.

  He stood in the Forum of the Crown at the foot of the Citadel, the Great Cathedral rising on one side and the Castra of the Swordbearers upon the other. Behind him rose the stony crag supporting the towers and ramparts of the Citadel itself, the pale silvery spike of the Tower of the Moon rising high and sharp into the night sky. The Forum was empty, as were the streets. Arandar supposed that was how he knew this was a dream. In the waking world, the Forum and the streets would be packed with soldiers.

  Though why should he dream of an empty Tarlion? A warning? If he was dreaming about his fears, he would have seen Tarlion as a broken, burning shell, much as Dun Calpurnia had been before they fled south. Why dream about an empty city?

  “So you can see what is needful to see, of course.”

  The woman’s voice was acerbic, a little mocking, and all too familiar.

  Arandar sighed and turned as Morigna approached.

  She looked exactly as she had in the previous dream, exactly as she had in life, black-haired and black-eyed and wearing clothes of worn wool and leather beneath her cloak of tattered strips. In her right hand, she held her sigil-carved staff, and from time to time one of the sigils emitted a flicker of purple light.

  “This cannot be good,” said Arandar.

  “Oh?” said Morigna. “Why is that? Is it so disquieting when the dead visit your dreams?”

  “Yes, it is,” said Arandar. “It is also an ill omen. The last time you visited my dreams, you warned me of the danger to come. I prepared for it as best as I could, but it still nearly ended in disaster.”

  “But it did not end in disaster, High King of Andomhaim,” said Morigna. “You were nearly defeated, but you held out long enough for Ridmark to rescue you.” She tapped her fingers against the side of the staff for a moment, frowning at something he could not see. “The alternative was that you and your entire army would be slain below the walls of Dun Calpurnia, and the armies of the Frostborn would march unimpeded to the gates of Tarlion. Given those two alternatives, it seems you made the right decisions. Is that not a relief?”

  “It is something of a relief, yes,” said Arandar. “But the war isn’t over.”

  “No,” said Morigna. “No, it is not. But the end is coming swiftly. I can see the shadows of the future in general and the shadows of your future in particular. All shadows of all possible futures are converging at Tarlion. The war will be decided here, along with the future of the world. Indeed, whether the future will exist at all, for one of the things that Incariel wishes to abolish is the flow of time itself.”

  “Then you know the truth,” said Arandar. “You know what Imaria really intends to do.”

  “I do, High King of Andomhaim,” said Morigna. “The Frostborn themselves, for all their power and cold wisdom, were fooled just as easily as Tarrabus and the Enlightened. They think to take the Well and use its power to break all resistance. Instead, they shall clear the path for Imaria to free Incariel, and the Frostborn on this world will fall into the screaming chaos of Incariel’s madness with all other kindreds.”

  Arandar frowned. “If you knew this before, why could you not tell me?”

  “Because you are bound by time,” said Morigna, “still being mortal, and therefore you cannot perceive the shadows of the future. Had I told you of this before you learned of it, you would not have been able to understand me. My lips would have formed the words, but your mind would not have perceived them because they were at the wrong point in time.”

  “Why can you tell me now?” said Arandar.

  “Because you have reached the proper point in time, and I am only explaining to you things that you already know,” said Morigna. “Also, the hour of the Dragon Knight has come again, and the Dragon Knight goes to war against his ancient enemy, the bearer of Incariel’s shadow. The moment of their battle has come, and whether time exists on this world at all will soon be decided.”

  “I see,” said Arandar. “Can you give me any additional warnings?”

  “Not yet,” said Morigna. “My time has not yet come. Not until Ridmark calls me. For he has taken up the path of the Dragon Knight, and it is his path to walk.” The black eyes focused on him. “But you have your own path to walk, High King of Andomhaim.”

  “The defense of Tarlion from the Frostborn,” said Arandar. The change in her manner chilled him. Her voice was still acerbic and her manner mocking. Yet there was greater power in her than he had ever seen while she had been alive. She almost spoke with something like…

  Authority, perhaps?

  Just how far had she looked into the shadows of the future?

  “Yes,” said Morigna. “For that is the purpose of Andomhaim. It is the reason that Ardrhythain and the high elves convinced Malahan Pendragon and the first Keeper to settle at Tarlion. It is the reason Ardrhythain founded the Swordbearers and the Magistri among the men of Andomhaim. Perhaps it is even the purpose that God ordained for Tarlion in the deeps of time.”

  “You?” said Arandar. “Speaking of God? That almost makes me think this is a dream and not a visit from your spirit.”

  To his surprise, she smirked. “Hearing me speak of God? One does suppose that does seem out of character. When I yet lived, I thought religion was the business of hypocrites to shame their neighbors and a crutch for timid old men who were too spineless to ever lie with a woman. But in the end, those were only the attitudes Coriolus trained into me for his own advantage. Now I see the truth, and the truth of the cosmos is far too vast for any human mind to hold. As well should a drinking cup attempt to hold the entirety of the ocean. But God created the cosmos for a purpose, and in its rebellious rage against that harmony, Incariel would plunge you and every other mortal upon the world into endless, timeless chaos and agony.”

  “Then what must I do?” said Arandar. “You speak of deep things beyond my reach, beyond the reach of any man. Even the High King of Andomhaim.”

  “Why, in the end, the deep matters are no concern of yours,” said Morigna. “You must do what you have sworn to do, and that is all. You must defend Andomhaim. Imaria will throw the Frostborn against your walls, and you must hold until the Dragon Knight arrives to confront her at last.”

  “If you can give me any warning of what is it to come,” said Arandar, “anything at all, I would welcome it.”

  Morigna raised an eyebrow. “What is this, High King? No cutting remark about the sinister witch of the Wilderland?”

  Arandar snorted. “It is ill to speak evil of the dead, even if the dead remain as sharp-tongued as they were in life.” Morigna laughed. “And you are right. I am the High King, and my duty is to defend the realm. My own feelings and opinions are of no consequence in the face of my duty.”

  Morigna inclined her head. “Then I will show you the danger that you face. Imaria Shadowbearer needs the Well, but she cannot enter the city.”

  “The magical defenses on the walls,” said Arandar. “They kept Tarrabus and
the Enlightened out. Are they strong enough to keep the Shadowbearer outside?”

  “Behold,” said Morigna, and she gestured.

  The landscape blurred around him, and Arandar caught his balance as a sudden sensation of great height flooded through him.

  He turned and saw that he and Morigna now stood at the apex of the Tower of the Moon, seven hundred feet above the courtyard of the Citadel and over a thousand feet above Tarlion itself. To the south, he saw the endless expanse of the sea, and to the north, he saw the countryside and the River Moradel, all of it lit in the pale silvery glow from the Tower.

  “Look,” said Morigna, pointing into the city.

  Arandar blinked.

  The walls were glowing. White fire had been mixed into the mortar, seeming to mantle the stone in pale white light. It was as if a second wall of light had been built over the stone wall of the city, infusing it with additional strength.

  “Are those the magical defenses?” said Arandar.

  “Yes,” said Morigna. “You see them as the Keeper would see them. Or as Mara and Antenora would, since they both possess the Sight. Though one imagines Jager would feel obliged to add his own attempt at wit to whatever Mara said. Why the Anathgrimm have not killed him yet, I shall never know.”

  “Someone needs to tell the Anathgrimm what to do,” said Arandar, gazing at the walls, “and Jager is good at telling people what to do.” Despite their translucence, the magical defenses looked as unyielding and as strong as granite. “So long as those stand, Imaria cannot enter the city.”

  “No,” said Morigna.

  “So she needs to break those defenses to enter Tarlion,” said Arandar.

  “Do you know how the defenses are activated?” said Morigna.

  “The Chamber of the Basin,” said Arandar.

  Morigna nodded, and the world blurred around them.

  When it came back into focus, Arandar and Morigna stood in the Chamber of the Basin, a domed chamber off the great basilica that served as the High King’s hall at the foot of the Tower of the Moon. The round chamber looked like a small chapel, but the windows of stained glass showed episodes from the history of Andomhaim, of Keepers past battling dark elven lords and orcish warlocks and urdmordar. In the center of the room stood a life-sized bronze statue of a robed woman holding a broad basin. Currently, the basin held several inches of rippling, glowing water.