“The Anathgrimm should come to the battle as well, Queen Mara,” said Qhazulak. “The medvarth will lead the Frostborn assault, and we wish to add to our trophies.”
Arandar glanced back at the Lord Champion and the Queen.
“Do whatever the High King tells you to do,” said Mara.
“We shall be glad of your help,” said Arandar. The Anathgrimm had turned the tide when Tarrabus Carhaine had abandoned them to die during the first battle of Dun Calpurnia.
Perhaps they could help stem the tide now.
He raced down the stairs and into the northern forum, watching the soldiers forming up before the shattered pile of rubble that had been the gate. At least with so many people trapped in the city, they had enough men to hold the ramparts and to put a strong force before the ruined gate. Already Swordbearers and men-at-arms and the orcish warriors of the three kingdoms were forming up, with Anathgrimm reinforcing their lines.
They had enough soldiers to hold all the defenses, but the Frostborn had enough warriors to assault the walls and the ruined gate at the same time. And now that the magical defenses were breached, the Frostborn could bring both their magic and their frost drakes to bear.
The men of Andomhaim would hold for a long time, and they would inflict dreadful losses on their foes.
But in the end, the Frostborn would triumph.
Unless aid came first.
They had to hold until Ridmark brought the manetaurs and the dwarves to their aid. They had to hold, whatever the cost, no matter how brutal the fighting. It would have been easier to hold if Imaria hadn’t found a way to shatter the keystone in the gate, but Arandar could not think of anything he could have done differently to prevent it.
Now all that was left was to fight in defense of his city or die in the battle.
Arandar drew Excalibur and watched as men formed up to meet the enemy.
Chapter 20: The Host of the Dragon Knight
Calliande stepped through the gate and looked around.
“Where are we?” she said.
Even as she looked, the answer came to her. They were a few miles to the east of the Moradel road, in the fields once tilled by the empty villages that had been destroyed during Tarrabus’s march to Tarlion. To the west, she saw the Moradel glittering in the sun, the wide river sheathed in a thick layer of ice. They were still close to Tarlion, but they had gone far enough north that the sword of the Dragon Knight hadn’t destroyed the ice covering the river.
“We’re about seven miles north of the city,” said Ridmark. He looked around, frowning as he thought. “We’re far enough from the Frostborn that they won’t be able to react until it is too late, and there’s enough empty space here that the armies can maneuver.”
“Should we open the gates closer to the city?” said Caius. “If the Frostborn are preparing for an assault on Tarlion, the High King will need aid sooner rather than later.”
“He will,” said Ridmark, “but any closer, and the Frostborn will realize what is happening and act to stop us. I don’t think I’ll be able to access any of the sword’s other powers while it’s holding those gates open, and the sooner we have some dwarven taalkrazdors and manetaur arbiters to defend the gates, the better chance we’ll have of getting both armies here intact.”
“Will the Frostborn realize what we are doing?” said Third. She gazed to the south, a few strands of black hair dancing around her pale face in the wind. “With the amount of magic the sword employs, they might sense it.”
“They might,” said Calliande. “I don’t think we’ll know until we try. But Kalomarus never tried anything like this. He used the sword’s power to move us around in haste from place to place. It never even occurred to me that it might be possible to use the sword to transport an army.”
“One way or another,” said Ridmark, “we’re about to find out.” His blue eyes turned to her. “Are you ready?”
Calliande took a deep breath. “Yes.” She had been working towards this moment for the last year, hoping to gather a grand alliance to defeat the Frostborn. But in a way, she had been working towards this moment for centuries, ever since she realized the danger and had gone into the long sleep below the Tower of Vigilance.
She had been fighting the Frostborn since she had been taken into the Order of the Magistri so long ago, and now after two and a half centuries, the final battle of that war loomed before her.
She wouldn’t have lived to reach it if not for Ridmark.
The Keeper and the Dragon Knight. Perhaps it had always been meant to be.
“Yes,” said Calliande again. She pushed aside her emotions. “I am ready. The dwarves first, or the manetaurs?”
“Manetaurs,” said Ridmark. “With all respect to the dwarves, the manetaur arbiters are stronger wizards than the stonescribes, and I would prefer to get them here as soon as possible.”
Caius smiled. “The arbiters might be stronger wizards, but the stonescribes are more orderly.”
“Truly,” said Ridmark. “Once I have the gate open for the manetaurs, I want to bring the dwarves through as well.”
Calliande frowned. “You can maintain both gates at once?”
“I can’t,” said Ridmark, “but I think the sword can. And if it can, we can get both armies here in half the time.”
“Then let’s not delay any longer,” said Calliande.
He nodded and raised the sword in his right hand, and Calliande stepped close to him, intermingling his fingers with hers on the sword’s hilt. His hand felt hard and dry and strong, and Calliande remembered the feel of that hand as it slid down the skin of her back. God, but she was as giddy as a new bride sometimes. Which she supposed was only fair, since she was a new bride. She just hadn’t had the chance to enjoy it. Maybe if they were victorious, she and Ridmark could spend some time alone together, away from their duties and cares.
Alas, that seemed a long way off.
Once again, Calliande cleared her thoughts, cold focus settling over her mind, and she reached for the Sight. She sent the Sight seeking for Turcontar and Curzonar and the rest of the manetaur host, and their images appeared before her Sight, accompanied by flickering glimpses of the tygrai spearmen and the manetaur warriors in their mail and the proud Red Princes in their crimson armor.
“Now,” said Calliande.
Ridmark called on the power of the sword of the Dragon Knight, and the gate opened before them.
It was far larger than the other gates he had previously created, nearly ten yards high and ten wide. The curtain of mist rolled up and began shining with white light, and Calliande saw the surge of power with the Sight.
“It’s open,” said Ridmark. “And the flow of time should be correct.” He grimaced. “I think you had better go through the gate and talk to Turcontar. I need to concentrate on the gate, and the gate might collapse if I try to go through it.”
“Very well,” said Calliande.
“Third, Caius,” said Ridmark. “Go with her.”
“No,” said Calliande. “Stay with him.” She met Ridmark’s gaze. “I’ll be safe with the manetaurs, and I’ll be right back. You said yourself that you can’t use any of the sword’s other powers while holding the gates. If the Frostborn realize what is happening and attack, you’ll need their help.”
She saw that he did not like it, but he could not deny the argument and nodded. “Very well.”
“I’ll be quick,” said Calliande, and she took a deep breath to collect herself, and then strode forward and through the gate.
She felt the moment of spinning disorientation once again, and then she was back in central Caerdracon, standing in the heart of the manetaur camp. The Sight had guided her well. Red King Turcontar himself stood a short distance away, flanked by the Red Princes. Curzonar stood near his father, as did Tazemazar and dozens of other arbiters in their leather cowls.
Silence fell over the manetaurs as Calliande approached.
She stopped a dozen paces away and offered a
deep bow. “Red King.”
“Keeper,” said Turcontar. “The hour has come at last?”
“It has, Red King,” said Calliande, straightening up. “The Dragon Knight has called forth a gate, and it opens in the fields north of Tarlion. The Frostborn are assailing the city, and the hour has come to act. As the Keeper of Andomhaim, I call upon you to honor our alliance, and to bring fire and sword to the Frostborn.”
“I shall honor this alliance,” growled Turcontar, “and even if there were no Andomhaim and no Keeper, I should still bring bloody war to the Frostborn. They were the puppets of the dark power that corrupted Red Prince Kurdulkar, and the Frostborn shall pay for their folly.”
“Then I urge you to march at once,” said Calliande, gesturing at the gate shimmering behind her. “The gate will last long enough for your army to pass, but the sooner you go through, the sooner you can bring battle to the Frostborn.”
“Adad-khalath?” said Turcontar to Curzonar.
“We are prepared, Red King,” said Curzonar. “The host has been ready to march since we last spoke with the Keeper and the Dragon Knight.”
“Then let it march,” said Turcontar.
“I shall await you on the other side,” said Calliande. “If you will forgive my absence, I must speak to the dwarves. They will be coming through at the same time.”
“Go,” said Turcontar. “I look forward to seeing the King of Khald Tormen, and together we shall discuss our strategy to annihilate the Frostborn.”
Calliande bowed again, turned, and walked to the gate. As she did, the manetaurs lifted their heads and roared, thousands of them at once, the sound so loud that her entire body vibrated with it. A moment later the higher-pitched hunting yowls of the tygrai rang out along the roars of the manetaurs. Both the manetaurs and the tygrai were alien to humans, but the emotion in the cries was easy to understand.
The manetaurs and the tygrai were going to war, and they were glad of it.
Calliande stepped through the gate, the disorientation going through her again. The sound of the roars cut off the moment she stepped through the gate. Ridmark stood just where she had left him, Third and Caius watching the surrounding fields. She reached for the Sight, but she saw only the blazing power of Ridmark’s sword and the magic flowing through the gate.
The Frostborn had not responded. That was good. But it also meant that their whole attention was bent towards Tarlion, which was bad for Arandar and his army.
“They’re coming?” said Ridmark.
“They are,” said Calliande.
Even as she spoke, the gate rippled, and Curzonar himself stepped through, resplendent in his red plate armor. Tazemazar came at his side, and then Martellar and more of Curzonar’s sworn khalaths. The manetaurs kept moving, clearing the path for the troops coming through behind them. Calliande almost told Curzonar to make sure he moved far enough to give room for the rest of the army, but Curzonar and his khalaths moved to the side, giving instructions to the manetaurs as they passed through.
“They seem to have matters in hand,” said Ridmark. “The dwarves?”
Calliande turned her attention back to him. “Then you are sure the sword can hold open both gates at once?”
“I believe so,” said Ridmark.
Calliande nodded and took his hand again, sending the Sight for King Axazamar and the host of the Three Kingdoms of the dwarves. They proved easier to find than the manetaurs, thanks to the large number of spells the stonescribes had written upon the armor and weapons of many of the dwarven host. The taalkrazdors themselves radiated arcane power.
“I’ve found them,” said Calliande.
Ridmark nodded, took a deep breath, and called on the sword’s power.
To Calliande’s eyes of flesh, the fire crackling around the blade of red gold did not change. But to her Sight, the blade burned with power. Ridmark’s face tightened with concentration, and about thirty yards away another gate opened. Like the first one, it was ten yards by ten yards, a rippling square of gray mist and light.
Ridmark let out a long breath.
“Are you all right?” said Calliande.
“Yes,” said Ridmark. “The sword’s doing all the work. I have to concentrate. Just as well that the Anathgrimm are already with Arandar. The sword is at the limit of its capacity.”
“I’ll talk to the dwarves quickly, then,” said Calliande.
She headed towards the second gate and stepped through it.
Disorientation blurred through her, and then she was walking through the trampled grasslands of northeastern Khaluusk. Everywhere she looked, she saw the armor of dwarven warriors, and she approached the royal party on their sturdy Kothluuskan horses. King Axazamar and Prince Narzaxar and their nobles and guards reined up as Calliande approached. They had been riding towards the gate, which rippled behind her like a translucent gray banner.
“Keeper of Andomhaim,” said King Axazamar, his voice solemn, his face as grim as a statue carved of gray granite. “The hour has come at last?”
“It has, King of Khald Tormen,” said Calliande with a bow. “The Dragon Knight has opened the gate, and it will take you to a field a few miles north of Tarlion. The manetaurs are already gathering there. The Frostborn are assailing the host of Andomhaim within the walls of Tarlion, and we hope you will join the manetaurs in an attack.”
“We shall,” said Axazamar. “We shall honor our alliance, and fight to stop the Frostborn and the shadow of Incariel before they consume us all.” He turned to Narzaxar. “Prince Narzaxar, begin the march.”
“It shall be as you say,” said Narzaxar, and he turned and gave orders.
“I shall await you on the other side of the gate,” said Calliande.
She turned and jogged back to the gate, intending to get clear before the dwarves moved through it. Horns blew a complicated series of blasts, and already companies of dwarven soldiers were marching towards the gate. It looked like the dwarves intended to go through the gate even faster than the manetaurs.
Calliande stepped through the gate and the whirling instant of disorientation and then headed to join Ridmark and Caius and Third. Ridmark still stood motionless, holding the sword as it blazed. On the other side of him, Calliande saw the tygrai pouring through the first gate, splitting up into companies as they moved to their different positions in the order of march.
The first dwarven warriors emerged from the second gate, followed by a pair of massive taalkrazdors, the ground vibrating a beneath their armored boots. She felt a moment of…not quite disorientation, but perhaps vertigo. In the space of twenty minutes, she had traveled to Caerdracon, back to the fields of Tarlion, to Khaluusk, and then to the fields of Tarlion once more. Even on horseback, a journey like that would take weeks. With the power of Ridmark’s sword, it hadn’t even taken half an hour.
She felt a chill as she looked at the weapon burning in his grasp. No wonder it had tested him so horribly. With that kind of power, a man could conquer the world. The chill turned into an iron resolution. Calliande didn’t want to rule the world, she only wanted to save it from the Frostborn and the shadow of Incariel.
Maybe the sword would help them do it.
Ridmark grunted and went to one knee. Calliande hurried closer, fearful that he had been injured.
“Are you all right?” she said.
“I am,” said Ridmark. “Physically, I mean. The sword’s doing all the work. I just have to concentrate on keeping it doing the work.” He took a deep breath and looked at Calliande. “I’m not going to be much use for anything else until the gates are closed. I think you should invite Turcontar and Axazamar and their chief nobles here. If they want to attack the Frostborn independently, they will, but we’ll be far more effective if they can coordinate their efforts.”
“Neither Turcontar nor Axazamar are fools,” said Calliande, remembering her conversations with both kings. Both were old and near the end of their lives, but Axazamar would do his duty to his kindred, and Turcontar wan
ted to die in glory. But both knew the Frostborn represented a mortal threat and were determined to see the Frostborn destroyed.
“Then let us speak with kings,” said Caius.
###
Ridmark focused upon the sword, directing the power.
It was a strange sensation, unlike anything he had ever experienced. He was accustomed to exertions of willpower, had grown almost indifferent to them. For years, he had forced himself to travel farther, run faster, hit harder, dodge quicker. He had driven himself and his body to the edge again and again.
So, he was used to exertion.
He just wasn’t used to exerting his mind for such a long time.
Ridmark felt like he ought to have been exhausted and sweaty. He wasn’t. His body felt rested and at ease. If anything, he was getting a little hungry. But his head hurt as if he had spent hours trying to read a book in dim light, though his eyes felt fine.
Was this how it felt to use magic? He knew that Calliande was always exhausted after an extended session of spell casting. It seemed to drain her stamina the way that extended physical exertion drained his. Or maybe the use of magic didn’t feel that way, and this was something unique to the Dragon Knights.
The nobles of both the dwarves and the manetaurs had gathered around him, but Ridmark barely noticed, his whole attention on Caledhmaer as its power held the gates open. Calliande was speaking to them, and he heard the soft rasp of Axazamar’s voice and the deeper rumble of Turcontar as they discussed strategy. From time to time Calliande interjected with a suggestion, and then Axazamar and Turcontar agreed. She was good at this kind of thing. She had forged the alliance against the Frostborn once before, and she had done it again, however much she tried to credit him. He had kept her alive, yes, but he would not have been able to convince the dwarves and the manetaurs to march against the Frostborn as she had.
Third brought him a cup of water, and Ridmark murmured his thanks, drinking the water down without really noticing it. His throat had been parched, come to think of it. He closed his eyes, still on one knee, and focused on maintaining his will on the sword, directing it to hold the gates open.
Frostborn: The Shadow Prison (Frostborn #15) Page 29
