Frostborn: The Shadow Prison (Frostborn #15)

by Jonathan Moeller

  There was no more time for orders, no more time for strategy and planning. Arandar fought for his life alongside the others, knowing that if help did not arrive soon, the city was lost.

  ###

  Gavin fought back to back with Kharlacht, cutting down both living medvarth warriors and undead revenants.

  He let Kharlacht handle the living medvarth warriors, focusing his attention on the revenants. Even a glancing hit from Truthseeker was enough to destroy one of the undead. Antenora stood next to them, throwing gouts of fire in every direction since she no longer had the time to prepare her fireballs. The ramparts had degenerated into a brawl as men-at-arms and militiamen and Anathgrimm struggled against both living medvarth warriors and the revenants. They had destroyed all the siege towers along this section of the wall when the Frostborn cast their great spell, summoning the slain of the battle to fight for them once more, but two more towers had rolled up unopposed while the defenders fought the revenants. Now more living medvarth spilled onto the ramparts, striking with shield and axe.

  A pair of undead khaldjari came at Gavin, reaching for him with dead hands, their eyes and shoulders sheathed in the pale blue light of their masters’ magic. Gavin sidestepped, destroyed one revenant with a sweep of Truthseeker, and bashed his dwarven shield into the face of the second. The undead reeled, trying to recover its footing, and Gavin destroyed it with a quick slash of his soulblade.

  Kharlacht stumbled with a grunt of pain, a medvarth’s sword rebounding from the blue plates of his dark elven armor. The medvarth stalked after him, bear-like face twisted in a snarl of rage, the sword coming up for a killing blow. Gavin yelled and struck first, Truthseeker finding the medvarth’s throat in a spray of dark red blood.

  The medvarth fell, bounced off the rampart, and tumbled to the street below.

  Unfortunately, it rose again as a revenant.

  Kharlacht nodded his thanks, his chest rising and falling like a blacksmith’s bellows, sweat dripping down the green skin of his blunt face. He looked as exhausted as Gavin felt, and Kharlacht did not have a soulblade to grant him reserves of stamina and strength.

  “Gavin!”

  It was Antenora’s voice, filled with shock. Gavin looked around, seeking for more enemies, but for the moment they stood in an island of calm amidst the carnage. That would not last. Already he saw some of the men-at-arms falling back beneath the onslaught, and…

  “Gavin!” said Antenora again, pointing her staff. “Look! To the north!”

  Gavin blinked sweat from his eyes and looked over the battlements, and a few facts started to penetrate his exhausted mind.

  The advance of the Frostborn had come to a sudden stop, the medvarth and locusari warriors faltering as if something had disturbed them. Had the fierceness of the defense dismayed them? No, that couldn’t be it. The Frostborn cared nothing about casualties among their slave kindreds, and they had been winning the fight. Gavin also noticed the fighting faltering along the ramparts as both men and medvarth stared at the sky in astonishment.

  Then the obvious, the blindingly obvious, penetrated his reeling thoughts.

  “What the hell?” croaked Camorak, as amazed as Gavin had ever heard him.

  A city floated in the sky to the north.

  Gavin had never seen anything like it.

  The city hovered perhaps two thousand feet above the ground, riding on a massive piece of rock the shape of a round, upside-down shield. He saw a large white tower rising from the heart of the city, and around it revolved hundreds of smaller, thinner towers. Near the city flew hundreds of small forms, and Gavin glimpsed shapes in golden armor riding strange beasts that looked like winged lions with the heads of eagles.

  “What is it?” said Kharlacht, bewildered.

  “I…I don’t know,” said Gavin. He looked at Antenora. He expected her to say that it reminded her of some engine of war or another she had seen on Old Earth.

  Instead, she looked as astonished as he felt.

  “I do not know, Gavin Swordbearer,” said Antenora. The amazement made her look younger, almost healthy. “I have never seen magic of such potency.”

  “Good God,” said Camorak. “I would say I had drunk too much, but I haven’t had any drink in weeks. Maybe I took a blow to the head.”

  “No,” said Kharlacht. “It is the high elves. That golden armor? Rhyannis wore armor like that when Ardrhythain came to us at Urd Morlemoch.”

  “The high elves,” repeated Gavin, still unable to believe his eyes. He knew that the last of the high elves dwelled in Cathair Solas, their sole remaining city. Could Cathair Solas fly?

  “And they brought help,” said Kharlacht, pointing into the shadow below the immense flying city.

  Just at the edge of his sight, Gavin made out ranks of marching warriors, some of them in chain mail, some of them in bronze-colored metal.

  The armies of the dwarves and the manetaurs had arrived.

  ###

  Arandar cut down another revenant, Excalibur’s fury filling him as he battled the creatures of dark magic. So far, the Swordbearers had kept the revenants from overwhelming the defense, but there were simply too many of the creatures. Sooner or later, they would be driven back, and then…

  He realized that a change had come over the battle. The boom of signal drums came from outside the wall. That had been a constant, but now the beat of the drums seemed faster, more insistent. Perhaps the Frostborn were summoning their final reserves to finish off the defenders. The Swordbearers and the men-at-arms faltered. Well, he could not blame them. He had sworn to defend Andomhaim from its foes, and he had failed them…

  But the medvarth were faltering, too.

  No, they weren’t faltering, they were looking at the sky.

  “My God,” he heard Queen Mara say.

  That caught Arandar’s attention. She hardly ever swore or even raised her voice. He looked to where she stood with Qhazulak and Father Zhorlacht, her green eyes wide with astonishment as she stared at the sky.

  The sky? More frost drakes?

  Even the dour Anathgrimm looked stunned.

  Arandar took a few steps to the side and flinched in astonishment.

  There was a flying city heading for Tarlion.

  It was impossible.

  Utterly impossible, yet there it was. Around the towers of the floating city Arandar glimpsed smaller shapes, golden-armored warriors riding on the backs of majestic beasts that looked like lions with the heads of eagles. Was this some new weapon of the Frostborn? No, it couldn’t be. This looked nothing like the creatures and the magic of the Frostborn.

  “Perhaps the Dominus Christus is descending in glory to judge the living and the dead,” said Zhorlacht.

  “Not yet,” said Mara. “It’s the high elves. I recognize the aura of power around the city.” Arandar wondered what the mighty magic bearing the city aloft would look like to the Sight of Mara, and decided that he did not want to know. “It looks like the aura of Ardrhythain when I saw him at Urd Morlemoch. Those are high elves.”

  “This must be Ridmark’s doing,” said Dux Constantine, wiping blood and sweat from his face. He managed a tired laugh. “Only Ridmark could convince the high elves to come to war against the Frostborn.”

  “Yes,” said Arandar, his mind catching up with his eyes as sudden hope flooded through him.

  The battle was not over yet.

  The Dragon Knight and the Keeper had returned at last.

  Chapter 22: The Keeper’s Alliance

  Calliande gazed at the stricken city of Tarlion, horrified and relieved at the same time.

  Horrified, as she thought of the thousands that must have died in such fighting.

  Relived, because the city had not yet fallen. She saw fighting along the walls, saw the wrecks of siege towers scattered below the ramparts of Tarlion. Somehow the Frostborn had blasted open the main gate, destroying both the doors and the archway itself, and that would have destroyed the keystone in the gate. That had broken
a portion of the magical defenses on the northern wall, allowing the Frostborn to bring their magic to bear against the defenders. A huge mass of medvarth warriors had charged the city, pouring towards the gate and the intact siege towers, and the fighting on the walls and in the Forum of the North must have been brutal.

  But a fierce, wild hope rose within her at the sight. They were not too late! Despite everything, despite all her failures and setbacks, they were not too late to save the city. Ridmark’s plan had worked. The entire might of the Frostborn was arrayed against the walls of Tarlion, and the city had not fallen. The host of Andomhaim could still fight. The walls of Tarlion could serve as the anvil and the armies of the dwarves and the manetaurs as the hammer.

  Along with the magic of the high elves.

  They could yet be victorious. Perhaps there would be no need for the high elves to use their terrible weapon, whatever it was.

  Calliande knew that somewhere in that vast host, or perhaps even now within the walls of Tarlion, Imaria Licinius Shadowbearer awaited her.

  Victory or defeat depended on finding Shadowbearer and killing her.

  “Behold,” said King Axazamar, his voice and face grim. “Our ancient enemy has indeed returned in might and power.”

  Turcontar let out a rumbling growl and struck the shaft of his spear against his shield of red steel. “Good! My spear thirsts, and the only thing that can quench it is the cold blood of the Frostborn!”

  “Then it seems your spear shall drink its fill this day, Red King,” said Prince Narzaxar, “and then a thousand times more.”

  “The enemy turns to face us,” said Curzonar.

  The adad-khalath was right. Drums boomed over the Frostborn host, and the vast body of medvarth warriors was wheeling to face them. No, about half of the medvarth warriors, she judged. The other half were continuing the assault on Tarlion. To judge from the flare of power before the Sight, the Frostborn were also sending thousands of revenants their way. The Frostborn themselves were coming to face the new threat, gathering power as they went.

  The scope of the coming battle chilled her. There were nearly four hundred thousand warriors gathered within and without Tarlion, and the fate of this world and every kindred would be decided here. Either they would defeat the Frostborn…or the Frostborn would win everything, and crush every single one of their opponents in a single battle.

  And if the Frostborn won, Imaria would claim the Well of Tarlion without any struggle.

  “I suggest, Red King,” said Axazamar, “that we keep to the original plan. Our armies are already in the proper position. Let my taalkrazdors and your warriors strike from the right wing and the left wing, with your tygrai ready to exploit any holes you make, and my soldiers prepared to follow the taalkrazdors and break the survivors.”

  Turcontar showed his fangs in a smile. “You seem confident in your taalkrazdors, King Axazamar.”

  “I am, said Axazamar. “They are the deadliest creation of the khaldari, and they proved of great use against the Frostborn in the last war.”

  “They did,” said Calliande.

  “And what of the high elves?” said Turcontar, giving the bulk of Cathair Solas a wary glance.

  “It will be as they said,” said Calliande. “They will engage the magic of the Frostborn. Your battle will be one of steel and blood and flesh, Red King. Theirs shall be one of magic.”

  “Bah,” said Turcontar. “Better to leave them to it. I am weary of magic.” A strange, wild light had come into the old Hunter’s eyes. He knew he was going to his death, and he seemed to be looking forward to it.

  “And where shall the Dragon Knight be?” said Axazamar.

  “Wherever I am most needed,” said Ridmark. “At first, that will be dealing with the revenants. After that…the Keeper will be with me, and we will assist in the battle. But I fear our main task must be to find Imaria Shadowbearer and stop her from accessing the Well.” His eyes shifted to Calliande. “Has she reached the Well yet?”

  “No,” said Calliande. “I’m certain of it. The Sight would show it if she had entered the Citadel and tapped the Well. There are also magical defenses around the Chamber of the Well. They’re not as potent as the ones in the walls, but they will slow her for a moment.”

  She looked back at Cathair Solas. If Imaria tapped the Well, would Ardrhythain unleash the Final Defense? For that matter, if Imaria reached the Well, how long would it take her to tap its power and destroy the Black Mountain? Calliande didn’t know, but given the sheer scale of the forces involved, it would take even Imaria a while to cast the necessary spells for such a feat of magic.

  “So be it,” said Axazamar. “May the gods of stone and silence grant us victory.”

  “And may the prey perish beneath our talons,” said Turcontar. Calliande didn’t know what the manetaurs believed regarding life after death. She knew they believed in some form of reincarnation, but they refused to speak of it to outsiders.

  Ridmark nodded. “I’ll need to deal with the revenants first. Calliande, Caius, and Third? Are you ready to travel?”

  “I am,” said Third, calm as ever, and Calliande nodded.

  “I think it might be best,” said Caius with a sigh, “if I remained with the King and my elder brother.”

  Calliande blinked. “You won’t come with us?”

  Caius smiled. “You are the Keeper of Andomhaim. You are married to the Dragon Knight. You are accompanied by a daughter of a dark elven lord who has gained control of her own powers. To be blunt, you are capable of waging fights beyond my scope. If I accompany you, the best I can achieve is to get in the way.” He sighed. “I will pray for you, but when you confront creatures with the power of the Shadowbearer or the Lord Commander of the Frostborn, I fear that is all I can do.”

  He was right. She could tell it pained him to admit that, but he was right.

  “You can remain with us,” said Narzaxar, to Calliande’s surprise. “You are still a Taalkhan of the khaldari of Khald Tormen, whatever else you might choose to call yourself now.” He snorted. “I imagine Father would be amused to see all three of his sons going to war together.”

  “Astonished, more likely,” murmured Axazamar. “Well, if we fight the Frostborn with the same ferocity that we argue, victory is assured.”

  “I hope to see you soon,” said Caius, “after we are victorious.”

  “As do I,” said Ridmark. He smiled. “It has been a long path, hasn’t it, since that first day in the Northerland when you were trying to convert the Mhalekites?”

  Narzaxar blinked. “You were trying to preach the human gospel to Mhalekite orcs?”

  “I was,” said Caius. “In hindsight, it may not have been one of my best ideas. But the hand of God was on us that day, for I met the Gray Knight, and I fear the world changed because of it.” He smiled. “But for the better, I think. It has been a very long path, but it was well that you walked it, Ridmark. Else who knows what disasters might have befallen?”

  “A long path,” said Ridmark, “and we’re at the end, but it isn’t over yet.” He took a deep breath and lifted the burning sword. “The revenants first.”

  The sword flared, and the now-familiar gate of mist and pale light appeared before them. Ridmark stepped through it, and Calliande and Third followed him.

  ###

  The gate closed behind Ridmark.

  It had not taken him far, maybe a mile and a half closer to Tarlion. Cathair Solas floated behind him. He heard the tramp of marching boots as the dwarves moved to offer battle to their opponents.

  The revenants were much closer.

  There were thousands of them, and most of them looked like fresh-slain medvarths. Likely the Frostborn had been biding their time, holding back their magic until they broke the gate, planning to raise a horde of undead and send them charging into the city. He had to admit it was an ingenious stratagem. The men of Andomhaim, the three orcish kingdoms, and the Anathgrimm had given a good accounting of themselves to judge from th
e sheer number of undead medvarths marching towards the dwarves and the manetaurs. Of course, the Frostborn had planned to turn that against the men of Andomhaim all along, sending their own slain soldiers back into the melee.

  Caledhmaer had other ideas.

  The revenants charged. Third had her swords ready in her hands, and white fire blazed along the length of the staff of the Keeper. Ridmark lifted Caledhmaer with both hands, and he felt the sword’s familiar wrath, its fury and hatred of dark magic.

  He stepped forward, drove Caledhmaer into the chest of the nearest undead medvarth, and released the sword’s power.

  As before, the fire exploded from the blade, ripping through the revenant and sending it motionless to the ground. The fire erupted from the fallen revenant, spreading outward in a widening circle as it raced through revenant after revenant, hundreds of them and then thousands of the creatures at once. Ridmark stood before a wall of howling flame that raced towards the south, a storm of fire that left smoldering and charred revenants in its wake.

  It happened in an instant. One moment Ridmark stood before a charging army of undead. The next a firestorm howled before him as if the fields north of Tarlion had caught flame. Then a moment later the fires cleared away, leaving only charred corpses in their wake.

  Ridmark lowered the sword, looking for more revenants, but there were none. The fire of Caledhmaer had destroyed them all once more. To judge from the brief flares of fire he saw upon the walls of Tarlion, the sword’s power had also carried the fire into Tarlion itself, destroying the undead that the Frostborn had raised within the city.

  “No matter how many times I see that,” said Calliande in a quiet voice, “I will never get used to it.”

  “Good,” said Ridmark. The sword held tremendous power. Too much power, in truth, for any one man to wield. Had they faced a threat any less dire than the Frostborn and Imaria Shadowbearer, Ridmark might have refused to seek the sword of the Dragon Knight. But they fought to save the world itself, and Ridmark would not turn aside from any weapon that came to his hand.