“Fear not, little thief,” said Imaria. “You are inconsequential, but you, too, shall be freed from all matter and time and causality. You shall know freedom and madness and revel in it.”
Jager frowned. “What the hell does that nonsense mean?”
If Imaria was going to kill him, she could at least say something that made sense first.
Darkness swirled around Imaria, and she vanished.
Jager blinked. She had just…left? Well, he supposed that made sense. He was no threat to her, so why waste time killing him?
Especially if she was about to break open the Black Mountain and kill them all anyway?
“Was that…her?” said Martin. “Old Dux Gareth’s daughter?”
“Aye,” said Jager. “The one who opened the world gate, that’s what you’re trying to say.” He looked around. “Where did she go?” Apparently, she could travel the way Mara and Third could.
“Consort of the Queen,” said Khorzuuk, pointing. “Look!”
Jager looked at the Citadel.
Far above, before the gates of the fortress, shimmered a wall of pale white light. Before the shimmering wall stood a slim figure in dark armor, shadows pouring from her hands to strike at the wall of light. Jager was no expert on magic, and in truth had seen far more of magic than he had ever really wanted.
But it looked like the shadows were chewing through the pale wall of light.
Which means Imaria was breaking into the Citadel to claim the Well.
“Change of plans,” said Jager. “We need to find some Swordbearers, and we need to find them right now.” He sighed. “I do not get paid enough for this.”
Khorzuuk frowned behind his black mask. “The consort to the Queen is not paid.”
“Exactly my point, Khorzuuk. Exactly my point.”
###
A shadow fell over Gavin as he killed another medvarth.
He looked up in alarm, half-fearing that another taalkrazdor had scaled the wall and was about to land on him, or that maybe another frost drake was about to attack. But he saw no frost drakes overhead, and all the taalkrazdors were below, battling the medvarth and the Frostborn.
Instead, a huge mass of rock floated overhead, rising higher as it did.
Cathair Solas had floated directly over Tarlion.
“Why is it doing that?” Gavin heard himself say.
“I do not know,” said Kharlacht.
“It is nearly a mile above us now,” said Antenora, gazing up at the city. “I think…yes, it is coming to a stop.”
She was right. The floating city still revolved slowly, and from what Gavin could glimpse of the towers they were still rotating, but Cathair Solas no longer moved south.
Instead, it floated a mile over the sky.
Directly over the Citadel, the very place that Imaria Licinius Shadowbearer wanted to go.
Why?
Gavin didn’t know, but for some reason, he felt a chill as he looked at the city of the high elves, like looking at an executioner’s blade in the last instant before it fell. But why should he think that? The high elves were fighting the Frostborn, were they not? Surely they would not attack Tarlion.
The blast of a trumpet pushed the musings out of his head.
“That’s the call to assemble,” said Camorak, looking to the east. “The Forum of the North. The High King must be getting ready to push out of the city and join the attack on the Frostborn.”
“We shall be needed,” said Kharlacht.
“Then let us not delay,” said Antenora. “Perhaps we shall be able to rejoin the Keeper.”
Gavin joined the others as they headed for the ramparts stairs, a steady stream of men-at-arms and militiamen flowing towards the Forum of the North, save for those who remained behind to help the wounded. Perhaps the time had come to bring the battle to the Frostborn after so many setbacks and defeats.
He tried to put the floating shape of Cathair Solas out of his mind.
Chapter 24: Ashes to Ashes
“Keep at it!” said Dux Kors. “Come on, lads, let’s show these bear-devils how the men of Andomhaim fight!”
“Kill!” roared Qhazulak, his axe dripping with blood. “Kill the enemy!”
The battle raged through the Forum of the North as the medvarth fell back towards the ruined gate. Neither the medvarth nor the locusari warriors seemed pleased to give up ground, and they fought ferociously for every inch. But this time the momentum was with the men of Andomhaim. The flow of medvarth reinforcements through the gate slackened as warriors were drawn off to fight the manetaurs and the dwarves. Arandar had hoped that the taalkrazdors would remain to finish fighting the medvarth, but the dwarven warriors had retreated. Mara said that they had gone to fight the Frostborn themselves, and Arandar had to admit that was where the taalkrazdors would be the most useful.
The men of Andomhaim would simply have to kill the medvarths themselves.
During the fighting, the huge shadow of Cathair Solas had passed overhead, the city coming to a stop over the Citadel itself. Arandar wondered why the high elves had gone to the effort of moving their city there, and then Dux Kors had made a joke about fighting in the shade for once. Cathair Solas had passed over them without doing anything, and now hovered overhead far above the Citadel. The city had risen higher and higher, so high that it had to be at least a mile above the ground now.
Arandar could spare it no thought.
The battle demanded his attention.
Another group of medvarth broke through the shield wall, and again Arandar and the other Swordbearers rushed to meet them. Arandar’s knees and shoulders ached from the effort of parrying blows, and his arms throbbed from the effort of swinging Excalibur. The soulblade’s magic filled him with strength and stamina, but the fighting had gone on for so long that Arandar was reaching his physical limits.
He was not as young as he had once been.
Of course, even as a man of twenty, he still would have been exhausted.
Arandar and the Swordbearers fell into their usual tactics against the medvarth warriors. Excalibur’s keen edge shattered the thick shields, and the other Swordbearers and the Anathgrimm fell upon the medvarth, killing them before they recovered from the loss of their shields. Master Marhand drove Torchbrand forward, his soulblade seeking the armpit of a medvarth warrior as the creature raised its sword. Dux Constantine took off the head of a medvarth with a sweep of Hopesinger, the medvarth’s blood dripping from the burning blade. Qhazulak wielded his double-headed axe with the vigor of a much younger man, taking heads and limbs from the medvarth warriors and adding to the collection of corpses piled on the blood-drenched ground of the Forum of the North.
A few moments later the medvarth incursion had been repelled, and the shield wall reformed. Arandar tried to catch his breath, sweat dripping down his face, his shoulders burning beneath the weight of his armor.
“Is there no end to the damned things?” said Master Marhand. The old Swordbearer looked as tired as Arandar felt.
“Even the Frostborn will not have infinite numbers,” said Arandar.
The enemy had been pushed back to only a dozen yards from the ruined gate. Still the medvarth tried to break into the city, but the shield wall was holding and even advancing. Another volley of ice spikes came from a group of cogitaers behind the medvarth, but the attack collapsed against the sputtering wards of the exhausted Magistri.
“I’m not sure,” said Prince Cadwall, his sword in hand, his fine armor spattered with blood, “but I think they’re giving up on the attack.”
He was right. The Frostborn had been all but driven from the walls of Tarlion. A few clusters of medvarth still fought on the walls, but one by one they were being overwhelmed. If they cleared the Forum of the North of the medvarth, they would be able to push the Frostborn host away from the city entirely.
Then the men of Andomhaim could march out of the city to aid the battle.
Horsemen, Arandar realized. They needed to send horsemen
to aid their allies. The dwarves had armored warriors, and the manetaurs had infantry with their tygrai soldiers, but neither the dwarves nor the manetaurs had the heavy horsemen of Andomhaim.
“Prince Cadwall,” said Arandar. “Once we’ve cleared the Forum of the North, start bringing up the horses as fast as can be done. I will want to ride out and aid the dwarves and the manetaurs. The men-at-arms and militiamen can hold the walls and the gate, but I want the horsemen ready to strike as soon as possible. This is our chance to break the Frostborn, and we dare not let it pass.”
“Of course,” said Prince Cadwall. “I will see to it myself. I…”
Blue fire swirled a few yards away. Arandar’s first thought was that the cogitaers had cast a spell, but the pale wall of the flickering ward of the Magistri still stood intact. Then he wondered if Mara had transported herself somewhere, but she was only a few yards away, watching the fighting.
Then the blue fire faded, and a tall, dark-haired woman in black armor appeared, twin swords of dark elven steel in her hands.
“Lady Third?” said Arandar, surprised.
“Sister!” said Mara, and for the first time since the siege had begun, she smiled.
“Queen Mara,” said Third in her cool voice, but she smiled. “I am very pleased to see you again.” She turned to Arandar. “I have urgent news, High King. The Dragon Knight and the Keeper have returned, and they have brought the hosts of the dwarves, the manetaurs, and the high elves to war against the Frostborn.”
“We noticed, yes,” said Arandar, “and we are glad of it.”
“But there is more,” said Third. “The Keeper believes that Imaria Shadowbearer is somewhere within the city. She must be found and slain before she attempts to enter the Citadel and claim the Well.”
Arandar frowned, thinking. Normal men-at-arms and militiamen would not be able to fight Imaria. She might refuse to stand and fight against Calliande, but her dark magic would let her slaughter normal men by the score. For that matter, she might refuse to fight when confronted with Swordbearers. Her predecessor had stood and fought at Black Mountain, and that had ended with the soulblade Heartwarden driven through his chest. Surely Imaria would not repeat the same mistake.
“Master Marhand,” said Arandar. “Send twelve Swordbearers to the Citadel. Tell them to proceed to the courtyard and to stand guard before the entrance of the Chamber of the Well. No one is to enter the Chamber unless I or the Keeper give permission.”
“Aye,” said Marhand, “but we’ll need every Swordbearer left for attacking the Frostborn.”
“We don’t have any choice,” said Arandar. “There…”
Another spell slammed into the wall of flickering light, and this time the ward collapsed. Master Vesilius took a step back with a groan, and some of the other Magistri fell to their knees in exhaustion. Arandar saw a half-dozen cogitaers standing atop the rubble of the gate, and already they were casting another spell. The Magistri who were still on their feet were trying to cast their warding spell again, but it would be too little, too late.
“Take cover!” said Arandar. “We…”
“Third!” said Mara.
Both Mara and Third disappeared in swirls of blue fire.
###
Mara reappeared atop the wreckage of the gate and caught her balance.
She took in the sight at once – the six cogitaers, the battle raging in the Forum, the medvarth guards already turning to strike her. Mara didn’t hesitate, but stepped forward, driving her sword and dagger into the back of a cogitaer. The creature shrieked as it died, and the other five cogitaers turned towards her, beginning spells.
Third appeared behind another cogitaer, slashing with her swords, and killed the creature.
Mara drew on her power and traveled, jumping four yards in the blink of an eye. She reappeared behind a medvarth charging towards Third, and Mara killed the ursine creature with a stab to the neck. The medvarth start to fall, and Mara traveled away, reappearing behind another cogitaer and killing the creature before it could throw a spell at Third.
Mara and Third danced around the cogitaers, reappearing and disappearing, and one by one they whittled down the cogitaers and killed any medvarth warriors that tried to defend them. They had not fought alongside each other very often, since the Anathgrimm always got nervous when Mara joined the fray, but when they did, they were brutally effective. None of the medvarth touched them, and soon they had killed all six cogitaers.
Third slew another medvarth, shared a look with Mara, and they both nodded.
A few heartbeats later they reappeared in the Forum of the North near Arandar.
“God and the saints,” said Dux Kors, blinking.
“More cogitaers?” said Mara, looking at the struggling medvarth.
“No,” said Kors. “It…that was one of the damned strangest things I’ve ever seen. All that blinking back and forth. Don’t know how you can keep track of it. But effective, I’ll give you that!”
Suddenly a shiver went through the remaining medvarth, and they began to flee back through the ruined gate.
“They’re running,” said Master Vesilius, an exhausted quaver running through his voice.
“Or they’ve been recalled,” said Arandar. “We need to ride out to aid our allies.” He turned and gave a flurry of commands to Prince Cadwall and Master Marhand, and the lords of Andomhaim rushed to do his bidding. Shouts rang through the city, accompanied by the blasts of trumpets, and the host of Andomhaim prepared to march from Tarlion and join the fight against the Frostborn.
“Qhazulak,” said Mara, and the old Anathgrimm looked at her. “Summon the Anathgrimm, and get them ready to march out the gate after Arandar’s knights. The Anathgrimm are the best infantry in the world, and you will be needed to break the Frostborn.”
Qhazulak offered a fierce smile behind his tusks. “It shall be done.”
He turned and began bellowing orders to the other Anathgrimm.
“What of Imaria Shadowbearer?” said Third.
“You and I can’t fight her,” said Mara. “Arandar sent Swordbearers to the Citadel, and hopefully they will slow her down.” She took a deep breath. God and the saints, but she wanted to lie down and sleep for a week. “It will be up to Ridmark and Calliande to stop her.”
###
The battle hung in the balance as the manetaurs and the dwarves drove against the horde of the Frostborn.
Calliande stood with Ridmark near Red King Curzonar and his khalaths, listening as the new-made Red King of the Range gave commands to his Hunters. The charge of the manetaurs and the taalkrazdors smashed through the Frostborn defenses, driving the enemy towards the walls of Tarlion. In response, the Frostborn had abandoned their attack on Tarlion, turning their army to face the newcomers. It seemed the Frostborn hoped to smash through the manetaurs and the dwarves with a single massive attack before turning against to deal with Tarlion and the High King.
It was a desperate tactic, but the Frostborn were strong enough to make the desperate tactic work.
Calliande’s Sight saw powerful magic blazing back and forth over the battlefield as the Frostborn unleashed spells of cold and death and the high elves responded with protective wards. The high elves had kept the magic of the Frostborn at bay, but even without their magic, the Frostborn still had tens of thousands of medvarth soldiers and tens of thousands of locusari warriors. The Frostborn themselves could also fight the taalkrazdors, and hundreds of the magical suits of armor had been damaged or destroyed in the fighting.
Ridmark and Calliande had moved around the battlefield a half a dozen times with the power of his sword. Whenever Calliande’s Sight found allies in need of aid, Ridmark used the sword to take them there, and the Dragon Knight joined the fray, battling the enemy until the dwarves or the tygrai regained the upper hand.
“I think they’re forming up,” said Ridmark.
“Where?” said Calliande, looking over the chaos of the battle. Were the locusari preparing to charge
again? Or the medvarth? The khaldjari had been forced into the fray as well, pushed away from their siege engines by the charge of the manetaurs. When formed into ranks with their frozen swords in hand, they made for formidable infantry.
“No,” said Ridmark. “Not the enemy. In the Forum of the North. Horsemen are gathering there. I think Arandar is going to charge out and attack from behind.”
“Is that wise?” said Calliande. Maybe it would have been better to stay in Tarlion and defend the city’s damaged walls.
“Maybe not,” said Ridmark, “but if they can hit the Frostborn from behind, perhaps they can break the lines of the medvarth warriors. If the medvarth collapse, the battle’s over. The Frostborn will have no choice but to flee. If they do, the manetaurs will spend days running them down.” He looked at the battle for a moment longer, and then at her. “Still no sign of Imaria?”
“No,” said Calliande. “Not that I can see, anyway.” She scowled. “But Imaria might be able to hide herself from the Sight. Maybe we should get to Tarlion and wait for her at the Citadel. I think…”
A shadow fell over them, and Calliande looked up, calling magic, fearing that a frost drake had found them. The frost drakes and their Frostborn riders had been kept busy by the bladeweavers and magi atop their griffins, but one of the drakes might have broken free from the battle.
But it was a griffin descending, and the great beast landed a few yards away, its white wings fluttering, its claws raking at the ground, its proud head and cruel beak looking back and forth. Ardrhythain sat atop the beast, his red coat stirring around him, that staff of red metal in his hand. The staff blazed with power to Calliande’s Sight, and she saw the links of magic joining the staff to Cathair Solas.
No, that was not quite right. The staff wasn’t joined to Cathair Solas. The staff was joined to the spells keeping the high elven city aloft.
Ardrhythain dropped from his saddle and slapped the griffin on the side. The great beast let out a screech and leaped into the air, the white-feathered wings unfolding to carry it upward.
Frostborn: The Shadow Prison (Frostborn #15) Page 35
