Frostborn: Excalibur (Frostborn #13)

by Jonathan Moeller

  That gave Calliande all the time she needed to work another spell of her own.

  She thrust her hand, and used the magic of elemental earth, focusing her will into the ground. The ground rippled and folded, a wave surging through the dirt. The wave parted around Ridmark and Gavin and the others who were still on their feet but flung the kobolds to the ground as if a carpet had been yanked out from beneath them.

  “Antenora,” said Calliande. “Get the others free. I’ll keep the kobolds off-balance.”

  Antenora nodded and hurried towards the entangled men-at-arms. Calliande turned towards the stunned kobolds, gathering power for another spell. Ridmark, Third, and Gavin had kept themselves free of the nets, and they were cutting down stunned kobold after stunned kobold.

  The kobolds would not remain prone for long, though, and Calliande began another spell.

  Blue light flared in the trees, harsh and bright.

  Calliande’s first thought was that Third had transported herself into the woods, but the light was wrong for that. The Sight flared to life inside Calliande, and she saw dark magic stirring in the trees. She glimpsed another kobold running towards the road. This kobold wore amulets made from bone and stone and carried a twisted staff topped with a human skull.

  It was a kobold shaman, and Calliande realized she would not be able to distract the kobold warriors after all.

  ###

  Gavin shifted his stance, catching the thrust of a spear upon his shield. The kobold iron proved no match for the dwarven steel, and the spear’s shaft snapped from the force of the thrust. Before the kobold warrior could produce another weapon, Gavin killed it with a quick thrust from Truthseeker.

  He had no time to consider his strategy. The kobolds were swarming around him, and even with Truthseeker lending him speed, he was barely able to defend himself against so many at once. It was just as well he had practiced fighting against Caius and Kharlacht, because the kobolds liked to launch attacks at his legs, and he used his shield to guard his torso against high blows, sweeping Truthseeker back and forth to deflect spear thrusts aimed at his legs.

  Yet for every kobold he killed, two more took their place, and he saw a flare of blue light in the trees. Third? No, Truthseeker jolted in his hand in response to dark magic, and he realized someone was casting a spell in the trees.

  Another kobold jabbed a spear at him, and this time Gavin was not fast enough. The point bit into his right leg, just below the edge of his armor, and he cursed and jerked back. The kobolds closed around him, and Gavin retreated across the road, trying to keep his footing.

  Blue steel flashed before his eyes, and Kharlacht waded into the battle, a blow from his massive greatsword hewing a kobold in half. Caius attacked a moment later, hammering his mace into the back of a kobold’s knees. The creature staggered, and Kharlacht finished it off with a sweep of his greatsword.

  Men-at-arms rushed into the battle, and Gavin saw Antenora running past the entangled men, using her magic to burn away the nets. Blue fire flashed amid the kobolds, and Third appeared, her short blades flying with precision, and she left two kobolds dead before she vanished again.

  The tide of the battle turned, the men-at-arms charging into the kobolds and pushing them towards the trees. They rallied around Ridmark, who carved his way into the gray-scaled warriors, his staff and axe flying. The kobolds started to fall back towards the forest, unwilling to face the slaughter any longer.

  Then blue fire howled from the trees, hurtling towards Calliande.

  ###

  The kobold shaman flung a spell at Calliande, but she was ready.

  The spell was a lance of dark magic, designed to wither away her life force and leave her a desiccated corpse. The shaman was powerful enough that the spell would have killed her and a dozen of the struggling men-at-arms.

  But she had defended against such attacks dozens of times, and she had the power of the Keeper’s mantle behind her. No magic of this world could resist the magic of the Keeper’s mantle. Wizards like the Warden and the Sculptor and Tymandain Shadowbearer possessed greater power and skill, but the Keeper’s power could resist even their magic.

  Calliande cast a warding spell, and a dome of shimmering white light flared in front of her. The shaman’s blast of dark magic struck the dome, and Calliande clenched her will, holding her spell against the attack. The shaman was strong, but she had faced and survived against far stronger wizards, and her ward broke the dark magic.

  Then it was her turn to strike back.

  Calliande thrust the staff of the Keeper, and white fire burst from its end in a tight shaft. It passed through both the men-at-arms and kobolds without harming them, but it slashed across the kobold shaman. At once the shaman’s wards collapsed, unraveled by the magic of the Keeper’s mantle, and the shaman started casting new a warding spell. Calliande was already casting her own spell, and she pushed her left hand towards the shaman, using a spell of elemental fire. Antenora had greater skill with elemental flame, but Calliande could manage well enough for what she needed.

  A fist-sized sphere of fire burst from her hand, soared over the battle, and landed in the forest at the foot of the kobold shaman. The sphere exploded into a bloom of flame a dozen feet across, and the blast flung the shaman into a tree with a splintering crash.

  The burning corpse collapsed motionless to the ground.

  Calliande let out a long breath, looking around for new foes, but the battle was over.

  ###

  Ridmark lowered his staff and his axe, kobold blood sliding from the blade of dwarven steel.

  The remaining kobolds retreated into the trees. Ridmark’s initial impulse was to pursue, but experience restrained him. Chasing a defeated foe into the forest was an excellent way to walk into an ambush, and it was entirely possible the kobolds had feigned retreated to draw them to more favorable ground.

  Still, the kobold shaman hadn’t feigned getting blasted into smoking char by Calliande’s magic.

  “Hold!” said Ridmark, his voice ringing over the road. “Hold! Do not pursue!”

  The men-at-arms obeyed. All of them were veterans of many battles and knew just as well as Ridmark the dangers of pursuing a foe into the trees. None of the men had been killed, but several had been wounded by kobold spears, and already Camorak and Calliande moved among them to heal their wounds.

  Blue fire swirled next to him, and Third appeared, breathing hard, blue fire glimmering beneath her skin and through her veins.

  “The attack came upon me swiftly,” said Third. “I had no time to warn you, and barely enough time to get away.”

  Ridmark shook his head. “Better a little warning than none at all.”

  “I traveled right into the middle of that group,” said Third, walking to one of the dead kobolds. She tucked the toe of her boot beneath the creature and flipped it onto its back, its tail uncoiling. “Do you recognize the symbol upon their shoulders?”

  “No,” said Ridmark. “It looks like a dvargir glyph.”

  “It is,” said Third. “It is the glyph of Great House Tzanar, which controls the slave trade of the dvargir of Khaldurmar. The slavers of Great House Tzanar use kobolds like this to capture slaves during raids to the surface.”

  “Then we had the ill fortune to run into a band of dvargir slavers,” said Ridmark, shaking his head with annoyance. Maybe he should have waited until Castra Arban to cross the Moradel. On the other hand, he would have preferred to fight dvargir slavers instead of walking into an ambush crafted for Calliande.

  “More than that is happening,” said Third. “You should see this at once.”

  Ridmark followed Third as she jogged into the trees. They ran past the crackling fire burning around the dead kobold shaman, and the smell of charred flesh flooded Ridmark’s nostrils. After a few yards, he smelled something else, the familiar metallic smell of human blood.

  “Here,” said Third.

  A dead human man lay sprawled on his back at the foot of a tree, fi
ve kobold arrows jutting from his chest and stomach. The dead man was about twenty-five, his face gaunt and unshaven, his eyes wide with pain and surprise. He was wearing the leather armor of a scout, and a broken hunting bow lay near his hand.

  “His pack,” said Third, going to one knee next to the dead man. She reached into his pack and pulled out a blue cloak, unrolling it with a twist of her wrist. Upon the blue cloak rested a sigil of a crimson bow and arrow, the ancient symbol of the House of the Arbanii.

  “He was one of my father’s men,” said Ridmark. “Or maybe one of my brother’s.”

  “I suspected so,” said Third. “I think there is a battle in the woods to the south. The kobolds we killed were outriders. I wasn’t able to get a good look, but I thought more kobolds and some dvargir were fighting a group of men-at-arms in cloaks and tabards adorned with this sigil.”

  Ridmark frowned as he weighed the risks. He needed to get Calliande safely to Arandar’s army, and taking part in every skirmish was not the way to do that. Yet he didn’t think they had any choice. Ridmark could not leave his father’s men to be killed and captured by dvargir slavers, and Calliande would insist on helping them. For that matter, they might not be able to pass the battle without joining it. The escaping kobolds had likely already alerted their allies of the arrival of new enemies.

  “Very well,” said Ridmark. “We’ll follow their trail. We’ll leave a few men to guard the wagons and the horses, and then we’ll pursue the kobolds.”

  ###

  Gavin walked through the trees, Truthseeker flickering with pale fire in his hand.

  Ridmark and Third let them southeast, deeper into the forest. The trail was not hard to follow. Gavin was no tracker, but the signs of a battle were clear. Arrows lay broken upon the ground or embedded in trees, and they passed broken spears and discarded shields. Every so often they passed the corpse of a slain kobold or a dead man wearing the colors of the House of the Arbanii. Gavin also saw a dead man wearing the colors of the House of the Licinii, a white hart upon a field of green.

  Had they found Arandar’s army already? Were they about to walk into the battle between Tarrabus’s forces and Arandar’s loyalists? Some of the rumors had said that Arandar’s army was confronting Tarrabus outside the walls of Tarlion, but perhaps the loyalists had only made it this far south.

  Gavin kept close to Antenora, and they walked next to Calliande and Camorak. If they found themselves in a battle, Gavin would need to keep them safe so they could bring their powers to bear against the enemy, especially if dvargir shadowscribes were directing the kobolds.

  A distant clang came to Gavin’s ear, followed by the hoarse shout of men.

  They were indeed approaching a battle.

  Third reappeared next to Ridmark.

  “What did you find?” said Ridmark.

  “About sixty knights and men-at-arms in the colors of the House of the Arbanii and the House of the Licinii,” said Third. “They have lost most of their horses, and withdrawn into a shield wall at the foot of a hill. Twice that number of kobolds are attacking, and they are commanded by three or four shadowscribes of Great House Tzanar.”

  “Did they see you?” said Ridmark.

  “No,” said Third, “but they know we are coming. Enough kobolds survived the fight on the road that they will have returned to warn their masters by now.”

  “Then we should strike at once,” said Kharlacht.

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. “If we can catch the kobolds between the men-at-arms and us, we might be able to break their attack. Keeper, are you ready for battle?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Calliande in a quiet voice. “If you keep the kobolds away from us, we’ll handle the shadowscribes.”

  “Very well,” said Ridmark. “Third, lead the way.”

  ###

  The sounds of battle grew louder as Ridmark followed Third through the trees, his companions and the men-at-arms following them. He saw a flicker of gray scales, glimpsed a blur that must have been a loosed arrow or crossbow bolt. The shouts of men and the hissing cries of kobolds grew louder.

  Then the trees cleared, and he saw the battle playing out before him.

  A low, rocky hill rose out of the forest, and at its foot stood dozens of knights and men-at-arms in blue and green, shields extended before them, archers standing behind. A mob of a hundred kobolds encircled the men, hissing and snarling. Behind the kobolds stood four dvargir in robes of material that looked vaguely like black leather, heavy hoods shadowing their faces. Each dvargir wore a golden pendant adorned with the symbol of Great House Tzanar, and carried a metal baton adorned with symbols that bled shadows into the air.

  The battle hung in the balance, but Ridmark knew that would not last. The kobolds could fall back and rain spears and arrows onto the men-at-arms and knights until they broke and attacked. Or the shadowscribes could cast a spell and bring their dark magic to bear against the humans.

  It was time to change the balance of the battle.

  “Now!” said Ridmark.

  His men-at-arms shouted and charged, raising their swords to strike, and Ridmark sprinted forward, staff in hand. He glimpsed the flare of light as Calliande, Camorak, and Antenora all cast spells. A ripple of shock went through the gathered kobold warriors, and then Ridmark crashed into the enemy. His long staff gave him a reach that the short kobolds could not match, and he slew three of them in as many heartbeats. Gavin tore into the kobolds, cutting them down right and left, and Kharlacht and Caius fought back to back, while Third flickered through them. The shadowscribes whirled and began casting spells, but white fire flashed across Ridmark’s vision as Calliande brought her magic to bear, and soon the dvargir shadowscribes were locked in magical battle.

  A bow twanged, and Ridmark jerked to the side just as a kobold archer loosed an arrow at him. It missed by inches, and he jabbed the end of his staff into the kobold’s chest with enough force to break a rib. The kobold staggered, and Ridmark finished it off with a quick blow to the head. Behind him, the men-at-arms forced the kobold mob further back, and another burst of white fire shot over the battlefield, followed by a flickering sphere of fire. There was an explosion, and one of the dvargir shadowscribes went tumbling through the air, screaming as his robes burned around him.

  A man’s voice boomed over the fray, wild and full of rage, and with a shock Ridmark recognized the voice.

  He looked to the right just as the Arbanii and Licinii knights and men-at-arms charged into the fray, shouting at the top of their lungs. At their head charged a bulky old man with a bushy gray beard and a massive steel warhammer. It was Sir Tagrimn Volarus, lord of the benefice of Mourning Keep, and one of the Dux Gareth Licinius’s most loyal knights. Ridmark was pleased that Sir Tagrimn was still alive, but he wondered what the old knight was doing in the forests of Calvus with a band of men-at-arms. A scouting party for Arandar’s army, perhaps? Was the Prince Regent’s host a short distance away?

  Ridmark had no more time for speculation, but the shock of the charge of the beleaguered men-at-arms decided things. The kobolds broke and fled, sprinting into the woods. The dvargir shadowscribes might have been able to command their slaves to stand and fight, but Calliande’s magic and the furious power of Antenora had killed all four of them.

  All that was left after that was to chase away the kobolds.

  ###

  Weariness flooded through Calliande, but she pushed it aside and knelt next to the wounded man.

  “I’ll do this one,” she said, the stench of blood filling her nostrils. The Arbanii man-at-arms had taken a spear through the chest, piercing his right lung. It hadn’t killed him yet, but bubbles of blood popped on his lips with every wet, wheezing breath, and in another few moments he was going to drown in his own blood. “Antenora, if you please.”

  Antenora nodded, gripped the broken spear shaft, and yanked it from the dying man’s chest. Blood welled across his armor and torn tabard, and the man’s mouth gaped in a silent scream of dying agony
. Calliande already had called the magic of the Well to her, and she put her hands on the man’s temples, his hair and skin sweaty and clammy beneath her fingers.

  Then she cast the healing spell, drawing his agony into her own flesh.

  Pain exploded through her chest, and she felt the spear as if it had pierced her own breast and lung, felt the horrible agony that filled her with every laboring breath, felt her lifeblood leaking into the ground. She wanted nothing more than to curl up and wait for death to claim her.

  She had felt that a thousand times before on a thousand different battlefields. At this point, it was almost routine. Calliande rode the pain through her mind and focused her magic, and the man’s wound closed and shrank. An instant later Calliande released her power, and the man-at-arms let out a shuddering gasp. He looked exhausted, his face gray from blood loss, but his wound had vanished, and he would live.

  “My lady Keeper,” croaked the man. “Thank…thank…”

  “Hush,” said Calliande. “Stay there and rest. Don’t try to do anything strenuous until we depart tomorrow, and even then, take it easy.”

  The man was asleep before Calliande straightened up. A wave of pain went down her neck and shoulder, and she realized that she had been clenching her jaw again. She had to stop doing that.

  Then she turned to attend to the final wounded men. Except there were no more wounded men. Camorak had finished healing the last of them, and the Magistrius stood up as Calliande approached, brushing off the knees of his trousers.

  “I would have helped if you had waited,” said Calliande.

  Camorak grinned. “Yes, Mother.” Calliande sighed. “None of these were serious, and I could handle them all without much trouble. Besides, you’ve exerted yourself enough today. I can heal wounds, but I can’t conjure bridges of magical ice or cook kobold shamans in their own juices.”