Frostborn: Excalibur (Frostborn #13)

by Jonathan Moeller

  “I should be glad of that, lord Prince,” said Calliande. “If we…”

  The pavilion’s flap opened, and a man-at-arms in leather armor and the tabard of the House of Pendragon entered.

  “My lord Prince,” said the man-at-arms.

  “Aye?” said Arandar. “What is it?”

  “Dux Leogrance sends word,” said the messenger. “The usurper has ridden forth…”

  “What?” said Arandar. “He has attacked? Why has the call to battle not been sounded?”

  “No, my lord Prince,” said the messenger. “The usurper has ridden forth with his guard and stopped just out of range of our bows. He is calling for you and the Keeper to come forth and parley.”

  “A parley?” said Arandar. “Why the devil would he wish to parley?”

  “But how does he know the Keeper is here?” said Gavin, frowning.

  “A spyglass, most likely,” said Caius. “The dvargir are cunning with glass, and likely saw our arrival from one of their watch towers.”

  “But why parley?” said Calliande. “He has nothing to gain. He knows we will not submit to him for any reason, and I am certain he is not about to surrender.”

  “A trap, then,” said Antenora. “This is a trap to assassinate the Keeper.”

  “Possibly,” said Arandar, frowning. “It is also likely this is a game.”

  “A game?” said Antenora.

  “With lives as the playing pieces upon the board,” said Arandar. “A game of morale. If Tarrabus calls for a parley and we refuse to meet him, it makes him look stronger, and it heartens his men.”

  “Yet the Keeper places herself at risk for no reason if we go to this parley,” said Antenora.

  “So do you, my lord Prince,” said Gareth. “To be blunt, you and the Keeper are the two greatest enemies that Tarrabus Carhaine faces. If he can kill you both at once, his victory is almost assured.”

  “It would be difficult for him to kill me,” said Arandar, “when I am with the Keeper and a dozen Swordbearers and a dozen Magistri, to say nothing of the Keeper’s companions.”

  “There might be another advantage,” said Ridmark.

  They all looked at him.

  “When Tarrabus and Arandar parley,” said Ridmark, “every eye will be on them. All the guards on Tarrabus’s contravallation wall shall be watching the parley as well.”

  “Most probably,” said Arandar.

  “Which means,” said Ridmark, “this parley will be an excellent time for Third to take a quiet look around Tarrabus’s camp if she is willing.”

  They looked at Third, who stood silent and motionless behind Ridmark.

  “Lady Third,” said Arandar. “I am correct in assuming you have the same sort of abilities as Queen Mara?”

  “You are, lord Prince,” said Third. “I do not have the power of the Sight, though.”

  “Can you transport yourself into Tarrabus’s camp?” said Arandar.

  “Easily.”

  “Could you move about his camp unseen?” said Arandar.

  Third inclined her head. “I say this as a simple statement of fact, lord Prince, and not as a boast of prowess. I was entering places unseen before anyone in this pavilion was born, save perhaps for Antenora.”

  Dux Sebastian laughed. “What better boast than the unvarnished truth?”

  “Indeed,” said Arandar. “I have no right to command you, Lady Third, but would you scout Tarrabus’s camp?”

  Third looked at Ridmark.

  “If you would do this,” said Ridmark, “it may be of great value, and we could learn something that could turn the tide of the battle in our favor.”

  “Very well,” said Third. “Once this parley begins, I shall scout the camp of our foes.”

  “Thank you,” said Arandar.

  “If you could,” said Ridmark, “see if you can enter Tarlion as well.”

  Third frowned. “I shall, but it may not be possible. Tarlion is ringed by mighty wards, and those spells have been activated in defense. One of the reasons the Traveler never assailed Tarlion was that he doubted his magic could break those wards. If the spells are strong enough, I may not be able to transport myself within the walls of the city.”

  “But if you can,” said Ridmark, “try to speak with Sir Corbanic Lamorus.”

  “Yes,” said Arandar, leaning forward in his chair. “If we can time it right, if we attack from our camp as Sir Corbanic launches an attack from the gate of Tarlion, that could break Tarrabus then and there.”

  “I shall see if it can be done,” said Third.

  “Thank you,” said Arandar. “Keeper, if you are willing, shall you accompany me on this parley?”

  “I shall,” said Calliande, her voice grim. “Let us see what Tarrabus Carhaine wishes to discuss.”

  Chapter 10: Two Kings

  It took some time to get ready.

  Calliande rode with Arandar and Ridmark and the others to the camp of the House of the Arbanii, which guarded the main gate through the siege wall, the gate that would have led to the northern gate of Tarlion itself, had the way not been blocked. The camp of Leogrance Arban was just as orderly as Calliande would have expected from the old lord, with the tents standing in neat rows and a stake-lined ditch dug around the camp to discourage any raiders who might have gotten through the siege wall.

  Dux Leogrance himself greeted them at the camp. Calliande was always struck by how different the old Dux looked from his sons. Tormark looked the way Ridmark might have looked if the Gray Knight had spent the last ten years in comfortable living rather than ranging through the Wilderland in search of the Frostborn. Dux Leogrance, by contrast, looked like a stern old Roman patrician, proud and confident and calm. He greeted Arandar and Calliande. She half-expected him to ignore Ridmark, but Leogrance greeted him coolly as the magister militum of Nightmane Forest.

  That irritated Calliande. Ridmark had done great deeds. Why couldn’t the old man see it? Still, if Ridmark ignored it, Calliande supposed that she had no right to express irritation on his behalf.

  “Is he still there?” said Arandar.

  “Aye, my lord Prince,” said Leogrance, looking at the siege wall. If Calliande listened, she could hear the sounds of Tarrabus’s herald inviting Arandar to parley with his master. “He’s been there for about ten minutes, repeating the same challenge over and over.” He shook his head. “I doubt the usurper has anything of substance to discuss with you. Likely this is to look brave in front of his men or to distract us from some trickery. Perhaps the return of that dragon creature.”

  “That thought crossed my mind as well,” said Arandar. “I’ve asked the men to prepare for an attack. If this is indeed a stratagem of Tarrabus, we’ll be ready for it.”

  “Then you will meet with the usurper for a parley?” said Leogrance.

  “I may as well,” said Arandar. “I see little risk in it. If this is a plot to assassinate the Keeper and me, we will have a dozen Magistri and a dozen Swordbearers around us, to say nothing of the Keeper’s magic. Perhaps we may learn something of use.”

  Calliande glanced to the side, where Ridmark spoke with Third. Tarrabus might be working a clever stratagem, but they had their own to use. When Third scouted Tarrabus’s camp, she might learn useful information about their enemy. And if she was, in fact, able to enter Tarlion, if she was able to communicate with Sir Corbanic and his trapped forces, they might be able to end the battle tomorrow. Uthanaric Pendragon had left a strong garrison to hold the city, and if that garrison and Arandar’s army attacked at the same time, they might break Tarrabus’s host.

  Unless, of course, Tarrabus was about to do something clever and kill them all.

  Calliande shook her head with irritation. That was one of the dangers of war. It was possible to second-guess oneself so thoroughly that the enemy won the victory even before the battle began. On the other hand, Uthanaric Pendragon had underestimated Tarrabus, and he had died for it.

  “As you wish, my lord Prince,” sai
d Leogrance, and he started to give commands.

  Calliande glanced at Ridmark again and saw that Third had vanished. She said a quick prayer for Third, and then a quick prayer for her and Arandar and Ridmark and everyone who would go to the parley with the false king.

  They would need all the help they could get.

  After a few moments of confusion, they were ready. Arandar would ride through the gate guarded by a dozen Swordbearers and a dozen Magistri, Gavin and Camorak among them. Calliande would ride behind the Prince Regent, and Ridmark would ride with her. Antenora wanted to come, but Calliande sent her to the rampart to keep watch over the meeting. If Tarrabus intended treachery, Antenora could bring her magical fire to bear far quicker than the siege engines could fire.

  A band of Arbanii knights and men-at-arms formed up behind them, while crossbowmen rushed to the ramparts, ready to send a hail of bolts into the contested land between Arandar’s siege wall and Tarrabus’s contravallation wall. If it came to a battle, the loyalists would be ready.

  And if it came to the battle, Calliande, Ridmark, and Arandar would find themselves in the middle of it.

  She hoped that she had made the right decision.

  It was time to find out.

  “We are ready, my lord Prince,” said Sir Constantine Licinius, who was part of the Prince Regent’s escort. He had fought well during the campaign across Caerdracon, and from what Calliande had heard, he had conducted himself with distinction during the siege, even before he had killed Sir Rhison Mordane with the help of Valmark Arban and Crowlacht of Rhaluusk.

  “Very good,” said Arandar. “Let’s see what Tarrabus wants to discuss.”

  The gate in the wall was crude but strong, two massive slabs of iron-jacketed oak bound to a rough frame. It was heavy enough that it took two teams of six men to pull the gate open.

  Through the gate, Calliande saw the contested ground between the two walls, and a band of horsemen waiting beneath the black dragon banner of the House of the Carhainii. The Sight stirred within her, and she saw the dark power that the Enlightened among the horsemen held ready, and beyond that, the shimmering might of the wards within the walls of Tarlion.

  Sir Constantine urged his horse forward, and they followed him through the gate.

  ###

  Ridmark kept close to Calliande and Arandar.

  He did not think that Tarrabus would try to assassinate them. Tarrabus would kill them if possible, but not in a way that would put himself at risk, and trying to kill them while within reach of the Swordbearers and the Magistri was a huge risk. But Ridmark had no doubt that Tarrabus was up to something, and he would not relax his vigilance.

  The enemy horsemen waited about a third of the way from the contravallation wall, just out of reach of the crossbowmen on Arandar’s ramparts. As they drew closer, Ridmark saw Carhainii knights and men-at-arms in their finest armor and surcoats, the steel polished and gleaming. Despite that, he saw that the men looked gaunt and tired, some of them unshaven. They looked like soldiers who had been in the field for a long time without proper resupply.

  Tarrabus Carhaine sat in their midst. He, at least, looked healthy and well-fed.

  The false king wore gleaming steel plate inlaid with golden scrollwork in the shape of dragons, his surcoat crisp and blue, the black dragon sigil across his broad chest. His cold blue eyes fell upon Arandar’s party as they approached, and Ridmark saw that Tarrabus also wore the red gold Pendragon Crown upon his brows. Likely the Weaver and Imaria had taken it from Uthanaric’s head after his murder. Certainly, no one had been able to find it after the battle of Dun Calpurnia.

  Something else caught Ridmark’s attention.

  Tarrabus was carrying Excalibur.

  The ancient soulblade of the High Kings of Andomhaim rested on Tarrabus’s right hip, its scabbard of polished red wood glinting in the sunlight. That puzzled Ridmark. Tarrabus was Enlightened, and he was likely the most powerful of the Enlightened. He couldn’t use a soulblade as a weapon. He probably could even touch the sword without inflicting excruciating pain on himself. So why carry it? Tarrabus had a war axe hanging from his saddle, and the hilt of a longsword rising over his shoulder. Why carry Excalibur then?

  It had to be pride. Tarrabus might wish to destroy the church and raise the doctrines of the Enlightened in its place, but the High King of Andomhaim wore the Pendragon Crown and bore the sword Excalibur. It had been that way for a thousand years, since even before mankind had come to this world from Old Earth. Tarrabus could no more set Excalibur aside than he could denounce his claim to the throne.

  Sir Constantine reined up, and the rest of the party followed suit. They were still within range of the crossbows upon the siege wall, but not close enough to expose themselves to Tarrabus’s own archers.

  The two bands of horsemen stared at each other, waiting for the other to act first. Arandar’s face was stern and hard, his dark eyes unblinking. Calliande’s face was a glacial mask, calm and aloof and cold as the Frostborn themselves. Ridmark’s eyes met Tarrabus’s, and the false king’s lip curled in a contemptuous smile.

  Ridmark was surprised at how calm he was. He and Tarrabus had always been bitter rivals, but after he had learned the truth about the Enlightened, Ridmark had come to regard Tarrabus with hatred. Tarrabus’s treachery had murdered thousands of people, dividing Andomhaim in a brutal civil war and giving the Frostborn every advantage. Morigna’s death was a direct result of Tarrabus’s decisions. Ridmark thought he would have been burning with fury as he looked at Tarrabus Carhaine.

  Instead, he only felt the cool calculation that preceded a battle.

  Nevertheless, if he got the chance, if he could do it without risk to Calliande, Ridmark would kill Tarrabus.

  The horsemen shifted, and to Ridmark’s surprise, he saw a woman standing near Tarrabus’s horse. She was the only member of Tarrabus’s party on foot, and she was strikingly beautiful, with thick black hair and bright blue eyes in a pale face. She wore a black dress that covered her from throat to ankle, but it fit well to the curves of her body. The dark-haired woman looked at Calliande, and then at Ridmark, and a cheerful smile spread over her face.

  Ridmark had never seen her before, he was sure of it. He knew most of the knights with Tarrabus and had met them at one time or another. But he had never seen this woman before. Who was she? One of the Enlightened? Ridmark supposed she might have been Tarrabus’s mistress, but he could not imagine why Tarrabus would bring his mistress to a parley.

  She had to be here for a reason.

  “Hearken!” said Sir Constantine at last. “Arandar Pendragon, Prince Regent and lawful High King of Andomhaim, has come to treat with the lord of the rebel host.”

  Tarrabus laughed. “Have you lost the power of speech, bastard knight? Or must you hide behind other men and let them speak for you?”

  “And have you come to weary my ears with statements of the obvious, usurper?” said Arandar. “I know am a bastard. But I am both a bastard and the lawful heir to the throne of Andomhaim because you murdered the High King and his trueborn sons.” He offered Tarrabus a tight smile. “Have you forgotten that fact, perhaps? Has your mind grown hazy with hunger, usurper? I rather doubt you have room for a large crop within those walls of yours.”

  Tarrabus gave him a mocking laugh. “What a fool you are, Arandar Pendragon. You are no more a king than a mouse is. Are you too blind and stupid to see the future? Mankind must change and evolve to survive. Else we shall be enslaved or exterminated by the urdmordar or the dark elves or the Frostborn…”

  “Whom you let into this world,” said Arandar.

  Tarrabus continued his monologue without interruption. “The shadow of Incariel will give us the power we need to survive. We shall become gods, we…”

  “The future gods are starving to death in a ditch in the ground?” said Calliande, raising her eyebrows. “That hardly seems like a fortuitous first step on the path to godhood.”

  “The Keeper,” sneered Tar
rabus. “You are nothing more than the keeper of pathetic and feeble tricks. You are too fearful of true power to claim it. Little wonder you are still a virgin.”

  Calliande only smiled. “Better a virgin than to prostitute yourself to the powers of darkness as you have done, Tarrabus Carhaine.”

  “And you, Ridmark Arban,” said Tarrabus.

  Ridmark said nothing. The woman standing next to Tarrabus watched him with a smile, her eyes glinting.

  “You ought to have stayed in the Wilderland,” said Tarrabus. “You should have accepted your disgrace and vanished into the wilderness and never returned.”

  “Why?” said Ridmark. “So I could not thwart your plans?”

  “Thwarted?” said Tarrabus. “You presume to think you have thwarted me? I am the High King of Andomhaim. You are the magister militum of a band of mutated orcs and their half-breed freak of a queen. You…”

  “You’re not the High King of Andomhaim,” said Ridmark. “You’re not even the Dux of Caerdracon any longer. You are the ruler of the few hundred yards of dirt between your two walls, and you are only the ruler of that patch of mud because you sold your would-be subjects into slavery to the dvargir. We’ve been calling you the false king, but maybe we should be calling you the puppet king. Perhaps if we knocked you off your horse, we would see the hand of the dvargir firmly lodged up your backside.”

  A ripple of laughter went up from the Swordbearers and some of the Magistri. Even Arandar smiled a little at that.

  “Do not presume to lecture your betters,” said Tarrabus. “I will save mankind. Your blunderings have delayed my plans, yes, but they will not stop me. I will transform mankind into gods, I…”

  “Like Sir Aventine?” said Ridmark. “I saw what happened to him in the final moments before I killed him. He lost control of his powers and twisted into a monster. That’s been happening a great deal, hasn’t it? You thought to create a race of immortal gods, but instead, you’ve been creating human-shaped urvaalgs.”

  “You are too weak to understand our true purpose, too wedded to your archaic morality and your obsolete gods,” said Tarrabus, anger flickering in his cold eyes. “You were too weak to save Aelia…”