Ridmark met Morigna’s gaze, a mixture of regret and guilt going through him. He had loved her, and Imaria Shadowbearer and the Weaver had taken her from him. He had loved her, as he had loved Aelia, but they were both dead now.
“Ah,” said Morigna. “Are you still feeling guilty, my love? Do not. The dead do not love as the living do, and you are alive. Calliande is alive. You will need each other if you are to survive what is to come.”
“And what is to come?” said Ridmark.
“She is,” said Morigna.
“Burn with me,” said the woman.
“Who is she?” said Ridmark. “Tell me.”
“Your future,” said Morigna. “Calliande’s past.” She rolled her eyes. “Though, of course, she removed the memory of it. It is just as well you are there for Calliande because she is often too clever for her own good.”
“Her past?” said Ridmark. “What part of her past?”
The old knight snorted. “Getting ahead of yourself, boy. She’s only in your future if you live long enough to have a future. If you don’t deal with your enemies first, she won’t have a chance to burn out your heart.”
“Soulbreaker,” said Ridmark. “The Deep Walker.”
The knight turned his head as if to spit, looked at the glowing floor for a moment, and then thought better of it. “Bad business. Fought one of those once. I won the fight, but it didn’t end well. Wouldn’t want to do it again. Don’t envy you that.” He slapped the arm of his throne again. “Don’t envy anything that’s about to happen to you, and that’s the truth of it.”
“If Soulbreaker comes for Calliande again,” said Ridmark, “I need to stop the creature. How?”
“Heartwarden,” said Morigna.
“My soulblade,” Ridmark said at once, and then corrected himself. “Arandar’s soulblade. Are you saying I need Heartwarden to save Calliande? I can’t use it. It rejected me.”
“The taalkrazdor did not reject you,” said Morigna, “and you used that to save the Keeper.”
“I…talked to it,” said Ridmark. “I asked it to help me. I told it that the Weaver would kill King Axazamar, and it listened to me.”
“Heartwarden rejected you when your bond with the weapon was broken,” said Morigna. “Other soulblades may not feel the same way.”
“What do you mean?” said Ridmark.
“God and the apostles, he’s thick,” said the knight.
“No, he is not, old man,” said Morigna, looking at the old knight with asperity. “He went to Urd Morlemoch and returned twice, and it is rather difficult to do that when one is stupid. You never managed it.”
The knight scoffed. “I was smart enough to never go to Urd Morlemoch in the first place, mouthy girl.”
“Listen to me, Ridmark,” said Morigna. “You have to be ready. Tarrabus and Soulbreaker are coming to kill Calliande, and they will succeed unless you are there to stop them. And if Calliande dies, you will die, my love, when she finds you at last.”
“Burn with me,” said the woman gowned in flame.
“Then how can I save Calliande?” said Ridmark.
Morigna gave him a tight smile. “You talked to one magical weapon. Perhaps it is time to talk to another.”
###
Someone was grabbing Ridmark’s right shoulder and shaking him while a cold hand closed over his mouth.
“For God’s sake shut him up!” hissed Otto. “If he starts shouting he’ll bring the whole damned fleet down on our heads!”
Ridmark blinked awake, looking around in confusion.
It seemed like he was sitting on a wooden bench in a black void. Then he heard the crash of surf against the land, smelled the salt in his nostrils, felt the worn wood of the oars beneath his hands. Third was grabbing his shoulder, her other hand clamped over his mouth.
Ridmark started to say that he was awake, realized that wouldn’t work, then raised his hands.
Third lowered her hands with a sigh. “You’re awake.”
“What happened?”
“You started shouting, you damned idiot!” hissed Otto. “Something about a fire. What the hell is wrong with you?” He turned an alarmed glance towards the distant running lights of the warships. “If they heard you shouting about a fire, we’re finished.”
“Burn with me,” said Ridmark, shaking his head as he shook off the shreds of the strange dream. Something about a fire and a sword and a strange woman? “That’s what I said. Burn with me.”
“I don’t care if you told them you seduced their wives and their mothers in the same damned bed at the same damned time!” said Otto. “If they’re heard us, it’s over. Get ready to row.”
They waited for a time, watching the running lights of the warships and straining for the sound of longboats dropped from the ships. Yet the running lights didn’t move, and they neither heard nor saw any longboats approaching.
Otto let out a breath. “God and the saints must be watching over us. The sound of the surf must have swallowed up your shout.”
“That is my thought,” said Third.
Otto sighed again. “Burn with me? What the hell were you dreaming about?”
“A nightmare,” said Ridmark. He offered a thin smile. “I’ve seen a few things since the Iron Tower.”
“Clearly,” muttered Otto. The scarred halfling had calmed down, though he still seemed annoyed. “Burn with me? That had better be about a woman.”
“As far as I know,” said Ridmark.
Otto shook his head, looked at the sky, and then at the distant light of the Tower of the Moon. “We might as well go now. The moons are only going to get a little darker. Help me pull up the anchor.”
Ridmark gripped the rope and helped Otto haul up the anchor. As it turned out, Ridmark did most of the hauling, but that was just as well since Otto knew how to coil the rope properly. Once the anchor was back in the boat, Ridmark took the oars and started rowing as quietly as he could manage while Otto steered the tiller, and Third looked for any approaching enemies.
Tarlion’s harbor drew closer. The city’s wall extended south into the sea, becoming a seawall, though it was still crowned with battlements and watchtowers. Twin lighthouses guarded the entrance to the harbor, and yard by yard they drew closer. Beyond the towers Ridmark saw the harbor, stone quays jutting into the water, and past the quays rose the houses and churches and towers and domi of Tarlion, the oldest city of humans upon the face of this world.
They were almost there.
A commotion erupted on one of the quays.
Men-at-arms in the blue tabards of the House of Pendragon rushed onto the quay, crossbows held ready. A knight in a tabard and a plumed helm led them, sword in hand.
“Hold!” thundered the knight. “In the name of the Constable, hold! You are in violation of the curfew!”
“They think we’re spies,” muttered Otto.
Ridmark rose and raised his hands. “Listen to me! We come from Prince Regent Arandar with news for Corbanic Lamorus, Constable of Tarlion.”
The knight frowned, lowering his sword, and the men-at-arms shifted. Ridmark noted that while the men looked relatively healthy, none of them looked well-fed.
“Impossible,” said the knight.
“We slipped past the blockade aboard this smuggler’s craft,” said Ridmark. “My name is Ridmark Arban, magister militum of Queen Mara of Nightmane Forest, and I come with messages from Prince Arandar and the Keeper of Andomhaim for the Constable.”
“I recognize him, sir,” said one of the men-at-arms. “I saw him when the false king and the traitorous Magistria accused him before Sir Corbanic when we were with him in Coldinium, sir. Wound up fighting a bunch of damned Mhorites inside the walls.”
“So be it,” said the knight. “Dock your boat and come into the city. I will bring you to the Constable, and he shall decide what it to be done with you.”
Chapter 14: Constable
Otto tossed up the mooring line, and one of the men-at-arms tied it. Ridm
ark climbed up first, staff in hand, and Third followed, leaping up with smooth grace, while Otto heaved himself up with a curse. The men-at-arms gave Third puzzled looks since women did not typically walk about the streets of Tarlion clad in close-fitting black armor.
“This way,” said the knight, and the men-at-arms fell in around them. They were not exactly prisoners, but Ridmark had no doubt they would be killed if they tried to run. Otto cast wary glances at the men-at-arms, while Third remained calm as ever.
They walked up the quay and to Tarlion’s waterfront, past the wine houses and the warehouses there. From there they passed to the Via Navium, the street that led from the harbor to the Forum of the Sea, one of the seven forums circling the base of the Citadel’s hill. Memories stirred through Ridmark as he walked past the houses of brick with their roofs of clay tiles or greening copper. He had visited Tarlion often with his father and his retainers as a child, and later he had become a Swordbearer, standing vigil for a night over Heartwarden in the Castra of the Swordbearers. He had visited several times with Aelia after their marriage, staying either in the Castra’s barracks or in the domi owned by Dux Gareth and Dux Leogrance.
Ridmark had not been back in a long, long time. He wondered what Morigna would have thought of Tarlion. She had thought Coldinium was a vast city, but Coldinium had been a tenth the size of Tarlion.
It was strange to see the city so empty, even at night. The glow from the Tower of the Moon provided adequate illumination at night, so the people of Tarlion did not usually desert the streets at nightfall. Corbanic must have put the city under a curfew.
They marched into the Forum of the Sea, a broad, flat square dotted with statues of long-dead knights and Swordbearers. During the day, fishermen came here to sell their catch, or they would have, had the harbor not been blockaded. Right now, a group of men-at-arms stood guard in the Forum, led by another knight in Pendragon colors, and Ridmark blinked as recognition came to him.
“Sir Cortin!” he called.
Sir Cortin Lamorus, the eldest surviving son of Sir Corbanic Lamorus, turned towards Ridmark. He was short and stocky, with curling black hair and a perpetual scowl on his serious face. Right now, he only looked surprised.
“God and the saints!” he said. “Ridmark Arban?”
“Sir Cortin,” said Ridmark. “It’s been a long time since Coldinium.”
“Aye,” said Cortin, walking to join Ridmark. “It has been indeed. Heard a thousand different tales about you since. Did you truly kill Mournacht?”
The men-at-arms around Ridmark relaxed. Evidently, Cortin’s recognition of him helped ease their minds.
“I did,” said Ridmark. Otto blinked in surprise. “Not that it did much good.”
“I was expecting trouble tonight,” said Cortin. He had lost weight since Ridmark had seen him last, the lines in his face cut deeper, and his hair was starting to turn gray at his temples. “I have to admit I did not expect you to walk into the Forum of the Sea with Master Otto and a woman in black armor.” He looked at Otto. “What the devil are you doing here anyway? I’d heard you abandoned Vulmhosk and decided to retire somewhere.”
Otto shrugged. “There’s good money to be had carrying provisions for the Prince’s army.”
“How did you get past the blockade?” said Cortin.
“Very carefully,” said Otto. He glanced at Ridmark. “And with precious little help.”
“We should speak with the Constable at once,” said Ridmark. “I have news for him from Prince Arandar and the Keeper of Andomhaim.”
Cortin blinked. “Then it is true? The Keeper of Andomhaim really did return from the grave? We heard the rumors when High King Uthanaric marched for Dun Calpurnia to fight the Mhorites, but we did not know if they were true or not.”
“Those rumors, at least, are true,” said Ridmark. “The Keeper was asleep beneath the ruins of the Tower of Vigilance, and awoke to fight the Frostborn.”
Cortin looked at Third. “And…are you the Keeper, my lady?”
Third bowed. “No. I am Third of Nightmane Forest, half-sister to Queen Mara. Calliande is the Keeper of Andomhaim.”
“Calliande?” said Cortin, astonished. “That Magistria who challenged Imaria in Coldinium. How did…” He shook his head. “No. You must share your news with my father at once.” He turned to one of the men-at-arms. “Run to the Citadel. Awake the Constable, and tell him that a messenger has arrived from Prince Arandar. He will want to meet them in the Chamber of the Well in the Tower of the Moon.”
“Sir knight,” said the man-at-arms, and the soldier started running in the direction of the Citadel.
“Come with me, please,” said Cortin.
Otto snorted. “Never been to Tarlion, and on my first visit, I’m getting invited to the High King’s Citadel! Odd sort of day.”
“You’ve come up in the world, Master Otto,” said Cortin, and the scarred halfling laughed.
Cortin led them from the Forum of the Sea to the Via Ecclesia, a street that passed many of Tarlion’s churches. Soon they passed from the dockside quarter, then to the merchant quarter, and then to the quarter where the domi of the various lords of Andomhaim stood. Every powerful lord in Andomhaim kept a domus in Tarlion for when business called him to the High King’s court, and Ridmark noted that the domi of Tarrabus Carhaine, Verus Macrinus, Timon Carduriel, and Septimus Andrius had been stripped bare. He wondered what the Constable had done with the furnishings.
They approached the base of the Citadel’s crag. Here Ridmark saw the towers of the Castra of the Swordbearers, the slender Tower of the Magistri, almost as tall as the Citadel itself, and the great stone mass of the Great Cathedral of Tarlion.
He also beheld the Tower of the Keeper, and for some reason, it drew his eye as it never had before during his visits to Tarlion.
The tower was a slender structure of white stone, sitting on an octagonal base, narrowing as it rose higher and higher. At its apex was a dome of copper, and gray mist writhed and swirled within its windows. At the foot of the tower rested a small forest, perhaps an acre across. Mist swirled and danced through the trees, blocking vision, and a low wall of white stone encircled the entire complex. The Tower of the Keeper had been a place of mystery for Ridmark’s entire life, since the last Keeper had locked the tower before vanishing, and no one had been able to enter it since.
And if Calliande was right, the strange heartbeat Ridmark had heard had been coming from the highest chamber of the tower.
But why had Calliande removed her memory of the place?
“That mist isn’t right for this time of night,” said Otto.
“It must be the effect of a magical spell,” said Third.
“It is, my lady,” said Cortin. “Anyone who enters the grounds of the Tower of the Keeper disappears, and reappears a few moments later in one of the nearby streets, and does not awaken for a day and an hour.” He shrugged. “Many powerful Magistri have tried to enter the Tower of the Keeper over the centuries, and all have failed. It is said that whoever opens the Tower of the Keeper shall receive a mantle of power and become the new Keeper of Andomhaim. Though if you have met the actual Keeper, I suppose that legend is incorrect.”
“It must be,” said Ridmark, wondering why Calliande had sealed the Tower before she had departed Andomhaim. There had to be a reason, just as there was a reason she had removed her memory of the Tower.
But why?
Ridmark shook his head. He could worry about it later. Right now, they needed to defeat Tarrabus Carhaine. If they did not, then Tarlion would fall into the usurper’s hands, and the secrets of the Tower would remain locked within it.
They reached the road to the Citadel. It was a broad ramp that encircled the crag, wide enough for two horses to ride abreast, but narrow enough that any men making their way up would be exposed to arrows and crossbow quarrels the entire time. At last, they reached the top of the crag and walked through the barbican and the inner gates and to the central courtyard. The
High King’s audience hall rose on the far side of the courtyard, as large as a basilica, and the High King’s chapel upon the right.
The Tower of the Moon rose next to the audience hall, so high Ridmark could not see its top even if he craned his head back. The white stone of the tower gave off a steady silvery radiance, filling the courtyard with light. Cortin led them across the courtyard and to doors of some strange golden metal in the base of the Tower.
He opened them, and they passed into the Chamber of the Well, the source of the magic of the Magistri.
The chamber was wide, at least sixty yards across, and built of a white stone that gave off its own pale illumination. Certainly, they would have no need of torches in here. For a moment, a memory stirred in Ridmark. He was sure that he had seen stone like this somewhere before, white stone that gave of its own gentle light. But where? Urd Morlemoch, maybe, or Urd Arowyn? No, the dark elves built with white stone, but it never glowed.
Ridmark put the matter from his mind.
The Well filled the center of the chamber, thirty yards across from one end to another. Ridmark, Third, Otto, and Cortin walked to its edge, where a middle-aged knight in a Pendragon surcoat waited, flanked by four men-at-arms. As they reached the edge of the Well, Ridmark peered into its depths. It was filled with rippling water, and the water was so clear that he could see through it and into the depths of the earth, where a harsh white light seemed to shine.
“The high elves of old were great builders,” said Third, breaking the silence.
“They were,” said the middle-aged knight.
Ridmark looked at old Corbanic Lamorus, the Constable of Tarlion. Corbanic resembled his son a great deal, though older and more weathered and marked with more grief. The fierce old knight put Ridmark in mind of a battered tree that had withstood storm after storm for decades. “Almost as remarkable as seeing Ridmark Arban, a woman, and a halfling walk into Tarlion.”
“Why are we meeting here?” said Ridmark. “I thought only the High King, the Keeper, and the heads of the Magistri were allowed within the Tower of the Moon.”
Frostborn: Excalibur (Frostborn #13) Page 19
