Frostborn: Excalibur (Frostborn #13)

by Jonathan Moeller

Third shrugged. “I am an assassin, not a knight. There is no reason for me to wage battle in knightly fashion.”

  Ridmark snorted. “I’m not a knight either.”

  Third laughed, once. “Said the man who just used Excalibur to defeat a usurper. Are you going to kill him?”

  Ridmark looked at Tarrabus. He was still alive, though he might well bleed out before too much longer. A flick of Ridmark’s wrist, and Excalibur would open his throat, and that would be that.

  “No,” said Ridmark.

  “Why not?” said Third.

  “Because this is Tarlion,” said Ridmark, “and only the High King can pronounce sentence here.”

  Tarrabus’s helm had come through the battle intact, and on the helm rested the red gold Pendragon Crown. Ridmark stooped, wrenched the crown from the helm, and straightened up. He walked from the fallen leader of the Enlightened, heading for where Arandar’s banner flew. The surviving Swordbearers and Magistri stood there, exhausted, and Ridmark spotted Calliande. She, took, looked exhausted, but she was unharmed, and relief flooded through him.

  Her smile made him forget his own pains for a moment.

  Arandar stood with Dux Gareth and Dux Leogrance, giving orders. Prince Cadwall had arrived with some of his riders, and messengers were galloping off in all directions. Ridmark approached them, Third trailing after him. Arandar fell silent as they approached.

  “Lord Ridmark,” said Arandar. His eyes widened as they fell upon Excalibur. “Is…is that…”

  “God and the saints,” said Gareth. “How?”

  Ridmark went to one knee, laid the sword flat upon his palms, the crown atop them, and offered both items to Arandar.

  “I beg leave,” said Ridmark, “to surrender these to you, their lawful possessor. I found it necessary to use the sword for a moment, but since that was to reclaim your crown from its thief, Excalibur did not object.”

  Arandar managed a quiet laugh. “I suppose not.” He pulled off his helm, running a hand through his sweat-sodden hair. “Keeper of Andomhaim. If you would?”

  Calliande nodded, lifted the crown from Ridmark’s hands, and placed it upon Arandar’s head. Arandar sheathed Heartwarden and took up the sword of his ancestors, and Excalibur burst anew into white fire.

  Around Ridmark the lords, knights, Swordbearers, and Magistri went to one knee, for Andomhaim had a true High King once again.

  ###

  Gavin sat upon the ground, taking a moment to catch his breath.

  And to rest, if he was honest with himself.

  He was exhausted. One of the Magistri had finished healing his wounds, but he still felt the pain of them, and even Truthseeker’s power could just barely keep him on his feet. Gavin ought to have been guarding Calliande, he knew, but he could see her from where he sat upon the ground. She would heal the wounded until she was too exhausted to stand.

  Besides, Ridmark was with her, and Ridmark wouldn’t let anyone hurt her.

  Kurdulkar and the Weaver and Tarrabus had all found that out the hard way.

  He watched as Corbanic Lamorus’s men bound the unconscious Tarrabus and carried him away. Gavin had overhead that Arandar wanted to put Tarrabus on trial before executing him, that Arandar wanted the crimes of the Enlightened exposed before the entire realm so that the cancer of the dark cult could be cut from Andomhaim. No doubt that was the kind of thing that Arandar had to think about now that he was High King.

  Gavin didn’t envy him the responsibility.

  A dark shadow passed before his vision, and Antenora sat down next to him.

  “How are you?” said Gavin.

  “I am well,” said Antenora. Her voice belied her words. It shook a little, and her face was tight. “I am always well.”

  “What’s wrong?” said Gavin, looking around for enemies.

  “It…” Antenora hesitated. “I thought you were going to die.”

  “So did I, a couple of times,” said Gavin.

  Antenora shook her head. She was breathing a little funny. “When that man-at-arms with a mace was about to strike you…I was sure you would die. I was so certain of it. And…I have lived with grief and regret for fifteen centuries, Gavin Swordbearer. I am familiar with them. They are old pains. This was a new pain, the thought of losing you. I do not know what to do with it. When I thought you were about to die, I…I…”

  She started shaking, and to his astonishment, Gavin realized that she was crying.

  He held out his arms, and she all but crumpled into them, burying her face against his chest as she wept. He was surprised by how small she felt since she always looked so grim and fierce as she called her magical fire. A passing man-at-arms gave him an astonished look. Gavin’s answering glare must have been stern because the man promptly found business elsewhere.

  “I’m not dead yet,” said Gavin.

  Antenora nodded, and he held her for a while.

  ###

  Ridmark followed Calliande and Camorak as they healed wounds, Third trailing after him like a silent shadow.

  In truth, there was nothing for Ridmark to do at the moment. He had no position or rank in Andomhaim, and therefore no one to command. He would guard Calliande from any attacks, but with the defeat of Tarrabus, his followers had lost the will to fight. The truly devoted had fought to the bloody end and had been killed to a man. The less devout had surrendered and seemed eager to renounce the shadow of Incariel, though Ridmark knew Arandar would never truly trust them.

  Calliande worked as the afternoon stretched on, the sun dipping towards the west.

  A distant ringing noise came to Ridmark’s ears.

  He looked towards the walls of Tarlion. A second ringing noise started, and then a third, and then a fourth, followed by a roaring sound.

  Cheers. The people of Tarlion were cheering.

  “What the devil is that?” said Camorak, wiping sweat from his forehead.

  “Church bells,” said Third, and as she spoke a hundred more bells added their voices to the clamor.

  Calliande smiled, some of the exhaustion falling from her face.

  “I think,” she said, “the people of Tarlion have learned of our victory here.”

  The bells rang on well into the night.

  Chapter 22: Sovereign

  Two days later Arandar Pendragon, the High King of Andomhaim, made his first entry into the city of Tarlion.

  Ridmark rode alongside Calliande. She had labored through the night, healing wounds until her strength had given out, but somehow, she had found the time to bathe and change. Now she wore one of the green dresses and mantles that she favored, the Keeper’s diadem on her gleaming blond hair, a golden torque upon her arm and a golden chain around her throat.

  She saw him looking and smiled and then turned her attention to the High King. Ridmark supposed he had better do the same, and he made himself pay attention.

  Arandar rode through the gate and into the Forum of the North, flanked by the Duxi, the Masters of the Two Orders, and the kings of the orcish nations. All of them had put on their best armor, though many of the lords and knights still moved with the slow, careful movements of men in pain. The Magistri had been spread thin, and only the most dangerous and critical wounds had been healed.

  Corbanic Lamorus stood in the center of the Forum, Sir Cortin at his right hand, and a troop of Pendragon men-at-arms waited around him. Arandar reined up before Sir Corbanic, and the Constable offered a deep bow to the new High King.

  “Your Majesty,” said Corbanic in formal Latin, his rough voice ringing over the forum. “It is with great pride, and equally great relief, that I present to you the city of Tarlion and the villages, benefices, and estates of the royal domain. You are now the Lord of Tarlion and your father’s lawful heir, and all his estates, incomes, knights, and vassals are now yours to command.”

  “I greet you gladly, Corbanic Lamorus,” said Arandar, also speaking in formal Latin, “and with great gratitude. You and your valiant soldiers held Tarlion through tre
mendous peril and at steep cost during a year of siege. Had you wavered in your determination, Tarrabus Carhaine would have seized the city and installed himself as a usurper. Hands wet with the blood of the innocent would have grasped the crown of our realm, the Dominus Christus would be blasphemed, and Tarrabus would have surrendered the people of Andomhaim to the power of his dark master, just as he surrendered them to the cruel mercies of the dvargir slavers.”

  “We have only done our duty and nothing more,” said Corbanic. “I beg leave to resign my office and present it to worthier hands.”

  “Your request is refused,” said Arandar with a smile, “and the office of Constable of Tarlion, with its honors, incomes, and responsibilities, is still yours. Tarrabus Carhaine has been defeated and the power of the Enlightened broken, but our realm is still at war, and valiant knights are needed.”

  “I was afraid you would say that,” said Corbanic, and the lords laughed. “My lord King, your city and people await you.”

  There was an ancient ritual to greet the arrival of a new High King. Corbanic took the reins of Arandar’s horse and led the High King’s mount down the Via Borealis from the Forum of the North to the Forum of the Crown at the foot of the Citadel’s hill. After Arandar came the Duxi and the Masters and the kings of the orcish realms, and Ridmark rode alongside Calliande, with Kharlacht, Caius, Gavin, Antenora, and Camorak accompanying them. After the Keeper came the Comites and the Magistri and the Swordbearers, and knights and common men-at-arms who had distinguished themselves during the fighting.

  Then came the prisoners.

  Tarrabus Carhaine rode in an ox-pulled cart, naked but for a loincloth and shackled to a rough wooden chair. Arandar had forbidden anyone from mistreating Tarrabus, but someone had made a crude paper crown and placed it upon Tarrabus’s head, the words BETRAYER and FAITHLESS written on it in Latin and orcish. A gag had been stuffed into his mouth, and Tarrabus’s wounds had only been healed enough to keep him dying, conserving the healing magic of the Magistri for worthier men. Tarrabus glared at everything in sight, his jaw clenched against the gag. After him came the nobles and knights who had supported him and were members of the Enlightened, barefoot and stripped of their armor, their hands chained and shackled. A guard of Swordbearers and Magistri accompanied the surviving Enlightened lest they try to call upon the shadow of Incariel to save themselves.

  There were not that many Enlightened left. Some had escaped the battle, fleeing to hide elsewhere, but most of them had fought to the death and been cut down.

  Cheering crowds lined the street as the column processed to the Forum of the Crown. Ridmark saw the relief on the faces of the people of Tarlion, and men held their children upon their shoulders to get a glimpse of the new High King. Ridmark supposed it helped Arandar’s popularity that he had commanded the supplies from Tarrabus’s relief column be distributed to the people of Tarlion. The food Tarrabus had intended to use to seize Tarlion would instead feed its hungry people.

  They rode into the vast Forum of the Crown, the largest public square and market in Tarlion. Monuments to kings and lords and Swordbearers long dead dotted the square, their faces of marble and granite stern and commanding. To the south rose the battlements of the Citadel and the Tower of the Moon, and on the western side of the Forum stood the Great Cathedral of Tarlion, while the Castra of the Swordbearers rose upon the eastern side. The Forum could hold tens of thousands of people, and tens of thousands of people poured into the square. A dais had been built on the far end of the Forum at the foot of the Citadel’s hill, and upon it sat a single wooden curule chair. In ancient days on Old Earth, the magistrates of the Romans had sat upon such chairs to issue their judgments and decrees, and to this day the nobles of Andomhaim issued judgments from such chairs.

  The lords dismounted, and Ridmark and Calliande followed suit, while a small army of squires issued forth to take care of the horses. Arandar climbed the dais and seated himself in the curule chair, adjusting Excalibur’s scabbard. Last night Master Marhand and Master Kurastus had dissolved his bond to Heartwarden and bonded him to Excalibur. Ridmark supposed that Heartwarden would go to a young knight or man-at-arms who had shown courage during the battle, though for now, he was just glad he no longer had a headache whenever he went near Arandar.

  The High King nodded to Calliande. She cast a spell, and Arandar’s voice boomed over the Forum, augmented by her magic.

  “My lords and knights,” said Arandar, “Magistri and Swordbearers, men-at-arms and militiamen from every corner of Andomhaim, orcish warriors, and the good people of Tarlion, I thank you all. I had no wish to take my father’s throne, and indeed I had no right to it, for Uthanaric Pendragon had three trueborn sons of noble character and upright judgment. Then Tarrabus Carhaine murdered my father and his trueborn sons upon the field of Dun Calpurnia, and my children and I were the last among the living with the blood of Arthur Pendragon and Malahan Pendragon in our veins. I had no wish to this crown, and were there another with a better claim I would surrender the burden to him gladly, but this duty has come to me, and I shall not turn from it.”

  The crowds in the forum cheered, save perhaps for the captured Enlightened.

  “By ancient tradition, the High King is crowned by the bishop of Tarlion in the Great Cathedral,” said Arandar, “and seven days of feasting and thanksgiving follow, but today we must dispense with that tradition for our realm is in dire peril. The Frostborn have overrun the Northerland, and if they are not stopped, they shall conquer Andomhaim and make us their slaves. Already Queen Mara of the Anathgrimm, King Axazamar of Khald Tormen, and Red King Turcontar of the manetaurs march in alliance to the Northerland, lest the Frostborn destroy them one by one. We shall not let them fight alone. As soon as the host of Andomhaim can be made ready to march, we shall depart for the Northerland and join our allies as they attack the Frostborn and attempt to close the gate to their world. If God grants us the victory, when we return, a traditional coronation can take place.”

  He was silent for a moment, gazing over the crowd.

  “But first, to ensure that our realm is unified and strong, justice must be done,” said Arandar. He looked at Calliande. “The prisoners can be brought forward now.”

  Calliande nodded and climbed to the dais with Master Kurastus and a dozen of the senior Magistri.

  ###

  Arandar knew he would hate this part.

  He had commanded men in battle even before he had been knighted, and he had enforced discipline among his soldiers. He had ordered floggings for infractions and lapses of discipline. Once, a man-at-arms under his command had robbed and murdered a freeholder, and Arandar had sentenced him to death and tied the knot upon the murderer’s noose himself. A lord and a commander could not ask his men to do anything that he was not willing to do himself.

  He supposed this was the same thing, just on a much larger scale.

  One by one the surviving Enlightened of Incariel were brought forward, and Master Kurastus and Calliande put them to the question. Did they denounce the shadow of Incariel and all its works? Did they repent of their rebellion and treachery at Dun Calpurnia? Would they be willing to prove their repentance by riding into the heart of the battle against the Frostborn?

  A few of them did repent. Timon Carduriel, formerly the Dux of Arduran, all but sobbed as he begged for mercy, and if he had been allowed Arandar suspected that Timon would have kissed his boots. The Magistri cast a spell to sever Timon’s connection to the shadow of Incariel, and the former Dux would be made a man-at-arms in a company of former Enlightened. The other two Duxi who had followed Tarrabus, Septimus Andrius and Verus Macrinus, had been slain in the battle as they tried to escape.

  Not many did repent. Some refused, cursed both Arandar and the Dominus Christus, and were beheaded on the spot. Others offered to repent, but the spell to sever the connection to the shadow of Incariel only worked if the Enlightened had truly repented of their deeds.

  If not, the spell killed them.<
br />
  A few of the Enlightened realized this and tried to attack Arandar. They didn’t make it more than three steps before one of the Swordbearers cut them down.

  Finally, the ordeal was over. If Arandar survived the war, if they were victorious, he would have to make some hard choices. The Duxi of Caerdracon, Calvus, Arduran, and Tarras had all stripped of their lands and titles, and most of the nobles of those lands had been killed in battle. All four duxarchates had reverted to the High King, and Arandar would need to gift the lands to new vassals. He would need to find trustworthy men to hold those lands, but for now, he needed their men-at-arms in his army.

  It was a decision for later.

  There was one last prisoner.

  “Tarrabus Carhaine, formerly Dux of Caerdracon and pretender to the title of High King,” said Arandar as four Swordbearers walked Tarrabus forward. The former usurper’s blue eyes glared up at him. “Your crimes are well-known to every man here. You abandoned the church of the Dominus Christus in exchange for the dark power of the shadow of Incariel. You plotted murder and treachery on a vast scale, and spread your poisonous cult through the realm of Andomhaim. On the day of the battle of Dun Calpurnia, your servants murdered the High King and his three trueborn sons, and you abandoned those loyal to the High King to die upon the field of battle. You falsely claimed the crown and authority of the High King, and you waged war against those you would take as subjects, inflicting siege and the fear of sword and famine upon the people of Tarlion. You permitted the dvargir to take slaves from among the people of Andomhaim, people that may never be recovered. And you did all this in the face of the Frostborn, weakening the realm in its time of dire peril. Have you anything to say in your defense?”

  One of the Swordbearers removed Tarrabus’s gag.

  “You are a fool, Arandar the bastard,” spat Tarrabus, his voice cracked and rough. “I would have made mankind immortal and invincible, and we would have ruled this world as gods forever. The Frostborn themselves would have feared us! Instead, you have clung to your obsolete superstitions and…”