“What’s funny?” she said.
“We’ve had this conversation before,” said Ridmark. “But usually you’re the one telling me not to blame myself for what happened to Aelia and Morigna.”
Calliande sighed. “The shoe really does pinch upon the other foot.”
“It always does,” said Ridmark.
“What changed, then?” said Calliande.
“You have more responsibility now,” said Ridmark. “Which means you have more things you can blame yourself for, even if they are not your fault.”
“I knew that,” said Calliande. “But…what changed with you? You’re different now, Ridmark. Ever since Khald Tormen.”
He considered this for a while. “You did, I suppose.”
“Me?”
He nodded. “I wanted to get myself killed over Aelia. I wanted to kill Imaria and the Weaver and Tarrabus because of Morigna, and I didn't care if I got killed doing it.” His eyes met hers. “But I had to think about what that would do to you.” He shrugged. “I suppose in time one learns to live with sorrow. It never really goes away. But it just becomes part of you. And other things deserve your time and attention. Maybe it took me eight years to learn that. Or meeting you.”
They sat in silence for a while, the only noise the crackling of the flames and the quiet rush of the lake against the stony shore.
“Then,” said Calliande, swallowing, “we are still betrothed?”
Ridmark blinked, smiled, and then leaned down and kissed her. “Yes. If I had been able to work my will, we would have been wed by now.”
“Oh,” said Calliande. “Good. I…thought you might be angry. I just never have been betrothed before.”
He lifted his right arm around put it around her shoulders. Calliande hesitated, and then leaned against him, her cheek resting against his shoulder. The idea of sheltering in his strong arms was a pleasant one. The fire was warm, and with Ridmark’s arm around her, she could almost forget that they were far outside the boundaries of Andomhaim, that deadly peril lay before them.
Almost.
“This is nice,” murmured Calliande.
“As pleasant as it can be, given where we are,” said Ridmark.
“Yes,” Calliande conceded. “But if I must be here, I am glad to be here with you.”
He kissed the top of her head, and a flush of warmth went through her. Calliande was tired, so tired, of being alone. She had been the Keeper for a long time and had carried that burden by herself. She hadn’t realized how much she had wanted…
What, exactly? A lover? A husband? Certainly, there had been opportunities to have lovers if she had really wanted to do so.
No, she decided. What she wanted was Ridmark Arban. She wanted him, or no one.
They sat before the fire for a while, and then Ridmark lifted his arm from her and stood up.
“I will put some more wood on the fire,” said Ridmark, “and then take the first watch. You should get some sleep.”
“Maybe I should take the first watch,” said Calliande. “I’ve already slept, and you fought the urvaalgs.”
“Hitting your head and falling unconscious is not the same thing as sleep,” said Ridmark, “and if it comes to a fight, it would be better for you to be rested. Your magic can deal with the undead and creatures of dark magic far more quickly.”
That was a good point. He tended to be right about things like this.
“True,” said Calliande. She stood up, stretched, and then lay down near the fire, wrapping herself in her cloak as Ridmark threw more wood into the flames. “Please wake me if anything happens.”
“I will,” said Ridmark. “Sleep well.”
For a minute, she considering inviting him to join her. They were betrothed, after all, and a few hours ago, she had been certain the night would end with Ridmark taking her virginity. But she was exhausted, the stony ground was uncomfortable, and it was cold enough here that the thought of taking off her clothes made her shiver, and not in a pleasant way.
Later. There would be time later.
But what if there wasn’t going to be a later?
No, Ridmark was right. Best to rest while she could.
Calliande closed her eyes, consciously relaxing her mind and will. It had been a long and exhausting day even before they had come here, and she felt fatigue coming up to swallow her. Falling asleep would not be hard.
Her eyelids fluttered, and for a moment she saw Ridmark standing by the fire, watching the forest for any sign of enemies. The firelight played over him, throwing stark shadows on the folds of his gray cloak.
For a terrible instant, she thought she saw his heart burning within him, just the way the hearts of those six knights had burned centuries ago when the sword of the Dragon Knight killed them.
It was only a trick of the light, but the dread followed her as she fell asleep.
Chapter 5: The Order of the Inquisition
The next morning, the host of the realm of Andomhaim marched from its camps outside Tarlion.
Arandar had entertained the faint hope that he would awaken to find that Calliande and Ridmark had returned, perhaps with the sword of the Dragon Knight in their possession. The hope proved unfounded. There was no sign of either the Keeper of Andomhaim or the magister militum of Nightmane Forest, and the Tower of the Keeper remained sealed.
Andomhaim would have to go to war without its Keeper.
Arandar waited atop his horse, flanked by the Swordbearers and Magistri of his bodyguard, and watched the army gather itself into a massive column for the march north along the Moradel road. Dux Sebastian Aurelius and some of the men of Caertigris went first to scout the way and screen for enemies. The men of Caertigris grew up in the saddle, hunting the game of the western plains of their lands, and were the best scouts and light cavalry in the host of Andomhaim. They would scout the way and hopefully report if they saw any foes approaching the army. The Enlightened had been broken, but Arandar would not put it past the dvargir to make trouble, or bold raiders from the Wilderland and the Deeps.
After the scouts came the bulk of the army, the men-at-arms and militiamen who made up the infantry, followed by the proud warriors of the three baptized orcish kingdoms. The knights came next, flying the banners of their lords in a blaze of color. At last came the vast bulk of the army’s baggage train, thousands of wagons laden with supplies, their wheels creaking as their oxen dragged them forward. More of Dux Sebastian’s scouts hung back to guard the supplies since the baggage train was the most vulnerable part of any army. Poor Sir Joram Agramore had been busy in his capacity as the army’s quartermaster, and regular supply trains from Taliand, Calvus, and Caerdracon would help feed the host of Andomhaim as it marched north. Fleets of barges recruited by Sir Tormark Arban would row up the Moradel as well, carrying the crops of southern Andomhaim.
Arandar hoped that would be enough. The campaign against the Frostborn might take years, even if they were victorious, and with so many men in the army, there might not be enough hands to work the fields or to fend off opportunistic raiders. Even if they were victorious, the cost of the victory might beggar the realm and leave it crippled.
The only way forward, the only wave to save Andomhaim and to defend its people, was to defeat the Frostborn and close their world gate.
Hopefully the forces they had gathered would be enough.
Arandar rode up and down the column as it marched, accompanied by his bodyguards. He usually rode with the Master of the Swordbearers and the Master of the Magistri, along with Sir Valmark Arban and Sir Constantine Licinius. Kharlacht, Caius, Camorak, Sir Gavin, Antenora, and Third accompanied him as well. Since Third and Antenora were unable to help Ridmark and Calliande, they had attached themselves to Arandar. Given how powerful they were, he was glad of their help.
He spoke with the Duxi and the Comites and the orcish kings as he rode up and down the column, making sure there were no problems and resolving disputes. After a year of campaigning and siege, the men k
new their business, and there were not many disputes for Arandar to adjudicate.
The plan was simple, at least for the first part of the march. The army would head north along the Moradel road until they reached the fork of the River Moradel and the River Mourning at Castra Carhaine. They would ferry the army across the river, a process that would probably take several days. While they waited, Arandar would speak with the castellans he had left in charge of Castra Carhaine and the other strongholds of Tarrabus Carhaine’s former duxarchate. They would have news of the Northerland, and perhaps they would have news of the dwarves and the manetaurs.
And beyond that point, Arandar had no firm plans. Their goal was a simple one – drive the Frostborn back to Dun Licinia, seize their world gate, and destroy it. How they would accomplish that, he did not yet know. He would have to speak to Red King Turcontar and King Axazamar and Queen Mara and coordinate his strategy with theirs. Together he hoped they would be strong enough to overcome the Frostborn.
Nonetheless, the reports the scouts brought back were not good.
Rumors came down from the north that Castra Marcaine had fallen, that the Frostborn had seized the entirety of the Northerland and were marching into Caerdracon, that the Anathgrimm had been forced to retreat to their warded forests. The scouts reported that the travelers they encountered repeated those same stories. Still, none of the travelers claimed that they had seen dwarves or manetaurs, so perhaps neither Axazamar nor Turcontar had reached the Northerland yet.
And the Frostborn were always watching.
Often Arandar looked up and saw the distant shape of a frost drake flying high overhead, and the men of the army glimpsed the blue specks of locusari soaring over the River Moradel. Neither the frost drakes nor the locusari ever dipped low enough to come within range of the siege ballistae, but they were always within sight.
The Frostborn knew exactly where Arandar’s army was, and he supposed they would know where the dwarven and the manetaur hosts were. That was a dangerous situation, but there was no way around it. Third was a capable scout and could cover large stretches of terrain with tremendous speed, but she was only one woman, and her abilities had limits.
They would have to remain on their guard and be ready for an attack at any moment.
###
As the march wore on, Gavin found himself marveling at Arandar’s energy.
The new High King woke well before dawn and went to sleep after the sun had gone down. Arandar spent his days circulating through the army, speaking to his lords and knights, encouraging the men as they marched. Surely Arandar must have felt the strain. Gavin knew that he did, and he was half the High King’s age, but Arandar never showed any signs of fatigue or dismay.
“He was never like this before,” said Gavin.
“What do you mean?” said Antenora.
The army had stopped to camp for the night, spread out on the cleared lands of forest on either side of the Moradel road. They were well into Calvus by now, the royal domain behind them. The forests were quiet and clear of enemies, and the commoners in their fields seemed glad to see the High King’s army pass. Given how brutal and cruel Tarrabus Carhaine and the Enlightened had been, that made sense.
Gavin and Antenora had taken their usual place near the High King’s pavilion, seated at one of the campfires the squires had raised. Rather than one huge camp, the army tended to rest of for the night in a score of smaller camps, each one gathered around the banner of a Dux or a Comes or one of the orcish kings. Gavin supposed that made each of the individual camps vulnerable to attack, but it also meant that a single attacking force could not envelop the entire army.
“I think I mean,” said Gavin, “that he never used to be so…forceful.”
“The High King must be forceful to command the respect of his men,” said Antenora. In the flickering firelight, she looked…younger, somehow, as if the light gave a glow to her skin that it did not possess on its own. “It is ever the way for strong leaders.”
“But he wasn’t like that when we met him at Urd Morlemoch,” said Gavin. “He was content to follow Ridmark’s lead.”
“But in the Vale of Stone Death,” said Antenora, “he took command while the Keeper and the lord magister helped Prince Curzonar in his task. He even made Morigna bend to his will while we fought the Anathgrimm and the Mhorites, and that was no easy task.”
“No,” said Gavin. Morigna had never done anything she did not want to do. The only one she had ever listened to had been Ridmark, and even then not always. “I had forgotten about that.”
“The High King was born a bastard,” said Antenora with a shrug. “He knew that his birth would be used against him, so he learned how not to put himself forward unless necessary. Now that he is the lawful High King, he must put himself forward to rule well. Often men have qualities that only come to light in times of peril.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” said Gavin. He was glad she understood such things. She had seen far more than he had, and understood people in a way that he did not.
“That is true of you as well,” said Antenora.
“Me?” said Gavin.
“You are Gavin Swordbearer, a great knight and warrior,” said Antenora. “But you only became those things because you were born in a time of great peril, a time that allowed your inner strengths to show. If you had remained in your village, you would not have become a Swordbearer.”
Gavin snorted. “No. If I had stayed in Aranaeus, I probably would be dead. Agrimnalazur would have killed me eventually.”
“But after the Gray Knight slew Agrimnalazur,” said Antenora. “If you had stayed there to help rebuild, you would not have become a Swordbearer.”
“No,” said Gavin, thinking. “I suppose not. Rosanna was going to marry Philip, but…I suppose I would have stayed and started farming my own plot. I probably would have married one of the other girls and had a child or two by now.”
“She would have been a fortunate woman,” said Antenora, her voice quiet.
Gavin looked at her, startled. She was staring into the fire, her face shadowed. During the battle against Tarrabus, Antenora had thought him slain. She had broken down weeping, relieved that she was still alive. He got the impression that she was embarrassed by the display of emotion, and they hadn’t discussed it since.
But he had been touched to realize how much he meant to her…which, in turn, made him reflect on how much she meant to him.
“Maybe,” said Gavin. “But I would have been the less fortunate.”
She gave him a sharp look, startled. “How so?”
“Because I would never have met you,” he said, “and my life would have been the poorer for it.”
Antenora blinked, a quiver of emotion going through her gaunt, gray face.
Gavin hesitated, and then slowly reached out and took her left hand in his right. Even through her leather glove, her hand felt icy cold.
“Gavin Swordbearer,” whispered Antenora. “Maybe this is my final punishment.”
“I don’t understand,” said Gavin.
“I betrayed the last Keeper of Britannia and Arthur Pendragon to follow Mordred,” said Antenora. “I spent fifteen centuries regretting my folly and thought I knew all there was to know of remorse. Then I met you…”
“You regret meeting me?” said Gavin, stung.
“No!” said Antenora at once. “I regret that my folly means we cannot be together.” She lifted his hand to her face and kissed his fingers, and it felt like a touch of ice. “Perhaps that is my final punishment. To have met you, and to know that I cannot have you. That is a new torment I thought not to experience.”
“I…” said Gavin.
He didn’t know what to say. He realized that he loved Antenora, and he had known that since she had broken down weeping after the battle against Tarrabus. But she was correct. She could touch him, kiss him, and feel nothing at all, for she felt neither pleasure nor pain, and her touch was an icy chill. If she touched him for
too long, he would start to shiver. If she kissed him for too long, his face might go numb.
And if they were victorious, if they defeated the Frostborn and closed the world gate, the curse on her would be lifted, and she would die at last, earning the natural death that had been denied to her so long ago.
And if they were defeated…well, they would all be dead anyway by the time the Frostborn finished conquering Andomhaim.
“I don’t regret meeting you,” said Gavin, “and I’m not sorry that we met. I…” He frowned, trying to find a way to phrase his thoughts. This kind of thing wasn’t his strong point. “I’m glad we met. And I wish things could be different. But I don’t regret anything. Especially not you. I…just wish I could have had…more of those things than we do.”
Antenora said nothing.
“That didn’t come out right,” said Gavin. “I’m sorry. I…”
“Oh, Gavin,” she said, and her cold fingers squeezed his. “It was beautiful.”
“My tongue is not skillful,” said Gavin.
“A man’s virtue and courage are not found in his tongue,” said Antenora. “Mordred had a tongue of silver, and so did Tarrabus Carhaine. The scriptures are right that a man’s tongue is the source of many evils. But not yours. However our path shall end, Gavin Swordbearer, I am glad that I could spend time with you. It was a brief respite before the final sorrow.”
“I am glad, too,” said Gavin.
They sat in silence for a while, watching the flames.
“But what did you mean by the final sorrow?” said Gavin.
Antenora hesitated. “I should not have said anything.”
“No,” said Gavin. “What did you mean?” The answer occurred to him as soon as he spoke. “You think we’re going to lose?”
“I do not know,” said Antenora. “No one can see the future, not even the Keepers. But look at the army, Gavin.”
“It is a strong army,” said Gavin.
Frostborn: The Dragon Knight (Frostborn #14) Page 6
