Frostborn: The Dragon Knight (Frostborn #14)

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Agreed,” said Constantine. “Let us return to our mounts. Hasten!”

  They hurried from the gatehouse and to their waiting horses. A steady stream of horsemen came through the gate, and Gavin saw fighting atop the ramparts as the knights and men-at-arms drove back the medvarth and the khaldjari. Even as he looked, a dead locusari warrior fell from the ramparts and landed in the street, bouncing a few times before it came to a stop against the stone shell of a burned house.

  “I will meet you there,” said Third, and she vanished in a swirl of blue fire.

  Gavin and Antenora and the Swordbearers mounted up, and they galloped through the streets, heading for the ramp that climbed to the castra. Gavin remembered coming here for the first time with Ridmark and Arandar and the others as they fled from the ruin of Dun Licinia. Dun Calpurnia had not fared well in the war since, and the town was half-destroyed, most of the buildings burned. Perhaps if they lost the battle, the town would become yet another one of the ruins that dotted the Wilderland, slowly crumbling away into dust.

  Then he heard the rumble of a distant explosion, and Gavin turned his mind to the battle.

  The Swordbearers rode through the gate of the castra and into its broad courtyard, and Gavin saw a fight underway. Dead and dying knights and men-at-arms lay upon the ground, smoke rising from their bodies. Five cogitaers floated a few inches off the ground before the doors to the castra’s great hall. The cogitaers were delicate, even ethereal creatures, and they stood barely five feet tall. Their skin was a pale blue color, and their silvery hair floated about their heads. Each cogitaer wore a simple gray robe, plain and unadorned.

  The creatures looked harmless, but they were among the most dangerous servants of the Frostborn. Calliande had said the cogitaers wielded magic as naturally as birds took to the air or fish to the sea, and left unchecked they could cause devastating havoc.

  As one, the five cogitaers turned and began casting spells in unison, blue light flaring around their slender fingers.

  Antenora acted first, thrusting her staff, and a sphere of fire soared over the courtyard to land before the cogitaers. The bloom of fire washed across the ground and up the walls of the great hall, but the cogitaers stood untouched in a crackling halo of grayish light. Nevertheless, Antenora’s attack had given Gavin and the other Swordbearers the time they needed to dismount, and they ran towards the enemy.

  A cogitaer pointed at Gavin, white mist swirling around its arms. He couldn’t tell if the cogitaer was male or female, and he did not want to get close enough to find out. A lance of ice burst from the cogitaer’s outstretched hand and Gavin snapped up Truthseeker. The soulblade shattered the lance of ice into a spray of glittering shards, and Gavin brought the soulblade around in a sideways slash.

  Truthseeker sheared through the cogitaer’s neck, sending its body to the ground. Third appeared behind a second cogitaer, killing the creature from behind, and the rest of the Swordbearers crashed into the remaining cogitaers. Their magic was powerful, but even the most powerful magic could not stand against the fury of a soulblade.

  Gavin lowered his weapon and looked around, but there were no foes left in the courtyard.

  ###

  The battle was over an hour later.

  Gavin and the others had gone to assist the men on the walls, but by the time they arrived, the struggle was nearly finished. They swept the ramparts and the streets of any enemies, and the survivors fled through the town’s northern gate, hurrying to rejoin their allies in the Northerland. Prince Cadwall declined to have the horsemen run them down. There was no point since the frost drakes and the locusari scouts would report the loss of Dun Calpurnia soon enough.

  Prince Cadwall rode into the courtyard of the castra, Caius, Kharlacht, and Camorak with him. Camorak looked tired and grim, but he had spent the afternoon healing wounds.

  “My lord Prince,” said Sir Constantine. “Dun Calpurnia is ours.”

  “It was an easier fight than I expected,” said Cadwall.

  “Perhaps the Frostborn decided the town was not worth the effort to defend,” said Caius.

  “Aye,” said Cadwall, frowning, “but they could have held us up here for weeks if they had been of a mind to do it. If they had filled the town with revenants, it might have taken us days to clear it.”

  Gavin said nothing. Prince Cadwall made good points. Why hadn’t the Frostborn left the revenants from the battle here? Why hadn’t they put up more of a fight to hold the town?

  Did the Frostborn want the men of Andomhaim to take Dun Calpurnia?

  It was a disturbing thought.

  Chapter 10: The Threefold Law

  Calliande walked with Ridmark as Rhyannis led them through the revolving stone maze of Cathair Solas.

  The city was silent as they passed through it, the stone rings sliding against each other in perfect silence. Rhyannis navigated the maze with ease, leading them down a flight of steps, across a pair of walkways, up the side of another tower, and down another flight of spiral stairs. They passed other high elves, some of them in golden armor, others in robes of blue and green and gray. All the high elves seemed somber, like mourners at a funeral. Cathair Solas housed the last of the high elves, the final remnant of their kindred, and Calliande supposed every single high elf in the city had seen family and friends perish at the hands of the urdmordar and the dark elves.

  At last, they returned to ground level, and Rhyannis led them through the various gardens and orchards that stood at the base of the smaller towers. The central tower rose before them, a massive shaft of white stone, with twin doors of golden metal inside a high archway. Rhyannis stepped to the doors and pushed them, and they swung open.

  The Hall of the Seers yawned before them, larger than the Great Cathedral in Tarlion. Instead of windows, the hall of white stone had wide mirrors lining the walls. Sometimes when Calliande looked at the mirrors, she saw her own reflection. But when she glanced again, she saw a forest, or a desert, or a distant range of mountains. Stone plinths stood scattered around the hall, holding swords and helmets and shields and amulets. Most of the artifacts bore some signs of damage.

  “The Hall of the Seers,” said Rhyannis. “In ancient times, the Seers of the high elves gathered here and used their powers to gaze into the future, trying to plot the best course for our kindred. Alas, all the Seers were killed in the wars against the dark elves and the urdmordar, and there are none now among the remnant of our kindred. This hall stands as a monument to them,” she gestured at the plinths and their relics, “and to those who have died in defense of Cathair Solas.”

  They walked in silence through the Hall, coming to a dais at the far end. Another mirror covered the far wall, larger than the others, its surface flickering with scenes of distant landscapes. A tall figure in a black-trimmed red coat stood there, gazing at the mirror, a staff of red metal in his left hand.

  “Lord archmage,” said Rhyannis. “Your guests are here.”

  The figure turned, and for the first time since Urd Morlemoch, Calliande found herself looking at Ardrhythain, the last archmage of the high elves.

  He was over seven feet tall and seemed somehow even taller. His long red coat was open in front, the sleeves and hem and collar trimmed in black. Beneath the coat, he wore a white tunic and black trousers tucked into black boots. His face was alien, thinner than a human’s, the ears long and pointed. An unruly shock of night-black hair topped his head, and his eyes were like disks of shining gold. The red staff in his hand had been forged from some metal Calliande had never seen before. It was topped with a ring about the size of Calliande’s palm, and something like a star flashed and flickered within the ring. The golden eyes regarded her, and Calliande was struck the age of those eyes, heavy with knowledge and wisdom. Ardrhythain was old, so old that she could scarce grasp it. The Warden and Tymandain Shadowbearer had spoken about a hundred thousand years of war, and she had seen the shattered ruins left by the wars of the dark elves and the urdmordar and the dwa
rves and the dvargir, each one older than the last.

  Ardrhythain was older than them all.

  A flicker of anger went through Calliande, and she tried to force it down. All that age and knowledge and power and Ardrhythain hadn’t warned them that the mantle of Shadowbearer could pass to another. He hadn’t killed Tymandain Shadowbearer himself. He had done nothing to stop the Frostborn.

  “Keeper Calliande, Lord Ridmark,” said Ardrhythain, his voice far deeper than any human tone, “welcome to Cathair Solas.” Rhyannis stepped to the side and waited, as motionless as a statue.

  “We were almost not welcomed,” said Calliande. “The bladeweavers at the causeway nearly turned us away.”

  “A necessary precaution,” said Ardrhythain. “Tymandain Shadowbearer slipped into the city and stole the soulstone that is the cause of our current troubles. We have no wish for that to happen again.” His gaze shifted to Ridmark. “I see you have used that staff well since we parted.”

  “It has proven useful,” said Ridmark.

  “With its help, you slew Tymandain,” said Ardrhythain. A strange flicker of emotion went over the ancient face, a mixture of relief and gratitude and sorrow. “I had never been able to slay him. He was my match in power and skill, and cunning enough that he never let himself be cornered. But his hatred of you was his undoing.”

  “Me?” said Ridmark. “Why did he hate me so much? I was barely any threat to him at all.”

  “Which is why he hated you,” said Ardrhythain. “He had plotted for centuries to summon the Frostborn and destroy your realm of Andomhaim, and he had prepared for the same amount of time to kill Calliande and deny Andomhaim the power of the Keeper. Everything moved according to his design, and then at the very last moment, you disrupted his plans, rescued Calliande, and stole the soulstone away from him. It made him furious. For you were one man with neither magic nor a soulblade, and you had hindered his designs. He hated you for it, and his hatred of you led to his destruction at your hands.” He shook his head. “If I were to recite the crimes of Tymandain Shadowbearer for you, we would be here for the remainder of your natural lives. Many were the dead avenged on the day you struck him down.”

  “I thought that was the end of it,” said Ridmark in a quiet voice. “The day I killed him. I thought we were victorious, and that the Frostborn would never return.”

  “As did I,” said Ardrhythain. “I thought that Shadowbearer would die with Tymandain. I did not know the shadow of Incariel could claim a new bearer, nor did I know that it could claim another vessel so quickly.”

  “You…didn’t know?” said Calliande, astonished. How could he not have known? “You didn’t know the mantle of Shadowbearer could be passed?”

  “I did not,” said Ardrhythain. “The bearer of the shadow of Incariel had always been Tymandain. From the beginning of this endless war, it has always been Tymandain. He was the first of us to seek power beyond what we already possessed. He was the first to speak to the shadow of Incariel. He whispered to our brothers, and they became the dark elves. He was the one who taught the dark elves to open gates to other worlds, and when they failed him and when the urdmordar failed him, he summoned the Frostborn here to fulfill his purpose. When Tymandain was killed, I thought his curse would die with him. Instead, it passed to Imaria Licinius, and a new Shadowbearer was created, just as deadly as the old.”

  “Not to you, perhaps,” said Calliande, wondering why he had done nothing about Imaria. “Tymandain was your match, but Imaria is not. You could have destroyed her. You could have stopped her. Why didn’t you stop her?” More anger leaked into her voice than she would have liked, and she rebuked herself. Shouting at the archmage would accomplish nothing.

  “Because I have been stopping her,” said Ardrhythain.

  “I don’t understand,” said Calliande.

  “As a lodestone draws iron to itself, so does one world gate draw another,” said Ardrhythain. “With the world gate open upon the slopes of Black Mountain, Imaria Shadowbearer has no need of another soulstone to open additional world gates. In the last three months, she has tried to open new gates near Tarlion, Cintarra, Coldinium, and central Durandis. Had those gates opened, the Frostborn would have been able to send additional armies to our world. Fortunately, forced her to break off the casting, and I chased her through the threshold. So far, she has always retreated to the stronghold of the Frostborn at Black Mountain. Even I dare not go there, for the combined power of the Frostborn in their citadel would be too much for me to overcome.”

  “Then you have been trying to stop her,” said Calliande, chilled. More world gates? She hadn’t even considered the possibility. Their entire strategy had been centered around pushing the Frostborn back to the world gate and closing it. If Imaria had been able to open another gate and bring forth more armies from the Frostborn, then Andomhaim would have fallen months ago.

  “I have,” said Ardrhythain. “I have kept her from opening more gates, though I have been unable to kill her. She will not stand and fight, knowing that I can defeat her in a magical battle, and the power of the shadow of Incariel gives her the ability to flee anywhere. If she is to be defeated, I fear it will not be at my hand.”

  “No,” said Calliande. “Which…is the reason we are here, I believe.”

  “The preparations you made long ago,” said Ardrhythain. “Should the Frostborn threaten your realm again. And if you could not stop their return, if you could not keep Shadowbearer from opening the gate to this world once more, you laid a second plan. A way to retrieve a powerful weapon to wield against the Frostborn.”

  “Yes,” said Calliande. She looked at Ridmark.

  “When I rescued Lady Rhyannis from Urd Morlemoch,” said Ridmark, “you promised me a boon in return.”

  “I did,” said Ardrhythain. “Nor have you collected on this boon.”

  “The time has come,” said Ridmark. He took a deep breath. “For my boon, I ask to wield the sword of the Dragon Knight.”

  They stood in silence for a moment.

  “Then the hour of doom has come at last, lord archmage,” said Rhyannis.

  “So it has,” said Ardrhythain. “So it has.” He looked at the younger high elf. “Go and call the Captains together. War has come to Cathair Solas, and the final remnant of our people shall need to fight or perish with the rest of this world.” Rhyannis bowed and left the dais.

  “Does this fulfill a prophecy?” said Calliande. Lanethran had said something similar at the causeway.

  “In a way,” said Ardrhythain. “The Seers were the true prophets among us. Yet all the high elves can see the flow of time to some extent. Do you recall what I said to you about the nature of time on the day we met, Ridmark Arban?”

  “I do,” said Ridmark. “You said that the past was like stone, frozen and immutable. The present was like a fire, flickering and changing. The future was the shadow cast by the light of that fire.”

  “Yes,” said Ardrhythain, “and in the shadows of your future, I saw many things. One of them was a shadow that might lead you to this day, to this hour, when you would ask me for the sword of the Dragon Knight. And in the shadows of Cathair Solas after the Frostborn were defeated the first time, I saw this future. If a second human ever came to Cathair Solas and asked for the sword of the Dragon Knight, the hour of fate had come at last. Either we would, at last, be victorious in our long war against the shadow of Incariel, or we would perish along with every other kindred in this world.”

  “Then will you give me the sword of the Dragon Knight?” said Ridmark.

  “I must warn you,” said Ardrhythain, “that the sword’s power is terrible. It was not meant for human hands to wield. It was not even meant for the hands of the high elves. The power belonged to the dragons of old, and only they could command it without consequence.”

  “I thank you for the warning,” said Ridmark. “But will you give me the sword of the Dragon Knight?”

  “It will try to destroy you,” said Ardrhy
thain. “The sword’s power can only be wielded by those strong of will and true of purpose. If you try to use the sword’s power for selfish purposes, it will destroy you. It was created to defend this world from the shadow of Incariel. To use it for any other reason will consume the wielder.”

  “Again, I thank you for the warning,” said Ridmark. “Will you give me the sword of the Dragon Knight for my boon?”

  “And even if you master the sword,” said Ardrhythain, “the cost in pain will be immense.” His golden eyes shifted to Calliande. “You saw the toll it inflicted upon Sir Kalomarus. You know what this will cost, and yet you urge the Gray Knight to claim it willingly.”

  Calliande frowned, but a wave of guilt kept her from answering Ardrhythain. Yes, she knew the danger. She knew it very well. She knew it…and still she was asking Ridmark to take the sword. Could she turn him aside from this course? She doubted it. Once he had decided upon a course of action, he rarely second-guessed himself.

  And this course of action might lead to his death.

  The dread churned in her gut like poison.

  “Once more I thank you for the warning,” said Ridmark, “but I ask for the sword of the Dragon Knight for my boon.”

  Ardrhythain bowed his head for a moment, his eyes closed.

  “So be it,” he said at last, lifting his face. “Thrice I have tried to warn you away, and thrice you have persisted. Therefore I shall show you the way to the sword. Kalomarus was strong enough to master it, and perhaps you shall be as well. If not, it will kill you.”

  “I understand,” said Ridmark.

  “Why?” Calliande heard herself say.

  She had not intended to speak, but the word erupted from her lips nonetheless. Perhaps it was watching Ridmark walk so calmly into such mortal danger, which had summoned a storm of rage and dread in her chest.

  “A question?” said Ardrhythain.