Frostborn: The Dragon Knight (Frostborn #14)

by Jonathan Moeller

  Ridmark did not move.

  ###

  Arandar looked at the army in astonishment, watched thousands of swords burn with magical fire.

  “The sword,” said Calliande when he looked at her. “The sword can share its magic with allies of the Dragon Knight.”

  “Then this is our chance,” said Arandar. He turned and saw that his standardbearer had survived, still standing beneath the battered Pendragon banner. “Sound the advance. Sound the advance! We must attack at once! This is our last chance!”

  The standardbearer nodded and blew the advance, and the answering call came from horns scattered throughout the host. Arandar started running forward, passing the smoldering shells of the destroyed revenants, Calliande behind him.

  A dull roar rose from the army as thousands of men and orcs charged, throwing themselves at their surprised foes, swords and axes of fire rising and falling as they attacked.

  ###

  Ridmark felt the power flowing from Caledhmaer, maintaining the aura of fire that had ignited the swords of the army.

  The Frostborn must have felt it, too, because dozens of them rushed towards Ridmark. Some of them lifted huge greatswords wreathed in freezing mist, and others hung back and began casting spells, calling power enough to kill a hundred men in a single instant. Caledhmaer was powerful, but the sword did not make Ridmark any faster and stronger, and even a soulblade would not have let Ridmark overcome so many Frostborn at once.

  But Caledhmaer had powers that a soulblade did not.

  It could alter the flow of time.

  Ridmark thought again about throwing himself upon the sword’s blade. If it could control time, and if it could undo his existence, then none of this would ever have happened. All the slain men lying upon the field would live again. All the wounded men screaming in agony would be healed.

  But he thought of Calliande and stayed his hand.

  Instead, he called on Caledhamer’s magic, an aspect of the power that had let him travel from Cathair Solas to Dun Calpurnia in the blink of an eye.

  And with that power, he slowed time.

  Everything around him blurred, and the advance of the Frostborn dropped to a crawl, their swords seeming to creep through the air as they reached for him.

  Time had slowed, but it had not slowed for Ridmark.

  He began killing, driving Caledhmaer through the skulls and the hearts of the Frostborn. The sword’s flame consumed the Frostborn warriors, killing them with elemental fire, and Ridmark slew a dozen of them before time sped up again. Caledhmaer was powerful, but even the sword of the Dragon Knight could not stop time indefinitely.

  But the shock to the Frostborn was obvious. To their eyes, Ridmark had just killed a dozen of them in less than a second. They spread out around him, and again Ridmark called on the sword to slow time, and he started killing once more.

  ###

  The army of the realm crashed into the Frostborn, striking their dismayed foes with new vigor. The medvarth flinched from the blazing fires of their weapons. The lines of the enemy wavered, beginning to fall back, and fresh hope went through Arandar.

  He charged towards the Frostborn, intending to aid Ridmark, and then the younger man moved.

  Ridmark moved so fast that he became a blur of blue armor and gray cloak and burning sword. In an instant, he moved twenty yards forward, almost seeming to disappear and reappear as Third did, and a dozen Frostborn fell dead behind him. The Frostborn reeled and moved to attack him, and Ridmark blurred again, killing a dozen more of his enemies.

  Fireballs soared through the air and landed in the struggling armies, and Arandar looked to the west in time to see another wave of medvarth charging along the frozen river, preparing to fling themselves into the flank of the army of Andomhaim.

  ###

  The explosion shook Ridmark, the ground vibrating beneath his boots.

  He looked west and saw the trebuchets on the frozen river raining fire, saw thousands of fresh medvarth warriors preparing to charge into the battle. Caledhmaer also sensed the magic in the ice of the river, the cold power of the Frostborn sustaining the thick ice.

  Ridmark called on the sword to freeze time, and he ran.

  He covered half the distance to the River Moradel before time sped up again, and then he used the sword to slow it once more. A moment later he reached the bank of the River Moradel and saw the khaldjari engineers laboring over their trebuchets, saw thousands of medvarth warriors hastening to attack.

  Time sped up again, and the medvarth charged towards the bank.

  Ridmark raised Caledhmaer over his head and drove the sword into the river.

  The blade stabbed into the ice without resistance and exploded with fire. A maze of burning cracks spread through the ice. The medvarth roared and ran faster, trying to reach the bank, and the burning cracks shone brighter.

  The ice shattered and evaporated into mist.

  The trebuchets fell into the river at once, sinking beneath the waters. The medvarth fell as well, roaring and bellowing as they tried to claw their way to the bank despite the weight of their heavy armor. Ridmark jumped back as the river surged over its bank, the waters displaced by the weight of thousands of khaldjari and medvarth.

  He left them to their fate and went to rejoin the battle, Caledhmaer trailing flames from his fist.

  ###

  The loss of the trebuchets and the khaldjari broke the will of the enemy.

  The tide turned, and the army of the Frostborn began fleeing.

  Gavin intended to pursue, but he needed a moment to catch his breath. The locusari fled first, racing through the ruined town and around its wall, followed in short order by the medvarth warriors and the Frostborn themselves. Drums boomed out, and the medvarth managed to retreat in good order. No doubt the Frostborn would reform their army somewhere north of Dun Calpurnia and prepare to renew their attack.

  But, for now, the battle was won. Arandar’s standardbearers called a halt, and the army began to stream back into Dun Calpurnia to reclaim their lost supplies.

  Gavin looked at Antenora, stunned that they had survived. He had been so sure they would die side by side.

  They had won this battle, but even with the fury of the Dragon Knight, he wondered if they would prevail in the next.

  Chapter 24: Last Chance

  Calliande hurried with Arandar through the gate of Dun Calpurnia.

  Her mind whirled with a mixture of dread and relief and the urgent need to do about twenty different things at once. The battle had nearly been a disaster, and even then, it had been a costly victory. The army was ragged and tired, and it would need to move quickly to keep the Frostborn from regrouping and finishing them off. Calliande ought to have been moving among the wounded, helping the Magistri to heal wounds. She ought to have been using the Sight to track the Frostborn, trying to determine where and when they would attack next.

  Mostly, though, she felt dread for Ridmark.

  He had disappeared after he had shattered the ice and drowned the khaldjari trebuchets, and she hadn’t been able to find him. The Sight, at least, should have been able to detect the radiant power of the Dragon Knight’s sword, but that had vanished as well. Had he been killed? Given the power of the sword, it seemed unlikely.

  Or had he killed himself, succumbing to the trail of the sword?

  That, she feared, was far more likely.

  “Your arrival was most timely,” said Arandar, stopping in the southern forum of the town. His standardbearers raised his banner here, calling the surviving high lords and commanders to him. “The Frostborn had us. Another hour and most of us would have been dead and the rest fleeing.”

  “It was the Dragon Knight,” said Calliande. “We would not have won the battle without Ridmark. I must find him. If we don’t have his help against the Frostborn, we might not win the next battle.”

  “No,” said Arandar. “The sword…what was it doing to him?”

  “It was driving him mad,” said Ca
lliande. “The sword tests anyone who dares to wield it. It is using his own weaknesses against him. It has convinced him that if he kills himself, he will be removed from the pages of history and that everything he has ever done will be undone.”

  “Is that even possible?” said Arandar.

  “No,” said Calliande. “It’s not.” She took a deep breath, again using the Sight to look for Ridmark. “And…doesn’t Ridmark realize that none of us would be here if not for what he has done? We would have all died in Urd Morlemoch. Or Khald Azalar.”

  “A man’s regrets are a powerful weapon to turn against him,” said Arandar.

  A flicker of power caught the Sight’s attention. Ridmark was here, somewhere near the western wall of Dun Calpurnia.

  “High King, listen to me,” said Calliande. “I have to help Ridmark, but I must tell you this. In Cathair Solas we learned the truth. We learned why Shadowbearer summoned the Frostborn.”

  As quickly as she could, she told Arandar of the shadow of Incariel, how Shadowbearer had been working for millennia to shatter the Black Mountain and release Incariel from its prison.

  “God and the saints,” said Arandar. “When the Warden spoke of a hundred thousand years of war, he was telling the truth.”

  “Yes,” said Calliande. The pulse of power from the sword grew stronger. “This is just the latest battle in a war that started long before any of us were born. And this might be the final battle. I’m going to try to talk Ridmark out of killing himself. If I don’t…or if I get killed in the process, remember this. The Well of Tarlion must be defended at all costs, or else the world is doomed. Make sure that Queen Mara and King Axazamar and Red King Turcontar know the truth. Imaria will probably convince the Frostborn to attack Tarlion as soon as possible. Likely she will have them freeze the Moradel to advance south. You have to be ready.”

  “We shall,” said Arandar. He looked at the ruin around them. “God willing.”

  “God willing,” said Calliande. She took a deep breath. “I will return with the Dragon Knight or not at all.”

  “Go,” said Arandar, and she turned and broke into a run, heading towards the flicker of power that her Sight had detected. Dead men and orcs and medvarth and locusari and khaldjari littered the town’s streets, and Calliande ran past them, her heart thudding with fear in her chest.

  Blue fire swirled in front of her, and Third appeared. She looked exhausted, her armor spattered with blood and dirt, her eyes sunk deeper into her face.

  “Keeper,” said Third. “You must come at once.”

  “What’s wrong?” said Calliande.

  “I have found the lord magister,” said Third. “I think he has gone mad. He is talking about how it would have been better if he had never existed, that he needs to kill himself with the sword of the Dragon Knight.”

  “It’s the sword,” said Calliande. “It’s overthrowing his sanity. It…”

  Someone grunted, and she saw Caius running towards her. He looked just as tired as Third, though he had come through the battle unharmed.

  “If you are looking for Ridmark, I saw him go this way,” said Caius. “I tried to talk to him, but he said that his duty was clear.”

  “Come with us,” said Calliande. Sometimes Ridmark had been willing to listen to Caius when he would heed no one else. Calliande wished that Mara was here. She, too, had often been able to get Ridmark to listen to her.

  “This way,” said Third.

  The three of them ran through the streets and past dozens of ruined houses, many of them still burning from the trebuchets’ bombardment. As they approached the western wall, Calliande saw many Mhorite orcs and dvargir lying dead on the street. Revenants, likely, either destroyed during the fighting in the town or when Ridmark had unleashed the power of the Dragon Knight.

  She turned a corner, coming to a street leading to the western wall, and saw Ridmark.

  He stood in the middle of the street, the sword still burning in his right first. He was staring at two corpses, and with a shock Calliande recognized them. One was Dux Gareth Licinius, and another was Dux Leogrance Arban, Ridmark’s father. A burst of grief and regret went through Calliande. Dux Gareth had always seemed so strong and unyielding, and she had come to appreciate Dux Leogrance’s cool head and sound judgment. She had always hoped she would find a way to get Leogrance to reconcile with Ridmark.

  Now it that would never happen.

  Calliande should have been here. She should have been advising Arandar. Perhaps she could have averted these deaths.

  “Ridmark,” said Calliande.

  He looked up at her, and she flinched.

  He looked terrible. The fire blazed in his eyes and his veins and in his heart. It made him look like a coal on the verge of bursting into flames.

  “I did this,” he said, his voice a pained rasp.

  “I am sorry about your father,” said Calliande.

  “I didn’t know him that well,” said Ridmark. “I spent more time with Dux Gareth.” He took a deep breath. “I did this.”

  “You did not,” said Caius. “The Frostborn killed your father and the Dux, not you. That any of us are alive at all is thanks to your return.”

  “No,” said Ridmark. “All this could have been avoided.” His fingers tightened against the hilt of the burning sword. “All of it can yet be undone.”

  “It can’t,” said Calliande.

  “It can,” said Ridmark, the fires in his eyes brightening. “The sword has shown me the way. It had the power to burn the revenants. It had the power to break the ice. It had the power to stop time. It must have the power to reverse time.” He stepped back, raising the sword before him. “I know what I must do.”

  Fear almost choked Calliande. “No, don’t, please don’t.”

  “I am sorry,” he said, and he gestured with the sword, opening a rift of mist and white light. He turned and stepped through it, no doubt intending to go off somewhere quiet where he could kill himself without interruption.

  The gate started to close behind him, and Calliande cast a spell, fusing the power of the Keeper’s mantle into the fabric of the gate. The rift shuddered, undulating, and almost collapsed.

  But it would stay open for another few moments.

  Calliande ran after Ridmark and into the rift, Caius and Third a half-step behind her.

  Chapter 25: Burn With Me

  Ridmark stepped across the ruins of the great hall, Caledhmaer’s harsh light throwing black shadows against the damaged pillars and the broken windows.

  It had to be here. It always had to be here. This was where Ridmark would undo his mistakes and atone for his failures.

  He stepped across what had once been the great hall of Castra Marcaine, the seat of Gareth Licinius, Dux of the Northerland.

  The Frostborn had all but destroyed the castra. Rather than fortifying it after it had fallen, they had decided to abandon it. The roof had been shattered and lay in shards across the tiles of black and white. Ridmark walked to where Aelia had died and looked around, memories flickering through his mind. There was the dais, where Dux Gareth had knighted Ridmark. There was where he had danced with Aelia for the first time. He and Aelia had stood before the dais and been wed as Gareth’s household knights had cheered.

  He stood motionless on the spot where she had died.

  Ridmark closed his mind for a moment, the fire of Caledhmaer burning through his thoughts.

  Here, this spot, this was where he would kill himself with the sword.

  All of it would be undone, all his mistakes, all his failures. Aelia would live again. Morigna would live again. Dux Gareth and his father would live again, as would all the men slain at Dun Calpurnia. The Frostborn would never have returned, and the realm would be at peace.

  And Calliande…

  He hesitated, something in him wavering.

  No. It would be better for Calliande if she had never met him. She would have awakened to a realm at peace, the Frostborn banished. It would be worth it.<
br />
  He lowered Caledhmaer, preparing to reverse his grip on the sword.

  “Ridmark!”

  He turned and saw Calliande, Third, and Caius standing at the other end of the hall.

  ###

  It took Calliande a moment to recognize their surroundings.

  She had not been here in centuries, not since the first war with the Frostborn. This had to be the ruins of Castra Marcaine, where Ridmark had been a page and a squire and then a knight. He had practically grown up here. He had been married here. His wife had died here.

  Where else would he go to kill himself?

  Ridmark stood in the center of the hall, the sword’s fire throwing black shadows from the pillars against the wall. The ceiling had been torn open, rubble lying in heaps across the black and white tiles of the floor. Ridmark’s face was a harsh grimace of emotion, a mask of pain and regret.

  “You shouldn’t have followed me here,” said Ridmark.

  “I had to,” said Calliande. “The sword is lying to you. If you kill yourself, it won’t do anything. Nothing will be undone.”

  “It will,” said Ridmark.

  “No magic can undo the past,” said Third. “Else my father would have used it. If the dark elves or the high elves knew of magic to change the past, would not they have employed it already and restored their dominion?”

  “You know that suicide is a great evil,” said Caius. “If the sword is telling you to do something evil, then you know it is testing you to see if you are strong enough to resist the temptation.”

  “It would not be suicide, but a sacrifice,” said Ridmark. “And it would be a sacrifice of little value. How much evil would have been avoided if I had never been born!”

  “No,” said Calliande. “No, how can you say that? You saved my life, Caius’s life. You helped Third save herself from the Traveler’s power. None of that would have happened without you.”