Frostborn: The False King

by Jonathan Moeller

  Ridmark joined the fray. A hulking medvarth reached for him, and he ducked under the claws, driving his axe into the side of the creature’s leg. The medvarth stumbled, and Ridmark buried his axe in its neck. He spun, ducking under another medvarth’s attack, and Caius hit the revenant from behind, shattering one of its legs with his mace. Kharlacht struck, taking off the medvarth’s head with a sweep of his greatsword. The medvarth went down, and Ridmark sprang over its carcass.

  The five cogitaers stood before him. They wore gray robes over their gaunt frames, their skin an odd shade of blue, their white hair floating around their heads. Blue light shone in their eyes and around their fingers as they worked magical spells, and as one all five sets of blue-glowing eyes turned towards Ridmark.

  He wanted to charge into the cogitaers and capture their attention before they could bring their magic to bear against the men-at-arms, but he supposed their full attention would kill him where he stood.

  A sphere of fire shot over his shoulder and landed amidst the cogitaers. It was a far smaller explosion than the one Antenora had created earlier, but it was enough to distract the cogitaers. They broke off their spells, focusing instead on a ward to turn aside fire, and Ridmark stuck. He buried his axe in the head of the nearest cogitaer, an icy chill shooting up his arm and frost forming upon the blade of his axe. He released the haft, yanking his staff from the leather strap that secured it to his back. A second cogitaer turned to face him, but Ridmark whipped his staff around. For all their magical prowess, the cogitaers were physically weak, and the staff snapped back the cogitaer’s skull with a crack of bone. The cogitaer collapsed in a limp pile, and Caius and Gavin took down another cogitaer.

  Ridmark caught his balance, raising his staff, but by then Gavin had reached them. The remaining two cogitaers hit Gavin with the full power of their spells, but Truthseeker flared, shattering the freezing magic before it could touch him.

  A moment later the two cogitaers were dead at his feet.

  Ridmark looked for more foes, but the battle was over.

  ###

  “We did not lose a single man,” said Ector, his voice thick with amazement. “Nine wounded, and Magistrius Camorak is taking care of that.”

  Calliande nodded, trying to remember not to clench her jaw.

  “After fighting the revenants at Dun Calpurnia, I expected a harder battle,” said Ector.

  “The revenants are a dangerous foe,” said Ridmark. He looked weary, but he had come through the battle without a scratch, much to Calliande’s relief. “It would have been a much harder fight without the aid of the Keeper and her apprentice.”

  “It would also have been a harder fight,” said Calliande, “without your plan.”

  Ridmark looked at her, and she smiled. He didn’t smile back, but he did nod.

  “The Keeper and the Gray Knight together defeated Mournacht and Tymandain Shadowbearer,” said Caius. “Why are you surprised, Sir Ector?”

  “Perhaps,” said Ridmark. “We do work well together.”

  Calliande smiled. It wasn’t much…but she supposed it was a start.

  Chapter 10: The Hunters

  Since leaving Aranaeus, Gavin had traveled longer and farther than he had ever dreamed, to Coldinium and Urd Morlemoch and Khald Azalar and Dun Licinia, but he had never experienced a journey quite like this.

  After the defeat of the revenants, Ridmark led them on a zigzagging path through the hills of the Northerland, following the line of the River Marcaine. The Frostborn had brought near-total devastation to the Northerland. They passed nearly a dozen ruined villages, the houses reduced to burned stone shells, and a half-dozen more that had been rebuilt into citadels of stone and ice.

  They stayed well away from those.

  Five times they dodged Frostborn patrols. Gavin was not a commander, and he had not led men in battle. He had always done as Ridmark and Calliande had told him, and during the campaign in Caerdracon, he had followed the lead of Master Marhand and Sir Constantine and the other Swordbearers. Yet he had seen enough of war to realize that the Frostborn were stirred up, and the Anathgrimm warbands had indeed hindered them. Gavin remembered the long, grinding campaign across Caerdracon. There was no way Prince Arandar’s army could have dealt with Tarrabus’s garrisons and fought the Frostborn at the same time.

  The realm had cast out Ridmark as a branded outcast, but if not for him, Tarrabus and the Frostborn would have conquered Andomhaim by now. Gavin supposed that Caius would say that God had prepared Ridmark for this purpose, and Morigna would have said that it was from Ridmark’s own strength and courage.

  Gavin didn’t know the truth. There were so many things he didn’t know. He just hoped to do his duty and bear Truthseeker in a worthy manner.

  Three days after the defeat of the revenants, they arrived at the easternmost edge of the Qazaluuskan Forest.

  “The home of the bone orcs,” said Ector, gesturing at the vast green expanse before them.

  The trees were even bigger than those of Nightmane Forest, but seemed wilder and more and tangled. It did have the same air of silence, but Nightmane Forest’s silence was peaceful, thanks to Mara. The silence of this forest was ominous, like the silence in the galleries below Urd Arowyn and Urd Morlemoch.

  “You’ve fought against them before, Sir Ector?” said Gavin.

  “Aye, Sir Gavin,” said Ector. “A dozen times since I took service with Dux Sebastian’s father. The bone orcs worship Qazalask, the orcish blood god of death, and are skilled necromancers.”

  “All of them know at least a little magic,” said Ridmark, gazing at the trees with a distant expression, “but their shamans are potent, and their Elder Shamans are extremely powerful and dangerous.”

  “Will we face trouble with them?” said Kharlacht.

  “Possibly,” said Ridmark. “They are superstitious, and their lives are governed by obscure omens. If the omens are favorable, they’ll attack us and try to harvest our corpses as undead slaves. If the omens are not favorable, we could walk unarmed through the forest, and they would leave us be.”

  “You know a great deal about them,” said Calliande.

  Ridmark blinked, seeming to shake off his recollections.

  “Aye,” he said. “Years ago, before I met you. I was looking for the secret of the Frostborn, and I thought one of the Elder Shamans might know. So I went into the Qazaluuskan Forest to ask one.”

  “What?” said Ector, and the weathered knight looked more shocked than Gavin had ever seen him. “You went into the Qazaluuskan Forest to speak with an Elder Shaman and came out alive again?”

  Camorak snorted. “You’re talking to him, aren’t you?”

  “Did you speak with an Elder Shaman?” said Calliande. She looked half-fascinated, half-horrified.

  “Yes,” said Ridmark.

  “How did it go?” said Calliande.

  “Badly,” said Ridmark. “But I’m still alive, so I suppose I cannot complain. But that is a tale for another time.” He beckoned. “Come. Keep an eye out. I would prefer to avoid trouble with the Qazaluuskan orcs, but if they want a fight, we’ll oblige them.”

  ###

  It took them several days to traverse the narrow strip of land between the Qazaluuskan Forest and the vast gray expanse of the Lake of Mourning. Even during the first war with the Frostborn, Calliande had never traveled through this land, and she found it eerie. Mist often rose from the waters of the lake, shrouding the terrain and the forest, and in places the shores of the lake turned to marshland, the croak of insects filling the air.

  Twice bands of Qazaluuskan orcs attacked. The first time a dozen Qazaluuskan orcs rushed them, their bodies covered with white and black war paint to make them look eerie and ghostly. Ridmark and the others fought the raiders off without difficulty, though three of the men-at-arms were drugged by the bone orcs’ poisoned darts and Calliande and Camorak had to heal them. The second time the bone orcs sent a wave of undead at them, the creatures reeking of chemicals
, their mouths and eyes stitched shut. Calliande destroyed them with ease, loosing a storm of white fire at the undead creatures that consumed them.

  The bone orcs took that as an ill omen and offered no other attacks. Calliande felt eyes watching them from the trees, and the Sight detected stirrings of necromantic power within the forest, but the bone orcs did not emerge from their forest. She was half-tempted to ask Antenora to start flinging fireballs into the trees, but if the Qazaluuskan orcs ignored them, she would return the favor.

  At last, they moved away from the forest, cutting southeast across the hilly country of Mhorluusk. The orcs of Mhorluusk were followers of the Dominus Christus, and the king of Mhorluusk was one of the three orcish kings allied with the High King. Most of the warriors of Mhorluusk were with Prince Arandar at Caerdracon, leaving only the women and the old men to defend their homes, yet Calliande knew the orcish women were just as fierce as the orcish men, and an old orcish man reached advanced age by surviving many fights.

  They stopped in several villages to trade for supplies and news. With all the warriors in Caerdracon, the men of Arduran and Calvus had launched raids into Mhorluusk. Of course, most of the fighting men of Arduran and Calvus were laying siege to Tarlion with Tarrabus, and the remaining orcs had been able to defend their homes. It also seemed that Tarlion, under the command of stubborn old Corbanic Lamorus and his son Sir Cortin, had stood fast against Tarrabus’s siege. Tarrabus could draw all the supplies he wanted from Calvus and Arduran, yet the walls of Tarlion were strong and well-reinforced, and Corbanic had activated the city’s magical defenses against dark power.

  The news cheered Calliande. Ridmark and the Anathgrimm had fought the Frostborn to a bloody standstill in the Northerland, but Tarrabus was stalled outside of Tarlion. The Well in the High King’s Citadel was a source of tremendous magical power, and if it fell into the control of the Enlightened, Tarrabus could use it to work great evil.

  God only knew what the Frostborn would do with it.

  Several days later, they left the hills of Mhorluusk and came to the duxarchate of Caertigris, the lands ruled by Dux Sebastian Aurelius and the House of the Aurelii. The eastern two-thirds of Caertigris were grassland, while the western third was the foothills of the Lion Mountains that separated the High King’s realm from the Range of the manetaurs. Sir Ector relaxed as they crossed the plains. This was his country, and he knew it inside and out.

  Calliande’s own increased.

  In another few days, they would cross the Lion Mountains and reach the Range…and she would have to convince the manetaurs to aid the Anathgrimm against the Frostborn. She had done so before, centuries past, during the first war. Yet for all the confidence she had shown Arandar and Mara, Calliande wasn’t sure if the manetaurs would listen. So much was riding upon what happened in the next few days…and she had failed so many times before.

  She brooded in silence as they rode, trying to decide what to do.

  ###

  The plains ended, the road climbing into the foothills of the Lion Mountain, and Sir Ector and Brother Caius took it upon themselves to educate Gavin about the manetaurs and the Red King.

  Ridmark listened with half an ear, keeping his eyes on the worn hills. The Frostborn had not sent any forces this far south, but he would not put it past Tarrabus to arrange another assassination attempt on Calliande. Ector and his men-at-arms were more comfortable in familiar ground, but Ridmark would not let his vigilance waver.

  Too much was at stake.

  “So the manetaurs…ah, do eat humans?” said Gavin.

  “Sometimes, Sir Gavin,” said Ector. Like many knights, his attitude towards Gavin veered from the respect due to a Swordbearer to the paternalism of an older knight for a younger fighter. Few men of Gavin’s age became Swordbearers, and even fewer had done the things he had. Gavin, for his part, simply seemed embarrassed when people respected him. In his heart, he still thought of himself as a boy from Aranaeus.

  It was just as well. Far too many nobles had far too high of an opinion of themselves. Perhaps if they did not, Tarrabus would not have been able to lure so many of them into the Enlightened.

  “But only when they decide it is justified,” said Caius.

  “That is not reassuring,” said Gavin.

  “It is a matter of history, as so many things are,” said Ector. “Long ago, the manetaurs encountered the men of Andomhaim for the first time, and we went to war. It was after the defeat of the urdmordar and the founding of the Two Orders, but before the arrival of the Frostborn. The High King and the Red King fought three wars but were unable to prevail against each other. Finally, the Red King and the arbiters of the manetaurs concluded that Andomhaim was too strong to conquer, so peace was decreed and a treaty was signed.”

  “Sir Ector is correct,” said Caius. “It is also a matter of the manetaurs’ nature. Humans and orcs and dwarves and halflings are very similar to each other, despite our many differences. You recall the lupivirii?” Gavin nodded. “The manetaurs are like that. They possess a savage nature and a more bestial spirit than we do. Yet unlike the lupivirii, the manetaurs are able to suppress their fury and allow their rational intellects to take control, while the lupivirii are nearly entirely enslaved to their animal natures.”

  “Most likely this is why the manetaurs rule a vast kingdom,” said Ector, “and the lupivirii are reduced to wild packs that haunt lonely places.”

  “You remember Prince Curzonar?” said Ridmark over his shoulder.

  “Of course,” said Gavin. “He rescued us from the Mhorites and the Anathgrimm in the Vale of Stone Death.”

  “Among humans, if Sir Ector challenged me, killed me, and took command here,” said Ridmark, “we would count it a grave crime and Dux Sebastian would try Ector for murder.” Ector laughed. “Among the manetaurs, it would be seen as the proper way of conducting affairs. They believe that the strong deserve to rule by their strength...and if a ruler is killed, that is proof he was not strong enough to keep his office.”

  “Then why do the manetaurs not tear each other apart in a civil war?” said Gavin.

  “They spend most of their time fighting and hunting,” said Ector. “The arbiters and the tygrai hold them together.”

  “Arbiters?” said Gavin. “You’ve mentioned them before.”

  “They are both priests and wizards,” said Calliande, speaking up for the first time. “A manetaur who shows magical ability joins the arbiters. They take solemn oaths to have no children and to stand apart from the endless feuds of the manetaurs. Among the manetaurs, they serve much the same role as the priests and the Magistri serve among us.”

  “Have you ever read the book Julius Caesar wrote about his wars against the Gauls upon Old Earth?” said Ector.

  “Um,” said Gavin. “No.”

  “He said that among the Gaulish nation, the druids functioned as priests, magicians, and judges,” said Ector. “The arbiters of the manetaurs do much the same. They possess rights and powers that even the Red King does not, though they only exert their will when they feel the manetaur kindred itself is threatened with danger.”

  “You also mentioned…ah, the tygrai, is that it?” said Gavin. “What are they? Another kind of priest?”

  “No,” said Ector. “A different kindred. Related to the manetaurs, but different from them.” He scratched the graying stubble on his lined face. “The tales say they came with the manetaurs when the dark elves opened the gates long ago. The manetaurs prefer to hunt, but the tygrai till the fields and build the cities. Manetaurs prefer the professions of war and blacksmithing and art, but the tygrai are carpenters and farmers. A very practical-minded kindred, unlike the manetaurs themselves.”

  “Slaves, then,” said Antenora, an edge in her rasping voice. “The manetaurs have conquered the tygrai and made them slaves.”

  “No, not slaves,” said Ector. “Vassals, perhaps, is a better word. The manetaurs have obligations to the tygrai, just as the tygrai have obligations to the
manetaurs. When the manetaurs war among themselves, they never involve the tygrai.”

  “I do not think there is an appropriate word in Latin, orcish, or the dwarven tongues to describe the relationship between the manetaurs and the tygrai,” said Calliande. “Perhaps the best way to think of the manetaurs and the tygrai is to think of them as a pride of lions. The Red King is the leader of the pride. The tygrai are members of the pack, though they would not dream of usurping the Red King’s place. I do not think it is in their nature.”

  “A strange way of organizing a realm,” said Antenora.

  Ector shrugged. “The manetaurs are strange folk, mistress Antenora. They are…ah, what is the word? Alien, just as the Keeper said. They are alien to us. Though I imagine to them, we seem just as peculiar.”

  “You said they sometimes eat humans?” said Gavin.

  “Only sometimes,” said Ector. “By the terms of the treaty, the Red King and the High King aid each other against their mutual enemies – the dvargir and the bone orcs and the Frostborn and the like. The dvargir often raid the Range, since I understand they prefer taking tygrai and manetaur slaves. Additionally, the treaty sets out the terms of trade between our realms.”

  “Trade?” said Gavin, surprised.

  “Aye,” said Antenora, a dry note in her voice. “No matter how alien the kindreds, no matter how hostile the nations, there is always trade to be had.”

  “Indeed,” said Ector. “Under the terms of the treaty, the subjects of the High King are allowed to visit Oppidum Aurelius, a trading town on the western edge of the Range. We may also take the road to Bastoth, the chief city of the manetaurs and the seat of the Red King. Any subject of the High King who strays from those places is no longer under the Red King’s protection, and the manetaurs can do as they please.”