“Which means they eat you,” said Ridmark.
“We’re going to Oppidum Aurelius?” said Gavin.
“Aye,” said Calliande. “The Red King keeps a governor there to oversee the town. We can present our documents from Queen Mara and arrange for an escort to Bastoth. With luck, we can also contact Prince Curzonar and ask for his help.”
“Have you been to the Range many times, Sir Ector?” said Gavin.
“Certainly,” said Ector. “The first time…I was only a little older than you, I think, and I had not yet been knighted. It was with old Dux John…ah, Dux Sebastian’s father.” He shook his head. “A score of times and one thing I’ve learned is that you can never, ever lower your guard around the manetaurs. They are like wild animals that way.”
“And a man who does not respect a wild animal,” said Gavin, “invites a mauling.”
“Aye,” said Ridmark. “So keep your guard up.”
###
They crossed the pass, descending the eastern side of the foothills, and for the first time, Ridmark looked upon the vast plains of the kingdoms of the manetaurs.
“The Range,” said Sir Ector.
The plains stretched away in all directions. It was mostly flat, with low, ripping hills here and there and occasional patches of stubby trees. The day was mostly overcast, but sunlight leaked through rents in the clouds, falling upon the plains like the shafts of spears. It looked wild and beautiful and put Ridmark in mind of a sea made of grass.
Morigna would have loved it…which no doubt meant it was very dangerous.
“Hard country for ambushes,” said Kharlacht. “You can see for miles in all directions.”
“The manetaurs find ways,” said Ector. “There are gullies and depressions, and they are experts at concealing themselves when necessary. Lord Ridmark, Lady Keeper, I strongly urge you and everyone else to stay on the road. It would be the safest course.”
“Agreed,” said Ridmark, and they rode onward.
###
Later that afternoon they arrived at Oppidum Aurelius.
Calliande had visited the town centuries past, during the first war against the Frostborn, and to her surprise, it had changed very little. It resembled a trading fair more than a proper town, surrounded in a ring of tents and pavilions and temporary houses built of sod carved from the grassy plains. There were stone buildings – a church, a monastery, and a towering hall built of red stone, no doubt where the Red King’s governor kept watch over the town. Yet the rest of the town looked as if it could be packed up and moved on a moment’s notice.
“Oppidum Aurelius,” announced Ector. “The monks of the monastery are friends of the Dux, and they will allow us to camp in their courtyard. My lady Keeper, I suggest that we proceed there and then go to the governor’s hall at once. The sooner we present our credentials to the governor, the less likely we are to have trouble.”
Calliande looked at Ridmark, who nodded.
“Lead the way, Sir Ector,” said Ridmark.
They rode through the outer edges of the tents. Calliande looked around as they did, partly from curiosity and partly to keep watch for any foes. Most of the merchants and peddlers were human, though there were some Mhorluuskan orcs and even a few dwarves from the Three Kingdoms.
They turned a corner past a pavilion, heading for the heart of the town, and Calliande saw a manetaur.
The commoners of Andomhaim said that the manetaurs had the bodies of lions, the heads of lions, and the torsos of humans, and they were not entirely wrong. The manetaur had the head and proud mane of a mighty lion and the well-muscled torso and arms of a human man, albeit covered with fur. The creature had the lower body of a lion and four muscular legs that terminated in paws equipped with deadly claws. It wore chain mail and a quiver of arrows on its back. In its right hand, it held a bow, and the manetaur’s brilliant golden eyes considered Calliande for a moment.
Then it turned and loped away, moving with the speed of a cantering horse.
Calliande frowned. Something about that had disturbed her.
“A sentry,” said Ridmark in a quiet voice.
Calliande looked at him. He usually carried his staff across his saddle, but he had shifted it, resting the end of it in his stirrup like a lance. Did he expect trouble?
“Someone was watching for us,” said Ridmark.
“Curzonar?” said Calliande. “Or someone else?”
“I suspect,” said Ridmark, “that we are about to find out.”
They reached the central forum at the heart of the town. The governor’s hall rose on the far end of the square, tall and imposing and blocky in the fashion of manetaur architecture, the doors flanked by twin statues of manetaur warriors in armor. On the left side stood the monastery, and the right side an ancient stone church, likely the oldest human building in the Range.
Nearly a score of manetaurs waited before the governor’s hall, armored in chain mail and swords and axes hanging at their sides. As one, their golden eyes turned towards Calliande and Ridmark and the others, and Calliande felt a sudden chill, the way she imagined an animal felt when it sensed the eyes of a predator upon it.
“Trouble,” said Ridmark in a low voice. “Be ready, all of you.”
The horsemen reined up, and Calliande glimpsed Gavin loosening Truthseeker in its scabbard.
One of the manetaurs strode forward, his claws leaving scratches in the dust of the forum. His armor was finer than the other manetaurs, a steel cuirass over chain mail and a skirt of mail that covered his lower half like the barding of a horse. A sword and an axe waited at his belt, and scars marked his forearms and his muzzle.
“Well,” said the manetaur in accented Latin, “what have we here? Human renegades, come to stir up trouble in the Red King’s lands?”
“No, honored Hunter,” said Ector. “I am Sir Ector Naxius, a knight in the service of Dux Sebastian Aurelius of Caertigris. With me are Lord Ridmark Arban, the magister militum of Queen Mara of Nightmane Forest, and Calliande, the Keeper of Andomhaim. Both have come at the behest of Queen Mara to speak with the Red King Turcontar in her name…”
The manetaur let out a sneering, rumbling laugh, and the other manetaurs followed suit.
“Indeed?” said the manetaur. “The Keeper of Andomhaim has been in her grave two centuries and the Traveler rules in Nightmane Forest. Do you take us for fools?”
“Perhaps,” said Calliande, urging her horse forward. She might need to make a demonstration. “Tell us your name, Hunter, and we shall determine if you are a fool or not.”
The manetaur growled. “I am Ralakahr, and I am in service to the Prince of the Range Kurdulkar.” Calliande stiffened at that name. Curzonar had said Kurdulkar had flirted with the shadow of Incariel.
“Are you the governor of this town, Hunter?” said Calliande.
“No, that is the arbiters’ affair,” said Ralakahr. The scarred manetaur moved closer, his brilliant golden eyes digging into her. “My business is different. I have been set to watch Oppidum Aurelius for spies and saboteurs…and it seems that I have found some. The dvargir dogs have troubled us of late. Perhaps you are in their service.”
“They are not spies,” said Ector, “and certainly not saboteurs, Hunter. They are ambassadors from Queen Mara of Nightmane Forest, and…”
“Silence!” roared Ralakahr, and he drew his sword and his axe. The other manetaurs followed suit.
“Damn it,” muttered Kharlacht, reaching for his greatsword.
Calliande drew upon her power, preparing her magic, and Antenora’s staff began to glow as Gavin drew Truthseeker.
“Kill them!” roared Ralakahr. “Kill the spies and feast upon them!”
Chapter 11: Arbiter
Ridmark dropped from the saddle, staff in hand, his mind calculating their odds.
They were not good.
The manetaurs were ferocious fighters, some of the best he had ever seen, and their hybrid form of man and lion meant they could fight with the s
peed of a horseman and the stability and balance of a man on foot. In the Vale of Stone Death, Curzonar and his retinue of manetaur warriors had carved through both the Anathgrimm and the Mhorites. The score of manetaurs accompanying Ralakahr would be a match for the men-at-arms…but they also had a Swordbearer, Antenora’s fire, and the power of the Keeper. Of course, if Antenora and Calliande unleashed their powers, they might burn a large part of Oppidum Aurelius, and that would be a direct insult to the Red King.
It was possible their embassy had failed even before it had begun.
It was also possible they were about to die in the next few moments.
Ridmark raised his staff, bracing himself as the manetaurs prowled forward, and a thunderclap rang over the forum, so loud that Ridmark felt his teeth vibrate.
It had not come from either Antenora or Calliande.
For a moment, everyone froze, and then a roaring voice rang over the forum.
“This madness will cease!”
A manetaur limped from the doors of the governor’s hall. He was old, possibly the oldest manetaur Ridmark had ever seen, so old that his golden fur was more white than yellow. A set of vicious scars marred his muzzle and neck, and his left eye was milky white. He carried a staff of carved crimson wood in his left hand, leaning on it as he walked, and wore a mantle and cowl of blood-colored leather.
The old manetaur limped into the center of the forum, between the men-at-arms and Ralakahr’s warriors. The cowled head turned back and forth, and even with only one eye, Ridmark felt the power in the old manetaur’s gaze.
“What is the meaning of this?” said the old manetaur, his voice a raspy growl.
“These humans,” said Ralakahr, “are spies and saboteurs for the High King of Andomhaim, and…”
“Oh, indeed,” said the old manetaur, his disdain plain. “The realm of the High King wars against itself, yet I’m sure the claimants to old Uthanaric’s throne have the time to meddle in the troubles of the Range.”
“Arbiter Tazemazar,” said Ralakahr. “These spies…”
“Spies?” rumbled Tazemazar. “Do spies ride openly and wear the colors of their lords?”
“Some do,” said Ralakahr, glaring at the old manetaur. “The ways of humans are ever deceitful and treacherous.”
“Perhaps,” said Tazemazar, “but the Red King keeps his word, and by the Red King’s law, humans are permitted in Oppidum Aurelius.”
“The Red King should be more suspicious,” said Ralakahr. “Prince Kurdulkar says the time has come to take a harder hand with the humans, that we should dominate them as destiny requires. Perhaps the time has come for the arbiters to listen to his wisdom.”
“Perhaps we shall,” said Tazemazar, “should Prince Kurdulkar one day acquire any wisdom.”
“You should guard your tongue, old Hunter,” sneered Ralakahr. “Prince Kurdulkar’s words are the way of the future.”
“Prince Kurdulkar is not the Red King yet,” said Tazemazar. “Now be gone from this forum.”
“Is that a threat?” said Ralakahr.
“No,” said Tazemazar. “The arbiters of the Hunters do not speak threats. Only truth. And I say this truth to you, Ralakahr, Hunter and khalath of Kurdulkar, that if you do not clear this forum, you shall not live to see the next Red King.”
For a frozen moment, the two manetaurs glared at each other. Ralakahr looked furious enough to fight, but the manetaurs behind him edged back. Ralakahr might not fear the wrath of an arbiter, but his warriors did.
“Very well,” said Ralakahr at last. His golden eyes swept over Ridmark and the others. “We shall meet again.”
He turned and loped from the forum, his warriors following him.
The old arbiter sighed and rolled his shoulders, turning to face Ridmark.
“Now,” said Tazemazar. “What have we here?”
###
Calliande watched Tazemazar, holding her power ready.
The arbiters of the manetaurs used a variety of magic. Mostly the elemental magic of fire and water and earth, but some arbiters used other kinds of power, and a few of them even delved into necromancy. They could also become wizards of great power, and the arbiter standing before her possessed potent magic.
He all but blazed with it to her Sight.
“As Sir Ector said,” said Ridmark, “we are ambassadors from Queen Mara of Nightmane Forest, come to seek the aid of the Hunters against the Frostborn. If we do not stop the Frostborn now, they will overrun all this world.”
Tazemazar nodded, his staff tapping against the ground as he hobbled towards them. “Your words ring true. Among the arbiters of the Hunters, some of us can dream visions of power, and in our visions, we have seen momentous events. The fall of the Traveler, undone by his own wickedness, and the gates between the worlds opening anew.” His mismatched, ancient eyes shifted to Calliande. “You claim to be the Keeper of Andomhaim, returned from the mists of the past?”
“I am,” said Calliande.
“A grave claim,” said Tazemazar. “There is a test to determine the truth. Will you submit to it?”
“Yes,” said Calliande.
Ridmark stepped closer to her, his expression cautious.
“What is this test?” said Ridmark.
“The scent of the Keeper is known to us,” said Tazemazar.
“The scent?” said Calliande.
“It is a difficult concept for humans to understand,” said Tazemazar. “You take your words and inscribe them upon paper, leaving them for your descendants to understand long after you have entered the realm of death.”
“Writing,” said Calliande.
“Among the arbiters, we know the secret of recording scents, much as writing records the spoken word,” said Tazemazar. “Will you submit to this?”
“Yes,” said Calliande. “I have nothing to hide. I am the Keeper of Andomhaim, and if this shall prove it to you, I will submit.”
“Very well,” said Tazemazar. “Extend your left hand, and roll up your sleeve to the elbow.”
Calliande nodded, shifted the staff of the Keeper to her right hand, and rolled up her left sleeve. Tazemazar approached, and the horses shied away as they caught his scent. Calliande had dealt with manetaurs many times before, but she still understood the horses’ discomfort. The manetaurs were predators, and every fiber of her body knew it. Tazemazar was old, but he still stood four feet taller and outweighed her by hundreds of pounds, and he could kill her with a single swipe of his claws.
Tazemazar stooped, his muzzle a few inches from her extended left hand. His nostrils flared, his whiskers brushing her skin. He paused, and then moved his head up slowly, smelling her wrist and forearm and elbow.
At last, the old arbiter straightened up, stepping back as he leaned upon the red staff.
“It is true,” said Tazemazar, and there was a hint of wonder in his voice. “You are the Keeper Calliande, returned to the waking world, just as Prince Curzonar said. Truly the hour of doom has come.”
“You did not believe Curzonar when he returned from the Vale of Stone Death?” said Calliande.
“I have never known him to lie,” said Tazemazar, which did not precisely answer the question. “Yet the question of your return was a matter for the arbiters, not the Princes of the Range. There has been much dissension among the Hunters of late...but this is not a question to discuss under the open sun.” He turned towards the governor’s hall. “Zothal!”
The doors opened again, and four tygrai strode out. If the manetaurs resembled a hybrid of a human and a lion, the tygrai looked like men with the heads of tigers. Striped orange and black fur covered their bodies, and their yellow eyes glittered. The tygrai had human-shaped hands and feet, though tipped with claws, and they wore polished cuirasses and carried gleaming shields and long spears.
“Your command, arbiter?” said the lead tygrai, his mewling voice higher-pitched than the harsh rumble of the manetaurs.
“Imryr Zothal,” said Tazemazar. Calliande remem
bered that “imryr” was an officer’s rank among the tygrai, like “decurion” and “optio” among the men-at-arms of Andomhaim. “Stand guard here. Make sure that neither Ralakahr nor any of Kurdulkar’s other followers troubles the men-at-arms. If questioned, tell them this is the will of the arbiters.”
“It shall be done,” said Zothal, white fangs flashing in his muzzle as he bowed.
“Come, Keeper of Andomhaim,” said Tazemazar. “Let us hold counsel together.”
Calliande nodded. “Sir Ector. Camorak. Please see the men while I am gone.” She hesitated and then turned. “Ridmark?”
He nodded, and together they followed the old arbiter to the governor’s hall.
###
Ridmark and Calliande stepped through the doors and into the hall.
Gavin and Antenora had not been invited, but they had come along nonetheless. So had Third, who walked in silence behind Ridmark. Tazemazar did not seem to mind. Likely the old arbiter considered it proper that the Keeper should have guards and attendants. The governor’s hall was long and solemn, built entirely of the peculiar red granite that was found only in the mountains of the Range. Stern carvings of manetaurs gazed down from the pillars.
“We may,” said Tazemazar, turning to face them once more, “speak at greater length here.”
“I thought a Prince of the Range was usually appointed the governor of Oppidum Aurelius,” said Calliande, “not an arbiter.”
“Usually, this is so,” said Tazemazar. “But rarely have the Hunters ever been as divided as we are now.”
““Is it not the nature of the hunters to war amongst themselves?” said Ridmark.
“It is,” said Tazemazar. “The question before us is whether or not we change our nature as Hunters.”
Ridmark wondered what that meant.
“You said you were the magister militum of Nightmane Forest,” said Tazemazar. “What is your name?”
“Ridmark Arban,” said Ridmark.
Tazemazar inclined his head, his cowl rustling. “The one who slew Mhalek.”
Frostborn: The False King Page 16
