Frostborn: The False King

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Yes,” said Ridmark.

  “And you slew Mournacht of Kothluusk and Tymandain Shadowbearer,” said Tazemazar. “You were the one man who warned your kindred of the return of the Frostborn, but was ignored until the Frostborn returned to prove your words with blood.”

  “You are very well informed, lord arbiter,” said Ridmark.

  “I must be,” said Tazemazar. “A manetaur’s weapons are his claws and fangs, but the arbiter must wield the additional weapons of knowledge and truth. Much we can learn through our spells, and much more by speaking to the merchants who come to Oppidum Aurelius, and we have heard many strange things from them.” The arbiter’s one good eye shifted to Calliande. “How have you returned? The arbiters last encountered your scent over two hundred years ago, and humans do not live that long.”

  “I foresaw the danger,” said Calliande. “I knew the Frostborn would return, and I feared that Shadowbearer would corrupt the realm so badly that Andomhaim would be unable to stand against them. So I put myself into a magical sleep, and I founded the Order of the Vigilant, to keep watch and guard against them. But all my preparations failed.” Ridmark blinked in surprise. There was a note of weary bitterness in her voice that he had never heard from her. “Shadowbearer arranged the destruction of the Order and founded the Enlightened of Incariel, the cult that the false king Tarrabus Carhaine now leads. Ridmark slew Tymandain Shadowbearer upon the slopes of Black Mountain, but his mantle passed to one of the Enlightened, who became the new Shadowbearer and opened the gate. Tarrabus Carhaine murdered High King Uthanaric and tried to seize the throne for himself, while Uthanaric’s last living son fights to defeat him and the Frostborn grow stronger in the Northerland.”

  It did sound bleak when she laid it all out.

  “I see,” said Tazemazar. “And you, Lord Magister. Do you serve the Traveler?”

  “The Traveler is dead,” said Ridmark. “One of his daughters slew him in Khald Azalar. She shook off his control and now rules the Anathgrimm and Nightmane Forest as Queen Mara.”

  “Impossible,” said Tazemazar. “Such a thing has never happened in all of recorded history. A dark elven half-breed is inevitably consumed by the dark power within, and half-human, half dark elven hybrids usually become urshanes or urdhracosi.”

  “It happened, arbiter,” said Third in her quiet voice, “for I have seen it with my own eyes and lived it within my own flesh. Behold, for a thousand years I was an urdhracos, but Queen Mara slew the Traveler and showed me the way to freedom.”

  Tazemazar prowled towards her, his staff starting to glow in his hand. Third did not flinch. Unlike Calliande, he did not ask for permission before smelling her, but Third remained motionless. Tazemazar smelled her three times and then stepped back, his confusion obvious.

  “In all my years,” he said, “I have never smelled anything quite like you.”

  “Queen Mara was indeed something new,” said Calliande, “something that had never before walked the face of Andomhaim. Both the Traveler and the Warden of Urd Morlemoch knew not what to make of her, and Third is her sister.”

  “Then you are welcome as well, princess of Nightmane Forest,” said Tazemazar.

  “Princess?” said Third. For the first time that Ridmark could recall, she looked almost amused. “There is a title I never thought to hear.”

  “And I welcome you as well,” said Tazemazar, “ambassadors of Queen Mara. The Red King will wish to meet with you. The arbiters may have more questions for you than you would like.”

  “Then you will take us before the Red King?” said Calliande.

  “The Red King Turcontar will receive you,” said Tazemazar. “Ambassadors from many kingdoms and tribes come before the Red King’s dais. As for what you wish…you want the Red King to declare a Great Hunt against the Frostborn, to lead the Hunters and the tygrai against the Frostborn.”

  “Yes,” said Calliande. “As the manetaurs did during the first war against the Frostborn.”

  “That may be difficult,” said Tazemazar. “The manetaurs are divided against each other now. Both Prince Curzonar and Prince Kurdulkar have gathered large followings and present their arguments before the dais of the Red King. So long as their enmity continues, the Red King will not act.”

  “Then the situation will soon be resolved,” said Ridmark.

  Tazemazar’s eye shifted to him. “You cannot interfere, Lord Magister. For a Hunter to ask the aid of another kindred in our struggles in the gravest of crimes, and any Hunter so disgraced loses all standing.”

  “I don’t intend to interfere,” said Ridmark. “But disputes among the manetaurs do not last long, do they not? Curzonar already passed one challenge when he returned from the Vale of Stone Death. Sooner or later Kurdulkar and Curzonar will come to blows, and one of them will be the victor.”

  “If it were that simple, the matter would already be over,” said Tazemazar. “If it were a simple contest of authority, it would already be settled with blood. Such things have happened a thousand times among the manetaur, for we are a violent kindred. No, this is something more. Kurdulkar proposes a change so profound that we have never considered it.”

  “What change?” said Ridmark.

  Tazemazar said nothing.

  “The shadow of Incariel,” said Calliande. “That is what Kurdulkar is proposing. He wants to take the shadow of Incariel and use it to remake the manetaur kindred into a new form.” Her lip twisted. “Just as Tarrabus promised to do with humans in Andomhaim.”

  “It is not a fit subject to discuss with those who are not of our kindred,” said Tazemazar.

  “But you don’t approve, do you?” said Ridmark.

  The old manetaur’s head snapped around. “And how do you know?”

  “Because,” said Ridmark, “you have taken the time to speak with us. You could have scared off Ralakahr and sent us on our way to Bastoth. But Ralakahr is one of Kurdulkar’s Hunters, and you sided against him.”

  Tazemazar said nothing.

  “Even if it is none of our business,” said Calliande, “then hear our warning. To draw upon the shadow of Incariel is madness. Sometimes it grants humans powers, yes. Most of the time it twists them into monsters. I saw it happen a score of times in the last year. The manetaurs have fought against the dvargir for millennia, and you can see what the power of Incariel has done to them. If you doubt me further, consider the fate of the dark elves. They drew upon the shadow of Incariel, and it let the urdmordar devour them alive.”

  Tazemazar let out the rumbling growl that was the manetaur equivalent of a laugh.

  “Then you understand our danger, Keeper of Andomhaim,” said Tazemazar. “You understand it indeed. So be it. I shall bring you before the court of the Red King, and you may press your case there. But first, we shall need to visit friends within the city of Bastoth. The more allies we gather, the stronger our position shall be.”

  “Very well,” said Ridmark. “When can we leave?”

  “At once,” said Tazemazar. “There is no time to waste.”

  ###

  They left within the hour.

  Twenty manetaurs escorted the mounted men-at-arms, flanked by a hundred tygrai soldiers in cuirasses and helmets, their polished armor flashing in the sun. Calliande rode with Ridmark and Third and the others, her mind racing.

  Curzonar had said that some manetaurs had begun dabbling with the shadow of Incariel, but could so many have turned already? Could a version of the Enlightened of Incariel have arisen among the manetaurs? That would mean Prince Kurdulkar was to the manetaurs as Tarrabus Carhaine was to Andomhaim, and if Kurdulkar slew the old Red King and seized the throne for himself, a Red King friendly to Tarrabus and the Enlightened would rule the Range.

  Kurdulkar might bring the manetaurs to help Tarrabus and the Frostborn if he seized the crown of the Red King for himself.

  Calliande had to keep that from happening. No matter what the cost.

  They left Oppidum Aurelius behind, riding east
to Bastoth.

  Chapter 12: Bastoth

  Gavin gazed about the vast plains of the Range.

  The Torn Hills had been twisted and spell-haunted, stalked by urvaalgs and undead things. The forests near Rhogrimnalazur’s stronghold of Urd Cystaanl had been choked with webs, the dead hanging from the trees like rotting fruit. The Range lacked that ghoulish malevolence.

  It was simply…different.

  The rolling plains stretched away in all directions, the grasses waving in the breeze. To the north, he saw the distant shapes of jagged mountains. According to Calliande, the mountains were volcanoes and sometimes erupted with rivers of flame and clouds of cinders. Fortunately, the mountains seemed cold at the moment, the ground motionless. Herds of antelopes and gazelles raced across the road. Like in Andomhaim, where lords held game rights to their estates, specific manetaurs held rights to patches of land throughout the Range.

  They passed other caravans on their way to Bastoth, merchants coming to sell their wares in the capital of the Red King. The manetaurs and tygrai, Tazemazar said, had a taste for goods from other lands. Fine crossbows for the tygrai, and statues of rare stone for the manetaurs. The manetaurs also enjoyed salted meats from Andomhaim, along with cheese and wine and a dozen other things. In exchange, the manetaurs sold gems and ores mined from the volcanoes or rare woods harvested from the jungles at the far eastern edge of the Range.

  Gavin kept his hand near Truthseeker’s hilt, watching their surroundings for danger. But no dangers showed themselves, likely because of their escort. Gavin knew he would not want to fight twenty manetaurs, especially with an arbiter’s magic to back them up.

  He had not yet seen the tygrai fight. They were smaller than the manetaurs, their strength and speed closer to human ability. Yet their claws and fangs were as sharp and long as those of the manetaurs, and they marched with the sort of precision and order Gavin recognized from veteran soldiers, while the manetaurs ranged around the column in a loose formation.

  The tygrai differed from the manetaurs in one other respect as well.

  Unlike the manetaurs, they liked to talk.

  Since Gavin had many questions, that was just as well.

  “How long have the manetaurs and the tygrai lived here?” said Gavin.

  “Many years, Sir Gavin, many years,” said Imryr Zothal, walking alongside Gavin’s horse. It was strange to hear Latin words coming from that tiger-like head. “The history of your High King and his realm of Andomhaim goes only back a thousand years. The arbiters of the manetaurs say that our history goes back much, much further.”

  “How much further?” said Gavin.

  “Thousands of years,” said Zothal. “So far back that not even the arbiters have precise records. In ancient days, the dark elves summoned us here, just as they summoned the orcish and dwarven and halfling kindreds, and we fought the enemies of the dark elves. In time, the archmage Ardrhythain of the high elves came to us and convinced us to break away from the dark elves. The Red King has ruled in the Range ever since.”

  “Huh,” said Gavin. “It is strange.”

  “What is strange, Sir Gavin?” said Zothal.

  “I met Ardrhythain,” said Gavin. “It seems strange that he could be so old, that’s all.”

  Zothal’s eyes widened, and his fur bristled. “You have met the archmage Ardrhythain?”

  “Aye,” said Antenora. “At Urd Morlemoch, where he escaped from the grasp of the Warden. It is also where he became a Swordbearer.”

  Gavin shrugged. “I was just trying to stay alive. I suppose it worked out.”

  “My words may be strange to you, Sir Gavin,” said Zothal, “but your words are just as strange. The archmage Ardrhythain and the Warden are figures from the distant past, and you have spoken with them both. It is said the Warden was the greatest wizard the dark elven kindred produced…”

  “He probably was,” said Gavin with a shudder.

  “Yet you and the Keeper and the Lord Magister escaped him,” said Zothal. “These are great deeds.”

  “Thank you,” said Gavin.

  “It is good you are visitors of renown,” said Zothal. “Perhaps you can convince the arbiters and the Red King that the words of Kurdulkar are folly.”

  “You do not agree with him?” said Gavin, remembering what Calliande had told them about her meeting with Tazemazar.

  “No,” said Zothal. “He seeks to change our nature. Or the nature of the manetaurs. This is madness. We are what we are, and the manetaurs are what they are, just as humans are what they are. To change what we are courts disaster. I hope the advice of Kurdulkar does not carry the day, for I have no wish to follow it.”

  “But if he prevails and becomes the Red King, you will follow his will?” said Gavin.

  “Of course,” said Zothal.

  “You…would not fight back? You would not rebel?” said Gavin.

  Zothal blinked as if Gavin had started speaking gibberish.

  “Rebel?” said Zothal. “Defy the will of the Red King?”

  “Yes,” said Gavin. “If the Red King’s will was turned to folly.”

  “Then he would be killed and replaced by a stronger, worthier Red King,” said Zothal. “It is the way of the manetaurs. And it is our nature to follow them.”

  “That…” Gavin shook his head. “I do not understand it.”

  “Nor do we understand you,” said Zothal. “You humans are full of…chaos and disorder.”

  “Yes,” said Antenora, her tone dry. “You have no idea, Imryr.”

  “The civil war in your realm is puzzling,” said Zothal. “Why humans do not submit to your High King is confusing. Is he not the…dominant hunter of your pact? Should you not submit to him?”

  “I suppose we humans do not have much submission in us,” said Gavin.

  ###

  “You are troubled,” said Caius.

  “Is it that obvious?” said Calliande.

  The column had stopped for the night, the tygrai raising tents in neat rows, the manetaurs roaming outside the camp. Calliande had settled near a campfire, her staff across her knees as she stared into the flames. Nearby Kharlacht and Gavin practiced their swordplay together as Antenora watched, while Ector and his men busied themselves preparing dinner. The sun faded to the west, six of the thirteen moons appearing in the sky amongst countless stars.

  She wasn’t sure where Ridmark had gone.

  “Not even remotely,” said Caius, The shadows from the fire made him look even older, as if his face had been carved from gray stone. “You are the Keeper of Andomhaim, wise and powerful, and anyone who looks at you will see that.”

  “Except you, it seems,” said Calliande with a little smile. “What do you see?”

  “Wisdom and power,” said Caius.

  “Then I have nothing to worry about,” said Calliande.

  “But also doubt,” said Caius.

  “Yes,” said Calliande. “Everyone has doubts.”

  “What do you doubt?” said Caius.

  Calliande let out a breath. “Everything.”

  “That is understandable,” said Caius. He poked at the fire with a stick, sending a spray of embers into the night.

  “Why?” said Calliande. “Because of my many failures?”

  “I would hardly say that you have failed,” said Caius.

  “I prepared the Order of the Vigilant to watch for the Frostborn, and I failed them. I set out to stop the return of the Frostborn, and I failed,” said Calliande. “I tried to save Uthanaric and denounce Tarrabus, and I failed. I tried to reunify the realm, and so far we’ve managed to take Caerdracon and nothing else.”

  Caius pondered that for a moment, tapping the fire with the stick.

  “If you had not founded the Order of the Vigilant,” said Caius, “likely Shadowbearer would have corrupted or killed your successors. If not for your efforts, we would not be having this conversation.”

  “Yes, because I would have died centuries ago,” said Calliande.
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  “True,” said Caius. “And there would have been no one at all to stop Tymandain Shadowbearer. He would have opened the world gate on the day of the omen of blue fire, and the Frostborn would have swarmed across the Northerland in a week. No one would have been prepared to fight them, and no one would have anticipated Tarrabus’s treachery. We have suffered defeats, yes, but not a total defeat. Everything would have been lost if you had not acted.”

  “More would have been saved,” said Calliande, “if I had acted sooner.”

  “How?” said Caius.

  “If I had realized that Shadowbearer’s mantle could be passed,” said Calliande, “Imaria would not have become the new Shadowbearer, and the gate would not have opened. If I had secured the empty soulstone better. Maybe if I had forced Ardrhythain to take the damned thing after Urd Morlemoch. The high elves refuse to involve themselves in the affairs of other kindreds, but maybe if I had made him listen. Or if I had made Uthanaric listen, he might still be alive.”

  “Not even Ardrhythain realized that the mantle of Shadowbearer could be passed,” said Caius, “and Uthanaric made his choices. He could have listened to you, Dux Gareth, Sir Marcast, Mara, and everyone else who told him that Tarrabus was a serpent, but he did not. Once Uthanaric had made up his mind upon a subject, it would not change. Even if the Dominus Christus descended in glory, flanked by the twelve apostles and the entire company of the saints, and told Uthanaric to change his mind, the High King still would have resisted.”

  “I cannot say you are wrong,” said Calliande, remembering her own conversations with Uthanaric Pendragon. “I wonder, though, if it has all been for nothing.”

  “That is merely your exhaustion speaking,” said Caius. “Many people are alive who would now be dead if not for your actions. Myself, for one. You have used your powers to heal my wounds more times than I can remember.”

  “I’ve done this all before,” said Calliande.

  “What, precisely?” said Caius.

  “This,” said Calliande, waving a hand at the camp and the Range beyond the firelight. “Gathering allies to stand with us against the Frostborn. I thought we had won the first time. Shadowbearer had been driven off, and the world gate closed. Then my apprentice tried to murder me…and I knew it would all begin again. All that death, all that destruction. All of it would begin again unless I acted, and you know what happened next.” She gave a tired shake of her head. “I failed to keep it from happening again, and here we are.”