Frostborn: The False King

by Jonathan Moeller

  Kurdulkar sneered. “You have little choice in the matter. Already many have seen the truth, and soon more shall be drawn to the strength of true power. We shall rule this world like gods, and you cannot avert our destiny.”

  Curzonar growled a scornful laugh. “Gods? Indeed. The would-be god cannot even muster the courage to fight the Frostborn. You will not become a god if the Frostborn kill you first, Kurdulkar.”

  “You misunderstand,” said Kurdulkar, a glint in his golden eyes. “We shall ally with the Frostborn and use their strength to destroy all our enemies. Once we have prevailed, we shall use the shadow of Incariel to destroy the Frostborn, and we shall have undisputed dominion over the world for all eternity.”

  “The Frostborn are too strong for you to destroy, Prince Kurdulkar,” said Calliande. “Certainly not with the shadow of Incariel, which is a treacherous weapon that will turn upon you in the end.”

  “Heed not her words!” said Kurdulkar. “The Keeper comes among us to poison us with her lies, to make us weak and feeble. I offer the Hunters a path to greatness…and the first step upon that path is to slay the lying ambassadors who have come to us.”

  Tazemazar smote the end of his staff against the ground, purple fire crackling around his fingers. “You dare to threaten an ambassador to the Red King’s court?”

  “They are not ambassadors but spies and saboteurs!” said Kurdulkar.

  In one smooth motion, he leaped from his dais, drawing his sword and axe as he did, and his khalaths and warriors rose to their feet and followed him. Ridmark stepped in front of Calliande, putting her behind him. He heard the hiss of steel as Gavin and Caius and Third and Kharlacht drew their weapons, a flare of fire as Antenora began summoning power and a burst of white light as Camorak began a spell.

  “Defend the ambassadors!” said Curzonar, leaping from his dais, his warriors following him.

  “Kill them!” roared Kurdulkar.

  Ridmark looked around, his mind racing. They were caught between two furious bands of manetaurs. With Calliande’s magic and Antenora’s fire, they could cut their way free, but they would still be in the heart of Bastoth, and ambassadors who brought violence to their guests’ home usually were not offered any protections…

  “Enough!”

  The Red King’s roar boomed over the courtyard like a thunderclap.

  Ridmark looked up to see Turcontar glaring down at them.

  “I am old,” snarled Turcontar, “but I am yet the Red King, a fact my sons have seem to have forgotten! I alone receive and dismiss ambassadors to the Hunters!”

  “These are not ambassadors, father,” said Kurdulkar, “but villains, come to…”

  “If they have come to work harm in secret,” said Turcontar, “they have done a poor job of it by presenting themselves openly according to the laws and customs of the Hunters!” Most of the Princes laughed at that. “I will not have the blood of ambassadors shed in Bastoth! The Red King does not break his given word. If you think to supplant me, Kurdulkar, perhaps it is time you learned that.”

  “I have learned from you well, father,” said Kurdulkar, that strange glint in his eyes again. “Well indeed. I have given my word that these false ambassadors shall die, and so they shall perish…”

  He took another few steps forward, and Turcontar moved.

  The Red King might have been old, but his strength had not yet abandoned him. One moment he sat atop his dais of boulders, glaring down at Kurdulkar. The next he had leaped from the rocks, landing between Ridmark and Kurdulkar. Turcontar surged forward with a furious roar, and Kurdulkar met him. For a moment the two manetaurs struggled, raking at each other with their paws, jaws snapping, hands reaching for throats.

  Then Kurdulkar was on his knees, breathing hard, his head bent back to expose his throat.

  He was submitting. For a moment Ridmark wondered if Turcontar would tear out his son’s throat then and there, but the Red King let out a furious growl and stepped back. Turcontar knew he was aging, and he knew that Curzonar and Kurdulkar were the most likely Princes to replace him.

  He was testing them, seeing which of his sons was worthy of his throne.

  “I yield, father,” rasped Kurdulkar. “Your will prevails. The ambassadors are not to be harmed.”

  Turcontar snarled again and turned away, showing his back to Kurdulkar in a gesture of fearlessness. It was also likely to conceal just how hard Turcontar was breathing, his sides rising and falling like a blacksmith’s bellows.

  “You think too much,” said Turcontar, waving a clawed hand at Kurdulkar’s kneeling form. “Dreaming of grand plans and phantasmal futures when you should focus on the prey that is within reach of your claws. If the Red King murders ambassadors before his throne, the Hunters shall face war on all sides. We are the finest warriors under the sun, but we are not invincible, and we can be overcome.”

  Curzonar started to speak, and Turcontar whirled to face him.

  “And you!” said Turcontar. “You think too little. Ready to rush off to war at the first cry of another kindred’s ambassador. The Hunter is patient. The Hunter lays his traps and waits for the prey to come to him, striking when the moment is correct. The Hunter does not rush off hither and yon like a drunkard in pursuit of wine!”

  “I shall be guided by your counsel, father,” said Curzonar, lowering his eyes.

  Turcontar growled at him, paced once in a circle, and then turned to face Ridmark and Calliande.

  “I greet you, ambassadors of Queen Mara of Nightmane Forest, and am pleased that you have come,” said Turcontar. “Your words about the threat of the Frostborn are wise, and I shall give them full consideration. Yet many other troubles beset the Hunters and the tygrai at this time, and I must take those into account as well. You have secured lodgings within the city?”

  “At the Inn of the River, lord Red King,” said Calliande.

  “That is well,” said Turcontar. “The keeper of the Inn knows how to attend to the comforts of humans. Hear me!” His voice rose, snarling over the courtyard. “I, Turcontar, Red King of the Hunters, decree that the ambassadors of the Queen of Nightmane Forest are given the freedom of the city! They may go where they wish, and anyone who attacks them or their retainers or their bondsmen or their bondswomen shall know my wrath.”

  Kurdulkar showed his fangs in a silent snarl, just for a second, but his face had returned to calm by the time Turcontar’s eyes swung in his direction.

  “We thank you for your hospitality, Red King,” said Calliande.

  “We shall speak again,” said Turcontar.

  Without another word the Red King turned and strode around the base of his dais, his warriors, wives, concubines, and tygrai soldiers falling in behind him. They walked through a wide archway in the red wall on the other end of the garden, vanishing into the stone heart of the palace. One by one the other Princes gathered their retinues and departed, heading for the archway on the far end of the garden. Kurdulkar’s warriors gathered tight around him, and Ridmark bade the others wait. A crowd was forming around the archway as the Princes left, and it would be easy for an assassin to slip a quiet blade into Calliande’s back. Kurdulkar had made it quite clear that he wanted Calliande dead, and Ridmark did not intend to give him that chance.

  “I’ve never been an ambassador before,” said Gavin at last. “Does it always go like that?”

  “Actually,” said Caius, “that was one of the better negotiations I’ve seen. No one was killed.”

  “God and his saints,” said Camorak, shaking his head. “I was sure that it would come to violence.”

  “It almost did,” said Ridmark, voice grim. If Turcontar had been a little slower, the manetaurs might have erupted into civil war then and there…and Turcontar had let the argument between his two most powerful sons go on too long. Ridmark suspected that ten or even five years ago, Turcontar would have been vigorous enough to nip the argument in the bud.

  The Red King was clearly tired…and one of the two most like
ly Princes to take his place was a devotee of the shadow of Incariel.

  “What do we do now, my lady Keeper?” said Camorak.

  That was a very good question.

  The grass rustled, and a manetaur warrior approached. Ridmark started to tense, and then he recognized Martellar from the battle in the Vale of Stone Death.

  “Keeper of Andomhaim, greetings,” said Martellar. “Prince Curzonar invites you and your companions to his palace, that you might discuss matters of importance to you both.”

  “That is what we are doing now,” said Ridmark. “Lead the way.”

  Chapter 15: Brothers

  Calliande walked alongside Ridmark as Martellar led them deeper into Prince Curzonar’s palace. At Curzonar’s insistence, Ridmark and Calliande came alone, while the others waited in the palace’s outer courtyard. Antenora and Gavin and Third had not been pleased, but Calliande had persuaded them it would be safe for a short while. In truth, Curzonar’s palace was probably the safest place for them in Bastoth. The Red King had proclaimed them under his protection, but Calliande had no doubt that Kurdulkar and his followers would kill them if given the opportunity.

  Curzonar’s palace was smaller than the palace of the Red King but no less ornate. It had lush gardens and broad courtyards surrounding the central step pyramid of red granite, its apex rising hundreds of feet over the city. Martellar led them through an arcade of red stone, its walls covered with reliefs of manetaurs and tygrai in battle against dvargir and dark elves. Tygrai servants went back and forth on their errands, some tending to the grounds, others toiling in the palace’s workshops. Calliande wondered how many Princes had held this palace over the centuries, how many of them had been killed in battle, how many times the tygrai servants and soldiers in the palace had transferred their oaths of allegiance after their previous Prince had fallen. To the manetaurs, it all seemed natural, but Calliande could not help but think that it was savage and bloodthirsty.

  Yet to the manetaurs, humans probably seemed mad and bloodthirsty.

  They climbed the side of the pyramid, ascending to its flat, broad top. From here they had a fine view of Bastoth, the boats upon the river, and the plains stretching away to the broken, jagged mountains of the north. Three already awaited them there. The first was Prince Curzonar, wearing his red armor. The second was the arbiter Tazemazar, face shadowed in his crimson cowl, and the third was First Queen Raszema, her golden jewelry glittering in the sun.

  “Lord Prince,” said Martellar. “As you asked. The Keeper and the magister militum.”

  “Thank you,” said Curzonar. “Await us at the base of the pyramid. See that we are not disturbed and watch for Kurdulkar’s spies.”

  Martellar inclined his head and departing, loping down the pyramid’s steps.

  “Ridmark Arban,” said Curzonar, stepping forward. “It is good to see you again.”

  “And you, Prince Curzonar,” said Ridmark. “I see you escaped the Vale of Stone Death without difficulty.”

  “Aye,” said Curzonar. “We took Taalmak Azakhun and his remaining retainers to Coldinium, and then returned to the Range.” His eyes shifted to Calliande. “And you, Keeper? You regained your memories and your powers?”

  “I did, lord Prince,” said Calliande, though she sometimes she wished that she had not. “We entered Khald Azalar and escaped alive, though it is a long tale.”

  Curzonar waved a hand. “Another time, perhaps. Your companions? Are they all here?”

  “Some,” said Ridmark. “Mara and Jager had to remain in Nightmane Forest for obvious reasons.”

  “Your mate Morigna,” said Curzonar. “Is she here? Her powers might prove useful.”

  Calliande looked at Ridmark’s face, but his expression gave away nothing.

  “She was killed,” said Ridmark, “on the night the Frostborn returned.”

  “A grievous loss,” said Curzonar. “And truly barbaric. Among the Hunters, it is unlawful to kill females during the struggles between the males. Else who shall bear the next generation of Hunters?”

  “Many died that night,” said Ridmark, “and many more since.” He took a deep breath. “But I do not think you invited us here to speak of the past.”

  “No,” said Curzonar. “It is the future that concerns us now. Mother?”

  Raszema stepped forward, her ornaments glinting. “Tell me, Keeper. You have seen the Red King’s court. You have seen the assembled Princes. What is the nature of the problem?”

  “Regrettably, it is a simple one,” said Calliande.

  “You think our problems simple?” said Raszema.

  “Simple is not the same as easy,” said Calliande.

  Raszema inclined her head.

  “The chief difficulty is the Red King’s age,” said Calliande. “He is growing weaker, and sooner or later one of the Princes will challenge him for the throne of the Range. Curzonar and Kurdulkar are the most likely candidates, but neither one of them is quite strong enough because Turcontar is still a vicious old warrior. In time, the situation would resolve itself, but the Frostborn are coming. Worse, Kurdulkar worships the shadow of Incariel…and if he takes the throne as Red King, it will be a disaster.”

  For a moment no one spoke.

  “I see the legends of the wisdom of the Keepers of old,” said Raszema, “was not exaggerated.”

  “I state not wisdom, but the obvious,” said Calliande.

  “In times of turmoil, it is often wisdom to state the obvious,” said Raszema. “Especially when few others will do so.”

  “You have summarized our problems admirably,” said Tazemazar. “The arbiters are opposed to Kurdulkar’s rise. We know the history of Incariel’s shadow, even if Kurdulkar in his pride and folly has chosen to ignore it. Turning the Hunters and the tygrai to the worship of the shadow would be disastrous.”

  “Then why do you not act directly to stop Kurdulkar?” said Ridmark. “You are the arbiters of the manetaur kindred. Surely you have the authority.”

  “They cannot,” said Calliande. “The arbiters act as judges, guardians, and historians. Unless Kurdulkar appeals to them for judgment, they cannot act…”

  “And unless Kurdulkar directly violates the laws of the manetaur nation, they cannot act,” said Ridmark, completing her thought. “And he has not yet violated a law.”

  “No,” said Curzonar. “No, the slippery devil is too clever for that.”

  “Does it not violate the laws of the manetaurs to worship Incariel’s shadow?” said Calliande.

  “It may surprise you, but it does not,” said Curzonar.

  “It is too obvious,” said Tazemazar. “Do humans need an edict not to eat poison, or orcs a law not to cut off their own fingers? It is utter madness, yet Kurdulkar has embraced it.”

  “Worse,” said Curzonar, “he has chosen this folly at the worst possible time. The Frostborn are rising to the west. Now, right now, is the time to gather our power and strike. If we wait until the Frostborn crush Andomhaim and the Anathgrimm, it will be far too late. The timing is damnably inconvenient.”

  “It is not inconvenient timing, but a malign design,” said Calliande. “Tymandain Shadowbearer planned this. He wished to bring back the Frostborn, and so he laid his plans centuries in advance, founding the Enlightened among the men of Andomhaim and bringing the word of the shadow to Kurdulkar.”

  And all those plans had come to fruition because of Calliande’s failure.

  A wave of guilt and despair threatened to roll through her, and she shoved it aside. She could have the luxury of blaming herself later. Too much was now at stake.

  “Then we have fallen victim to a plot centuries in the making,” said Tazemazar.

  “We have,” said Calliande, “but we still have time to act. Kurdulkar has not yet claimed the Red King’s throne.” A thought occurred to her. “Why hasn’t Turcontar put a stop to Kurdulkar’s ambitions? Surely he does not approve of the shadow of Incariel?”

  If he did, if Turcontar had become a
worshipper of the shadow himself, then it was already too late.

  “No,” said Curzonar. “He does not. He spoke of it to me with contempt. I do not understand why he does not chastise Kurdulkar.”

  “Sentiment,” said Raszema in a quiet voice.

  “I don’t understand,” said Curzonar.

  “You would not,” said Raszema. “You are too young. If you live long enough, perhaps you shall. Kurdulkar’s mother was always Turcontar’s favorite wife.”

  “You are his First Queen,” said Calliande.

  “That simply means I am his most senior wife,” said Raszema. “Not his favorite.” There was no pain in her voice, simply a matter-of-fact calmness, and again Calliande was struck by the alien nature of the manetaurs. “Turcontar and I are fond of each other certainly, but Kurdulkar’s mother enthralled him. She died of not long after Kurdulkar’s birth, and that death hit Turcontar hard. In her memory, he is fond of Kurdulkar in a way he is not of the other Princes.”

  “Then why does he not simply support Kurdulkar?” said Calliande.

  “He is sentimental, but not a fool,” said Tazemazar.

  “He thinks Kurdulkar’s obsession with the shadow is a youthful folly, to use his own words,” said Curzonar. “One he shall grow out of while he matures.”

  “In this, if you will excuse my bluntness, the Red King is showing folly of his own,” said Calliande. “One does not flirt with the shadow of Incariel. It twists and consumes those who dare to employ it.” She remembered Claudius Agrell mutating in the courtyard of Castra Carhaine. “Sometimes death is a better fate than what otherwise might befall us.”

  “On this,” said Tazemazar, “we are agreed. Perhaps it would be better for the Hunters to be wiped out than enslaved by the Frostborn or warped into monsters by the shadow of Incariel.”

  “Then what do you suggest we do about our problems, Keeper of Andomhaim?” said Raszema. “The Keepers have often counseled the High Kings of Andomhaim. What counsel do you offer the Hunters in this hour of crisis?”