Frostborn: The False King

by Jonathan Moeller

  Calliande considered her answer for a moment.

  “The manetaurs and the tygrai must march against the Frostborn,” said Calliande. “On this we are agreed. Yet Turcontar will not allow it, partly because of the dvargir raids, and partly because his favorite son counsels against it.” She took a deep breath. “What we must find then is proof. Absolute proof that Kurdulkar has broken the laws of the manetaurs, for he almost certainly has broken those laws. That will turn Turcontar against him, and prove the need to march against the Frostborn.”

  “That is sound counsel,” said Raszema. “But where are we to find such proof?”

  “The dvargir raids,” said Ridmark.

  They all looked at him.

  “The worshippers of Incariel often collude,” said Ridmark. “The dvargir aided the Enlightened on several occasions. Remember Tarrabus’s dvargir mercenaries? I suspect that Kurdulkar has orchestrated the dvargir raids upon the Range as an excuse to keep the manetaurs from marching to the aid of the Anathgrimm.”

  The manetaurs regarded him in silence for a moment.

  “I told you, mother,” said Curzonar. “He has the instincts of a Hunter.”

  “I still find such a crime hard to believe,” said Tazemazar. “Would Kurdulkar truly turn his back upon his kindred to such an extent? The dvargir have been our mortal enemies for millennia. A Prince of the Range allying with them is almost beyond comprehension.”

  “Those who follow the shadow of Incariel are capable of terrible crimes,” said Calliande. “Tarrabus Carhaine murdered the High King and his sons and is trying to seize the throne for himself. I know that is how the succession is decided among the manetaurs, but for us, it is as shocking as Kurdulkar allying with the dvargir.”

  “Nevertheless,” said Curzonar, “I believe that Kurdulkar has allied with the dvargir, or at least bribed them to launch these raids.”

  “So where shall we find the proof?” said Calliande.

  “Shakaboth,” said Curzonar.

  “Another town?” said Calliande.

  “Of a sort,” said Curzonar.

  “It lies within the Deeps,” said Tazemazar. “Not far from the surface.”

  “A trade town,” said Ridmark, and Calliande looked at him. “They’re a little like our old friend Smiling Otto’s establishment at Vulmhosk. All the kindreds that dwell in the Deeps are constantly at war with one another, but they all have things that the others need. Trade is inevitable. So sometimes some enterprising dvargir merchant or kobold chieftain seizes a cavern, declares it neutral territory, and opens up for business. The successful ones become wealthy. The unsuccessful ones die quickly.”

  “Shakaboth is ruled by an orcish wizard named Zuglacht,” said Tazemazar. “He hires kobold mercenaries to enforce his will. He is an unscrupulous, treacherous rogue, but he does keep order in Shakaboth.”

  “Bad for business otherwise,” said Ridmark.

  “Indeed,” said Tazemazar.

  “How do the manetaurs know of this place?” said Calliande. “I understood that you only rarely visit the Deeps.”

  “This is true,” said Raszema, “but from time to time we, too, need items available only in the Deeps. The Hunters do not engage in trade, but the tygrai do, and they do so in our name in Shakaboth.”

  “If Kurdulkar hired dvargir mercenaries to attack the Deeps,” said Curzonar, “he would have done so there. The dvargir Great Houses of Khaldurmar keep an embassy within Shakaboth for reasons of trade. If Kurdulkar made a pact with the dvargir, or simply hired them, he would have done so there.”

  “And the proof of that,” said Calliande, “is likely to be found within Shakaboth.”

  “So you want us to find it,” said Ridmark.

  The three manetaurs shared a look.

  “Yes,” said Curzonar. “We Hunters excel at many things…but subterfuge is not one of them. Stalking prey unseen across the high plains is one matter. Breaking unseen into the stronghold of a dvargir merchant…that is quite another.”

  “I’ve had some experience,” said Ridmark, his voice dry.

  “Undoubtedly,” said Raszema, her voice just as dry.

  “Additionally, the other woman in your company will prove useful,” said Tazemazar.

  Calliande frowned. “Third, you mean?”

  “The Traveler’s renegade daughter,” said Tazemazar. Third herself, Calliande reflected, would rather have liked that description. “Curzonar told us of Queen Mara’s powers. Am I correct to assume that Third possesses similar powers? I saw her transport herself in the First Queen’s garden.”

  “She does,” said Calliande, “if not quite so potent.”

  “I am sure it has occurred to you,” said Raszema, “that Third’s abilities would make her an effective thief. Perhaps she will allow you to break into the dvargir embassy, obtain evidence of Kurdulkar’s crimes, and escape.”

  “Perhaps,” said Ridmark. “There is the small matter of reaching Shakaboth alive, though. Kurdulkar will try to kill the Keeper if the opportunity presents itself.”

  “We have devised a subterfuge,” said Curzonar. “The entrance to the Deeps nearest Shakaboth is two days’ south of Bastoth. I will invite you, the Keeper, and your companions to accompany me on a hunting trip, to repay you for Kurdulkar’s rudeness before the High King. We shall slip away to the south and enter the Deeps, and from there make our way to Shakaboth.”

  “There is a chance we will fail,” said Calliande. “It may well be that Kurdulkar left no evidence behind, or was clever enough to cover his tracks.”

  “It may be,” said Raszema, “but it is also possible that he made a mistake. Kurdulkar is clever, but his overweening pride sometimes leads him to errors.” The First Queen shrugged. “These are the options before you. You may depart the Range and seek allies elsewhere. You can stay and attempt to convince Turcontar to aid you, even as Kurdulkar argues against you with every step. Or you can find the proof that Kurdulkar is a serpent, that he is plotting against the Hunters…and that proof will convince Turcontar to aid you against the Frostborn.”

  Her logic was without flaw, but Calliande did not dare to leave the Range. If she did, Kurdulkar might well become the new Red King, and he would lead the manetaurs to war against Prince Arandar. That would guarantee the victory of both Tarrabus and the Frostborn. She had to bring the manetaurs to the aid of the Anathgrimm, no matter what it took.

  Calliande nodded to Ridmark.

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

  Chapter 16: Shakaboth

  Gavin rode out with the others before dawn, leaving the sleeping city of Bastoth behind them.

  Sir Ector and his men-at-arms had not been pleased to remain at the Inn of the River, but Calliande had insisted. Speed and stealth were essential to their task, and it was difficult to hide that many mounted men-at-arms. If she came under attack, she told Sir Ector, Gavin and Antenora could defend her well enough.

  Gavin hoped that he could live up to that promise.

  He suspected he would find out soon enough. Curzonar and Ridmark thought they had gotten away from Bastoth without anyone the wiser, but Gavin had seen too many battles by now to trust that kind of assumption.

  Their horses were not fond of the manetaurs, and the manetaurs said the horses’ strong odor disrupted their sense of smell, so the manetaurs ranged well ahead, though sometimes Martellar, Curzonar, or Tazemazar dropped back to speak with Ridmark and Calliande. Gavin was glad that the manetaurs, or at least the group of thirty manetaurs that accompanied Curzonar, was on their side. He had seen the manetaurs fight at the Vale of Stone Death, and he would not wish to face that savagery and strength in combat.

  Though Kurdulkar might insist

  On the other hand, Gavin was a Swordbearer. Kharlacht and Caius were capable warriors. Calliande was the Keeper of Andomhaim, and Third possessed the same kind of deadly powers that Mara wielded, along with centuries of experience in killing. Antenora could call up firestorms,
and the manetaurs burned just as quickly as any other mortal creatures. Camorak could heal the wounds of those injured in the fighting. And Ridmark Arban was the Gray Knight, the man without whom they all would have been dead.

  If Kurdulkar came at them, he might wish that he had done otherwise.

  “I think,” said Gavin, watching as Tazemazar discussed something with Ridmark and Calliande, “that Tazemazar is the oldest manetaur I have seen.”

  “Oh?” said Caius, scowling at his horse. The dwarven friar rode competently, but his shorter stature meant he always preferred his own feet.

  “Aye,” said Gavin. “When we rode through Bastoth, we saw many female manetaurs, far more females than males. There were many old females …but very, very few old males.”

  Kharlacht and Caius shared a look.

  “Why do you think that happens?” said Caius.

  “The male manetaurs all kill each other, don’t they?” said Gavin.

  “Not all of them,” said Caius. “Some die in battle, or in wars against the other kindreds. But, yes, most of the male manetaurs meet violent deaths at the hands of each other. Very few survive to old age. A male manetaur the age of Turcontar has defeated many challengers.”

  “They are a murderous kindred,” said Antenora.

  “It is their nature,” said Kharlacht.

  “It is also the nature of orcs to fight,” said Antenora, “yet from what I have seen, even the Anathgrimm regard it as a crime to slay one another.”

  “Unless the proper laws and customs are observed,” said Kharlacht. “To the manetaurs, a lawful challenge is the proper custom.”

  “And their nature is different from that of humans,” said Caius. “Humans have animal impulses, the urges of a beast, but also a rational mind, and much of the time the bestial nature is subsumed to the rational mind. The manetaurs are also rational, but their bestial nature is far stronger.”

  “Is it?” said Antenora. “I saw the lupivirii. They were as bestial as the manetaurs, but they were savages who dwelled in the woods. The manetaurs dwell in fine palaces and a grand city. Clearly, they can resist their bestial natures when they wish. If they can do so long enough to construct palaces, why not in other aspects of their lives?”

  “I do not know,” said Caius. “Perhaps they can. Perhaps they cannot. Or their challenges and ways are a custom that can be changed…though it is dangerous to change customs. It must be done slowly and carefully or not at all.” He shrugged. “My own kindred, the khaldari, revere tradition above all. Missionaries from Andomhaim came to the Three Kingdoms for a thousand years, yet as far as I know, I was the first khaldari to be baptized.”

  “A thousand years is only two or three dwarven lifetimes,” said Kharlacht. “Hardly enough time for anything to change, knowing how stubborn you are.”

  “True, true,” said Caius.

  “Perhaps humans are no different,” said Antenora. “Many times I saw human lords and princes slaughter each other as readily as the manetaurs, and claim they had been justified, or that their strength gave them the right of conquest.”

  Gavin shrugged. “We saw the same thing when Tarrabus murdered the High King.” He frowned, trying to work through the problem. Caius and Kharlacht had always been fond of theological debates. “Except…these challenges are lawful among the manetaurs, just as a knight can demand a trial by combat. There is a proper way to do such a thing. Tarrabus did not.”

  “All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God,” said Caius, “whether human, orc, dwarf, or manetaur. It simply afflicts us in different ways.”

  Gavin opened his mouth to answer, and then saw Third walking towards them, her black hair stirring around her gaunt, pale face like a veil.

  “Mistress Third,” said Caius. “What is your opinion on the matter?”

  Third shrugged. “My opinion is that we should put aside the philosophical debate and turn our attention to practical matters. There may be a problem.”

  ###

  Calliande watched as Curzonar and his warriors moved back and forth across the grass. The others reined up next to them, hands lingering near their weapons.

  “A large party, lord Prince,” one of the manetaur warriors declared. “At least forty Hunters, maybe more. They are moving south with great speed.”

  “Can you recognize their smells?” said Curzonar.

  “Nay,” said Martellar, straightening up with a grunt. “They are too mingled together. They were Hunters, I can tell you that much. No tygrai.”

  “Kurdulkar?” said Ridmark.

  Curzonar let out a long, displeased rumble. Calliande had changed back to her traveling clothes of jerkin and trousers and boots and green cloak, though at Ridmark’s insistence she was wearing a chain mail hauberk again. The damned thing was heavy and pulled at her shoulders, but Ridmark had been adamant.

  If Kurdulkar was ahead of them, she might need that armor.

  “I do not see how he could be ahead of us,” said Curzonar. “We told no one save ourselves and my mother of our plans.”

  “Perhaps there is a spy in your household,” said Tazemazar. “A tygrai secretly sworn to Kurdulkar. Such things have happened before.”

  “It might not be anything so simple,” said Calliande. “If Kurdulkar is using the shadow of Incariel, he or his warriors might have been able to spy upon his from afar.” Tymandain Shadowbearer had been able to use the Sight, and Imaria had likely received the ability as well. It was possible that Kurdulkar might have acquired a similar power.

  “It might be a coincidence,” said Caius. “Another party of manetaurs on their way for discreet commerce at Shakaboth.”

  “No,” said Ridmark, voice grim. “No, there’s too much at stake for us to lower our guard. We will need to assume that Kurdulkar or his warriors have gone ahead to set an ambush.” He looked at Curzonar. “Is there a good place between here and Shakaboth to lay a trap?”

  “Several,” said Curzonar. “The entrance to the Deeps is within a group of hills. That would be the best place to prepare an ambush on the surface, or within the tunnel to Shakaboth itself.”

  “Then,” said Ridmark, “we shall have to be on our watch. Both Calliande and Antenora possess the Sight, and that may give us an edge. We should continue on.”

  ###

  But during the two days’ journey to Shakaboth, no enemies showed themselves.

  Ridmark remained on edge, his eyes sweeping the grassy plains and the hills. They saw no one else, whether manetaur, tygrai, dvargir, or human, and reached the rocky hills south of Bastoth without incident.

  The entrance to the Deeps yawned in the side of the hill like the mouth of a hungry beast.

  Ridmark had seen dozens of such entrances to the Deeps scattered over the Northerland and the Wilderland during his travels. There were scores more within Andomhaim, but whenever the local knights and comities discovered such entrances, the caverns were walled up or placed under guard. Yet the dvargir and the kobolds and the deep orcs often dug new tunnels, and some entrances remained hidden.

  Likely the Red King and the Princes tolerated this entrance as a way of obtaining trade goods from the Deeps.

  There were no signs of any other manetaurs, and the ground was too rocky to hold tracks, though Curzonar’s warriors said they smelled the passage of many other creatures, kobolds and deep orcs and dvargir and others. Ridmark and his companions, leaving the nervous horses under the guard of some of Curzonar’s Hunters.

  Then they entered the tunnel, descending into the gloom of the Deeps.

  Many tunnels and galleries of the Deeps had no light, but patches of ghost mushrooms clung to the walls and ceilings of this tunnel, throwing their pale gloom over the rough walls and floor. Ridmark picked his way forward with care, staff ready in his hand. The tunnel looked deserted, but kobolds could have dug hidden trapdoors, or the dvargir could be standing invisible.

  Yet the tunnel remained quiet, and after several hours’ walk, they came to the gates of
Shakaboth.

  “God and the saints,” muttered Gavin, looking back and forth.

  Ridmark had visited a few trade towns of the Deeps over the years, the first time as a squire in Dux Gareth’s service, and he understood Gavin’s reaction.

  It was a lot to take in…and every sight dripped with danger.

  The tunnel opened into a wide, oval-shaped cavern, a mirror-smooth pond taking up the central third of the floor, stalactites and stalagmites jutting from the rock like the fangs of an enormous stone beast. Stone houses ringed the pond, some of them of sturdy dwarven make, others with the haphazard construction preferred by the deep orcs and the kobolds. Ridmark supposed this place had once been an outer outpost of one of the lost kingdoms of the dwarves, only to fall to the dark elves or the dvargir long ago.

  Between the houses and the pond lay a market square.

  It was one of the most peculiar market squares that Ridmark had ever seen. Dvargir and orcish merchants operated stalls, flanked by orcish mercenaries, and dvargir and kobolds and orcs and a few tygrai moved through the square, inspecting the weapons and books and elixirs and tools on display. At the far end of the pond stood a massive house of gleaming black stone, illuminated by highlights of flickering purple fire. No doubt that was the dvargir embassy. Kobolds moved here and there among the shoppers, their bodies lean and scaly, their tails twitching back and forth. All the kobolds carried bows, the tips of the arrows smeared with poison.

  Zuglacht did not tolerate troublemakers in his market town.

  Calliande stiffened next to Ridmark, her blue eyes narrowed as she gazed at Shakaboth.

  “What is it?” said Ridmark.

  Calliande blinking, shaking her head. “Nothing. Sorry. It’s…kobolds bring up bad memories.”

  “Ah,” said Ridmark.

  “I do not care for them myself,” rumbled Curzonar. “Vile things. Scavengers that reek of carrion.”

  “Whatever they smell like, there are more of them than there are of us, so we’ll have to be polite,” said Ridmark. “The Keeper, the Prince, and the arbiter and I will go into the town. Kharlacht, Caius, Gavin, Antenora, Camorak, and Third will accompany us. I doubt Zuglacht will let us bring the rest of the warriors into the town so they will have to remain here.”