She didn’t want to know.
She just hoped Ridmark was not among them.
“The Labyrinth is vast,” said Tazemazar. “We could search for weeks and never find anyone.”
“We will look until we find him,” said Calliande.
“We may need to return to Shakaboth for supplies,” said Tazemazar. “We only have enough food for a few more days.”
“I know,” said Calliande, the fingers of her free hand tight against the handle of the dagger at her belt. Ridmark was still alive. That she knew beyond all doubt. Yet the last few contacts of the spell had been tenuous. As if her magic was having trouble find him.
Or as if he was growing weaker.
“We shall stay,” said Calliande, her voice strange in her ears, “until we are certain that he is dead.”
“Aye,” said Caius. “We shall.”
His face was grave. He, too, was losing hope.
“If the manetaurs drove him into this maze without weapons,” said Kharlacht, “he would seek a defensible location. Perhaps…”
Blue fire flashed, and Third appeared in the center of the chamber. Usually she stood upright when she reappeared, but this time, she was stooped over, both her hands grasping the shoulders of a man…
Calliande’s free hand flew to her mouth before she could stop it.
Third grasped Ridmark’s shoulders. He was naked and covered in blood, a maze of vicious gashes across his legs and sides and chest, and he had to be dead, and for a moment her mind froze with horror…
Then she saw the muscles of his chest clenching as he drew breath.
“Keeper,” said Third, “hasten, he…”
Calliande sprinted to Ridmark, all but pushed Third out of the way, and dropped to her knees. The magic of the Well came roaring at her call, and she forced it through the mantle of the Keeper. White fire blazed up the length of the Keeper’s staff and around her left hand, and she put her hand upon Ridmark’s forehead, the skin damp and clammy beneath her fingers.
The power leapt from her, and she felt his wounds as if they were her own.
Calliande gritted her teeth, fighting back a shriek of agony. He had been badly hurt. There were arrow wounds in his flesh, and one of them…
“Camorak,” she rasped. “His right calf. Quickly! I can’t close it while the arrowhead is still in the flesh.”
Camorak nodded, drew a dagger from his belt, and cut out the arrowhead from Ridmark’s leg with calm, practiced movements. Calliande felt the pain of it in her own right leg, and a shudder went through her, but her grip upon the magic did not waver.
“It’s done,” rasped Camorak, and he put his free hand on her shoulder. His power joined hers, and Calliande took a deep breath and sent the magic roaring into Ridmark.
The pain of his wounds flooded into her.
She felt the arrows pierce her flesh.
Her ribs cracked from impacts. He must have fallen several times.
Claws ripped into her flesh, again and again, until it was all she could do not to scream, not to fall sobbing to the floor from the pain of it…
And then, all at once, the pain vanished.
Calliande’s eyes swam back into focus. She shook her head a few times to clear it, and then she felt Camorak on her right and Antenora on her left, both of them helping her to stand as Gavin hovered anxiously by Antenora.
Ridmark still lay upon the floor. His lean, muscled body was scarred in many places, wounds from old battles before she had met him, but the hideous wounds from the manetaur’s claws were gone.
“God and the saints,” said Camorak. “I knew you were a good healer, Keeper, but that…God and the saints.”
“A great feat of magic,” said Third. “I feared he was beyond your help.”
“He almost was,” said Calliande. Her voice shook, and she took a few deep breaths, trying to get her voice and breathing under control. “I was…motivated, let us say.” She looked at Third. “The manetaurs. Did you see any with Ridmark?”
“Just one,” said Third. “The manetaur was dead. I believe he was the khalath called Ralakahr, the one that threatened us in Oppidum Aurelius.”
“Dead?” said Curzonar, his astonishment plain.
“He was strangled,” said Third. “There was also an axe in his skull, but a crushed throat was the cause of death. I suspect the axe was simply…thoroughness.”
“Are you certain?” said Curzonar.
“I have seen many men and women of all kindreds killed in every way it is possible for someone to die,” said Third without bravado. “He died of a crushed throat.”
“Astonishing,” said Curzonar. “An unarmed human killing a manetaur in single combat? I have never heard of such a thing.”
“Nor have I,” said Tazemazar. “What of the other manetaurs?”
“I saw no sign of them,” said Third.
“If Ralakahr was here, then Kurdulkar was as well,” said Curzonar. “Keeper, how do you suggest we proceed?”
“I’m not sure,” said Calliande.
At the moment, she could not look away from Ridmark.
She had almost seen him die in front of her. He had been wounded before during their travels, but never this badly. She wanted to pull him close and never let go, to rest his head on her lap and kiss him.
A little part of her mind noted that if the blood were cleaned away, he would look very good without clothes, and she rebuked that part of herself. The others were staring at her, waiting for her to say something, and Calliande dragged her tired mind back into focus.
She took a ragged breath. “Let’s take him back to Shakaboth and rejoin Sir Ector and Martellar and the others. Once Ridmark wakes up, we can…”
Ridmark shuddered once, his eyes opening.
###
Ridmark’s head ached, as did his back and sides and legs. He felt battered and sore and very tired. Yet he knew he should have felt worse. He should have been in too much pain to move.
He should have been dead.
Bit by bit his groggy mind came into focus. The bridge, he should have died on the bridge, next to Ralakahr’s corpse. Instead, he was in one of the other chambers, the white walls and ceiling illuminated with a pale red glow. There were others nearby, Kharlacht and Caius, Gavin and Antenora, Curzonar and Tazemazar, arguing about something…
Ridmark grunted and pushed against the floor, sitting up.
“Careful,” said Calliande, grabbing his shoulders as a wave of dizziness went through him. Her face was tight with concern, her blue eyes a little bloodshot. “Careful. You’ve…had some injuries.”
“He almost clawed me to death,” muttered Ridmark, trying to clear his head.
“Ralakahr, you mean?” said Curzonar. The manetaur Prince seemed…surprised. Awed, even. Ridmark could not understand why.
“Yes,” said Ridmark. “He didn’t look up. He should have looked up.” He blinked at Calliande. “You must have healed me.”
She nodded. “It was close. Third found you and brought you here. Another few minutes and…it would have been too late.” She looked down, unable to quite meet his gaze. Ridmark wondered why.
Then he felt the chill of the stone soaking into his legs and remembered his lack of clothing.
Maybe that was it.
“I have some spare clothes in my pack,” said Camorak. “Trousers and a shirt. No boots, though. That will have to wait until we find Ector.”
“You’ve got my weapons and armor,” said Ridmark. He got to his feet, helped by Calliande and Third. Calliande still couldn’t look at him, and it was so absurd he wanted to laugh. That, and he was giddy from exhaustion and the aftermath of so much pain.
“Aye,” said Camorak, passing him a pair of trousers. “Your cloak, too. All your other clothes were shredded, but not that.”
Ridmark laughed a little. “They couldn’t. They tried, but they couldn’t.” He pulled on the trousers. They were a too loose, but better than nothing. “The high elves made that cloak,
and it would take something sharper than manetaur claws to destroy it.”
“What happened, Ridmark?” said Calliande. She could finally meet his eye again, probably because he was wearing trousers. “That fall should have killed you.”
“It was a trap,” said Ridmark, pulling on the shirt that Camorak passed him. “A trap the dark elves built, but Kurdulkar set it for us. He was waiting, specifically to kill you. He knew you would get in the way of his plans, and so he came here to trap and kill us.”
“Then he is hiring the dvargir mercenaries?” said Curzonar.
“Yes. He admitted it himself,” said Ridmark, trying to remember the conversation. His desperate run through the Labyrinth had become a blurred haze of pain and blood. “He realized we would come to investigate, and so prepared for us.”
Tazemazar shook his head, his cowl of red leather rustling. “He was always clever.”
“Did you find proof?” said Curzonar.
“No,” said Ridmark.
Curzonar growled. “Your word will not be enough.”
“The corpse of Ralakahr,” said Third. “That shall be our proof.”
“I fear that is insufficient,” said Tazemazar. “No one among the Hunters would believe a human could kill one of our kindred with his bare hands. I myself can scarcely believe it.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Ridmark, taking his staff from Camorak. “I insulted Kurdulkar until he decided to let Ralakahr hunt me down and eat me, but he told me what he intends. We have to get back to Bastoth as soon as possible to warn Turcontar.”
Curzonar growled. “He is going to challenge my father?”
“No,” said Ridmark. “It’s worse than that. He’s going to murder him, and all the Princes who do not support his plans.”
Curzonar frowned. “He could not possibly challenge them all.”
“Do you not understand?” snapped Ridmark. He was too tired and alarmed to moderate his tone. “Have you been blind? Kurdulkar isn’t going to challenge them. He’s going to murder them without a fight. I don’t know how. Poison, maybe. Maybe a weapon of dark magic he found in the Labyrinth. He is going to butcher the Red King and all the Princes who oppose him, and he is going to seize the crown of the Range for himself.”
Curzonar hesitated. “Kurdulkar is a harsh man, but he is still a Hunter, and…”
“Listen to me,” said Ridmark. “Tarrabus Carhaine and I were squires together. We trained alongside each other, fought alongside each other, grew up alongside each other. We were never friends, but I still thought he was a knight and a lord of the realm. I thought there were lines that he would not cross. I was as wrong as it is possible for a man to be. He sold himself as a slave to dark powers, and he murdered Uthanaric Pendragon and seized the High King’s crown for himself. I should not have been such a fool. I should have killed him in Coldinium when I had the chance. I should have refused to listen to him when my wife was killed. If I had killed him…I cannot imagine how much evil might have been averted.” At the very least, Morigna would still be alive. “Do not make my mistake, Prince Curzonar. You have seen and heard of all the evils that have befallen the realm of Andomhaim. You can save the Range and the manetaurs and the tygrai from those evils. I beg of you, listen to me, and learn from my error.”
Silence fell in the chamber. Ridmark’s throat ached from the speech. He really needed something to drink.
“The Gray Knight speaks wisdom,” said Curzonar. “A hard wisdom, but wisdom nonetheless.”
“I agree,” said Tazemazar. “We must hasten to Bastoth and warn your father.”
“If we already not too late,” said Curzonar.
“Let us ensure that we are not,” said Ridmark, and they left the chamber.
Chapter 20: Shadows
They rode hard for Bastoth across the plains of the Range, not sparing the horses.
Gavin rode close to Antenora, and they both remained in sight of Ridmark and Calliande. Kurdulkar might have set a trap for them in the Labyrinth, and if he had been clever enough to do that, he might be smart enough to send assassins after Calliande before they returned to Bastoth. Gavin vowed he would not let them get close enough to harm her.
Assuming Ridmark did not kill them first.
The ordeal in the Labyrinth would have broken another man. It only seemed to have made Ridmark more determined. He rode in grim silence, pushing his horse as hard, his gray cloak streaming behind him in the wind of their passage. They rode well past dark and stopped only when they were too exhausted to continue, resuming their ride again before dawn.
“We must be ready, Gavin Swordbearer,” said Antenora as Gavin heaved himself into the saddle, sore and aching from yesterday’s long ride. “When we reach Bastoth there will be violence.”
“You’re probably right,” said Gavin.
“I am,” said Antenora. “The matter has gone too far. Kurdulkar is set upon his course, and so are we. The only possible resolution is battle.”
“Then we must win it,” said Gavin.
“Aye,” said Antenora. “And we must protect the Keeper.”
“Yes,” said Gavin.
“For that,” said Antenora, “we must protect Ridmark.”
Gavin frowned. “I don’t understand.”
A woman’s voice came from behind Gavin. “Because the Keeper has given her heart to him.”
Gavin flinched and turned to see Third riding behind him.
“I did not intend to startle you,” said Third.
“After a thousand years, I imagine that stealth is a difficult habit to unlearn,” said Gavin.
“Truly,” said Third.
“I would try to protect Ridmark anyway, but he usually doesn’t need it,” said Gavin. “But what has that to do with the Keeper?”
“She has given her heart to the Gray Knight,” said Antenora, “though neither of them fully realizes it, and his loss would destroy her. So she will risk anything to save him, regardless of the cost. If she is slain, the Frostborn and the Enlightened shall be victorious. Therefore we must keep them both alive.”
“You understand,” said Third, “what it is to give your heart to a man.”
The two ancient women looked at each other, and to Gavin’s mild surprise, Antenora looked away first.
“Aye,” said Antenora in a quiet voice. He supposed she was thinking about Mordred Pendragon.
“I don’t,” said Gavin. “Not really, I guess.”
“You shall understand what it is to give your heart to someone,” said Third. “In time. If you survive the battle to come.” Her gaunt face hardened. “If we all survive the battle to come.”
They rode on.
###
Calliande and the others galloped through the gate of Bastoth and into the market of the Outland Quarter, reining up their mounts.
“Let the horses rest,” said Ridmark. “We’ll go the rest of the way on foot to the Red King’s palace. If these goes bad, we’ll need the mounts to escape.”
If this went bad, Calliande knew, there would be no escape. They would be trapped in a city full of manetaurs warring against each other, and in that kind of battle, they would not last long.
“Lord Prince!” called a familiar mewling voice. “Lord Arbiter!”
Calliande turned and saw Imryr Zothal and a squad of tygrai soldiers hurrying towards them, cuirasses flashing in the noon sun.
“Imryr,” said Curzonar. “What news?”
“The First Queen bade us to wait for you return, lord Prince,” said Zothal. “She asks you to come to the Red King’s court at once. Prince Kurdulkar addresses the other Princes and the arbiters, urging them to take up arms in alliance with the Frostborn against the men of Andomhaim.”
“Has there been any fighting?” said Tazemazar.
“No,” said Zothal. “Prince Kurdulkar has not challenged the Red King.”
A wave of relief went through Calliande. They were not yet too late, but their time was almost out.
“He wo
n’t challenge them,” said Ridmark. “He’ll kill them all without a challenge.”
“Murder?” said Zothal. He was so shocked by the idea that the fur of his neck stood on end. “A Prince of the Range. Surely not!”
“I fear so,” said Curzonar. “We must hasten to the Red King’s court.”
“As you command,” said Zothal. “The First Queen awaits you there.”
With the escort of Curzonar’s warriors and Zothal’s soldiers, they made good time through the streets of Bastoth, the other manetaurs and tygrai making room for them. Calliande stared at the massive pyramid of the Red King’s palace, her heartbeat a drum in her ears. Every fiber of her body screamed for her to hurry. The Sight stirred involuntarily in response to her agitation, and she caught brief, fractured glimpses of the future, images of blood and fire and shadow. Attempting to use the Sight to see the future was almost always useless since the future was in too much flux.
But she was certain that a battle awaited them.
They passed through the outer courtyard of the Red King’s palace and into the vast inner garden, the steps of the massive pyramid rising overhead. As before, the Princes of the Range lounged upon their daises of piled boulders, flanked by their khalaths and warriors and wives and concubines. Turcontar reclined upon the central dais, and this time, Calliande saw First Queen Raszema reclining behind him, her expression aloof and dignified.
Prince Kurdulkar stood on his dais, his warriors around him, his voice ringing over the garden.
“We have no choice, my lord Red King, my lord Princes,” said Kurdulkar. “This is our hour. Now is the chance to rid ourselves of the humans and the orcs and the dvargir, to put them under our yoke forever. If we ally with the Frostborn, if we take the gifts offered by the shadow of Incariel, we shall become gods, and the entire world will be our hunting range…”
Then Kurdulkar saw them approaching, and he fell silent, his golden eyes narrowing.
###
Ridmark stopped at the edge of the rippling pool, halfway between Kurdulkar and the Red King.
Frostborn: The False King Page 27
