“You have an idea,” said Calliande.
Ridmark nodded. “The Magistri can send messages to each other across long distances.”
“They can,” said Calliande. “We can.” She might have become the Keeper, but she still had all the knowledge and skills of a Magistria.
“Are we close enough that you could contact one of the Magistri in Dun Licinia?” said Ridmark. “Or maybe even Castra Marcaine itself?”
“Maybe,” said Calliande. She hadn’t given it any thought. “Why?”
“Because we have been making good time,” said Ridmark, “but I fear it still might not be enough.”
“Surely we are moving faster than the Mhorites,” said Caius.
“Undoubtedly,” said Ridmark, “but Shadowbearer might be able to call upon other allies, ones that can reach the Black Mountain and hold it until his arrival. Even if we kill Shadowbearer, Mournacht will still have an army, and he has enough warriors to turn all of the Northerland to ash and lay siege to Castra Marcaine. What of the people of the Northerland? We cannot protect them all.”
“No,” murmured Calliande. “We cannot.” She had seen such things before. The Frostborn had overrun the Northerland, destroying its castras and laying waste to its towns and villages. She had seen endless lines of desperate, terrified people trying to flee, making their way south in hopes of safety.
“If you can send a message to Sir Joram Agramore at Dun Licinia,” said Ridmark, “or even Dux Gareth at Castra Marcaine, they can prepare. They can summon their knights and men-at-arms, and have an army ready to meet the Mhorites.”
“Or they may not,” said Morigna. “If a Magistrius receives a message from a woman claiming to be the long-lost Keeper of Andomhaim, he might think it a trick or a trap of some kind.”
“Or that he has drunk too much wine,” said Jager.
“It is possible there are no Magistri in Dun Licinia,” said Caius.
Ridmark shook his head. “Dux Gareth and the Order would have sent another after Alamur’s death.”
“Alamur?” said Morigna. “The name is not known to me.”
“He was a Magistrius,” said Calliande. “He tried to betray me to Shadowbearer.” She looked at Ridmark. “I suppose in hindsight he must have been one of the Enlightened of Incariel.”
“It seems so,” said Ridmark, his voice grim. “There is not telling how far that cancer has spread through the realm.”
“It is also possible,” said Arandar, “that any Magistri that the Keeper contacts might be one of the Enlightened.” He scowled. “Once, I never would have dreamed the Magistri could be corrupted, but that was before what my son saw in Tarlion.”
“Then if we send a message to any Magistri in Dun Licinia or the Northerland,” said Jager, “the Enlightened will know that we are coming.”
“The Enlightened probably know that we are coming anyway,” said Ridmark. “Shadowbearer can communicate with his servants across long distances.”
“He can,” said Morigna. “I heard him speak to Coriolus, right before the end.”
“So we take a risk, regardless of what we do,” said Ridmark. “But I think this is the best course. The people of the Northerland deserve some warning of what is about to fall upon them. And if the Dux and his vassals are roused before the Mhorites arrive, that means we shall have more allies when it comes time to confront Shadowbearer.”
“You’re right,” said Calliande. “The effort must be made. It costs us nothing, risks nothing we do not already risk, and might reap an advantage.”
“It does cost us something,” said Ridmark in a quiet voice. “Your effort.”
Calliande shrugged. “I have been trying to stop the return of the Frostborn for centuries. What are a few more moments?”
“One feels compelled to point out,” said Morigna, “that you were asleep for several of those centuries.”
Calliande laughed. “Then I am all the more rested for the task. Keep watch over me, please. This should only take a few moments.”
She sat cross-legged before the fire again, laying the staff across her legs. Morigna went to work skinning the dead rabbits, while Mara began to cook their meat. Calliande closed her eyes, taking long, deep breaths as she prepared her mind for the spell. She never liked working spells to look into the mind of another. Just as the magic of the Well permitted her to heal the body, so it permitted her to reach into the thoughts of another, though it was a draining ordeal.
The material world drifted away like smoke, and Calliande cast the spell. She drew on the magic of the Well, and then funneled the spell through the Keeper’s mantle of power, making the spell much stronger than it would have been otherwise. Most Magistri could not send their thoughts over such a distance, but Calliande was the Keeper.
She projected her thoughts south, towards Dun Licinia. She had visited both Castra Marcaine and Dun Licinia, but she had not visited Castra Marcaine since the Frostborn had destroyed it two and a half centuries ago, and likely it had changed a great deal since then. Instead she focused upon Dun Licinia, the first town she had visited since awakening beneath the Tower of Vigilance. She remembered the strong stone wall with octagonal towers that had surrounded the gate, remembered the houses of brick with their roof of clay tiles, remembered the keep where she had stayed as Sir Joram’s guest. She also remembered the fierce siege as Qazarl and his band of Mhalekites tried to capture her and claim the empty soulstone, remembered flinging all her power at Qazarl to break his magical strength.
It had been a desperate battle, but they had won in the end. Perhaps that should give her hope.
An image of Dun Licinia flickered and wavered in her mind. Calliande focused her will, seeking for the thoughts of another Magistrius or Magistria. Suddenly she saw something like a flicker of light near Dun Licinia’s northern gate. She focused upon the light, and realized that it was the mind of a Magistrius. If she remembered right, that building was a tavern that catered to the trappers and freeholders who traded in Dun Licinia.
What was a Magistrius doing in a tavern? Well, she supposed even the Magistri might enjoy a cup of cheap wine in the morning.
“Hear me!” said Calliande. “Hear me! I have urgent news!”
The mind turned towards her, and Calliande felt something, a sense of…surprise. Also a good deal of discomfort. For a moment she thought the Magistrius was injured or ill.
Then she realized that he was simply hung over.
A flicker of disgust went through her. She had seen the Magistri at their best during the Frostborn war, men like Julian Taborius, who had labored ceaselessly among the wounded, or her teacher Marius, who had spent centuries watching over her. Then again, perhaps the Order did not send its best Magistri to a remote town like Dun Licinia.
“Hear me!” said Calliande again.
“Dear God in heaven,” said a man’s voice, deep and rusty but with the clipped tone of a veteran man-at-arms. “Drink has snapped my mind. I’m hearing voices. I suppose this means I can retire at last. I…”
“I am real,” said Calliande. “Who are you?”
There was a pause. “Suppose if you were a voice in my head, you would know that already.”
Calliande sighed. “What is your name? Are you a Magistrius?”
“My name is Camorak,” said the voice. “And, yes, I am a Magistrius. Wasn’t by choice. I…”
“There isn’t time,” said Calliande. Already she felt the strain of holding the connection of the spell. The Magistri generally limited themselves to short messages about urgent matters.
“Who are you?” said Camorak. “You don’t seem like a Magistria. I’ve received messages before. Bad as a hangover, without the fun of acquiring one. You…”
“I am Calliande of Tarlion, Keeper of Andomhaim,” said Calliande.
There was a pause, and then Camorak erupted with laughter.
“Apparently I’m not the only one of the Order who drinks too much,” said Camorak. “Sure, you’re the Keeper of
Andomhaim, and I’m High King Uthanaric Pendragon and…”
“Be silent and listen to me,” said Calliande, her patience evaporating. “I’m traveling with Ridmark Arban and Brother Caius. Ask Sir Joram about them if you don’t believe me. A Mhorite host led by a powerful wizard called Shadowbearer is marching south from Vhaluusk, and they’re heading right for Dun Licinia. You must warn Sir Joram, and he must warn Dux Gareth. The Northerland is about to face its most powerful foe since Mhalek.”
There was a long pause.
“You’re serious,” said Camorak. This time, he sounded thoughtful. “Something is stirred up in the Wilderland. More kobold sightings than usual, and some of the freeholders have sworn they have seen dvargir warriors…”
“They could have,” said Calliande. Her head was starting to hurt. “Shadowbearer might have called additional allies to his side. You have to warn Sir Joram and the Dux. The Gray Knight and I are making for Dun Licinia as fast as we can, but we are still at least two weeks away. We will explain everything when we arrive. But for now, you must warn Sir Joram and the Dux. Promise me you will warn Sir Joram and the Dux.”
“Very well,” said Camorak. “I will speak to Sir Joram. I cannot promise that he will do anything. The nobles keep their own counsel.”
“Thank you,” said Calliande. “If you do not believe me, look to the north. Soon you will see a host of Mhorite orcs descend upon Black Mountain.”
She broke the connection, starting to withdraw her Sight towards herself.
Something else reached for her.
Another mind, another mortal mind. It was another Magistrius. No, a Magistria. A Magistria who felt familiar. Camorak’s mind and voice had seemed hazy, likely because of his hangover. This mind felt sharp and clear and yet somehow…jagged, with edges that could cut.
“You,” hissed a woman’s voice. “I remember you. Do you remember me?”
Calliande felt her body tense, her fingers sinking into her knees.
“Imaria Licinius,” said Calliande.
Imaria was a Magistria, the daughter of Dux Gareth Licinius, the lover of Tarrabus Carhaine…and the sister of Ridmark’s dead wife. Calliande had faced her in Coldinium. Imaria had arranged for Ridmark to be arrested, and had tried to have him put to death. Instead, Calliande had faced Imaria in a Challenge of Magistri, and defeated the younger woman. She had glimpsed into Imaria’s mind, and saw the grief for Aelia in there. But that grief had festered into rage and hatred and into something like insanity.
“You do remember me,” said Imaria, her voice a purr. “I am surprised. You’ve changed a lot since our last meeting. But, then, so have I.”
“You have,” said Calliande. Imaria had changed. Her mind felt…
Calliande felt herself frown.
Imaria’s mind felt like there was something wrong with it.
Calliande could not quite describe the sensation. One moment it seemed as if Imaria’s mind had broken into fragments, like a spider-webbed crack through a pane of glass. The next it felt as if her mind was a mask over something else, like Imaria was an empty vessel filling up with…
Shadow.
The shadow of Incariel.
“You’re one of them,” said Calliande. “You’re one of the Enlightened of Incariel.”
Imaria’s laughter rang out. “They are fools. I have surpassed them. I see the truth.”
“And what truth is that?” said Calliande. “What have you done to yourself?”
“I am pregnant,” said Imaria.
“With Tarrabus’s child?” said Calliande.
“No, not quite,” said Imaria. Her mind pressed closer against Calliande, sharp and jagged and filled with shadows. “Rather, something is pregnant with me.”
“That makes no sense,” said Calliande. “To paraphrase the gospel of John, a woman cannot return to her mother’s womb to be born again.”
“I am the larva of something greater,” said Imaria. “I am the seed. I am the harbinger. I am the shadow of what is coming.”
“And what is coming?” said Calliande.
Imaria’s laughter rang through Calliande’s mind. “You do not see? Fool, fool, thrice a fool! You are Ridmark’s beloved little pet, and you seek the secret of the Frostborn?” Venom filled her voice when she spoke Ridmark’s name. “You seek to know the future, but you do not see it. The Magistri cannot see it. Even Tarrabus cannot see it. Only I see the future laid out before us like words upon a page.”
“Then,” said Calliande, “why don’t you tell me what that future is?”
“Me,” said Imaria. “Give Ridmark a message, Calliande. Tell him that I am coming for him. Tell him that I am shall repay him for taking my sister from me, that he is going to know pain that few mortals have ever been cursed enough to experience!”
The last word crashed like thunder, and the spell shattered around Calliande. She seemed to hurtle backwards, as if flung by a great force, the forests of the Wilderland blurring around her. She heard a voice shouting.
“Keeper!” said Antenora. “Keeper! Keeper!”
Calliande’s eyes opened and she looked around, a wave of dizziness going through her.
Ridmark and Antenora were kneeling on either side of her. Ridmark looked concerned. Antenora seemed gripped with dread, her face more pallid than usual. Perhaps she feared having spent fifteen centuries searching for the Keeper only to see Calliande die before her eyes. A wave of sympathy went through Calliande…followed by a tremendous headache.
“Are you all right?” said Ridmark.
“Yes,” said Calliande, rubbing her throbbing temples. “Oh, that hurts. I remember why the Magistri don’t do that very often.”
“Arandar,” said Ridmark.
Arandar stooped over Calliande, one hand on his soulblade. He placed his callused palm upon her forehead, and the healing power of Heartwarden flowed into Calliande. Soulblades were not as effective with healing as the spells of a Magistri, but then Arandar didn’t have to take the pain of the injury into himself. Calliande’s headache faded from something thunderous to merely tolerable. She had been in far worse pain.
“Thank you,” said Calliande. Antenora held out a hand, and Calliande gripped it and got to her feet, leaning a bit on the staff of the Keeper for balance.
“Did it work?” said Ridmark.
Calliande hesitated. “I…think so. I spoke with a Magistrius named Camorak. He agreed to speak to Sir Joram and warn him.”
“Camorak?” said Caius, and glanced at Arandar.
“You know him?” said Calliande.
“I met him briefly when I passed through Castra Marcaine,” said Caius. “He was a Magistrius in the Dux’s court.”
“What did you think of him?” said Calliande.
Caius hesitated. “I only met him briefly. He seemed…quite drunk.”
“I know the name,” said Arandar. “I met him when I was in service to Dux Kors Durius of Durandis. He was a man-at-arms in the Dux’s service. He manifested magical ability and was taken by the Magistri for training. From what I heard, he was a reliable man before he became a Magistrius.”
“Do you think he would be one of the Enlightened?” said Gavin.
Arandar shook his head. “I do not think so. From what I have seen, the Enlightened are an affliction of the noble and the wealthy and the learned, lords and merchants and Magistri. A common soldier would be wise enough to resist their blandishments, or so I would hope.”
“And yet,” said Morigna, “there is no man so virtuous that he cannot be corrupted."
“I wish I could argue with you,” said Arandar with a sigh, “but I fear you are correct. Nevertheless, I suspect that Camorak will do his duty and report to Sir Joram. A man who fought against the Mhorites in Durandis would not abandon his comrades.”
“He would also know the danger of a Mhorite army,” said Kharlacht.
“Ridmark,” said Calliande. “There was something else.”
“Bad news, I suspect,” said Ridmark.
She took a deep breath and plunged into her next sentence. “Imaria Licinius is in Dun Licinia.”
Ridmark frowned. “Why? She was in Coldinium. I assumed she would have gone back to Tarlion with Tarrabus Carhaine.”
“I don’t know,” said Calliande, shaking her head. The memory of Imaria’s mind made her skin crawl, as if she had touched something dead and rotting. “There’s something wrong with her. I think she may have gone insane.”
Ridmark’s frown deepened. She was not entirely sure what he thought about Imaria Licinius. He had spent a long, long time blaming himself for Aelia’s death, and Imaria had been in full agreement with him.
“Perhaps you broke her mind in Coldinium,” said Morigna.
“That’s not it,” said Calliande. “She might be one of the Enlightened.”
“No,” said Ridmark at once. “She’s Aelia’s sister, Dux Gareth’s daughter. She is arrogant and…high-strung, but she would not throw her lot in with the Enlightened.”
“I felt the shadow in her,” said Calliande. “The same sort of shadow that was in Paul Tallmane, in Shadowbearer himself. The shadow of Incariel.”
“I cannot believe that,” said Ridmark.
Morigna snorted. “You cannot believe that of a woman who is the lover of the head of the Enlightened of Incariel? That is optimistic even for you.”
“What?” said Arandar. “Imaria Licinius is Tarrabus Carhaine’s mistress?”
“Beyond question,” said Morigna. “When we met them in Coldinium, she looked at Tarrabus like a dog in heat.” Her eyes turned back to Ridmark. “And you once thought Tarrabus arrogant and high-strung, but an honorable servant of your realm of Andomhaim. Then you found out he was the chief of the Enlightened of Incariel.”
“The Initiated of the Seventh Circle,” said Jager, shuddering a little. His experience with Tarrabus Carhaine had not been pleasant. “Imaria was the woman with him. Olive skin, green eyes, black hair? Looked like she just took a big bite out of a lemon.”
“That would be her,” said Ridmark.
Frostborn: The World Gate Page 10
