“She felt…uncanny,” said Jager. “The same way Tarrabus and Paul did. If that’s Imaria Licinius, I would wager my last golden coin that she was one of the Enlightened…and I’ve got quite a lot of gold coins.”
“Truly?” said Antenora.
“Oh, yes, I’m quite wealthy,” said Jager, brushing some dust from his sleeve. “I was a very good thief, and it turns out I’m quite a good merchant, as well.”
“He is,” said Mara.
“I just needed some starting funds, and…”
“We can discuss that later,” said Ridmark.
“Right,” said Jager. “But I’m sure that Imaria Licinius is part of the Enlightened. Gray Knight, you are a bold and valiant warrior, but your blind spot about your late wife and her family is the size of all thirteen of the moons put together at once.”
“Oh, it is, is it?” said Ridmark, his voice quiet.
“Yes,” said Kharlacht.
“Unquestionably,” said Caius.
“I fear so,” said Mara.
“As do I,” said Calliande.
“As unlikely as it is for me to agree with everyone,” said Morigna, “one must…”
“God and the apostles!” said Ridmark. “Fine. You’ve made your point. It seems wisest to assume that Imaria is part of the Enlightened, and that Shadowbearer will have agents in Dun Licinia. We shall have to be on our guard when we arrive.”
“That means,” said Morigna, “if Imaria accuses you of causing Aelia’s death, you will not simply…lie down and refuse to fight.”
“No,” said Ridmark. “I didn’t handle her well in Coldinium. I shall not make the same mistake twice. Too much is at stake.” He looked at the others. “Let’s finish breakfast, and then we can be on our way. It seems Shadowbearer and his servants are waiting for us.”
Calliande gazed at the fire. She hoped that Camorak was as good as his word, that he would alert Sir Joram and the Dux.
She hoped that she had not just sent him to his death. If Shadowbearer’s servants were already in Dun Licinia, they might try to kill Camorak to prevent any word of warning from reaching Dux Gareth.
It made for all the more reason to hurry.
Chapter 7: The Destiny of Mhor
Two weeks after Calliande contacted Camorak, eighteen days after the death of Rhogrimnalazur, Ridmark stopped and pointed south.
“There,” he said. “You can see it there.”
The pine trees of the Northerland thinned a little, and in the distance Ridmark glimpsed a dark shadow against the southern sky.
The Black Mountain.
The terrain had been growing rockier and rougher, the thick forests of the Wilderland giving way to the hills and pine trees of the Northerland. A few days ago the River Moradel had turned to the southwest, and Ridmark and the others had forded it, using the half-crumbled ruins of a dark elven bridge. Then they had headed straight south.
“Spooky thing, isn’t it?” said Jager. “I can see why the dark elves thought it sacred to Incariel.”
Ridmark said nothing, a welter of memories burning through his mind. He had commanded the army that had broken the Mhalekites at Black Mountain. After he had been exiled, he had departed the realm to seek the secret of the Frostborn, passing the Black Mountain once more as he did so. When he had returned to the realm, Calliande had awaked in the ruined Tower of Vigilance in the shadow of the Black Mountain. Again and again, it seemed as if the significant events of his life took place upon the slopes of that dark mountain.
A wave of foreboding went through him. He knew violence and battle awaited at Black Mountain…but he did not know the outcome.
Someone squeezed his free hand, and he turned his head in surprise. Morigna had joined him in silence. She must have guessed his thoughts. Though he supposed his thoughts were predictable enough by now.
“The dark elves were clearly not as wise as they thought themselves,” said Morigna, “if they chose to pray to an impressive-looking mountain. One wonders if they also offered prayers to clouds of unusual shape.”
“That mountain is wrong,” said Antenora.
“It is a locus of dark magic,” said Calliande. “Likely that was why the dark elves built a standing circle there. Any spell cast within the circle will be augmented to stupendous proportions. That was why Shadowbearer first summoned the Frostborn there, and why he will attempt it again at that mountain. It is also why I founded the Order of the Vigilant and raised a fortress there, to keep watch over that mountain.” She shook her head, her expression distant.
“I mean that the mountain’s color is wrong,” said Antenora. “Is it a volcano?”
“Volcano?” said Jager. “What’s a volcano?”
“A mountain of fire,” said Caius. “One that sometimes erupts with flows of molten stone and plumes of ash.”
“What a singularly appalling thought,” said Jager. “Mountains that burn? As if we didn’t have enough problems already.”
“There aren’t any in Andomhaim,” said Ridmark. “Some in Kothluusk. I’ve heard there are more in the eastern reaches of the manetaurs’ Range, but I’ve never seen them with my own eyes.”
“It looks like a volcano,” said Antenora, “or it would, had it a crater.”
“I don’t think it is,” said Calliande. “At least, it has not erupted in the history of Andomhaim.”
“The color is wrong,” insisted Antenora. She gestured at the exposed rocks of a nearby hill. “Behold the stone. None of it matches the color of the mountain, and it should. Are such things common upon this world?”
“No,” said Caius, his tone thoughtful. “She’s right. I had never given it any thought before. A lone mountain like that ought to be a volcano, or if it’s not, the surrounding stone should match it. The Black Mountain is a large mass of black granite sitting in hills of sandstone and limestone. That does not make sense.”
“Perhaps the dark elves altered it for some reason of their own,” said Mara with a shrug. “The Warden’s sorcery could have wrought such a feat, given time.”
“Why change the color of the mountain?” said Morigna. “It seems a monumental waste of time.”
“Perhaps it is not a mountain,” said Antenora. “Perhaps it is something else.”
Calliande looked at her, startled. “Like what?”
“I do not know,” murmured Antenora. She closed her yellow eyes for a moment, walking in silence. “It reminds me of something I saw once, long ago. Alas, I cannot remember what it was.”
“That sounds frustrating,” said Jager.
She looked at the halfling and smiled. “It is, master thief. Yet in some ways it is a mercy. No one was meant to live as long as I have, and I have seen many terrible things. Some of them have fallen out of my mind. I have forgotten things I wished to remember…but I am sure I have forgotten many more things I never wished to see.”
“I’m sorry,” said Gavin in a quiet voice.
Antenora shrugged. “It is my own doing, Gavin Swordbearer. I…” Her voice trailed off. “Gray Knight. The beastmen approach.”
Ridmark nodded. “Stay back.” The others knew the routine by now and came to a stop. Ridmark kept walking, the staff of Ardrhythain ready in his hand in case he needed to beat some sense into one of the lupivirii. Rakhaag was the dominant male of this group of lupivirii, but the other beastmen saw how he deferred to Ridmark, and sometimes had the idea of seizing control of the pack by challenging Ridmark. He had beaten two of the beastmen who had tried it.
The fact that Calliande had healed their broken bones baffled them to no end. Likely they presumed that the Staffbearer was entitled to incomprehensibility.
Rakhaag and two other lupivirii emerged from the pine trees, loping along on all fours in their wolfish forms. Ridmark stopped and waited, and the beastmen came to a halt a few paces away, breathing hard. Rakhaag came forward, shifting back into his more human-like form until his snout shrank enough to allow him to form words.
“Gray Knight,
” rasped Rakhaag. “The foe comes.”
“Who have you seen?” said Ridmark.
“Orcs, bands of them,” said Rakhaag. “They move around the base of that mountain to the south.”
“What did they look like?” said Ridmark.
“They smelled of blood,” growled Rakhaag, his claws getting a little longer. “Though that means little to the feeble noses of your kindred. Their faces were scarred and tattooed. Like a skull that had been bathed in blood.”
“Mhorites,” said Ridmark. “Worshippers of Mhor, the blood god of murder and death.”
Rakhaag let out an indifferent growl. “Let the orcs pray to whatever fool god they wish. It is no concern of the True People.”
“How many Mhorites did you see?” said Ridmark. He didn’t know how many warriors Mournacht had brought with him to the Vale of Stone Death. At least ten thousand, if he had to guess, though the Mhorites would have taken heavy causalities in the Vale of Stone Death and Khald Azalar. It was possible anywhere from five thousand to nine thousand Mhorites were about to descend upon Black Mountain and Dun Licinia. Maybe even more, if Mournacht had summoned reinforcements from Kothluusk, or if Shadowbearer had recruited additional allies.
“Perhaps three or four hunting packs,” said Rakhaag.
“Just how many would that be?” said Ridmark.
“Eighty,” said Rakhaag.
“Scouts, then,” said Ridmark. “Mournacht must have sent them ahead to find the path.” He thought for a moment. “Have any of your hunters seen a larger group of orcs? An army? Or any signs of one?”
Rakhaag showed his fangs. “We know the business of the hunt, Gray Knight. We have not seen an army. Though it seems these orcs are the forerunners of a larger hunt. They carry the smells of many others with them.”
“Good,” said Ridmark. They still had time. He thought they could make their way to Dun Licinia in two days, maybe a day and a half if they pushed. Or would it be better to proceed straight to the Tower of Vigilance and make their way to the standing circle in the foothills?
“There is something else,” said Rakhaag. “Many of your kindred have been moving through the hills.”
“My kindred?” said Ridmark. “Humans, you mean? How did you know?”
“The smell,” said Rakhaag. “The tracks. Your kindred rides horses into battle, which is puzzling. Horses are animals of prey.”
“The tracks of the horses,” said Ridmark. “Were they steel-shod?”
“They were,” said Rakhaag.
“War horses, then,” said Ridmark. If the Mhorites had sent scouting parties near the Black Mountain, they would have been spotted. There were many scattered freeholds near Dun Licinia, and just as many hunters and trappers. Sir Joram would have then sent out men to investigate. Of course, if Camorak had kept his word and warned Joram and the Dux, then Dun Licinia was preparing for attack…
Ridmark needed to know more.
“Keep your hunters on watch,” said Ridmark. “We need to find the Mhorites, and we need to find my kindred. It is a foolish hunter who rushes after a deer, not knowing if the trees conceal a cliff.”
“Truly,” said Rakhaag. “Very well. We shall return with news.”
“Avoid both the Mhorites and my kindred,” said Ridmark. “The Mhorites will kill you on sight, and my kindred will regard you with fear.”
Rakhaag showed his teeth. “Do not presume to teach the True People how to hunt, Gray Knight.”
He turned and raced back into the pine trees, vanishing into the forest. Ridmark returned to the others, keeping watch on the hills. If there were Mhorite warbands loose in the hills, he did not want to be taken unawares.
“Well,” said Morigna, “what news from our loyal wolves?”
“They’ve seen Mhorite scouts,” said Ridmark. “No sign of the main host yet, but if there are scouts near the Black Mountains, then Mournacht’s army cannot be more than two or three days behind.”
Calliande’s expression tightened. “We are at least two days from Dun Licinia yet.”
“But a day and a half to the Tower of Vigilance, if I remember rightly,” said Caius. “Perhaps it would be better to head there and meet Shadowbearer when he arrives.”
“And do what, precisely?” said Morigna. “When we last fought Shadowbearer, the Anathgrimm distracted the Mhorites. I doubt Mara’s new subjects,” Mara winced a little at that, “will arrive in time to turn the tide. If we go to the Tower of Vigilance alone, we shall all be slaughtered, most likely along with the people of Dun Licinia.”
“As loath as I am to agree, the sorceress is correct,” said Arandar. “Better that we head straight for Dun Licinia. We can find allies there, and increase our chances of victory.”
“We do not have to decide quite yet,” said Caius. “Both Dun Licinia and the Black Mountain are in the same direction for at least another day.”
“If we encounter a Mhorite warband,” said Kharlacht, watching the trees, “that might force our decision.”
He was right.
“Let us see what the day has in store for us,” said Ridmark, and he beckoned the others forward.
###
An hour later they moved through a narrow valley between the rocky hills, the air heavy with the smell of pine trees. A small brook bubbled through the center of the valley, the sound of splashing water brushing at Ridmark’s ears. He did not have the senses of the lupivirii, true, but he did not need them to see the tracks upon the ground.
“A Mhorite warband, one suspects,” announced Morigna, scowling at the ground. “Sixty or seventy strong.”
“Probably,” said Ridmark.
“Mournacht always believed in scouting in strength,” said Arandar. “Even when he was a petty warlord in Kothluusk, he always sent his scouts in warbands.”
“To try and force a battle on his own terms, I imagine,” said Ridmark, and Arandar nodded.
“What does that mean?” said Gavin. “If I am to be a Swordbearer, I shall need to know these things.”
“Armies are large, but the world is larger,” said Ridmark. “Sometimes they have a hard time finding each other. So each army sends out scouts. If their scouts get into a fight, they can draw the other scouts into the fighting, and it might trigger a full battle when neither commander planned one. The Mhorites are used to fighting in small bands, so if they can draw the other force into battle piecemeal, they have the advantage.”
Gavin nodded. “Like what happened at the dwarven watchtower in the Vale of Stone Death. The Traveler and Mournacht both sort of blundered into each other.”
“Aye,” said Ridmark. “I think that might be what Mournacht is trying here. Perhaps Calliande’s message got through, and Camorak warned the Dux.”
“We shall find out soon enough,” said Calliande.
“Perhaps sooner than we think,” said Mara, shading her green eyes as she squinted. “Rakhaag returns.”
“I cannot shake the feeling,” said Jager, “that he looks at us the way a starving man looks at a particularly plump pig.”
“The lupivirii do not eat other kindreds,” said Ridmark.
“Besides,” said Morigna, “you are far too short to make more than a few mouthfuls. If they eat you, it shall be over with merciful speed.”
Jager smiled at her. “And you would be far too bitter to make a palpable meal.”
Rakhaag appeared before Jager and Morigna could start arguing in earnest. He stopped a few paces away, shifting to his more human-like form, his golden eyes burning with battle lust.
“Gray Knight,” said Rakhaag. “A battle is underway two miles to the south. Perhaps forty of your kindred battle against eighty of the Mhorite orcs.”
“Then we must aid them,” said Ridmark.
“You must aid them,” said Rakhaag. “The True People will avoid them, as you said. Whoever triumphed would turn upon us and attack. We shall keep watch, and bring you word when the Mhorite host arrives. And when Shadowbearer comes to destroy the world, we
shall join the Staffbearer when she faces him.”
“Thank you,” said Calliande.
The beastman dipped his head in something like a nod, turned, and raced into the trees.
“Come,” said Ridmark. “If these are Joram’s men-at-arms, we cannot let them face the Mhorites alone, and this is our chance to learn some news.”
He jogged forward, the others following, and headed south along the line of the little brook. Soon he heard the sound of fighting, the clang of steel upon steel, the shouts of men, and the whinnying of frightened horses. Through the trees came a flash of white light, followed by a pulse of bloody fire. Did the Mhorites have a shaman with them? Did the men-at-arms have the aid of a Swordbearer or a Magistrius?
The valley widened, and the battle came into sight.
Either Rakhaag had been wrong, or the Mhorites had called for reinforcements. Ridmark counted at least a hundred and twenty Mhorite warriors gathered at the base of the hill, pushing against a group of thirty or forty men-at-arms. The men-at-arms wore the colors of Gareth Licinius, Dux of the Northerland, green tabards adorned with the sigil of a white hart. In their midst a knight in full plate sat atop a stamping war horse, a green surcoat over his armor and a flashing soulblade in his armored fist. Next to him stood a man in the white robe of a Magistrius, and even as Ridmark watched, the Magistrius cast a spell. White light pulsed before the struggling men-at-arms, deflecting a blast of blood-colored flame wreathed in shadow. Two gaunt Mhorite shamans stood behind the warriors, their bodies covered in ritual scars and tattoos, bloody flames dancing around their hands as they worked spells.
The men-at-arms were losing.
“More shamans?” muttered Jager. “Just how many of them does Mournacht have? You’d think we would have killed most of them by now.”
“Kharlacht, Caius, Arandar, Gavin, with me,” said Ridmark. “We’ll aid the men-at-arms. Calliande, you can deal with the shamans?” She nodded, the staff of the Keeper beginning to glimmer with white fire. “Jager, Mara, Morigna, Antenora. Guard Calliande if the Mhorites try to go after her. Don’t use your magical abilities unless necessary.” All magic was banned in Andomhaim, save for the powers of the Magistri. If anyone displayed elemental magic like Antenora’s fire or Morigna’s earth powers, they were enrolled in the Magistri or killed. There was no telling how the Swordbearer and the Magistrius might react to Antenora’s or Morigna’s magic, or to Mara’s abilities.
Frostborn: The World Gate Page 11
