Frostborn: The High Lords Read online

  “That is for the High King and the Magistri to decide,” said Caradog. “To more urgent matters. Ridmark of the Arbanii, branded coward and exile! I charge you with the murders of Lady Aelia Licinius and Sir Paul Tallmane, Constable of the Iron Tower, and place you under arrest! You will surrender your weapons and accompany me.”

  “You presume too much, Caradog Lordac,” said Gareth, a growl in his voice. “We are in the Northerland, and the right of justice in the Northerland is mine.”

  “And since you have clearly failed to exercise it,” said Caradog, “others must do so in your stead.”

  “Mhalek slew my daughter Aelia,” said Gareth. “As for Paul Tallmane, he was a servant of dark powers. He colluded with the dvargir and the Mhorites, the sworn enemies of the realm, and offered his soul up to the dark gods of the dark elves. Corbanic Lamorus, Marcast Tetricus, Crowlacht of Rhaluusk, and many others have sworn this.”

  “Liars, all,” said Caradog, “and enemies of my lord Tarrabus.”

  “Do you call me a liar, Sir Caradog?” said Gareth. “For I believe them.”

  Caradog shrugged. “If you chose to don the hat of the fool, my lord Dux, it is hardly my concern if it fits.” He pointed. “And you accuse Dux Tarrabus of colluding with enemies of the realm when Anathgrimm orcs stand in your midst? Have you sold yourself to the Traveler, Gareth Licinius?”

  “The Traveler is slain,” said Gareth.

  Caradog laughed. “A likely tale! The Traveler has opposed the realm for a thousand years.”

  “His daughter slew him,” said Calliande, gesturing at Mara, “and has taken his place as the new Queen of Nightmane Forest. She comes to offer her realm’s help in the war against the Frostborn.”

  Both Caradog and Aventine laughed at that.

  “That little slip of a girl?” said Caradog. “You can hardly take umbrage at being called a liar, my lord Dux, if you insist upon telling such unlikely tales as…”

  Mara smiled and disappeared in a swirl of blue fire.

  Caradog blinked and looked around, and Mara reappeared behind him, crouched on the back of his horse. The beast started to shift beneath the unexpected weight, and Mara reached up and rapped hard on the back of Caradog’s helmet three times. Aventine shouted in alarm, and Mara disappeared, reappearing back atop her own confused horse, the blue fire fading from her veins.

  “Some tales are more likely than others, Sir Caradog,” said Mara in her quiet voice.

  “Enough!” said Caradog. “The fact, Ridmark Arban, that you consort with such…such creatures of dark magic is proof enough of your guilt! If you have tricked the Dux into believing your lies, then that is one more crime to lay at your doorstep. You are under arrest, and you shall come with us.”

  “Or?” said Ridmark.

  “Or we will compel you to come with us,” said Caradog.

  “I refuse to permit this,” said Gareth. “I am the Dux of the Northerland, and this is my land.”

  Caradog smirked. “We have more men nearer at hand.”

  “So do I,” said Gareth. He drew himself up in his saddle. “If you do this, I shall consider it an act of war from Dux Tarrabus, and react as I think best.”

  Aventine sneered. “You would risk war with Dux Tarrabus in the face of a greater threat?”

  “Tarrabus Carhaine is the one who risks war, not I,” said Gareth.

  “Then, old man,” said Caradog, “let us see…”

  “Enough!” said Tormark. “This is madness. I have seen some of the foes we face, and the realm must be united to overcome them. If we war amongst ourselves now, we are doomed, and the Frostborn shall devour Andomhaim.”

  “I merely seek justice,” said Caradog. “Justice in the name of Dux Tarrabus.”

  “The Duxi are not kings who can war amongst themselves as they see fit,” said Tormark. “I suggest that we take this matter to the High King at once. Let him decide it. We must have unity in order to face the Frostborn.”

  “A unity based upon lies will shatter at the first wind,” said Calliande, “and every word of the accusations against Tarrabus Carhaine is true.”

  “At the moment I do not care what Tarrabus Carhaine did,” snapped Tormark. “I saw those creatures, and we need every fighting man in Andomhaim to face them.” He looked at the two knights. “Well, Caradog? Will you go to the High King, or will we rip apart the realm in civil war here and now?”

  Caradog glanced at Aventine, and then at the horsemen with Dux Gareth. He was considering it, Calliande realized. He was actually considering attacking, hoping to kill Ridmark and maybe Dux Gareth before anyone could stop him.

  Well, if Caradog tried, Calliande would make sure that he regretted it.

  Calliande met his eye, letting the staff of the Keeper burn with white fire in her hand. Antenora, sensing her mood, summoned a sphere of fire over her free hand, the globe whirling faster and faster. Caradog met Calliande’s gaze for a moment, and then swallowed and looked away.

  “Very well,” said Caradog. “We shall go to the High King, and I shall summon Dux Tarrabus to lay his charges before the High King. Rejoice in your extra hour of life, Ridmark of the Arbanii. It is all you shall enjoy.”

  Chapter 10: Charges

  Arandar followed the others as they rode through the camp, his hand itching to grasp Heartwarden’s hilt.

  He only just stopped himself, knowing that drawing a weapon right now might start a catastrophic battle. It reminded him of the room coated in coal dust within the ruins of Khald Azalar, the room where one stray spark might have touched off an explosion. One wrong move now might engulf the realm in civil war. Arandar wanted to see Tarrabus defeated and brought to justice, but not if his defeat meant the destruction of Andomhaim at the hands of the Frostborn.

  For their arrival had indeed riled up the camp.

  They rode through the aisle between the camps of the various Duxi, and Arandar saw messengers hurrying back and forth. Rumor of their arrival was spreading like wildfire. Uthanaric Pendragon, no doubt, had taken up residence in the town’s castra. By the time Arandar and the others arrived, Arandar expected to find all the Duxi there, along with Prince Cadwall of Cintarra and the most powerful Comites and knights of the realm, with the chief Swordbearers and Magistri as well.

  A lot would depend upon what happened in the next hour, and Arandar felt dread closing around his heart. Had Uthanaric Pendragon been less mercurial in his moods, Arandar would have felt more confident. Uthanaric’s thoughts were impossible to predict. He might bow to Tarrabus’s wishes, or he might rebuff the Dux and do something else entirely.

  In some ways, Arandar's mad quest to Urd Morlemoch had been easier. There, his task had been a simple one. He needed to find Truthseeker, and return with it to Tarlion. Then he had promised to help Calliande retrieve her staff, and even that had been simple – find Dragonfall, and then reach the circle of standing stones and Dun Licinia before Shadowbearer managed it.

  Now…now Arandar was not sure what to do. Tarrabus Carhaine was a traitor, and he held the life of Arandar’s son in his hand. Yet Tormark had a point. The realm needed unity to face the fury of the Frostborn. If Tarrabus Carhaine and Leogrance Arban went to war, it would be catastrophic, and the Frostborn would easily overwhelm Andomhaim. Would the High King overlook Tarrabus’s crimes in favor of preserving unity?

  Would he be right to do so?

  Right about then something he did not expect happened.

  “Papa! Papa! Papa!”

  Arandar looked up.

  A woman about his own age stood near a tent, staring at him in shock, her mouth hanging open. She wore sturdy widow’s black, simple but well-made. Her hand was extended, and the girl who had just broke free of her grasp sprinted towards Arandar. She was nine years old, wearing a muted blue dress and leather traveling boots, and she had her mother’s eyes and Arandar’s nose and jaw…

  “Nyvane?” said Arandar.

  “Papa!” shouted Nyvane.

  Arandar did not
remember getting out of the saddle, did not remember going to one knee. Then Nyvane slammed into him with enough force that even her slight weight rocked him back, her arms wrapping so tight around him that it almost squeezed the breath out him, and Arandar hugged his daughter back and despite the war to the north and the enemies around him, for just a moment everything was right in the world.

  ###

  “Oh,” said Calliande in a soft voice. “That must be his daughter.”

  Ridmark nodded.

  Aelia had never been able to conceive, though they had surely tried at every opportunity, and she had died before she could have any children. He had wondered what it would be like for Morigna to bear his children, had been certain that she would once Shadowbearer was defeated, and he had daydreamed about living in some remote place with Morigna and going about their lives as hunters and trappers.

  Then she, too, had been murdered.

  Arandar looked happier, more relieved than Ridmark had ever seen, and it seemed that was something Ridmark would never know.

  For a moment the grief of Morigna’s death threatened to crush him, only to fuel his bottomless anger anew.

  Then Nyvane said something that cut through Ridmark’s grief and rage, something that turned his grief into the certainty that deadly danger was at hand.

  “I saw Accolon, too, Papa!” said Nyvane, the words pouring out of her with the speed of a child. “He was with some knights. Aunt Miriam said that I couldn’t talk to him, but he was with the knights, and…”

  Arandar’s son was here?

  Ridmark blinked and looked at Sir Caradog. Both he and Sir Aventine were looking at the girl with flat, empty expressions.

  If they had found the child alone, Ridmark realized, if they could have done it without any witnesses, they would have killed her at once.

  He dropped from the saddle, ignoring Calliande’s question, and hurried to Arandar’s side.

  “We have a problem,” said Ridmark.

  Arandar blinked up at him. “A moment, please.”

  “We may not even have that,” said Ridmark.

  “Papa,” said Nyvane, some fear coming into her voice. “He has a coward’s brand.”

  “He’s not a coward, dear one,” said Arandar, his voice light, but his eyes were grave. “He is the Gray Knight, and I’ve seen him fight and kill terrible monsters.”

  “Really?” said Nyvane, her face brightening. “You really fight monsters?”

  “Yes,” said Ridmark, glancing at Caradog and Aventine. Both men were scowling at him. He caught Calliande’s eye, and she urged her horse closer.

  “What is it?” said Calliande.

  “Keep them away from us,” said Ridmark. “Just for a few minutes. Oh, and send Zhorlacht over here. Now, please.”

  Calliande frowned, but nodded and turned her horse.

  “What’s going on?” said Arandar, getting to his feet, lifting Nyvane as he did.

  Ridmark beckoned him closer, and the woman in black stepped towards them.

  “Arandar,” said the woman. “You came back. We feared…”

  “Miriam,” said Arandar. This had to be his late wife’s sister. “Thank you for looking after Nyvane.”

  “She asked after you every day,” said Miriam. “Oh, God be praised. God be praised. I…”

  “Forgive me, my lady, but time is short and your life is in danger,” said Ridmark. “Did you really see Accolon?”

  Miriam hesitated, looking at Ridmark’s brand and then back at Arandar.

  “We can trust him,” said Arandar.

  “Yes,” said Miriam. “He is a prisoner in Tarrabus Carhaine’s camp. The Dux brought him when he marched north from Caerdracon.”

  “I told you I saw Accolon,” announced Nyvane with satisfaction.

  Arandar let out a long breath. “Why would he do that? Accolon would be more secure in Tarlion or Castra Carhaine than here.”

  “Because,” said Ridmark. “Tarrabus is planning to kill him. And you, and your daughter, and the High King and his sons. I don’t know how or when, but he’s planning to wipe out every last drop of Pendragon blood and seize the throne for himself. He’ll probably try to make it look like the fortunes of battle, but he will do it soon.”

  “Arandar,” said Miriam. “Tarrabus is a hard man, but he is a Dux of Andomhaim, and…”

  “He has abandoned the Dominus Christus to pray to dark powers,” said Ridmark. “He is capable of anything, and he wants Accolon and Nyvane dead.”

  Steel creaked, and Zhorlacht stepped closer. Both Miriam and Nyvane flinched at the sight of the towering Anathgrimm warrior.

  “Gray Knight,” said Zhorlacht in his precise, buzzing voice. “You wish to speak with me?”

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. “This is Miriam, the sister of Arandar’s late wife, and his daughter Nyvane.”

  Zhorlacht offered a passable imitation of a bow. “A pleasure, madam.”

  Miriam blinked. “And…you, sir.”

  “Take them with you to the Anathgrimm camp and don’t let anyone near them until we return,” said Ridmark. “The servants of Shadowbearer want them dead so Tarrabus can seize the throne.”

  “Ah,” said Zhorlacht. “The Lord Traveler of unlamented memory often spoke among such intrigues in the dark elves of old.”

  Miriam’s eyes got a little wider.

  “Zhorlacht,” said Arandar. “You will keep them safe?”

  “If the Gray Knight commands it,” said Zhorlacht.

  “I do,” said Ridmark.

  “Then it shall be done, for our Queen has named him her magister militum,” said Zhorlacht. “Should any foes try to harm the woman or the child, their final moments will be filled with the regret for the error of their ways.”

  “What does that mean?” said Nyvane, staring at Zhorlacht with open fascination. She was too young to know to be afraid, and likely she had never seen anything like an Anathgrimm before.

  Zhorlacht stared down at the child, and a baffled expression went over his face, barely visible beneath the bone mask. It was possible, Ridmark realized, that the Anathgrimm wizard had never seen a human child before.

  At least one who had not been enslaved to the Traveler.

  “It means that my brothers and I shall keep you safe at the command of our Queen,” said Zhorlacht at last.

  Nyvane gripped her skirts and performed a polite bow. “Thank you, sir knight.”

  Zhorlacht let out a rumbling laugh. “I am not a knight, child.”

  “Go,” said Ridmark. “With all speed. You as well, Lady Miriam. Tarrabus will send his agents to bring you to harm, but even his most capable servants will not be able to fight their way past thousands of Anathgrimm warriors.”

  “The Anathgrimm,” said Miriam, hesitating. “Arandar, I doubt not your word, but the Anathgrimm…they have been the enemies of the realm for time immemorial. Will they truly guard us?”

  “My lady,” said Zhorlacht, “rest assured, if Queen Mara commanded us to slaughter every fighting man in the camp to keep you safe, we would do so joyfully.”

  Miriam blinked. “Was that meant to be comforting, sir?”

  Zhorlacht shrugged. “Yes. I fear I have little experience comforting human women.”

  Miriam let out a fearful little laugh. “I confess it shows.”

  “Miriam,” said Arandar. “We can trust the Anathgrimm. Zhorlacht and his kin fought alongside us against the Mhorites, and if not for their aid, the Frostborn might well have slain every man, woman, and child in Dun Licinia.” He hesitated, still looking down at his daughter. “I would rather you stayed at my side…but I fear the Gray Knight is correct. You both will be far safer among the Anathgrimm than the High King’s court.”

  Ridmark could tell it cost Arandar to admit that. It was a hard thing for a man to lose faith in the High King and the nobles of the realm. Even when the evidence had been shoved in his face, Ridmark had still thought Tarrabus a ruthless but loyal Dux of the realm, and that error had almost
let the soulstone fall into Shadowbearer’s hands at the Iron Tower.

  “You both call him the Gray Knight,” said Miriam, her dark eyes turning towards Ridmark. “Then you…you are really Ridmark of the Arbanii? The one who sacked the Iron Tower?”

  “I am,” said Ridmark, “though the Constable of the Iron Tower had turned to the worship of dark powers, and I had no choice.”

  “He also slew Mournacht of Kothluusk and Shadowbearer himself,” said Arandar. “I saw these feats with my own eyes.”

  “Then we have come to troubled days indeed,” said Miriam. “The court is split over the things you have done, Gray Knight, and…”

  “Enough, woman!” Sir Caradog’s voice boomed over the camp. Ridmark saw Caradog glowering at Calliande, who glared right back. Sir Aventine had his hand on his sword hilt, as if threatening to strike Calliande. If he was foolish enough to try, Antenora would blast him to smoking coals, or Gavin would cut them both down. A civil war might start in the camp before the hour was out.

  “Do not,” snarled Antenora, fire crackling up her staff, “presume to threaten the Keeper.” Her horse shifted uneasily as her staff burned, but she kept the weapon leveled at Caradog and Aventine.

  Caradog flinched. “Do you think to threaten us?”

  “You’re the idiot who is threatening the Keeper of Andomhaim, Caradog,” said Tormark with a contemptuous glare.

  “Enough!” said Caradog, sweeping his gaze over Tormark and Calliande and Dux Gareth. “Ridmark Arban! You will accompany us to the High King’s presence now, or I shall summon Dux Tarrabus’s men, and I will compel you to accompany us.”

  “We’ve tarried as long as we can,” said Ridmark.

  Arandar nodded, kissed his daughter on the forehead, and straightened up. “Go with Miriam and Zhorlacht, Nyvane. I will join you as soon as I can.” He looked at the Anathgrimm wizard. “Upon your life, Zhorlacht, keep them safe.”

  “Then Anathgrimm fail not in their duty,” said Zhorlacht. “You should know that well, Sir Arandar.” He beckoned to Miriam and Nyvane. “Come, my lady. My brothers and I shall keep you safe.”