The Dark Warden (Book 6) Page 8

  “I am sorry,” said Calliande.

  “Thank you,” said Arandar. “I fought in the great battle of Dun Licinia against the Mhalekites, on the day you took command, Ridmark. Many Swordbearers fell to both Mhalek’s treachery and the fighting, and in the aftermath the new Master of the Order recommended that I join the Knights of the Soulblade. I did, and I took up Heartwarden, and began my duties in the Order. I was honored to serve, and it also meant advancement for my children. The son and daughter of a minor knight have only limited prospects. The son and daughter of a Swordbearer, well…more doors are opened for them. My son Accolon was made a squire in the household of Linus Rillon, one of the knights of Tarrabus Carhaine.”

  “Go on,” said Ridmark. He suspected he knew where this story was going.

  “Accolon was…troubled by many of the things he saw Sir Linus doing,” said Arandar. “Sir Linus did not act as a knight of Andomhaim should. He was cruel and arrogant, and delighted in tormenting commoners whenever he had the opportunity.”

  “That sounds familiar,” muttered Jager.

  “I told Accolon to carry on, that a man can do worthy service to an unworthy master,” said Arandar. “But then Accolon saw Linus attack a woman in the street. My son came to her defense…and Accolon swears the shadows rose and attacked at Linus’s command.”

  “He was not lying,” said Ridmark. “The Enlightened of Incariel gain powers over shadows. We all have witnessed this many times.”

  “Despite his power, Linus had neglected his sword work and my son is diligent,” said Arandar. “Accolon slew him, and was charged with murdering his master.” The Swordbearer’s hands coiled into fists. “No one believed him, and he was to be executed for murder. But then Tarrabus Carhaine approached me…”

  “He offered you a deal,” said Ridmark. “With your son’s life as the reward.”

  “Again that sounds familiar,” said Jager.

  “Aye,” said Arandar, looking at Jager. “I see you have indeed encountered Tarrabus before, master halfling. By ancient tradition going back to the first wars against the pagan orcs, the Dux of Caerdracon can request a task from a knight of the High King’s court.”

  “You’re a Swordbearer, not a household knight,” said Ridmark.

  “But I was one,” said Arandar, “and that was enough for Tarrabus. If I performed a task for him, a quest, he would arrange to have the charge against my son dismissed and his honor restored.”

  “That was a very bad deal,” said Jager. “I know the mighty lords and great knights of Andomhaim are not accustomed to listening to halflings, but you ought to mark my words. I fulfilled my bargain with Tarrabus, and he still tried to kill me.”

  “What other option did I have?” said Arandar. “To let my son go to the headsman’s block for defending an innocent woman and killing a man who had sold his soul to dark powers? If I had been in Accolon’s place, I would have done exactly the same!”

  “We move afield from the main point,” said Ridmark. “What quest did Tarrabus want you to perform?”

  “He desired me to travel to Urd Morlemoch,” said Arandar, “and to retrieve something for him.”

  “What would he want from Urd Morlemoch?” said Calliande. “Are the Enlightened of Incariel in league with the Warden?”

  “He wanted a soulblade,” said Arandar. “Centuries ago, after the defeat of the urdmordar but before the advent of the Frostborn, one of the Dux’s ancestors, a man named Judicaeus Carhaine, was a Knight of the Order of the Soulblade. He bore the soulblade Truthseeker, and went into Urd Morlemoch in hopes of overcoming the evil within.”

  “I suspect he never returned,” said Ridmark.

  “No,” said Arandar. “That was the quest Tarrabus gave me. Go to Urd Morlemoch, find Truthseeker, and bear it back to him. Then he would intervene with the High King and lift the charge of murder from my son.”

  “I see,” said Ridmark. That was troubling news, perhaps more troubling than Arandar realized. Ridmark remembered his brief conversation with Tarrabus in the great hall of the castra of Coldinium. Tarrabus planned to purge the realm of all weakness, to make both it and humanity strong.

  To carry out his mad vision, he was going to have to kill a lot of people.

  “Why would the Dux want a soulblade?” said Calliande. “Especially if he is one of the Enlightened of Incariel?”

  “Soulblades are precious, my lady Magistria,” said Arandar. “Under the terms of the Pact of the Two Orders, the archmage Ardrhythain only forges new soulblades every hundred years, and he will not return to Tarlion for another twenty-two years. Given that the Magistri and the Swordbearers are the realm’s defense against creatures of dark magic, even the loss of one soulblade is a heavy blow.”

  “No,” said Ridmark. “Tarrabus doesn’t care about Truthseeker at all. It’s just a ruse. So is what happened to your son.”

  “Then what is the purpose of the ruse?” said Arandar.

  “To kill you,” said Ridmark, “and leave Tarrabus’s hands looking clean. Both you and your son and your daughter are in more danger than you know.”

  “What do you mean?” said Arandar.

  “I think it is time for plain speaking,” said Ridmark, “including truths you might wish to remain concealed.”

  Arandar’s eyes narrowed. “I do not see how that is relevant.”

  “It is the source of your danger,” said Ridmark. “The reason you are here. Tarrabus would have left you alone otherwise.”

  “I do not understand,” said Calliande. “What truth?”

  “Who Arandar’s father is,” said Ridmark.

  Arandar scowled, his eyes flinty.

  “We can help you,” said Ridmark. “I’ve been inside Urd Morlemoch, and I’ve spoken to the Warden and lived. You have Heartwarden, which is a more potent weapon than any of us possess. Together we have a greater chance of survival or even success than we do separately.”

  “Very well,” said Arandar. “We might die together, after all. Most of those who know me think that my father was a minor nobleman or knight.”

  “He was not?” said Caius.

  “My father,” said Arandar, “was Uthanaric Pendragon, the seventh of his name, the High King of Andomhaim and the Lord of Tarlion.”

  Silence answered his pronouncement.

  “Oh,” said Jager at last. “That was…unexpected.”

  “Then you are the High King’s bastard son?” said Gavin.

  “Aye,” said Arandar. “My mother was a widow with an inn along the banks of the River Moradel. One day the High King went riding, and she caught his eye.”

  “Then perhaps your rise was not entirely from your own efforts after all,” said Morigna.

  “No,” said Arandar. “The High King never acknowledged my mother, never sent her a single copper coin. He has done his best to ignore me, and I have been glad to return the favor.”

  “So much that you took service as one of his knights?” said Jager.

  “He is still the High King of Andomhaim,” said Arandar, “and defending the realm from its enemies is a noble task.”

  “You may have done your best to ignore your blood,” said Ridmark, “but it’s the reason Tarrabus is trying to kill you now.”

  “Why?” said Arandar. “What wrong have I ever done him?”

  “He doesn’t care about you,” said Ridmark. “He cares about your blood.”

  “Bastards cannot inherit,” said Arandar, “and even if they could, the High King has several strong sons. The crown prince Kaldaine is hale and well-respected.”

  “What if the High King and all his sons were killed?” said Ridmark. “What then? The Pendragons have ruled the realm of Andomhaim for a thousand years. If the High King and all his trueborn sons were slain, would not the lords of the realm turn to the final blood of the Pendragon line? Would they not turn to you?”

  “Surely you do not mean to say…my God,” said Arandar. “You think Tarrabus means to murder the High King and his so
ns and seize the throne of Andomhaim for himself?”

  “I suspected it,” said Ridmark, “but after hearing your tale, I am certain of it.”

  “The man is ruthless, but he is a Dux of Andomhaim, a baptized son of the church!” said Arandar. “Those who would strike down the Lord’s anointed are cursed.”

  “Tarrabus is more than ruthless,” said Ridmark. “He is one of the chief Enlightened of Incariel. He does not think the God exists and therefore does not fear his wrath. Tarrabus told me he wants to transform the realm, to turn humanity into something with the power of the urdmordar and the immortality of the dark elves. I believe he plans to seize control of the realm for himself, and would not hesitate in a moment to kill the High King and his family to do it. You and your son and your daughter are…a loose end. One he is tying off before it has a chance to unravel the tapestry of his plans. Like a freeholder shooting a wolf before the beast even has a chance to get into the pasture.”

  “Then he is trying to murder my son,” said Arandar, “and he has attempted to send me to my death, all because we might possibly challenge his claim to the throne someday?”

  “I fear so,” said Ridmark. “Likely your daughter is in danger as well. Where is she?”

  “Nyvane is staying with my departed wife’s sister in my absence,” said Arandar. “She is a goodly woman and will look after Nyvane…but she cannot protect my daughter from a man like Tarrabus Carhaine!” He shook his head, striking his fist against Heartwarden’s pommel, which sent a flicker of pain through Ridmark’s skull. “What can I do? Even if I am successful, he will find another ruse to use against me. Perhaps I should return and try to free my son or die in the attempt.”

  “No,” said Ridmark. “There is a better way. If you retrieve Truthseeker, you can force Tarrabus to release your son. Once he is safe, we can move against him.”

  “We?” said Arandar. “You would help me?”

  “We fight different faces of the same evil,” said Ridmark. “I seek to stop the return of the Frostborn. You seek to rescue your son from Tarrabus Carhaine. But Tarrabus is the head of the Enlightened of Incariel, and they are working with Shadowbearer to bring about the return of the Frostborn.”

  “If you have doubts, Sir Arandar,” said Caius, “know that Ridmark is a bold warrior, and we would not have come so far without his help.”

  “Indeed,” said Calliande. “He has saved each of our lives, often more than once.”

  “I do not doubt your valor, Ridmark Arban,” said Arandar. “I was certain the day was lost at Dun Licinia, yet you rallied the host and defeated Mhalek’s horde.” He looked at them. “I do not know whom to trust. You saved my life, but…you are an exiled Swordbearer and his band of renegades. The outcasts of the realm. I am to turn to you for help?”

  “You can turn to no one in the realm for help,” said Ridmark, “because the realm has been corrupted.” He remembered the taunts of Agrimnalazur and Coriolus, their warnings that the High Kingdom of Andomhaim had rotted and would soon fall. “If Tarrabus Carhaine and his closest vassals are Enlightened, their reach will be long. If you are to obtain help, if you are to save your children, then you shall have to accept help from outside the realm of Andomhaim.”

  “Such as our merry little band of rogues,” said Jager.

  Arandar looked at the night sky. “I have heard it said that neither a man’s titles nor his name nor his wealth are the truest signs of his character, but what he does. Tarrabus Carhaine is a Dux of Andomhaim, yet he has tried to destroy my family. You are an exile, yet you saved my life. Very well. I will help you enter Urd Morlemoch, if you help me obtain Truthseeker and free my son from Tarrabus’s grasp.”

  “So be it,” said Ridmark. “Everyone should get some rest. I fear the road will only grow more difficult from here.”

  Chapter 7 - The Devout

  Four days passed.

  Ridmark led the way through the gullies and ravines of the Torn Hills. The strange, sickly grasses rustled in the endless wind blowing from the west, the misshapen trees jutting from the slopes like the moss-covered fingers of a corpse. From time to time the deformed ravens perched upon the branches, cawing. Something like slime coated their feathers, yet the birds had no trouble flying. Their black eyes gleamed with a pale blue glow, like the fires wreathing the central tower of Urd Morlemoch, and Ridmark understood why Morigna was unable to control them as she could natural ravens.

  The sun never came out, and the sky grew steadily darker, the clouds more agitated, the closer they came to the walls of Urd Morlemoch.

  Four more times they encountered echoes of ancient necromantic spells. Twice they encountered roving packs of urvaalgs. In every fight they made short work of their foes, destroying the undead and cutting down the creatures. Arandar and Heartwarden proved most effective against the creatures of dark magic, and the Swordbearer’s aid made the battles far easier than they would have been otherwise.

  That helped cut down on the tension between Arandar and the rest of Ridmark’s companions. Morigna’s initial dislike of the Swordbearer had not waned, a dislike that was repaid in full. Arandar had fought the shamans of the Mhorite orcs of Kothluusk, and seemed to regard Morigna as little different. Morigna, for her part, had inherited all of Coriolus’s prejudices against the Order of the Soulblade, a fact that she did not appreciate when Ridmark pointed it out.

  Jager, at least, stopped baiting Arandar. For all of his disdain for the nobles and knights of Andomhaim, Jager recognized that Tarrabus had dealt with Arandar as he had deal with Jager. That did not stop the former Master Thief of Cintarra from referring to Arandar as the Lord High Prince of Bastards. Ridmark expected Arandar to take offense, but the Swordbearer only replied that if he was a prince, then Jager could shut up and fetch some wine. After that they settled into a pattern of friendly insults, much as Kharlacht and Caius did, though Mara rolled her eyes from time to time.

  “You look like you are in pain,” said Calliande one morning.

  “I’m fine,” said Ridmark, though he did have a headache. The pain was a small price to pay for the extra protection of Heartwarden.

  “But?” said Calliande.

  “That splendid speech you made about following the Gray Knight,” said Ridmark. “It would not have been such a rousing speech if you knew how difficult it was to keep you people from killing each other over damned trivialities.”

  Calliande laughed. “That is why we follow you. Though neither Arandar nor Morigna nor Jager would say that their differences are trivial.”

  “My father,” said Ridmark, shaking his head.

  “Your father?” said Calliande. “You never talk about him, or your brothers.”

  Most likely because they would be ashamed of what Ridmark had become. Arandar had barely believed Ridmark’s story, and only then because he had seen firsthand evidence of Tarrabus Carhaine’s cruelty and corruption. Dux Leogrance Arban and Ridmark’s older brothers would never believe until they saw the proof with their own eyes, and perhaps not even then.

  “He has spent decades mediating among the Comites and knights of Taliand,” said Ridmark. “After three months traveling in the company of all of you, I am beginning to understand why he looked so tired.”

  Calliande smiled. “Well. Surely it is not all bad?”

  “No,” said Ridmark. He looked at her, and then back at Morigna, who walked with Mara. Morigna smiled at him, a smile that faded when she saw Calliande.

  “Ah,” said Calliande. “I should go talk to Caius. I wouldn’t want to upset Morigna.”

  “For God’s sake,” said Ridmark.

  “If I walk too close,” said Calliande, “do you think I can make her scowl? Though if I touch your shoulder, she might try to kill me.”

  “For God’s sake!” said Ridmark.

  Calliande laughed. “I am only teasing.” Her smile dimmed. “Let me know if I can do anything for you. I suspect the presence of that soulblade is…draining.”

  “Thank you
,” said Ridmark. “I will manage.”

  “You always do, don’t you?” said Calliande. She moved off to join Caius, and Morigna came forward.

  “Morigna,” said Ridmark. He expected her to berate him, to question his decision to bring Arandar with them, to complain of the Swordbearer’s presence.

  Instead she touched his right temple. “How much pain are you in?” Both her touch and her voice were soft.

  Ridmark hadn’t expected that. A flicker of shame went through him. The constant drumbeat of the headache had soured his mood, and the memories Heartwarden’s presence summoned were far more painful. He remembered the vigil he had spent the Chamber of the Well in Tarlion the night he had become a Swordbearer. That sword had slain Gothalinzur and saved the village of Victrix, had aided Ridmark against the dvargir and the kobolds and countless creatures of dark magic.

  He had driven it into Mhalek’s chest and watched as Mhalek’s dark magic transferred the wound to Aelia, killing her.

  “Some,” said Ridmark. “The headache is of no matter.”

  “Cannot Calliande do anything for you?” said Morigna.

  “No,” said Ridmark. “The pain is not a physical ailment. At least not one she can heal. When I broke my bond with the soulblade, it left a…scar upon me, for want of a better word. So long as I am near it, I will feel pain. But a soulblade is a mighty weapon, and worth enduring the pain.”

  “One wishes that we were in safer country,” said Morigna. “Then we could go scouting together.”

  Ridmark suspected she was not actually talking about scouting.

  “I wish that, too,” said Ridmark. “Once we depart Urd Morlemoch and leave the Torn Hills behind.”