Frostborn: The World Gate (18 page)

“Given that you were the Keeper of Andomhaim, my lady,” said Joram, “it only makes sense Shadowbearer wished to kill you before you regained your full strength. Better to face an enemy when he is weak than when he is strong.” 

“Truly,” said Ridmark, gazing at the forum. 

“Well, we have some rooms left atop the keep, so I assume my seneschal will wish to settle you there,” said Joram. He caught one of the pages. “Go find Dagma and tell her to prepare the last of the guest rooms. The Keeper of Andomhaim will be staying with us.”

“My lord,” said the boy. He bowed and sprinted away.

“Wait,” said Jager, blinking. “What did you say? What was your seneschal’s name?”

Joram frowned. Calliande suspected he was not used to having halflings address him so frankly. Then he looked at Ridmark, shrugged, and looked back at Jager. “Dagma. A halfling woman. Very diligent in her work.”

Mara lifted a hand to her mouth. “Jager…”

“Where did she come from?” said Jager. 

Joram shrugged. “I do not know. She was a cook in Castra Marcaine when I served the Dux. Her work was diligent, and when the Dux sent me to serve as Comes in Dun Licinia, the Dux’s seneschal recommended her to become the seneschal here. Her husband is a carpenter, and believe she has…three children? Yes, three children. Beyond that I could not say. You know her, Master Jager?” 

“My sister had that name,” said Jager.

Ridmark frowned. “Your sister? You never mentioned a sister.”

“Well, not to you,” said Jager. “My father left us quite a bit of money after Sir Alan murdered him. I gave it all to Dagma and told her to go to Westhold, to start over there. I thought she would go to Cintarra or Tarlion. I looked for her there. I never thought…I never dreamed she would go to the Northerland. Why would she go here? The Northerland is a howling wilderness.”

“Perhaps she does not share your taste for luxury,” said Morigna. 

Jager didn’t answer. He didn’t even seem to notice that she had spoken. The news had indeed shaken him.

“Dagma is a common enough name for halfling women,” said Calliande. 

“You will know soon enough, Master Jager,” said Joram. “Perhaps…I will withdraw and let you speak with her. Lady Calliande, Ridmark, we can await the others in the great hall.”

“A moment,” said Mara, and she hurried to join Calliande. “I need to ask you something.” Her voice was low, urgent, and she led Calliande and Morigna a few paces away, far enough that the sound of the horses would drown out their words.

“Of course,” said Calliande, wondering what was wrong.

“How does my hair look?” said Mara.

“What?” said Morigna, incredulous.

“Fine,” said Calliande, blinking. “Your hair looks fine. It could use a wash, but we’ve spent the last two months in the Wilderland.”

“Why do you care about your hair?” said Morigna. 

“I’m about to meet my husband’s sister,” said Mara. 

Morigna blinked. “You were an assassin of the Red Family. You defied the Artificer and the Warden of Urd Morlemoch. You killed the Traveler, and you are the Queen of Nightmane Forest…and you care what some halfling serving woman thinks of your hair?” 

“She’s Jager’s sister!” said Mara. “Of course I care what she thinks of me. No lectures upon the matter, please. You have a sharp word for everyone…but when you saw that Ridmark respected the old Dux, you were nothing but polite to him.”

Morigna opened her mouth to argue, closed it, opened it again, and settled upon a scowl. Her expression looked so absurd that it took all of Calliande’s self-control not to laugh aloud.

“You look fine,” said Calliande. “If Jager’s sister has any sense, she’ll be proud to have you as a sister-in-law. Think about how she must feel. She sees her brother again after ten years, and he’s married to this strange and beautiful woman. She’ll probably be more nervous than you are.” 

“Oh,” said Mara. “I hadn’t thought of that. I…well, I’ve never done this before.” 

“If it makes you feel better,” said Calliande, “neither have I.” She supposed that was one consolation of the burden of the Keeper’s mantle. She might never have a husband, but then she would never have to put up with her husband’s relatives.

Actually, that thought wasn’t nearly as consoling as she would have liked. 

“That does,” said Mara, looking to where Jager stood staring at the keep. “I suppose Brother Caius can smooth things over if matters become heated.”

“He is not that good at it,” said Morigna. 

Mara smiled. “You and Arandar haven’t killed each other yet, have you?” 

“Speaking of that,” said Calliande, turning her mind from Jager’s sister, “Ridmark and I should take Arandar and Gavin with us. Their testimony will be useful.” 

“One doubts that Gavin can put together more than four words in front of that many pompous lords,” said Morigna.

“Perhaps, but even four words will be useful,” said Calliande. “Young or not, eloquent or not, Gavin is a Swordbearer, and those lords will put greater trust in the words of a Swordbearer.” 

“My lady Keeper?” called Joram from the steps. “The other lords have arrived. They wish to hear your counsel.” 

“Of course, Sir Joram,” said Calliande. She smiled at Mara. “Introduce Dagma to me when I get back, will you? If she really is Jager’s sister, then I am frankly curious to discover what Jager was like as a child.” 

Mara blinked in surprise, and then laughed. “Truly, so I am.” 

Calliande wove her way through the crowded courtyard, joining Ridmark and Sir Joram upon the steps.

###

The keep’s great hall had changed little since Ridmark’s last visit. 

A dais sat against the far wall, holding the curule chair where Joram sat and issued formal judgments as the Comes of Dun Licinia. Tapestries on the wall displayed scenes from the court of the first High King on Old Earth, of Lancelot and Galahad questing for the cup that had held the Dominus Christus’s blood. Others showed more recent wars, the High King fighting against the urdmordar, or the Dragon Knight leading the armies of the High King against the Frostborn.

Odd to think that Calliande had known Kalomarus the Dragon Knight personally. But Ridmark supposed she was a figure of legend herself. 

The chief vassals of Gareth Licinius had assembled in the hall, Comites and knights both. Ridmark knew them all, had in fact commanded some of them during the battle against Mhalek five years past. Some seemed glad to see him, some hostile, and some indifferent. 

For now, that didn’t matter. The Keeper of Andomhaim held their full attention.

Calliande addressed them in a ringing voice, lapsing into the archaic Latin she had used more and more since recovering her memory from Dragonfall. She told the tale from beginning to end, starting with her discovery of the incipient rise of the Eternalists and the Enlightened, her long sleep beneath the Tower of Vigilance, the quest to Urd Morlemoch and Khald Azalar, and their race back to the Northerland once they realized what Shadowbearer planned. Arandar, Gavin, and Antenora stood with Ridmark, watching the Keeper. Calliande, Ridmark realized, was an excellent orator. Likely she had rallied and convinced the nobles many times before as the Keeper during the war of the Frostborn.

“So we stand before you now,” said Calliande. “We have come through many dangers, but there is still time left. My lord Dux, my lords of the Northerland, we must act at once.”

Silence answered her. 

“A fantastical tale, truly,” said Gareth at last, “but the proof stands before us in the flesh.” 

“I would not believe it otherwise,” said a bald keg of a man with a perpetual scowl. Sir Tagrimn Volarus was the lord of Mourning Keep, a benefice lying along the northern shore of the Lake of Mourning. He was sour, unpleasant, and generally disliked. He had also ridden in every campaign of the Dux and the High King for the last forty years, and was respected for his unyielding ferocity in battle. Even at his advanced age, Sir Tagrimn still wielded his massive war hammer as if it were a light willow branch. “Yet all our Magistri swear that you are the Keeper. Magistrius Kolband just about wet his britches when he looked at you. Magistrius Camorak is a drunk, but he knows his business when it comes to magic.” 

“There is also the matter of the Mhorites skulking around Black Mountain,” said Joram.

“Mhorites!” spat Tagrimn. “Never thought to see those dogs in the Northerland. The Mhalekites were bad enough.” He glared at Ridmark, as if holding him responsible for Mhalek’s rampage. “Fought the Mhorites as a boy with old Dux Kors, before my father went to the Dominus Christus and I inherited Mourning Keep. I was glad that I would never see Mhorites in the Northerland. Suppose I spoke too soon.” 

“That should be proof enough of my claims, my lord knight,” said Calliande, regarding the old warrior. “Why else would the Mhorites travel so far from their homeland of Kothluusk, especially when there are richer targets closer to their homes? Shadowbearer has deluded them, and they will follow him to the death.” 

“I remind my lords that we received letters from Dux Kors in Durandis,” said Joram. “He warned that a large number of warriors had left Kothluusk and headed into the Wilderland for reasons unknown. Even if you doubt it, my lords, the presence of Mhorite warbands at the base of the Black Mountain is proof enough.” 

“As astonishing as this tale is,” said Gareth, “I believe it. The Keeper returned from the distant past to contest against Shadowbearer? The Traveler of Nightmane Forest overthrown? As fantastical as it seems, the things have happened before our eyes. As Dux of the Northerland, I intend to heed the Keeper’s counsel in the days to come. Does anyone dissent?”

No one did. A few of the southern lords of the Northerland, especially those whose lands bordered upon those held by Tarrabus Carhaine, looked displeased, but none voiced opposite to Calliande. 

“Very well,” said Gareth. “How shall we proceed? The fate of the realm, once again, has fallen to the men of the Northerland, my friends. The outcome shall rest upon our courage and our steel.” 

“The answer is plain,” said Tagrimn. “We ride out, find the Mhorites, and give them a sound thrashing. We teach this cringing dog Mournacht that he should have stayed in Kothluusk, and we show Shadowbearer that he should have stayed hidden in his precious shadows.”

“A valiant plan,” said Calliande without a trace of condescension. “But Shadowbearer has worked towards this moment for two hundred years, my lords. He will not be overcome easily. In his place, I would send a small force to pin your men in Dun Licinia, while I slipped past to claim the Black Mountain.” She looked at each of the lords of the Northerland in turn. “Mhalek thought to make himself a god-king over Andomhaim. The other foes you have fought sought riches or slaves or lands for themselves. Shadowbearer’s goal is different, and we must therefore fight him differently. He desires to seize the standing circle upon the slopes of the Black Mountain, and to hold it long enough to open the gate to the world of the Frostborn. If he has to slaughter every fighting man in Andomhaim and sacrifice every orcish warrior in Kothluusk to do it, he will do so gladly.” 

“Then what,” said Gareth, “do you suggest?”

“Ridmark?” said Calliande.

Ridmark stepped forward. “I advise the Dux to take the bulk of his forces and make for the ruins of the Tower of Vigilance at once. The Tower guards the only path to the circle of standing stones. To reach it, Shadowbearer will have to pass through the Tower. If the ruin is held against him, he will have to offer battle, and the men of the Northerland can fight from a position of strength.” 

“What of Dun Licinia?” said Gareth. “The town will be vulnerable.” 

“The town can hold against a larger force,” said Ridmark. “The walls proved that during Qazarl’s attack. I suggest that a garrison remain behind to hold the town while the bulk of the host of the Northerland marches to the Tower of Vigilance. Shadowbearer might try to attack Dun Licinia to lure us away from the Tower, and a garrison here can hold the town long enough for help to arrive.”

“And where shall this help arrive from?” said Tagrimn, his skepticism plain. 

Ridmark looked to the Dux. “You have written for aid, my lord Dux?”

Gareth grunted. “Messengers have been sent to the High King and the Kings of Khaluusk and Rhaluusk, along with the Comes of Coldinium and the Duxi of Calvus, Arduran, and Taliand. Yet it will take time for aid to arrive.”

“Caerdracon is closer,” said Tagrimn. “We could ask Dux Tarrabus for aid.”

Gareth shook his head. “Aid would not come. I believe Tarrabus is in league with this Shadowbearer creature.”

“He is,” said Calliande.

Tagrimn snorted. “A bold accusation.”

“And one I shall prove utterly,” said Calliande, “when I met Dux Tarrabus Carhaine once more.”

For a moment the Keeper and the old knight gazed at each other. Tagrimn Volarus looked away first. 

“There is another possibility,” said Ridmark. “The Anathgrimm. They followed us from Khald Azalar, and might arrive in time to aid in the battle.”

“The Anathgrimm!” said Tagrimn. “Of everything the Keeper has said to us, I find that the hardest to accept. My lord Dux, we are baptized sons of the church! Shall we accept aid from pagan orcs? What is more, shall we accept aid from pagan orcs bound as slaves to a dark elven prince? The Traveler has been a foe of the High King from the earliest days of Andomhaim.” 

“I agree with Sir Tagrimn,” said Joram. “Many of you rode in the last campaign against the Anathgrimm raiders from Nightmane Forest. The Anathgrimm were savage and brutal foes. I suspect they would prefer to side with Shadowbearer and the Mhorites against us.”

“They hate the Mhorites,” said Ridmark. “They fought several battles against the Mhorites in the Vale of Stone Death and the ruins of Khald Azalar. The Anathgrimm view each other as brothers, it would seem, and they are eager to avenge their fallen kin with Mhorite blood.” 

“They have no cause to love us, either,” said Joram. “Why will they not turn against us?”

“Because Mara will not turn against us,” said Calliande.