Frostborn: The World Gate (23 page)

Silence fell over the great hall. 

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A short time later Ridmark stood in the great hall, fully dressed and armored, while Dux Gareth paced back and forth before the dais.

“I was a fool,” the Dux growled. “A blind fool.” 

“Treachery cuts the deepest,” said Calliande, leaning upon her staff, “when it comes from those closest to us.” She had donned her clothes as well, but dark circles still ringed her eyes, and she hadn’t recovered from the Weaver’s chilling touch. “I know that well.”

“The only mercy,” said Gareth, “is that her mother did not live to see this. She was a pious woman, and it would have broken her heart.” He looked at Ridmark. “Though it is a small mercy.”

“It is, my lord,” said Ridmark, thinking of Aelia, thinking of the snarling, mad hatred that had filled Imaria’s voice. He looked at Morigna. He had come within a hair’s breadth of seeing her die in front of him, just as Aelia had been. 

“Sir Joram,” said Gareth. “Issue a decree. Both my daughter Imaria and the cultist known as the ‘Weaver’ are hereby accused of attempted murder, treason, blasphemy, and the practice of dark magic. They are to be arrested on sight, to be arraigned before the High King’s court for these crimes.” His face and voice hardened. “If they resist…then they are to be killed.” 

“If they can,” said Calliande. “My lord Dux, they are both extremely dangerous. Anyone other than a Swordbearer or a Magistrius should not attempt to fight them. I suspect Imaria and the Weaver could deal with a common man-at-arms with ease, despite his courage and valor.” 

“It will not be hard to find them,” said Morigna. She had retrieved her clothes and her tattered cloak. “They will flee to join Shadowbearer and assist him at the Black Mountain.”

“Then we may have to face my sister when we march on the morrow,” said Constantine. 

“Antenora,” said Ridmark. The sorceress stood silent by the charred stairs, near Kharlacht and Caius and the others. 

“Gray Knight?” said Antenora.

“Thank you,” said Ridmark. “The Weaver and Imaria would have killed us all if you had not intervened.”

“I failed,” said Antenora. “Had I been more attentive, they never would have approached. They have power to cloak themselves even from the Sight. I should have been more attentive.” 

“Nevertheless, your friends are still alive,” said Gareth. “Your fierce loyalty is most commendable.”

Antenora bowed her head. “The Dux is too kind.”

“I suggest you get some sleep, if you still can,” said Gareth. “Tomorrow we shall…” 

The distant sound of a trumpet rang out from the north. 

“What is that?” said Calliande.

“The northern gate towers,” said Joram. “They’ve…”

More trumpets rang out, dozens of them, accompanied by the deep moan of war horns. 

War horns, if Ridmark gauged the distance correctly, that were coming from outside the walls. 

“The enemy is here,” said Gareth.

Chapter 13: The Host of Shadow

Gavin ran through the street, following Ridmark and the Dux and the others. 

Around him Dun Licinia erupted with activity. Men burst from houses or rose from their bedrolls upon the street, donning armor and lifting weapons in haste. Companies of archers ran for the walls, short bows in hand, quivers belted to their waists and slung over their shoulders. Again and again the trumpet blasts rang out, calling the men of Dun Licinia to arms. Gavin heard the deep moan of Mhorite war horns from outside the wall, accompanied by the rattling boom of marching drums.

There were a lot of horns.

Just how many Mhorites were outside the walls? Gavin’s first thought was that the watchmen had spotted a Mhorite scouting band. But the watchmen would not have roused the town to fight off a single band of scouts, would they? 

The streets were packed, but they made good time. Men saw the Dux and bowed, making way for the lord of the Northerland. Sometimes the men bowed twice, even after Gareth and Joram had passed. Gavin wondered why, and then with a flicker of alarm he realized that the men were bowing to him. He was a Swordbearer, a Knight of the Order of the Soulblade, and it seemed such men were respected in Andomhaim. 

He was never going to get used to that. Perhaps that was just as well. Someone like Tarrabus Carhaine was probably used to having people bow to him. 

Antenora gazed to the north, her yellow eyes glimmering.

“What do you see?” said Gavin. “Something with the Sight?” 

“Dark magic,” murmured Antenora. “I see dark magic, Gavin Swordbearer. Similar to the powers we saw unleashed in the Vale of Stone Death.” 

Mara had killed the Traveler, so that meant…

“Mournacht?” said Gavin. “Mournacht himself is here?” 

“The Mhorite warlord,” said Antenora. “I believe so.”

“We should tell Calliande,” said Gavin. 

“No need,” said Antenora. “I expect the Keeper already knows.” 

They reached the forum below the gate and climbed to the ramparts. Around them men moved to their assigned places. It reminded Gavin a little of Vulmhosk, of when Smiling Otto’s men had hastened to guard the wooden ramparts to defend against the Mhorite raiders. Of course, Vulmhosk’s walls had been of wood, and Dun Licinia’s were wrought of stone. Smiling Otto had employed a ragged band of mercenaries, while Dux Gareth commanded knights, men-at-arms, and seasoned militiamen. Though at Vulmhosk, there had been only a few hundred Mhorite warriors.

There were far more Mhorites outside the walls of Dun Licinia. 

Thousands more. 

Gavin looked over the ramparts at the enemy army.

 “How did they come upon us so quickly?” said Gareth. “The scouts should have given us ample warning. It is impossible to hide such a large number.”

“The scouts have been arriving piecemeal over the last few moments,” said the knight in command of the northern gate. “Those who survived, anyway. The Mhorites concentrated their forces at the base of the Black Mountain, and then forced a march to Dun Licinia. Our scouts were swept before them like a storm, and only just arrived.”

“I suspect many of them might not have made it,” said Jager. His voice was grim, and he looked a little hung over. Likely Jager and his sister had renewed their acquaintance over a considerable amount of wine. But it was not the hangover that made his voice grim. “The scouts were hunted. Look, my lord.” 

He pointed. Gavin peered into the gloom. Jager’s eyes were better than his, and for a long moment he saw nothing. Yet there were dark gaps between the columns of Mhorite warriors, and Gavin saw shapes moving in the gaps, dark shapes. 

Then his brain made sense of the image, and his hand jerked towards Truthseeker’s hilt. 

There were dvargir warriors with the Mhorites. 

Thousands upon thousands of dvargir warriors. Gavin had fought dvargir twice before, once in the ruins of Thainkul Dural near Moraime, and once again in the foundry chambers of Khald Azalar. He had no wish to face them again. The Mhorites fought with savage, bloodthirsty ferocity. The dvargir fought with the same intensity, but disciplined and ordered. Gavin would rather face ten disorganized foes than three dvargir warriors operating in harmony.

“The dvargir,” said Ridmark. 

“The dvargir of Khaldurmar regard Shadowbearer as a prophet of the great void,” said Calliande. “He must have summoned them to his side.” 

“How many?” said Gareth.

“I cannot say, lord Dux,” said Jager, peering into the gloom. “Five thousand, certainly. Likely more.” 

“I don’t think it was the dvargir that hunted down the scouts,” said Ridmark. “Look.” 

Small gray shapes darted back and forth between the Mhorite orcs and the dvargir warriors. Gavin could not quite make them out, but they looked like some sort of cross between man and lizard. They had spindly limbs, waving tails, and crests of crimson scales that rose from their heads and necks. 

“These creatures are unknown to me,” said Antenora. “They look like the trolls we faced in the Vale of Stone Death, but smaller and weaker.”

“Kobolds,” said Ridmark and Calliande in unison. They looked at each other, and Ridmark gestured for Calliande to continue. “They are kin to trolls, but quicker and better organized. They live in villages in the Deeps. Sometimes the dark elves and the dvargir enslave them, and sometimes they live in independent tribes. They only come to the surface to raid for captives, which they use as slaves and for food as the mood strikes them.” 

“Are these kobolds slaves or allies?” said Antenora.

“It hardly matters,” said Gareth. “Either way, the dvargir and the Mhorites will employ them as fodder. Send them to die against our walls to wear down our strength, and then bring their main force to bear against us.” He turned to Calliande. “Keeper, we must reconsider our strategy.”

“Clearly,” said Calliande. “Lord Dux, I have erred. I thought Shadowbearer would make for the Black Mountain with his full strength. I did not think he would turn the entirety of his army against us before we had a chance to leave the town.” 

“Nothing is certain in war,” said the Dux.

“It is also possible,” said Kharlacht, “that this is not the entirety of Shadowbearer’s force. Perhaps he sent the bulk of it against us, and proceeded with a smaller force to fortify the Tower of Vigilance.”

Ridmark turned to Calliande again. “How long will it take Shadowbearer to open the gate to the world of the Frostborn?”

“I don’t know,” said Calliande. “The spell requires such tremendous power that he will not be able to work it quickly. A minimum of three days, certainly. Perhaps even as long as a week.” 

“Then we must break out and make our way to the Tower of Vigilance,” said Ridmark.

“That will be difficult,” said Joram. “We have seven thousand men here. Unless I miss my guess, I count around twelve thousand of the Mhorites, dvargir, and kobolds outside the wall.”

“It is likely more,” said Caius. “The night will make it easy to conceal them from our sight.” 

“This was the foe’s plan all along,” said Gareth. “Shadowbearer knows you are a threat to him, Keeper. So he dispatched my daughter,” his face tightened, “to assassinate you. Then he will throw his army against Dun Licinia while he opens the gate to the Frostborn. In the chaos he shall have ample time to open his gate without interference from us.”

“I fear you are correct,” said Calliande. “I should have anticipated this.” 

“If you had not sent your warning to Camorak, Lady Calliande,” said Joram, “we would not have called to the Dux and his vassals for aid. The host outside of our walls would have razed the town, and Shadowbearer would have taken the Black Mountain unopposed. By the time any aid arrived, it would be too late.” 

“Very well,” said Calliande. “How should we proceed, then?” 

“We can do nothing now,” said Gareth. “Not until dawn. We have a thousand horsemen here, and the foe has no cavalry. Perhaps we can ride through the southern gate, loop around the town, and make for the Black Mountain. Or if the enemy surrounds the town, they will spread their lines thinly, and we can send the horsemen to punch through while the infantry remains to hold the town.” 

“I concur, my lord,” said Joram. “We…”

“Something is happening,” said Antenora. 

“She is right,” said Mara, gazing into the darkness. “Dark magic. I’m not…I’m not sure what it is. It’s familiar, but…”

“It’s Mournacht,” said Calliande.

“Mournacht?” said Antenora. “Forgive me, Keeper, but it is too strong. Mournacht was powerful, but not that powerful.”

“If Shadowbearer has been using Mournacht as his puppet,” said Ridmark, “then perhaps he has been feeding some of his power to Mournacht. That explains how Mournacht grew so much stronger since we faced him at Coldinium. He was able to fight the Traveler to a standstill, and an orcish shaman should not have been able to do that.” 

“If Mournacht had displayed the kind of power we saw him wield in Khald Azalar,” said Arandar, “he would have unified the tribes of Kothluusk, razed Durandis, and led an army towards Tarlion itself. The Gray Knight is right. Shadowbearer has been granting him power.”

“He might have power enough,” said Mara, “to break the gates of Dun Licinia.”

“He tried that in Vulmhosk,” said Gavin. “Morigna blocked him.”

“Would you be able to block his magical attacks, Keeper?” said Gareth.

“Yes,” said Calliande, her voice hard. 

“Then we shall see what happens next,” said Gareth. “The enemy must come to us. Let him do so. Joram. Have the Magistri summoned to the wall. Tell them to be ready to defend against magical attack. Have the Swordbearers dispersed among the northern wall as well. We may have to gather them turn aside any enemy elite troops.”

“Mournacht has a personal guard,” said Caius. “Troops armored in red steel plate, augmented with blood spells. If he comes for us himself, we will face them.” 

“They come now,” said Kharlacht, pointing over the wall. 

A group of Mhorites moved towards the wall, stepping from the sea of shadows and torches. Several of the Mhorites carried torches, and in their light Gavin saw red-armored warriors, their cuirasses and pauldrons adorned with skulls, sigils of crimson fire burning upon their armor. 

Mournacht himself walked in his midst.

The huge orc disdained armor, wearing only trousers, heavy boots, and a broad leather belt. A cord holding red-dyed human and orcish skulls hung from his waist, the skulls bouncing against his massive leg as he walked. Symbols of bloody fire blazed upon his chest and arms, shining like pyres in the gloom. Gavin was a Swordbearer, not a Magistrius or a sorcerer, and he did not have the Sight as Antenora and Calliande and Mara did. Yet even he felt the mighty aura of dark magic around Mournacht, and a fierce eagerness filled him, a desire to draw his sword and charge into battle. Truthseeker sensed the dark power around the Mhorite shaman as well, and the soulblade to blaze in reponse, yearning to battle against dark magic. 

He suspected the soulblade would get its chance soon enough.

Mournacht and his guard stopped just out of bowshot.