Frostborn: The World Gate (39 page)

“How are we still alive?” said Ridmark. “I thought Mournacht had killed you.”

“He almost did,” said Gavin. “I blacked out for a while. When I woke up…everything hurt, and I couldn’t have stood up. So I used Truthseeker’s power to heal myself. Slowly, the way soulblades do.” Ridmark nodded. “I thought…I thought if I laid still and recovered long enough, I would get my strength back, and maybe I could take Shadowbearer off guard.” He shook his head. “But you killed him first.”

“He’s dead, then?” said Ridmark, the cold healing magic spreading through him. 

“He’s a burned corpse with a soulblade stuck in his chest,” said Gavin. “I suppose he could be deader, but it’s hard to see how.” 

Ridmark had to see for himself. He sat up, ignoring Gavin’s protests, and looked around. Calliande stood further around the circle, her face drawn and haggard, white light flaring around her hands as she bent over Kharlacht. Antenora limped next to her. Evidently even Shadowbearer’s battering had failed to kill the long-lived sorceress. Caius and Constantine stood next to the altar, gazing at something. Mournacht’s corpse still slumped against the altar, the dwarven axe embedded in his skull. 

The altar…

The altar was dark. The menhirs had stopped glowing.

“The gate?” said Ridmark.

“Collapsed,” said Gavin. “Calliande thinks part of Shadowbearer’s will held the spell in place, even while he fought us. When you killed him, the spell fell apart.”

“Morigna,” said Ridmark, fresh fear rising up within him. “Where is…”

Someone slammed into him, and warm arms wrapped around him.

“I am here,” said Morigna. Like everyone else, she looked exhausted, but she was alive. 

“I thought Imaria killed you,” said Ridmark. 

Morigna smirked at him. “She tried. She could not quite manage it, the poor dear. She might have something of a headache.” 

Ridmark started to stand, and Gavin and Morigna helped him up. Antenora helped Kharlacht to stand, which was a bit like watching a pony help a warhorse regain its feet. Ridmark moved towards the altar, taking slow, careful steps. Arandar lay where he had fallen, his helmet off, a massive purple bruise covering the left side of his face. 

“He needs healing,” said Ridmark. “His head…”

“Calliande already healed him,” said Morigna. “He will have to sleep the rest of it off.”

Caius and Constantine turned, Constantine wincing a little. Ridmark saw the garish wound on his right leg. Calliande had healed it, and Brightherald was still healing Constantine, but it still looked painful. 

“Gray Knight,” said Caius. “When Sir Arandar awakens, you ought to have him contact the Dux Kors of Durandis. There is a colossal bounty for the death of Mournacht of Kothluusk.”

“Arandar can have it,” said Ridmark. “Give his daughter a fine dowry.” He reached out, gripped the axe’s haft, and wrenched it free from Mournacht’s skull.

That made a mess. 

He cleaned the axe upon the grass and looked upon the corpse of Shadowbearer. 

It seemed so…small, even though the corrupted high elf had been seven feet tall. The explosion of the rough soulstone had left his face and chest a charred ruin, the ragged remnants of his coat hanging from his frame. Even in the blackened ruin of his death, Shadowbearer’s features were still twisted with fury. 

Heartwarden rose from the center of chest, glimmering with white fire. 

“You killed him,” said Caius. He sounded dazed. “The bearer of shadows. He is a dark legend among the khaldari, too…and you killed him.” 

Ridmark shook his head. “I got lucky.” 

“Think of all the lives he has destroyed,” said Caius, gazing at the dead high elf. “All the men and women and children he has murdered, all the orphans and widows he has made, all the ruin and despair he has wrought for millennia. All of it met with retribution on this night. The wheels of God’s justice may grind slow, but they grind indeed.” Caius looked up. “When we met, I followed you because I thought God had ordained you for great events, but something like this…no, I never thought.” 

“The rough soulstone,” said Morigna. “That was clever. How did you know?”

“I didn’t,” said Ridmark. “I knew he couldn’t travel while holding the larger soulstone. I hoped it would work with the rough one.”

“Just as well that I carried the wretched thing with us from Urd Morlemoch,” said Morigna. 

“And to lift that blade,” said Constantine, looking at Heartwarden’s glowing shape. “A broken bond like that…that should have killed you. I haven’t carried Truthseeker that long, but breaking the bond would feel like death…”

“I was lucky,” said Ridmark again.

“It seems,” said Caius, “that you made your own luck.”

“He should have won,” said Ridmark. “He could have killed us all. He should have killed us all. If he had not stopped to indulge his taste for cruelty…it seems he failed to learn the lesson of the Warden and the Traveler.” 

“He was undone by his pride,” said Caius. “A lesson for us all.”

“Please,” said Morigna. “This is not the time for another sermon.” Yet there was no malice in her words. Likely she was too tired. 

“Ridmark.”

Calliande walked towards them, leaning upon the staff of the Keeper, Kharlacht and Antenora limping behind her. 

“You’re alive,” said Ridmark.

“I thought we had failed,” said Calliande. “I thought that all was lost. I…” She shook her head, tears in her blue eyes. “Thank you.” 

“I promised to see you to the end of this,” said Ridmark.

“So you did,” said Calliande. 

“The empty soulstone,” said Ridmark.

She tapped the pouch on her belt. “I have it. I suppose it was stronger than the rough one you used. I…suspect I can hand it over to Ardrhythain when he arrives. For he will arrive.” She looked at the charred corpse. “For such a momentous event, he will have to come.”

“One suspects the archmage would have been more useful,” said Morigna with some acerbity, “had he arrived an hour or so earlier.”

“Likely he is trapped in the threshold,” said Antenora. “From what the Keeper has told me, sometimes the duels of the archmage and the bearer of shadow took them deep into the mists of the threshold. It can take months to return from such a journey.”

“I suspect that is why Shadowbearer tried to open the gate now,” said Calliande. “A window of opportunity, before Ardrhythain could catch him again.” 

“Now it is over,” said Constantine.

“It began before any of us were born,” said Calliande. “Before the realm of Andomhaim was founded, or the Nine Kingdoms of the khaldari were built, before the orcs even came to this world. It began long ago…but we ended it tonight.” She looked around. “All of us.”

They stood in silence for a moment. 

“Well,” said Gavin at last, “now that we’ve ended it…what do we do next?”

“We wait for Sir Arandar to wake up,” said Ridmark, “and for Queen Mara and Dux Gareth.”

###

The next morning Ridmark led the way down the path to the Tower of Vigilance, the sun rising to the east. Morigna and Calliande walked at his side, and Kharlacht, Caius, Arandar, Gavin, and Sir Constantine followed. Ridmark had his staff in hand and his axe on his belt, his eyes sweeping the hillside for enemies, but he didn’t think he would find any. 

Still, the white haze had vanished from the Tower of Vigilance. Calliande’s wards had ended, and it was possible the elite Mhorite guards and shamans might come swarming up the hill in search of vengeance for their slain master. Best to be prepared. 

“I do not see anyone,” said Antenora, peering at the ruined fortress.

“Nor do I,” said Calliande. “No dark magic of any kind. But several soulblades. I think…”

Blue fire swirled further down the path, and Mara appeared. She looked up at them, blinking, and then smiled. 

“You’re still alive,” said Mara. “Oh, thank God.”

“You sound surprised,” said Morigna.

“Well,” said Mara. “Yes.” 

Caius laughed. “After everything that happened, I cannot blame you. I was certain we would perish.”

“There was an explosion,” said Mara. “We saw it. Everyone for miles must have seen it. Then the entire vortex of dark magic around the hill collapsed. I was sure the backlash must have killed everyone on the hill.” She blinked. “Where are Shadowbearer and Mournacht?”

“Dead,” said Arandar. “The Gray Knight slew them both.” He tapped Heartwarden’s hilt. The soulblade hung at its belt, returned to its rightful wielder. “And with the soulblade that rejected him, no less.”

“Imaria and the Weaver escaped,” said Constantine. “Likely they fled back to the rest of the Enlightened for succor.” He sighed. “It will take some time to find my sister and bring her to justice for her appalling crimes.” 

“And the rest of the Enlightened as well,” said Calliande. Again she looked cool, stern, remote, the face of the Keeper. “They conspired with Shadowbearer to destroy Andomhaim and bring the Frostborn back to our world. They must be rooted out and defeated.” She looked to the south. “But that is a task for another day. What happened to the Mhorites in the Tower?” 

“They fled once the wards collapsed,” said Mara. “All the shamans did, anyway. We killed several of them, and the rest went into the Wilderland. The elite guards made a last stand, but the Dux’s men and Qhazulak dealt with them.” She shook her head. “I think that is the happiest I have ever seen the Anathgrimm. Jager had the idea of letting them keep that red armor as trophies. They will take it back with us to Nightmane Forest.”

Ridmark blinked. Of course Mara and Jager would return to Nightmane Forest. Mara was determined to undo as much of her father’s evil as possible, and Jager would go with her. The last time Ridmark had left Dun Licinia, he had determined to go to Urd Morlemoch alone, but he had gathered a group of friends around him.

They had been victorious, successful beyond all expectation. Now he supposed it was time they went their separate ways.

That saddened him more than he would have expected. Still, they were all still alive. Ridmark had set out to discover the secret of the Frostborn, and then stop their return, and he had done so.

They had done so. 

“We should speak with the Dux,” said Calliande. “I intend to head south to Tarlion.” She looked at Arandar. “Tarrabus Carhaine must be exposed as the head of the Enlightened of Incariel, and we must also make sure your son is freed and the false charges against him lifted.” 

“Work to be done, then?” said Caius.

Kharlacht grunted. “Isn’t there always?”

They walked the rest of the way to the Tower of Vigilance. Knights, men-at-arms, and Anathgrimm warriors filled the courtyard. The Anathgrimm and the humans still gave each other wary looks, but less than Ridmark might have expected. Standing together against a common foe was a marvelous way to overcome old enmities. Dux Gareth Licinius stood with his chief lords, Camorak and Qhazulak and Zhorlacht standing nearby.

“My lady Keeper,” said Gareth, and a flicker of relief went over his face as he glanced at Constantine. “I see you have returned.”

“We have,” said Calliande. 

“Victorious, no less,” said Caius. “Shadowbearer and Mournacht are both slain, and the threat to the realm has been defeated.”

“This threat, anyway,” said Ridmark, thinking of Imaria and Tarrabus and the Enlightened. 

“This is true?” said Gareth.

“I saw it with my own eyes, my lord,” said Calliande. “Ridmark overpowered and slew Mournacht, and then outwitted and slew Shadowbearer.” 

“I had help,” said Ridmark. 

“A great victory,” said Gareth, “but there is work to be done yet. The scourge of the Enlightened must be brought to light. Yet, for now, we shall return to Dun Licinia and rest.”

###

The celebration took most of the next day.

It began with a service of thanksgiving in the town’s church, attended by most of the nobles. Morigna, to Calliande’s surprise, came as well, and did not make any smart remarks. Perhaps their battle with Shadowbearer had shaken her. Or, more likely, she wanted to stay close to Ridmark. Quite a few of the Anathgrimm came as well, standing in back and watching the proceedings in silence. Caius had left Dun Licinia originally to catechize among the pagan orcs of the Wilderland. The Mhalekites had almost killed him for it, but Calliande suspected he might experience greater success with the Anathgrimm. 

After they returned to the great hall of the keep for a feast. Dagma and the other servants had been busy, and Sir Joram threw open Dun Licinia’s granaries to feed the entire population of the town, along with the men-at-arms and knights and militiamen of the army of the Northerland. Tomorrow, Calliande knew, there would be much work to do. The dead Mhorites and dvargir and kobolds outside the walls would have to be gathered and burned, lest plagues arise from their putrefying corpses. Tomorrow she would prepare to leave Dun Licinia with Sir Arandar and Sir Gavin. She would return to Tarlion, where she had not set foot for over two centuries, and lay out the evidence of Tarrabus Carhaine’s crimes before the High King. 

There were struggles and battles yet to come.

But tonight, they celebrated. Toasts were made and speeches given, and musicians played in the corners, drums and horns and flutes. The air grew thick with smoke and the smell of meat, and the rumble of steady conversation filled the air. Calliande saw Ridmark and Morigna standing near the doors to the courtyard, talking in quiet voices. 

She crossed the hall to join them, and both Ridmark and Morigna looked her way. 

“My lady Keeper,” said Morigna, with a hint of her old bite, “should you not be at the high table? I do believe this feast is in your honor.” 

“It is not,” said Calliande. “It is for all those who fought and died.”

“It is ever thus after a battle,” said Ridmark, his blue eyes watching the nobles and knights. “Men need a night to recover, to forget. Tomorrow our labors begin anew, but for now we can celebrate.”

“About that,” said Calliande. She hesitated. “Have you decided what you are going to do next?”

“Drink another cup or two of wine and then go to bed,” said Ridmark.