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    Frostborn: The Shadow Prison
    Frostborn: The Shadow Prison
    Frostborn: The Shadow Prison
    Ebook600 pages9 hours

    Frostborn: The Shadow Prison

    By Jonathan Moeller

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    About this ebook

    Ridmark Arban is ready to face the terrible Frostborn in a final battle.

    But even the mighty Frostborn themselves have been duped, for the shadow of Incariel has used them as its weapons.

    Unless Ridmark can defeat the Shadowbearer, the shadow of Incariel shall rise and devour the world for all time...

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJonathan Moeller
    Release dateMay 1, 2017
    ISBN9781370874231
    Frostborn: The Shadow Prison
    Author

    Jonathan Moeller

    Standing over six feet tall, Jonathan Moeller has the piercing blue eyes of a Conan of Cimmeria, the bronze-colored hair of a Visigothic warrior-king, and the stern visage of a captain of men, none of which are useful in his career as a computer repairman, alas.He has written the "Demonsouled" trilogy of sword-and-sorcery novels, and continues to write the "Ghosts" sequence about assassin and spy Caina Amalas, the "$0.99 Beginner's Guide" series of computer books, and numerous other works.Visit his website at:http://www.jonathanmoeller.comVisit his technology blog at:http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/screed

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      Book preview

      Frostborn - Jonathan Moeller

      Chapter 1: Shadowbearer

      Six hundred and thirty-five days after it began, six hundred and thirty-five days after the day in the Year of Our Lord 1478 when blue fire filled the sky from horizon to horizon, Ridmark Arban opened his eyes from a deep and dreamless sleep.

      He was calm. Usually, when Ridmark awoke he was morose from a bad dream, or a flicker of anger went through him as he thought of the Frostborn or the Enlightened of Incariel, but now he was calm. Granted, there wasn’t much reason for calm. The Frostborn might have been repulsed at the battle of Dun Calpurnia, but they would not give up, and even a unified Andomhaim assisted by the power of the Dragon Knight might not be able to defeat them.

      Nevertheless, Ridmark felt calm, as if his feet were finally on the right path, as if he had at last taken up his proper role.

      The woman responsible for much of that lay next to him, her breathing slow and steady.

      Ridmark lay naked upon a pair of cloaks in a silent stone room. Everything around him seemed blurry and out of focus, save for the woman, a consequence of the magic of the sword of the Dragon Knight. Time had stopped for him, but he felt the strain starting, and knew that soon he would return to the normal flow of time.

      The power of the sword that allowed him to stop time burned at the back of his mind. Caledhmaer was the sword of the Dragon Knight, and it had been wielded by countless Dragon Knights during the long millennia of the high elves’ war against the dark elves and the urdmordar. The sword commanded great powers, and with those great powers, it tested anyone who presumed to wield it.

      It had nearly destroyed Ridmark, seizing upon his weaknesses and convincing him that by killing himself he could undo his existence. The sword had nearly driven him mad.

      Calliande had talked him back from the brink.

      She lay next to him, her eyes closed, her blond hair a tangle around her head. Only dim light leaked through the room’s narrow window, made blurry by Caledhmaer’s magic, and it painted her skin with pale shades.

      Ridmark had never seen Calliande like this, resting and vulnerable.

      She wasn’t asleep, though. Her hands had awakened him. They had been sliding over his chest and stomach, but now they moved lower, and her breathing had sped up. He knew what she wanted.

      That was all right because it was the same thing that he wanted.

      Ridmark sat up and flipped Calliande onto her back. Her blue eyes popped open wide with surprise, and she grinned before he began kissing her.

      ###

      Later Calliande lay back, trying to catch her breath, her heart thrumming against her ribs. A pleasing warmth filled her chest and limbs, and every single one of her muscles felt as if they had turned to liquid.

      Ridmark sat next to her, sweat gleaming on his shoulders and the muscles of his back, his left hand resting on her right thigh. His expression was distant, but not unhappy.

      Calliande smiled at him. She hadn’t known what her first time with Ridmark would be like. Two and a half centuries she had lived (even if she had been asleep for most of it) and she had never been with a man. Calliande had spent so much time treating wounds and illnesses that she knew the mechanics of what happened when a man lay with a woman, knew the act was a sweating, undignified thing. She had known it might hurt but hadn’t cared about the possibility. Calliande had spent so much time healing wounds, absorbing the agony with her magic, that a little pain hardly seemed daunting.

      But she hadn’t known it would be like this.

      God! Calliande had never known what she had been missing.

      She would never have accepted any husband except Ridmark. It would have been him or no one. And as she looked at him, knowing that she belonged to him and that he belonged to her, the thought made her so happy that her heart felt as if it would burst.

      If it had been within her power, Calliande would have stayed with him here, in this room where he had stopped time to be with her, forever.

      Yet she could not.

      Calliande might have become Ridmark’s wife, and that role was now first in her heart. But she was still the Keeper of Andomhaim, and he was the Dragon Knight, and they had duties. The whole might of the Frostborn was driving like a dagger into the heart of Andomhaim. Worse, the Frostborn themselves were only pawns, even if they were too arrogant to see it. Imaria Licinius Shadowbearer was Andomhaim’s true foe, infused with the shadow of Incariel itself. If Imaria was not stopped, she would release Incariel from its prison and plunge the world into a hell of chaos that mirrored the evil and madness within her own mind.

      Against such foes, even the power of the Dragon Knight might not be enough.

      Calliande knew that both she and Ridmark might die in the battle to come. But even if they did, she would be his wife and he would be her husband as long as they both lived. She would always remember the moment when he had taken her into his arms as his wife for the first time.

      Calliande just wished they could have had more of those moments.

      You’re crying, said Ridmark.

      A little, Calliande admitted, wiping at her eyes. But it’s happy crying. She smiled. It is my wedding day, after all. I am entitled to a little weepiness.

      Yes. Ridmark smiled a little. The first time I was married, Dux Gareth told me that a woman could cry whenever she wished, and a wise man would simply accept that.

      Calliande hesitated. Once, mentioning Aelia or Morigna would have sent Ridmark into a black mood or a burst of anger. Now, he seemed only contemplative as he thought of them. Sad, yes, but not dominated by the grief as he had once been.

      Wiser, she realized. He had grown wiser through his losses. Or perhaps the sword the Dragon Knight had finally forced him to confront the part of himself that raged at grief.

      I am sorry that Dux Gareth fell at Dun Calpurnia, said Calliande, watching him. And your father as well. She felt her own grief at their deaths. Gareth Licinius and Leogrance Arban had been good men and just lords, pillars of the realm. She hoped the Dominus Christus received them kindly.

      As am I, said Ridmark. His hand left her thigh to grip her hand, and she squeezed back. You might have known my father better than I did. I wish he could have understood why I did what I did. But…he was the Dux of Taliand. The Dux of Taliand had to do what was proper.

      He asked me about you, sometimes, said Calliande. Maybe he did.

      They waited in silence for a moment. Then Ridmark sighed, leaned down, and kissed her.

      I’m afraid, he said, straightening up, that we should go.

      I know, said Calliande. She took a deep breath and sat up. Ridmark’s eyes flicked to her chest as she did, lingering there for a moment, and Calliande was surprised by how much that pleased her. Our duty awaits.

      Yes, said Ridmark. He got to his feet and held out a hand. Calliande grasped his hand, his fingers heavy with calluses, and he drew her up after him. Also, the sword can only stop time for so long. It’s almost at its limit. Too much longer and we’ll return to normal time, and Caius and Third will wonder where we went.

      We just got married, said Calliande. I don’t think they’ll wonder where we went.

      Ridmark smiled. Then if we’re not careful they’ll get an eyeful.

      Calliande laughed. Then we had better get dressed, hadn’t we?

      Though she did watch with some regret as he pulled on his clothes. His features were too hard to be handsome, but he was heavy with muscle from years in the wilderness and fighting, and there was a raw masculine energy to him that she found very compelling…

      She laughed at herself.

      Of course she found it compelling. She had married him, hadn’t she?

      A few moments later they were dressed. Calliande collected the staff of the Keeper from where she had placed it against the wall and gave her belt one last tug, the dagger that Ridmark had given her shifting in its sheath. She looked for the black staff of Ardrhythain and then remembered that Ridmark had emerged from the Tomb of the Dragon Knight without it. He hadn’t spoken of what had happened to the weapon, just as he hadn’t spoken of what had passed within the Tomb.

      It was not as if he needed the staff as a weapon any longer.

      Ready? said Ridmark.

      Calliande took one last look around. The room was such a bare, rough place. Strange that she never wanted to leave it.

      Ready, said Calliande.

      Ridmark led the way back to the great hall of Castra Marcaine, to the place where he had been married twice and his first wife had died. The Frostborn had ripped down the roof of the great hall when they had taken the castra, and it lay in heaps of broken rubble across the floor tiles of patterned white and black. The walls still stood, as did the pillars that had once supported the ceiling.

      A man and a woman stood facing the dais, frozen in time. The woman was tall and lean, clad in close-fitting dark armor, her face pale and her hair as black as her eyes. It was pulled back to reveal the points of her dark elven ears. The man was a dwarf, short and broad and gray-skinned, bald with a bushy gray-black beard. He wore the robes of a mendicant friar, a wooden cross hanging from a leather cord around his neck, and a few hours ago he had just married Calliande and Ridmark.

      Though she supposed from the perspective of Brother Caius and Third, less than a second had passed.

      Ridmark held out his right hand. Harsh yellow-orange fire appeared in his fingers, and a heartbeat later the sword of the Dragon Knight came into in existence, the blade crackling with fire. The sword looked as if it had been forged from a strange metal like red gold, though Calliande knew it was sharper and harder than any other metal she had ever encountered. The pommel had been shaped into a roaring dragon’s head, and it looked hot to the touch, as if it should have scorched Ridmark’s fingers. Yet he held the blade comfortably.

      The fire around the sword brightened, and a flicker of fear went through Calliande. The last time she had seen that fire, it had been burning through Ridmark’s eyes and veins and chest. The sword’s power had almost devoured him. Guilt followed the fear. The sword had almost killed him, and she had set him upon that path.

      Both the fear and the guilt vanished as Ridmark lifted the sword, his expression calm. The sword had almost killed him, but he had mastered it. He was now the Dragon Knight, as Kalomarus had been so long ago, and Calliande would not have been able to defeat the Frostborn the first time without the help of Kalomarus.

      Perhaps the new Dragon Knight would do the same.

      Ridmark gestured, and the world blurred around them. Calliande felt a sharp sense of dislocation, much as she had when following Ridmark through the sword’s gates. Then the blur vanished as the ruined hall snapped back into focus around her, and time resumed.

      Give you a moment? said Caius, his confusion plain. He turned and saw Ridmark and Calliande. How did you do that?

      The sword, said Ridmark, gesturing with the weapon. It does have a useful trick or two.

      Plainly, said Caius. Where did you go?

      Most probably, said Third in her cold, precise voice, given the urgency we face, the Dragon Knight stopped time to permit himself to consummate his marriage to the Keeper.

      Caius blinked, and Calliande felt her face warm.

      I see, said Caius, and he smiled. Well, that’s none of my concern, is it? I only hope your marriage is blessed with happiness, prosperity, and many healthy children.

      Children. Calliande knew full well that was a possibility. She might even now be carrying Ridmark’s child, though given that she was closer to the end of her fertile years than the beginning, she knew it might take longer. But if that happened, she would greet it with joy…but more than a little fear. She was the Keeper of Andomhaim, and the realm needed her for the war against the Frostborn. How could she attend to her duty and raise children at the same time?

      Well, as Ardrhythain had reminded her, the Keepers of the past had done so, often quite successfully. Some of the sons of past Keepers had become knights of renown and legend. If they had fulfilled their duties and raised children, then so could Calliande.

      Though if the Frostborn and Imaria were not stopped, there would be no more knights and no more Andomhaim.

      Only the shadow of Incariel, howling as it devoured the world forevermore.

      Thank you, said Ridmark. We need to get moving. The Frostborn will not have been idle while we were gone, and Arandar will need our help.

      To Dun Calpurnia? said Caius.

      Ridmark nodded. Aye. It’s been…ah, I lose track of the time. I suppose for them it’s been about three hours since we left. Third nodded. Arandar will be in haste, but the army will not have gotten very far. We’ll find them and consult with the High King.

      Perhaps it would be better, said Calliande, if we didn’t return to the High King at once.

      Ridmark looked at her. I don’t think even the Dragon Knight can fight against the Frostborn alone.

      No, said Calliande. I mean it might be better to find Queen Mara and King Turcontar and King Axazamar. If you can travel anywhere with the sword, we have a good chance of finding them before the Frostborn do. If the Frostborn destroy their armies one by one, we’ll lose. If we can unite our forces, we have better odds. Even if we can coordinate with our allies, we will have a better hope of victory.

      You’re right, said Ridmark. We’ll look for our allies. But first, we should talk to the High King. He grimaced. I fear I left abruptly.

      You weren’t quite yourself, said Calliande.

      No, said Ridmark. He took a deep breath and lifted the burning sword. Let’s…

      The Sight blazed to life within Calliande, warning her of danger.

      It had already awakened thanks to the titanic power of the sword, showing her the ancient and unyielding magic within the blade, more potent than any soulblade. Now the Sight detected another power within the ruined castra, a power dark and cold and malevolent. The sword stirred in Ridmark’s hand, reacting to the coming darkness, and both Calliande and Ridmark looked towards the doors to the ruined hall.

      What is it? said Third, turning and drawing her short swords. Caius reached over his shoulder and produced the dark elven warhammer he had taken from Urd Morlemoch.

      The shadow of Incariel, said Calliande. One of the Enlightened? No, it’s too strong, it’s…

      Her, said Ridmark, lifting his face.

      Shadows swirled atop one of the ruined walls, and a woman appeared.

      She had once looked young and beautiful, with black hair and bright green eyes. Now her skin had the pallor of a corpse, and veins of black shadow threaded their way through her flesh, pulsing in time to her heartbeat. Her eyes looked as if they had transformed into quicksilver, showing a distorted reflection of the world around her.

      Calliande drew in a sharp breath.

      Imaria Licinius Shadowbearer wore close-fitting black armor of dvargir design, the plates of metal adhering close to her body and sliding around her as if it were some sort of clockwork mechanism. Calliande had seen armor like that before. The dvargir called it urkrazdor armor, and it offered the wearer superhuman strength and speed at the cost of devouring the wearer’s life force. Likely Tarrabus Carhaine’s dvargir allies had given Imaria the armor with the thought of using it to control her.

      If so, the plan had failed miserably. The Sight saw the shadow of Incariel flooding from Imaria, surging into the armor and dominating it.

      Imaria regarded them, her black hair stirring around her head.

      The Dragon Knight, she said at last, speaking in the eerie double voice of the Shadowbearer. One half of her voice was the cool tones of a noblewoman of Andomhaim, but the other was an inhuman, hideous snarl, a noise that no human throat could have produced. You have returned at last.

      Calliande cast a spell. She called elemental fire, fusing it to the power of the Keeper’s mantle, and flung a blazing shaft of fire at Imaria. The spell struck the stone wall, blasting a portion of it to molten, glowing shards. But Imaria was already gone, vanishing in a swirl of twisting shadows.

      She reappeared atop one of the thick pillars, shadows gathering around the clawed gauntlets of black metal covering her hands.

      Strength, said Imaria, shaking her head. The error of Tymandain. Strength will not save you, Keeper of Andomhaim. For the shadow of Incariel will consume all strength and replace it with freedom and glorious chaos.

      ###

      Ridmark stepped before Calliande, Caledhmaer raised in guard.

      He knew Imaria would not hesitate to kill Calliande, both to spite Ridmark and because the Keeper represented a serious threat to Imaria’s plans. Imaria had killed Morigna simply because of her hatred for Ridmark. Yet Calliande could defend herself far more effectively than Morigna, and Ridmark now had Caledhmaer.

      Why would Imaria show herself now? If it came to an open battle, Ridmark suspected that he and Calliande could kill the new Shadowbearer.

      Why are you here? said Ridmark.

      He caught Third’s eye, and she gave him a faint nod.

      To kill you both, of course, said Imaria. Is that not obvious? She paused. The dwarf and the half-breed as well, though they are of no importance.

      How nice to be overlooked, said Caius.

      I would not complain, said Third.

      I thought the sword would drive you mad, and you would at last experience a death worthy of your weakness and your failings, said Imaria. Though Tymandain thought the sword would drive Kalomarus mad, and it failed to do so. Perha ps I should have learned from his error.

      Kalomarus helped defeat Tymandain Shadowbearer, said Calliande, her voice harsh.

      He failed because he was strong and trusted in his strength, said Imaria.

      You are weaker than he is, said Calliande.

      Yes, said Imaria without rancor. I am weak where he was strong. His strength destroyed him. My weakness shall liberate the world from time and matter and…

      Her voice trailed off. The quicksilver eyes narrowed.

      A spasm of fury went through the gaunt, gray face.

      You are wed, spat Imaria in fury. You have wed the Keeper.

      Yes, said Ridmark. Come to offer congratulations?

      Imaria’s reaction surprised him. The shadow of Incariel had appeared to him in the Tomb of the Dragon Knight, taunting him and trying to lure him to his destruction. As Imaria had left her humanity behind and become the Shadowbearer, much of the petty, vindictive young woman she had once been had vanished, replaced by alien evil and twisted madness.

      But from the hatred on her face, it seemed that Imaria had not yet abandoned all her humanity for the alien malice of the shadow of Incariel.

      Tell me, Dragon Knight, said Imaria. When you wed the Keeper, did you take her virginity atop the tomb of my sister? It is still here, in the crypts below the castra. Or when you stripped the Keeper naked to slake your lust with her flesh, did you lay her down upon the cloak of Morigna first? Did you think of them at all as you took her? The ghosts of the women you failed to save?

      Calliande sucked in a sharp breath. She knew how he would have reacted to those words once.

      Now, Ridmark only laughed.

      Both Calliande and Imaria looked at him in astonishment. So did Caius and Third.

      You’ve come all this way to taunt me, Imaria? said Ridmark. I would have saved Aelia if I could, but no one could have saved her from Mhalek. You murdered Morigna, not I. So. Come closer, and we will settle our differences once and for all. He could not resist throwing a taunt of his own in her face. Just as I settled my differences with the Weaver at Khald Tormen, and just as Tarrabus Carhaine and I resolved our conflict below the walls of Tarlion.

      Imaria shivered, her face twisting into a mask of hatred, and for a moment Ridmark thought she would leap from the pillar and try to kill him with her bare hands.

      Then the emotion seemed to drain from her face like poison lanced from a corrupted wound. The cold, distant malice returned to her expression, and she drew herself up. The day was cloudy, the sun hidden behind thick gray clouds, yet her shadow lashed behind her like a black banner, long and thick.

      The Weaver trusted in his own strength, said Imaria. Tarrabus and the Enlightened believed in their own might. Now you have made them as chaff upon the threshing floor. As Jehu treated the priests of Baal upon Old Earth, do not the scriptures say? But they made the same mistake as Tymandain.

      Which is? said Calliande, white fire burning up the length of the staff of the Keeper.

      He trusted to his strength, for it was very strong, said Imaria. His magic was mighty, and his spells could lay entire armies waste. No foe could overcome him, and he destroyed every enemy who challenged him. But he trusted to his strength, and it failed him.

      But you are weak, said Ridmark, wondering what she wanted.

      Compared to Tymandain, yes, said Imaria. My magic would be no match for his. My magic will be no match for the Keeper’s. In that, I shall have victory, for my weakness shall corrode your strength.

      How? said Ridmark.

      Tymandain relied upon his strength, said Imaria. I shall rely upon my weakness, and the shadow of Incariel will flood me. And in the shadow, I shall find the power to liberate this world from causality and time and the chains of the flesh…

      It is madness, said Calliande. The shadow of Incariel is manipulating you. Do you think freeing it will free you? No. It will plunge this world into chaos and madness and eternal torment.

      Listen to her, said Ridmark. There had been days, long days, when he had thought of nothing but killing Imaria Licinius Shadowbearer for her crimes. To his surprise, while his hatred was still there, it had cooled. He would kill her for what she had done and for what she might do, but perhaps they could talk her back from the brink.

      Imaria stared at them and then burst out laughing. Do you think to redeem me, Dragon Knight and Keeper? Do you think that I shall repent? Or perhaps that I do not understand what I have done? No! The freedom of Incariel shall bring torment upon humanity and all the other kindreds of the world. But I have understood the truth. It is time and our bodies of flesh that imprison us and Incariel shall destroy both. It will be a torment to the weak-minded. But they shall revel in their freedom when they come to the same wisdom that I now possess.

      I say again that is nothing more than madness, said Calliande.

      Yes, said Imaria. In madness is truth. In pain is freedom. In sorrow is joy. For a hundred thousand years Tymandain Shadowbearer worked to free the shadow, and I shall complete his work.

      No, said Calliande. You will not.

      She began casting a spell, and Imaria answered in kind, shadows writhing around her fingers. Ridmark looked to Third again and nodded, and she vanished in a flare of blue fire. An instant later blue fire pulsed atop the broken pillar, and Third appeared behind Imaria, driving her short swords of dark elven steel forward. Her timing was perfect, her swords angled to pierce both Imaria’s lungs and heart.

      But Imaria was ready. She leaped from the pillar, and it was high enough that the fall should have broken both her legs or killed her. Yet her shadow billowed like a cloak and seemed to rip into half. The shadow rose around her like wings, and she soared across the hall, landing atop the broken wall there.

      Third turned and vanished in blue fire, returning to Ridmark’s side.

      No, said Imaria. It will not end that way. It is too soon. My mortality will not end until time unravels. The mirrored eyes turned back towards Calliande. But your mortality will end here.

      Calliande cast a spell, hurling a shaft of white fire at Imaria. Imaria disappeared in a swirl of darkness, and the shaft of fire lashed across the broken wall. Shadows writhed before the doors, and Imaria reappeared before them.

      But this time, she was not alone.

      Three men knelt on the ground before her. All three were naked, and chains of shadow bound their necks and their wrists. Cuts and scratches marked their bodies, and they looked gaunt and starved, their skin matted with dirt and dried blood. Ridmark knew those men. They had been knights in Tarrabus Carhaine’s household, and that meant they had been part of the Enlightened of Incariel. Some of the Enlightened had escaped Tarlion after Tarrabus’s defeat.

      It seemed that they had not managed to escape Imaria.

      Help us, croaked one of the knights, for the love of God, please…

      Imaria twisted her wrist, and the knight fell silent, shadows welling from his mouth to wrap around his face like cords.

      They gave themselves to Incariel, said Imaria. I am the bearer of Incariel’s shadow. They are mine to do with as I wish. And what I wish for them to do is to kill you.

      You might have to untie them first, said Ridmark.

      Imaria smiled. I do not.

      Shadow burst from her armored hands, pouring into the three knights. They screamed into their gags, and the shadow poured into them like water draining into a sponge.

      Calliande! said Ridmark. Stop…

      She started casting a spell, but it was too late.

      The bodies of the Enlightened knights simply split apart, like a peapod crushed beneath an armored boot. Their flesh tore and ripped, blood pooling across the floor, and from within the torn flesh emerged…

      Ridmark didn’t know. He had never seen creatures like them before.

      They looked vaguely like mantises covered in gleaming black chitin, spikes jutting from their sides. They reminded Ridmark of the locusari warriors the Frostborn used as light infantry, but these creatures were larger and heavier. Shadows bled and flowed from their eyes and their bladed forelimbs, and glistening venom dripped from their snapping pincers.

      Behold! shouted Imaria. The weakness of Incariel revealed! Kill them! Kill them both!

      Calliande hurled a blast of white fire at Imaria, but the Shadowbearer vanished in a swirling pillar of darkness. The Keeper shifted her aim, sweeping the shaft of white fire across the ruined hall, raking the flames across the insect-creatures. They let out furious chittering noises, reeling away from the fire, but Calliande’s magic did not seem to harm them.

      The creatures surged forward, moving with terrible speed.

      Defend yourselves! said Ridmark, raising Caledhmaer.

      ###

      Calliande drew on the magic of the Well, fusing it with the power of the Keeper’s mantle, and started casting another spell.

      Ridmark ran forward, Caius on his left and Third on his right, the sword of the Dragon Knight trailing fire in his hand. The insect-creatures raced to the attack, focusing on him. Likely Imaria had told the creatures to kill him first.

      Calliande had no idea what the things were. Tymandain Shadowbearer had never done anything like this. Even during the climactic battle of the first war against the Frostborn all those years ago, when he had brought the full wrath of his power against her, he had not summoned creatures to aid him. Perhaps that was why he had been defeated. He had relied upon his own strength and no one else.

      Imaria, it seemed, would not make her predecessor’s mistake.

      Calliande didn’t know what the creatures were, but she had a good idea of what would hurt them, and she cast the spell.

      A wall of white light erupted from her staff, expanding to stretch across the entire hall. It rushed forward in a translucent wave, passing through Ridmark and Caius and Third without harming them. It swept across the three creatures, and white fire burst across their carapaces, the light sinking into them. The spell did little damage since its power had been spread across such a large area, but the insect-creatures reared back with pain, making ghastly chittering noises as they recovered their balance.

      In the space of their hesitation, Ridmark struck.

      The sword of the Dragon Knight did not grant him superhuman strength and speed as a soulblade would have done, but it hardly seemed necessary. The sword trailed a ribbon of fire as he attacked, and his blow took off one of the creature’s bladed forelimbs. It screamed in rage and lashed at him with its remaining forelimb, which proved to be a mistake. Ridmark snapped his sword up in guard, and the creature’s limb shattered against the blade. It screamed again, and this time Ridmark’s sword took its head from its shoulders.

      The insect-creature slumped to the floor, black slime pumping from its wounds.

      Third disappeared in the usual flash of blue fire. Calliande didn’t see where she went, but she could guess, because one of the creatures reared up in sudden pain. Before it recovered, Caius swung his heavy hammer, and he smashed the creature’s head like an egg. Black slime sprayed from the crushed head, and the insect-creature collapsed next to the one that Ridmark had killed.

      The final creature whirled, preparing to charge at Calliande. She hit it with the white fire of the Well of Tarlion and as much of the power of the Keeper’s mantle that she could infuse into one spell. The lance of white fire drilled through the creature and burst out its back to strike the wall, and the dark shape shuddered and fell to the ground.

      Silence fell over the ruins of Castra Marcaine once more, and Ridmark lowered his sword.

      The creatures were dead, yet Calliande still saw the shadow of Incariel writhing within the carcasses.

      She took a careful step forward, her magic held ready.

      ###

      What were those things? said Ridmark, Caledhmaer burning in his fist. The sword had been pleased to strike down the creatures, and he felt its savage joy. The soulblades blazed with fury when confronting things of dark magic, but Caledhmaer’s rage howled like the fiery furnace of Nebuchadnezzar of old.

      I don’t know, said Caius. I have never seen such a creature, though they looked somewhat like the creatures of the lower Deeps.

      Improved urvaalgs, I presume, said Third, shaking black slime from her blades as she joined them.

      What do you mean? said Ridmark.

      They were members of the Enlightened of Incariel, said Third. We have seen before how the Enlightened were twisted into monsters by their connection to the shadow of Incariel. It seems that Imaria Shadowbearer has improved the process, and used it to force an involuntary transformation in them.

      Weakness, murmured Ridmark, remembering Imaria’s strange, riddling boasts. She said that in her weakness she would rely more upon the shadow of Incariel. Maybe that means the shadow will give her powers that Tymandain or the Enlightened never possessed.

      I think it does, said Calliande. She had the dreamy, unfocused expression that meant she was drawing heavily upon the Sight. The shadow is still upon them. We… Her blue eyes opened wide. Get back! Get back! Something…

      She did not need to warn them twice. Ridmark took several steps back, grabbing Calliande’s arm and pulling her along. Both Caius and Third moved back, weapons raised before them.

      As they did, shadows bled and writhed from the carcasses of the dead creatures. They swelled, emitting terrible crackling noises. Then the creatures split open, just as the doomed Enlightened knights had split apart when the insect-creatures had clawed their way free of their flesh.

      A different kind of knight arose from the carcasses of the slain creatures.

      Three armored figures strode from the split carapaces. Each one was seven feet tall, and armored from head to toe in a metal that looked as if it had been forged from solid shadow. The knights carried enormous two-handed greatswords, and masked helms concealed their faces, if indeed they possessed faces.

      The knights charged, and Ridmark ran to meet them, Caledhmaer snarling with rage in his fist. Despite their bulk, the knights were deadly quick, and Ridmark dodged around the sweep of a shadowy greatsword and parried the blow from another. The greatsword clanged against Caledhmaer, the ancient sword’s fire seeping into the dark blade, but the knight retracted its blade before the fire could consume it.

      Third vanished and reappeared behind one of the knights, stabbing her blades with the precision of a surgeon. The knight flinched, though it showed no other sign of pain, and wrenched free of her weapons, turning to face her. Ridmark seized the opening and attacked, swinging Caledhmaer with both hands. The sword took off the knight’s head, and the armored body fell to the ground with a clang.

      By then Calliande had finished her next spell, and another wave of white fire swept across the hall. The remaining two knights staggered as the fire touched them, and Ridmark attacked again. Caledhmaer ripped through a knight’s neck, shattering the dark armor and sending its armored body to the floor. Caius and Third attacked the remaining knight in concert. Ridmark suspected the creatures would have been immune to normal steel, but dark elven steel at least slowed them.

      It certainly slowed the creature long enough for Ridmark to land a killing blow with Caledhmaer.

      The final body clanged against the ground…and shadows began bleeding from it, and more shadows poured from the other two creatures. The armor plates began to bulge and deform as if something massive was trying to claw its way free from inside the armor.

      Ridmark! said Calliande. Flames! Burn the bodies! I think that’s the only way!

      Get back! said Ridmark. Third and Caius backed away, and Calliande started casting a spell. Ridmark moved to her side and pointed Caledhmaer, calling on the sword’s wrath. He wasn’t sure how he did it. It wasn’t a spell or an inborn power like Third’s ability to travel. It felt more like the bond he had once shared with the soulblade Heartwarden.

      Ridmark called on the sword’s power, and flames erupted from the blade as Calliande finished her spell. She flung a sphere of fire towards the downed knights, similar to the spheres that her apprentice Antenora used in battle. It exploded amidst the armored forms, spreading in a cloud of flame, and a howling cone of fire burst from the end of Caledhmaer. Ridmark swept the blade back and forth, the fire of the sword mixing with and augmenting Calliande’s elemental fire, and the end of the great hall erupted into a snarling firestorm. The heat of it hammered at Ridmark’s face, his gray cloak snapping behind him in the hot wind rising from the flames.

      Slowly the flames died away.

      When they cleared, there was no trace of the knights or the ruptured carapaces of the creatures that had spawned them.

      Weakness indeed, said Caius. If Imaria shows any more of such weakness to us, we may be overcome.

      Or if she uses those powers against the host of Andomhaim, said Third.

      It’s time to move, said Ridmark. He had wondered if the defeat of Tarrabus and the destruction of the Enlightened would demoralize Imaria. It was clear that her madness and her power had transcended all such concerns. She would use the Frostborn to seize the Well of Tarlion and free Incariel from its prison. Nothing else mattered to her. Just as Tymandain Shadowbearer had used and discarded the dark elves and the urdmordar, so Imaria cared nothing for the defeat of Tarrabus and the Enlightened.

      But the Frostborn would not be so easily overcome, and with them, Imaria might free Incariel and plunge the world into the hell of her madness.

      Dun Calpurnia? said Calliande.

      Ridmark nodded. Dun Calpurnia.

      He lifted Caledhmaer before him, reaching into the sword’s presence and asking it to open a doorway to the ruined town. The air rippled before him, a curtain of gray mist rising from the ground. The mist folded into the rippling air, and pale light came from it.

      The gate to Dun Calpurnia was open.

      This way, said Ridmark, and he led the way into the gate.

      ***

      Chapter 2: Retreat

      The host of Andomhaim and the three orcish kingdoms had prevailed against the Frostborn at Dun Calpurnia, but the victory had been as terrible as a defeat.

      Arandar Pendragon, High King of Andomhaim, strode through the host and listened to the reports as they were brought to him. The remains of his bodyguard, the Swordbearers and the Magistri assigned to protect him from assassins, followed him. Both Gavin and Antenora looked exhausted and grim. Antenora’s black clothing was tattered and torn, and Gavin’s face was coated with dust from the destruction of Dun Calpurnia’s northern gate. Camorak stumbled on his feet like he did when he was drunk, but he wasn’t drunk, just exhausted. Again and again the Magistri in Arandar’s bodyguard stopped to help heal the worst of the wounded, to at least get them on their feet for the march south.

      Arandar let the Magistri go about their work. They would need every man able to hold a spear soon enough, and anyway he had to stop often as messengers brought him news.

      Nearly all the news was bad. Arandar supposed the only good news was that they were still alive to receive bad news. The Frostborn had almost destroyed the army of Andomhaim below the walls of Dun Calpurnia. If Calliande had not returned with Ridmark, if Ridmark hadn’t unleashed the sword of the Dragon Knight in the battle, then the Frostborn would have triumphed.

      One messenger reported that Prince Cadwall Gwyrdragon thought twenty-five hundred men and orcs had been killed in total. No doubt many more had been wounded.

      Another messenger reported that Sir Joram Agramore was pulling their remaining supplies from the ruins of Dun Calpurnia and sending them south on the Moradel road as fast as he could manage it. No doubt Joram and the other lords and knights thought Arandar intended to fall back to Castra Carhaine and await the Frostborn there.

      But based on what Calliande had told Arandar before she had disappeared, he suspected they had no choice but to fall back all the way to Tarlion itself.

      Another messenger told him that Master Kurastus’s body had been found. He had been killed in the destruction of the northern gate, and the Magistrius Vesilius had been named the interim Master of the Order until the Magistri could hold a proper election in their Tower at Tarlion.

      Still another messenger said that Sir Tormark and Sir Constantine had taken command of their slain fathers’ vassals as the new Dux of Taliand and Dux of the Northerland, and were pulling their men out of the town. Silent Malhask, King of Khaluusk, and his chief headmen and warriors had been killed by one of those damned trebuchet firebombs. But old King Ulakhamar had awakened from his blow to the head with his wits intact, and the warriors and headmen of Khaluusk would follow his leadership until the headmen of Khaluusk could elect a new King from their number in accordance with ancient tradition.

      So many men had died. Arandar could scarce keep track of them all, but it was his duty.

      He sent orders of his own back with the messengers, instructing the lords and headmen and chief knights to gather at his banner as soon as possible for a council of war. The lords of Andomhaim had to know the truth. They had to know why Tymandain Shadowbearer had unleashed the Frostborn upon them, and they had to know that Imaria Shadowbearer must be kept from the well of Tarlion.

      No matter what, Tarlion had to be kept out of the hands of the enemy.

      As they walked through the soldiers, Arandar listened for the news he wanted to hear. Had Calliande found Ridmark? Had the Keeper kept the new Dragon Knight from succumbing to his madness?

      But he heard nothing. The Keeper and the Dragon Knight had disappeared.

      And without them, Arandar did not see a path forward to victory.

      ###

      Gavin had been this exhausted a few times before.

      After they had escaped from the Warden’s clutches at Urd Morlemoch, for one. Maybe after his father had died and they had defeated Agrimnalazur. Or after Ridmark had killed Tymandain Shadowbearer in the circle of dark elven standing stones upon the slopes of Black Mountain. Yet those had been victories, and after those victories, Gavin had been able to rest before they resumed their quest.

      He supposed this was a victory as well.

      It just didn’t feel like it.

      As ever, he found himself admiring the High King’s energy. Arandar Pendragon’s armor was battered and dented and splashed with the blood of medvarth warriors and the yellowish slime that served as the blood of the locusari. His face and armor were covered with a layer of dust and soot from the fires within the walls of Dun Calpurnia. Arandar looked as if he ought to collapse to the ground. Yet none of it showed in his voice or his movements, and the High King strode back and forth as he always did, giving commands in a firm voice. Gavin could not understand why Arandar wasn’t exhausted.

      Or maybe he was, and he just hid it well.

      Antenora walked next to Gavin. She looked battered and bloody, her clothes dusty and torn. Yet she had already recovered from her wounds. The curse upon her let her feel neither pain nor pleasure and took from her the need to eat and drink and sleep. Yet Gavin supposed the curse had its advantages. She did not need to rest, and her strength and stamina had already recovered from her wounds.

      In fact, she was keeping close to him. As if she feared she would need to support him if he collapsed.

      It wasn’t an unreasonable fear.

      Another messenger from Prince Cadwall arrived, and Arandar stopped to speak with the man. Gavin drew Truthseeker, pushed the soulblade’s point into the earth, and leaned upon the sword’s hilt, taking some of the weight from his aching legs. He supposed using a soulblade like that was disrespectful, but at the moment he was too tired to worry about it. Besides, Truthseeker’s power had given him the strength to remaining fighting through the entire battle, so he supposed this was no different.

      How are you? said Antenora in a low voice.

      Tired, Gavin admitted, watching as Arandar spoke with the messenger. But I’ll keep going. It seems I don’t have any other choice.

      None of us do, said Antenora. A victory so near to defeat…we shall have to move soon. The Frostborn were bloodied, but they were nowhere near beaten. As soon as they recover themselves, they will attack again. She hesitated. Or once they realize that the Dragon Knight is no longer with us. Fear of him will keep them at bay, but not for long.

      They stood in silence for a while.

      Do you think Ridmark is still alive? said Gavin. His face…I’ve never seen him like that. Not even after Imaria killed Morigna. And the sword…it was like it was burning him up.

      I do not know, said Antenora. I saw the sword’s power through the Sight. Never have I seen such potent magic, not in the hands of Tymandain Shadowbearer, or the Traveler, or even the Frostborn themselves. It was magic never meant for mortal hands, and I fear it was indeed burning him out from the inside. But the Keeper was with him. She grimaced. I should have gone with the Keeper.

      But she disappeared again so quickly, said Gavin.

      True. She hesitated. And…I did not wish to leave your side, Gavin Swordbearer. Not while the battle still raged and you were in danger. Just as you could not have left me at the gate.

      I couldn’t have, Gavin admitted. After the Frostborn had destroyed the northern gate of Dun Calpurnia, Antenora’s leg had been injured, leaving her unable to walk. Gavin had found that he could not bring himself to leave her, that he had been prepared to die fighting at her side rather than to leave her behind.

      He loved her too much to do anything else.

      She couldn’t feel his touch,

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