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    Frostborn: Excalibur
    Frostborn: Excalibur
    Frostborn: Excalibur
    Ebook467 pages6 hours

    Frostborn: Excalibur

    By Jonathan Moeller

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    About this ebook

    Ridmark Arban is the Gray Knight, leading the defense of Andomhaim from the brutal Frostborn.

    Yet the realm of Andomhaim is riven with civil war. The false king Tarrabus has usurped the crown in the name of the shadow of Incariel, and the loyal lords must fight the ruthless rebels.

    Unless Ridmark can defeat Tarrabus and reunify Andomhaim, the Frostborn will prevail.

    But Tarrabus Carhaine, deadly and wicked, will not be defeated without terrible cost...

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJonathan Moeller
    Release dateJan 11, 2017
    ISBN9781370917051
    Frostborn: Excalibur
    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 13: Fire

      Chapter 14: Constable

      Chapter 15: The Lost Tower

      Chapter 16: Contravallation

      Chapter 17: An Accidental Battle

      Chapter 18: An Ancient Sword

      Chapter 19: Civil War

      Chapter 20: The Fortunes of Battle

      Chapter 21: Enlightenment

      Chapter 22: Sovereign

      Chapter 23: A Last Question

      Chapter 24: Heartbeat

      Epilogue

      A Second Author’s Note

      Other books by the author

      About the Author

      Glossary of Characters

      Glossary of Locations

      Description

      Ridmark Arban is the Gray Knight, leading the defense of Andomhaim from the brutal Frostborn.

      Yet the realm of Andomhaim is riven with civil war. The false king Tarrabus has usurped the crown in the name of the shadow of Incariel, and the loyal lords must fight the ruthless rebels.

      Unless Ridmark can defeat Tarrabus and reunify Andomhaim, the Frostborn will prevail.

      But Tarrabus Carhaine, deadly and wicked, will not be defeated without terrible cost...

      ***

      Frostborn: Excalibur

      Copyright 2017 by Jonathan Moeller.

      Smashwords Edition.

      Cover design by Clarissa Yeo.

      Ebook edition published January 2017.

      All Rights Reserved.

      This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.

      ***

      A brief author’s note

      At the end of this book, you will find a Glossary of Characters and a Glossary of Locations listing all the major characters and locations in this book. Note that the Glossaries contain spoilers for the previous twelve books of the Frostborn series.

      A map of the realm of Andomhaim is available on the author’s website at this link (http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=4487).

      ***

      Chapter 1: Outriders

      Six hundred and five days after it began, six hundred and five days after the day in the Year of Our Lord 1478 when blue fire filled the sky from horizon to horizon, Ridmark Arban braced himself for something to go wrong as he walked through the forests of Taliand.

      Because something always went wrong when he crossed the River Moradel.

      Every single time, something went wrong.

      But the moment, it seemed that the forests of central Taliand were quiet.

      Ridmark moved from tree to tree in silence, his bow in his hand, his gray cloak hanging loosely around him. It was another hot day, the summer sun harsh overhead, though the boughs of the ancient trees kept much of the glare at bay. To the south, Ridmark saw the worn mountains of central Taliand, their slopes cloaked in trees and boulders. The buzz of insects filled his ears, along with the occasional creak of branches, but other than that, nothing moved in the forest.

      That didn’t surprise him, not entirely. Long ago, the land that had become Taliand had been ruled by petty dark elven princes and brutal orcish warlords. Malahan Pendragon and his heirs had led war after war against those princes and warlords, driving them from the forests and mountains. In time the land had been conquered and named Taliand, and Ridmark’s distant ancestor had become the first Dux of Taliand and the lord of Castra Arban. Ever since then, Taliand had been part of the heart of the realm of Andomhaim. Even now, with civil war raging between Arandar Pendragon and Tarrabus Carhaine and the Frostborn invading from the north, the battle had not yet touched Taliand.

      Ridmark knew that would not last.

      He paused for a moment to catch his breath. As far as he could tell, no one had passed this way for weeks. After nearly two solid years of battle and mayhem, it was almost startling.

      Blue fire flickered in the corner of his vision.

      A column of blue fire flashed at the base of one of the trees, and a tall woman stepped from the fire. She had long black hair and dead black eyes in a gaunt, angular face, and wore close-fitting armor of black metal plates. Twin short swords hung at her belt, and a glimmer of blue fire pulsed in her veins and her eyes, fading as she strode towards him.

      Lord magister, said the woman.

      Third, said Ridmark. Anything?

      Nothing for five miles in any direction, said Third. She stopped and paused to smell the air for a moment. The wind stirred her black hair, revealing the elven points of her pale ears. This is a peaceful country. The war has not reached it yet.

      No, said Ridmark. An old memory flickered through his mind as he recalled a day he had accompanied his father and his brothers on a hunt. They had ridden not far from here, pursuing the stags that wandered the forests of Taliand.

      We chose wisely to travel south from the Shaluuskan Forest before crossing the River Moradel, said Third. The western side of the river has been more peaceful than the eastern bank.

      It has, said Ridmark. Let us return to camp. He started walking to the east, and Third followed him. We should cross the Moradel today.

      We are only a few days’ journey from Castra Arban, said Third. Undoubtedly we could obtain a ferry at your father’s seat for an easier crossing.

      Another memory went through Ridmark. He had not returned to his childhood home, the ancestral seat of the House of the Arbanii, for nearly eight years. His last trip had been a visit with Aelia before they returned to Dux Gareth’s court at Castra Marcaine in the Northerland. Castra Arban sat upon a spur of land thrust into the river, and he remembered its tall towers and strong walls. On clear days, the river became a mirror, reflecting the castra’s image into the waters. A shiver of pain went through Ridmark. Both he and Aelia had hoped she would become pregnant during that visit, that on their next trip to Castra Arban they could present Dux Leogrance with a grandchild.

      Instead, a year later, Aelia was dead.

      Ridmark pushed aside the memory. What was done was done, however much he might regret it, and there had been more losses and more pains piled up in the years since. And if he did not keep his head clear, there might be still more losses.

      We could, said Ridmark. But undoubtedly Tarrabus will have spies watching Castra Arban. We can’t underestimate how far he is willing to go to kill the Keeper. Better to cross here, I think. From here, the River Moradel widens until it’s over a mile across at Tarlion.

      Third said nothing for a moment. Queen Mara had commanded her half-sister to look after Ridmark, and Third had interpreted that command to include Ridmark’s mental state as well as his physical safety. It was sometimes annoying, but Third was excellent at spotting errors in Ridmark’s reasoning.

      Agreed, said Third. On balance, crossing here is the least risky of our options.

      Yes, said Ridmark. Though every option carries risks now that we are so close to Tarlion.

      Ridmark had heard a dozen different rumors and stories from travelers as they drew closer to Tarlion, and all of them contradicted each other. One story said that Tarrabus had overcome Arandar and mounted his head on a stake. Another said that Tarrabus had seized Tarlion, and Arandar in turn now laid siege to him. Still another rumor claimed that Tarrabus had hired dvargir mercenaries from Khaldurmar and turned them against his own nation, allowing the dvargir to take slaves from the people of Andomhaim. That much, at least, Ridmark knew was true. Twice the dvargir had attacked Calliande, attempting to take her captive and present her to Tarrabus.

      His fingers tightened against his bow. If the dvargir tried to take Calliande, they would do it over his dead body.

      Which, he had to admit, the dvargir were entirely capable of doing.

      Once we cross the river, we shall have to exercise greater vigilance, said Third. The western side has been peaceful. The eastern side will not.

      It will not, agreed Ridmark. They had seen groups of men moving along the Moradel road on the eastern bank of the river. Some had the look of bandits, while others had been wearing the colors of Tarrabus Carhaine. The duxarchate of Calvus was on the other side of the Moradel, and the Dux of Calvus, Septimus Andrius, had thrown in with Tarrabus and the Enlightened. Calvus was hostile territory, and the last time they had passed through it, they had been attacked by dvargir, and the Weaver had murdered Sir Ector Naxius and taken his place.

      Of course, Ridmark had avenged Sir Ector.

      Burn with me…

      Lord magister? said Third.

      Ridmark blinked away a memory of fire and looked at Third. To his chagrin, he realized that his attention had wandered.

      Calvus will be chaotic, he said. We will simply have to be vigilant regardless of what happens.

      Sound counsel, said Third.

      Then let us put it into practice, said Ridmark, and he led the way back to the camp.

      ###

      Calliande helped make breakfast as the sound of steel on steel rang through the air.

      The men-at-arms who had been sworn to poor Sir Ector were appalled. Calliande was the Keeper of Andomhaim, the most powerful wielder of magic in the High Kingdom, the supreme authority on magic within the realm, and the advisor of the rightful High King.

      Nonetheless, she sliced the dense loaves of travel bread and roasted them over one of the campfires while a bemused man-at-arm chopped sausages and passed them to her.

      She found it relaxing. Her decisions had shaped the fate of kingdoms and nations, sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worse. Another woman might have found that exhilarating. Calliande found that it filled her with trepidation. She had a heavy, heavy responsibility, and she dared not take it lightly.

      By comparison, deciding when to take the bread off the pan was almost relaxing.

      Better! called Brother Caius.

      Calliande looked at her friends and smiled.

      On the other side of the campfire, in a cleared space between the tents, stood Gavin of Aranaeus. Of course, Antenora called him Gavin Swordbearer, and the name had caught on. Gavin was a strong young man of about eighteen, with brown eyes and curly brown hair. On his left arm rested a round shield of dwarven steel that had survived every battle since Khald Azalar and Dragonfall, and in his right hand he grasped the soulblade Truthseeker, which he had carried since their frantic escape from Urd Morlemoch. Right now, the soulblade was dark, the soulstone embedded in the tang of the sword giving off an occasional flicker of white light. That was good, since soulblades blazed with wrath in response to the presence of dark magic.

      Before Gavin stood two older men, an orc of Vhaluusk in blue armor and a dwarven friar in brown robes. Kharlacht gripped a greatsword of dark elven steel, the blue blade glinting in the morning sun, while Caius held his mace of bronze-colored dwarven steel. Caius moved to Gavin’s right, while Kharlacht moved to the Swordbearer’s left. Gavin responded at once, sidestepping to move closer to Kharlacht and put the orcish warrior between him and Caius. The dwarven friar circled to Kharlacht’s left, but Gavin pivoted, keeping his shield up and waiting for an opportunity to move inside Kharlacht’s greater reach and strike.

      Calliande smiled to herself. She had seen enough battles to notice how much Gavin had improved as a swordsman. Back when they had left Aranaeus, Gavin had rarely lasted long against Kharlacht and Caius during their practice duels. Now they had been fighting for five minutes without any mistakes on Gavin’s part, and Gavin won these mock fights as often as he lost them.

      The year he had spent with Prince Arandar’s army, fighting their way across Caerdracon to the gates of Castra Carhaine, had honed his skill. Calliande was pleased that he had survived.

      So many others had not.

      Antenora, said Calliande.

      Her apprentice stood next to her, a dark shadow in her hooded black coat, black-gloved hands grasping her dark staff. Beneath her hood, her yellow eyes glittered, and a flicker of longing went over her face as she gazed at Gavin. Antenora was a ruin of the prideful young woman she had once been, but enough of that young woman remained in the creature that she had become that she was falling in love with Gavin.

      Calliande couldn’t help Antenora or Gavin with that. She could, however, at least make sure Antenora was busy.

      Keeper? said Antenora.

      More fire, please, said Calliande.

      Antenora nodded, put the end of her staff into the campfire, and concentrated. Her staff pulsed with flames, symbols of yellow-orange fire glowing along its dark length, and the campfire blazed to new heat. Calliande held a hand over the fire and nodded.

      Thank you, said Calliande, dropping fresh slices of bread into the pan.

      I confess I had never thought of using the magic of elemental fire for cooking, said Antenora, her voice a worn rasp.

      Well, you don’t need to eat, said Calliande. The rest of us do.

      It is strange to see the Keeper of Andomhaim cooking breakfast, said Antenora, and Calliande laughed. Why is that amusing? It is strange.

      It is strange, but it shouldn’t be, said Calliande. The Keeper of Andomhaim has power, and the only proper use of power is to serve. Perhaps if Tarrabus Carhaine had served breakfast once or twice in his life, he might have learned a touch of humility.

      I’ve met Tarrabus Carhaine, said a rusty voice. The man never served anyone in his life.

      Calliande looked up as Camorak approached. The Magistrius wore his usual worn gray coat over his armor. He looked better than usual today, his eyes less bloodshot, and he had even managed to shave. The lack of strong drink on the road had done him good.

      So have I, said Calliande. You’re not wrong. In fact, Tarrabus had forced a kiss on her, and the memory still filled her with revulsion. She was reasonably sure Tarrabus had not tried to do the same to Camorak.

      Camorak grunted and worked a spell, a protective ward glimmering around his right hand. He reached into the fire and plucked out a piece of toast, his hand protected by the spell, sat down next to Calliande, and started to eat.

      You could make yourself useful, said Calliande.

      I already am, noble Keeper, said Camorak. I’m not hung over…

      Because you ran out of strong drink three days from Castra Durius, said Antenora.

      Whatever the reason, I am not hung over, said Camorak, and I warded myself against heat before I reached into the fire, thereby sparing you the effort of healing burns. He smiled and popped a piece of sausage into his mouth. I wouldn’t want to inflict that discomfort on you so early in the morning.

      How very thoughtful, said Calliande.

      Though, said Camorak, after you’ve healed a man with his guts hanging down his legs, burned fingers don’t seem that serious.

      They don’t, said Calliande, and she took the rest of the toast from the fire. Camorak was abrasive and blunt, and he had a habit towards drunkenness that was going to kill him unless he got it under control. He was also one of the best healers that Calliande had ever met. To heal the wounds of another, a Magistrius or a Magistria had to take on the pain of the wounds for the duration of the healing spell, and many Magistri simply did not have the stamina to do so. Camorak did, though, and many of the men-at-arms traveling with her were still alive because Camorak had healed their mortal wounds.

      She sometimes envied Camorak’s ability to get drunk. Too much strong drink simply made Calliande woozy and nauseated. On the other hand, she knew that Camorak had started drinking to deal with the loss of his wife and child to plague years before he had even become a Magistrius. She suspected that the drinking had become a habit for him since he hardly seemed crippled by grief for his wife and child.

      Ridmark, though…there was a man who knew what it meant to be driven by grief.

      But Ridmark seemed to have gotten better. When Calliande had met him on the slopes of the Black Mountain, he had been haunted by his wife’s death at the hands of Mhalek. After Imaria and the Weaver had killed Morigna, Ridmark had been filled with rage, so much that he had nearly killed himself to strike at Morigna’s murderers in the burning wreckage of Dun Licinia’s keep.

      He had repaid the Weaver for Morigna’s death with fire and agony.

      In doing so, he had also saved the royal court of Khald Tormen and secured the help of the dwarves in the grand alliance Calliande was trying to build against the Frostborn. After surviving that ordeal, Ridmark no longer seemed so grief-stricken or enraged. Now he seemed…older, somehow, sadder but wiser, but no less determined, and he even laughed on occasion.

      Calliande found that she liked the change in him.

      That was something else she enjoyed about cooking. It was an excellent time to sort through her thoughts while something else occupied her hands.

      You’re smiling, said Camorak suspiciously. That cannot be good.

      Am I? said Calliande, smirking at him.

      Dare I ask what you are thinking about? said Camorak.

      The Keeper ponders matters of grave importance, said Antenora.

      That, said Calliande, and making sure the toast doesn’t burn.

      Also a matter of grave importance, said Camorak, taking another bite.

      There was a thump, a grunt of pain, and Calliande looked up from the fire. Gavin had landed on his backside, breathing hard, while Kharlacht pointed his greatsword at him. The orcish warrior was also breathing hard, his massive chest rising and falling like a bellows, while Brother Caius stood over them both.

      I think you’ve got me, said Gavin with a laugh.

      Caius extended a hand and helped Gavin back to his feet. Barely.

      Aye, grunted Kharlacht, returning his greatsword to its sheath as Gavin picked up Truthseeker. You need to watch your legs. It is a habit of using that round shield, I expect. A kite shield might serve you better, but it would not be as resilient as one of dwarven steel.

      We don’t make kite shields, said Caius, because the khaldari do not fight from horseback.

      Because you are too short, said Kharlacht.

      True, said Caius without rancor.

      Gavin snorted and brushed off his trousers. It’s because you prefer to fight inside those giant suits of magical armor.

      The taalkrazdors do offer certain tactical advantages, said Caius.

      Yes, like smashing everything in their path, said Gavin.

      That is a tactical advantage, said Kharlacht.

      I am not sure how much more we have left to teach you, Sir Gavin, said Caius. Experience is a harsher instructor than any master at arms, and you’ve survived the last year. Just remember to guard your legs against shorter opponents, such as myself.

      I shall, said Gavin, slinging his shield over his back.

      Since that is settled, said Kharlacht, we ought to have breakfast.

      All three men turned towards the campfire. Calliande blinked in surprise, wondering when she had started considering Gavin a man. He was so young, but he had survived Urd Morlemoch and Khald Azalar and dozens of battles since then.

      War aged one quickly.

      Antenora handed them plates of bread and sausage. She gave a plate to Gavin first, and he gave her a bashful smile in return. Calliande wondered if any of the others noticed that.

      Do you think we will cross the Moradel today? said Gavin.

      Probably, said Caius. If I remember correctly, the river only gets wider as we go further south, and with respect to the Keeper, she might not be able to create a bridge.

      Agreed, said Calliande. I can do it at this width of the river, but any more might be harder. And I doubt Ridmark will want to cross at Castra Arban. Some part of her mind pointed out that he would not want to see his ancestral home again, but she doubted he would let that influence his judgment. Tarrabus probably has spies watching the ferries there. If we can join Arandar’s camp without Tarrabus realizing it, all the better.

      I hope they are all right, said Gavin. Everyone in Prince Arandar’s army, I mean. We saw a lot of battle together.

      We did, said Calliande, and we are bound to see some more.

      She wasn’t sure how Arandar’s army fared. The rumors had been contradictory, so she had attempted to use the Sight to discern Prince Arandar’s fate. The Sight was often challenging to control, and sometimes it acted more like an instinct than a conscious ability. Nevertheless, she was sure that Arandar was still alive, that he and Tarrabus Carhaine had not yet come to battle. The conflict between them had not yet been decided.

      Calliande was aware that her own choices might decide that conflict.

      Our fates are in the hands of God, said Caius. It was a platitude, but after seeing the damaged armor of his slain son in Khald Tormen, Calliande knew how much it had cost him to say that.

      He has seen us this far, said Calliande. Let us hope God sees us a little farther. Antenora turned her head to the west. And right now, it seems as if our direction is about to be decided.

      Ridmark and Third strode into the camp and headed for the fire.

      A jangle of emotions went through Calliande’s heart as she looked at Ridmark. Some of it was relief that he had returned safely from his patrol. Some of it was sympathy for how much pain he had endured. Some of it, quite a lot of it, was affection. The duty of the Keeper was a heavy burden, but he had helped her carry that burden. Without his help, the Enlightened would have killed her, and she would not have been able to bring the manetaurs and the dwarves to help the Anathgrimm against the Frostborn.

      And some of it, she was embarrassed to admit, was simple lust.

      Calliande had never lain with a man. Before she had gone into the long sleep below the Tower of Vigilance, her duties first as the Keeper’s apprentice and then the Keeper had kept her too busy for such things. After she had awakened from the long sleep, she had fallen in love with Ridmark, but she had been missing her memory, and he had fallen in love with Morigna.

      A lot had happened since then, though.

      Calliande had never been with a man, but if she was going to be with one, it was going to be Ridmark Arban.

      Which was just as well, because she loved him with an intensity that sometimes surprised her. She had drawn on the power of the Stone Heart in Khald Tormen to save him, and looking back at her actions after the fury of emotion had passed, the recklessness of that shocked her. It might well have killed her, Ridmark, and everyone else in the Stone Heart.

      But it hadn’t, and he was alive.

      Anything dangerous? said Kharlacht.

      I saw four deer and three wild turkeys, said Third. Of enemies, I saw none.

      A rare enough occurrence, said Caius.

      Truly, said Ridmark. His eyes, blue and sharp, met Calliande’s and a shiver of emotion went through her. If you can work the icy bridge here, I think we should cross the Moradel today. We could take one of my father’s ferries at Castra Arban, but Tarrabus almost certainly has spies there. Better to cross without anyone noticing us.

      Calliande laughed.

      What? said Ridmark. He almost smiled.

      I was just telling the others the same thing, said Calliande. I’m pleased we’re in agreement. It would be best to cross today.

      We will almost certainly encounter foes on the eastern side of the river, said Kharlacht.

      Ridmark shrugged. Between Tarrabus’s outriders and his dvargir mercenaries, we are bound to run into foes. We might just as easily run into Arandar’s patrols. There is no way to know until we cross. On balance, this is probably the least risky course. If we cross at Castra Arban, we might find another Enlightened ambush waiting for us.

      Calliande shuddered with the memory of the dvargir crossbow bolt punching into her stomach. It wasn’t something she wanted to experience again, and Caradog Lordac had almost killed them all.

      So be it, said Calliande. Let’s cross today, and hope it goes better than all my previous crossings of the Moradel.

      Ridmark snorted. Have you ever had a peaceful crossing?

      Yes, said Calliande, but that was centuries ago. And the first time I crossed the Moradel after awakening from the long sleep, Brother Caius and I were attacked by Tymandain Shadowbearer’s undead kobolds.

      Aye, said Gavin. I had forgotten about that. It seems like a thousand years ago, doesn’t it?

      A thousand, agreed Ridmark. Let’s get ready to leave, and hope this crossing is peaceful.

      If it wasn’t, Calliande knew, he would be ready.

      ###

      Gavin brought up the back of the column as the horses and carts struggled to the bank of the River Moradel. The river was already hundreds of yards wide here, the waters flowing swiftly with a powerful current. Gavin would not have wanted to swim the river unencumbered, let alone while wearing armor and carrying his soulblade and his pack.

      Fortunately, with Calliande’s magic, he wouldn’t have to do it.

      The Keeper stood at the edge of the waters, white light flashing up and down her worn staff as she cast a spell. White mist swirled around the fingers of her left hand, and she thrust her arm forward, the white mist rolling from her fingers and into the water.

      The icy bridge began to appear.

      It rose from the water, a glistening expanse of white ice, and arched from the western bank to the eastern bank. Calliande closed her eyes, her face tight with concentration, and the bridge expanded, becoming five yards wide. Evidently holding that much water frozen against the pressure of the river took a great deal of effort.

      Stay with the Keeper, said Ridmark, and Gavin nodded. If the Enlightened or other enemies tried to make a move against Calliande, Gavin and Antenora were her best line of defense. Ridmark beckoned to Kharlacht, Caius, and Third, and they fell in around him. Third took two steps forward and vanished in a flare of blue fire. An instant later she reappeared halfway across the bridge, only to vanish in another pulse of blue flame. She would scout the forests along the Moradel road, looking for any sign of enemies.

      Ridmark, Kharlacht, and Caius crossed first, weapons in hand. Then came Sir Ector’s surviving men-at-arms and the remaining supply wagons. Gavin noted that the wagons were much emptier than they had been when they had set out from Castra Carhaine to find Ridmark and Queen Mara. It was just as well they were returning to Arandar’s army. A pity Third hadn’t killed any of those deer or turkeys for the meat.

      Gavin waited as the men crossed, keeping a close eye on the forest. No enemies emerged to challenge them. Gavin found his eyes straying to Antenora as they waited. She stood motionless, her dark coat stirring in the breeze. Antenora always looked so grim, but she had seemed happy to see him as he approached after his training with Kharlacht and Caius.

      He had been happy to see her, too.

      But he didn’t know what to do about that. From time to time, he thought about kissing Antenora, but he knew she could not feel it if he did. In some ways, she was more undead than alive. She required neither food nor drink, felt neither pain nor pleasure, and could heal from the wounds of normal weapons. Dark magic cursed her, and that curse would hold until she fulfilled her oath and helped Calliande to defeat the Frostborn.

      When she fulfilled her oath, she would die in truth.

      That thought filled him with a deep sadness.

      We should probably cross, said Camorak, who was standing behind them. All the others are almost across.

      Yes, said Gavin.

      Calliande nodded and opened her eyes, taking a deep breath. Please make sure I don’t fall into the water. This is harder than it looks.

      Of course, said Gavin, and he led the way across the icy bridge, Antenora and Camorak walking behind Calliande to make sure she kept her balance. It was hot enough that the surface of the ice was melting, though from time to time a pulse of white mist flowed across the ice to refreeze it. Gavin had to choose his footsteps carefully. He could not imagine holding such a powerful spell in place while walking on such a slippery surface, but Calliande managed it, though Antenora had to grab her elbow a few times.

      At last, they crossed onto the eastern bank, and Gavin scrambled up the steep incline and onto the Moradel road. According to Brother Caius, the High Kings of Andomhaim had built the Moradel road as the realm expanded north, and the road was in better repair the further south one went. Here the road was in good shape, broad and flat and hard, and even had low ditches on either side to prevent flooding.

      They had taken three steps onto the road when Calliande came to a stop and let out a shuddering gasp. A loud crack rang out, and Gavin turned just in time to see the icy bridge disintegrate into dozens of jagged chunks. They washed away with the current, some of them already melting. Calliande took a shuddering breath and wiped some sweat from her forehead.

      That is a lot harder in summer, she said.

      I can imagine, said Camorak. It’s a pity I don’t have any drink left. I could ask you to make some ice for it.

      Calliande gave him an exasperated look and walked to Ridmark, who stood frowning into the forest.

      Anything? said Calliande.

      "Not

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