Free Frostborn: The False King by Jonathan Moeller Page B

“Though I am certain the Gray Knight is still alive.”
    “Really?” said Gavin. “I suppose we would have heard if he was killed.”
    “Perhaps,” said Antenora, “but we would know at once. Calliande still carries the dagger he gave her. Every night, she casts the spell to track his location. If he had been slain, she would know.” 
    “Every night?” said Gavin, blinking in surprise. 
    “She misses him,” said Antenora, her voice a quiet rasp. “She is the Keeper, powerful and wise. It is easy to forget that she is relatively young.”
    “She’s two hundred and fifty years old,” said Gavin. 
    “And she spent two hundred and twenty of those in enspelled sleep,” said Antenora. “Her heart is young…and it belongs to the Gray Knight.” 
    “I thought that,” said Gavin. “Of course, it is none of my business.” 
    Antenora said nothing for a while.
    “Have you ever been in love, Gavin Swordbearer?” she said.
    Gavin shrugged. “I thought I was. A girl named Rosanna, in my village of Aranaeus. She married my friend Philip. A year and a half ago, I thought she was all I wanted in the world. And now...” He shrugged. “I could not go back to Aranaeus. I have seen too much. And I have no family left.”
    Antenora said nothing, gazing at the road.
    “What about you?” said Gavin. “Have you been in love?”
    She looked at him, opened her mouth, and closed it again. 
    “Oh,” said Gavin, and he remembered her history. Mordred Pendragon had seduced her long ago, leaving her cursed with dark magic that would not let her die. “Forgive me. That was rude.” 
    To his surprise, she smiled a little. It almost made her look alive again. “You are many things, Gavin Swordbearer, but rude is not one of them.” 
    They rode on in silence, heading north along the River Moradel.

Chapter 4: The Queen
     
    Ridmark waited as the last of the Anathgrimm crossed the River Moradel. 
    The Moradel was the largest river in Andomhaim, broad and wide and deep, but in centuries past, the Traveler had commanded the Anathgrimm to construct hidden fords in the river. The High King had tried to destroy the fords whenever the Anathgrimm constructed them, but the Anathgrimm had built new ones. Qhazulak had pointed out three that Ridmark never even suspected existed. 
    He rolled his shoulders, stretching tired muscles, and looked at his soldiers. The bulk of the Anathgrimm tended to their arms and armor. Kharlacht and Caius stood at the edge of the bank, arguing about some obscure point of theology. Qhazulak supervised the crossing, snarling imprecations at any Anathgrimm warrior who failed to meet the Champion’s standards. Accolon waited with Camorak, questioning the Magistrius on the nature of healing spells. Camorak, when he was sober, was an excellent teacher, and if Accolon lived to become High King, he would take the throne with a thorough knowledge of magical theory.
    Blue fire swirled next to Ridmark, and Third appeared out of nothingness, a dark shadow in her armor. She stumbled on the uneven ground, and Ridmark caught her elbow, helping her to recover her balance. 
    “Thank you,” said Third, pulling away from him. She hated to have anyone touch her for any reason. 
    “Anything?” said Ridmark.
    “As far as I am able to determine, we are unobserved,” said Third. “This ford will remain hidden for now.” 
    “Good,” said Ridmark. “We might need it again. The scouts have seen the locusari and the medvarth moving along the eastern bank in heavier numbers than usual.” 
    “Our raids have drawn a response,” said Third. “We may need to adjust our strategy.” 
    “Probably,” said Ridmark. “We will need to discuss it with the Queen and the Prince Consort.”
    Third said nothing to that, her attention turning to the river, and Ridmark looked at the towering green wall of Nightmane Forest. 
    It was a huge line of oak trees, some of them rising over a hundred feet tall. The edge of the