Frostborn: The False King Read Online Free Page B
Author: Jonathan Moeller
“We have shown the enemy the hard hand of war. Let us continue to do so.”
“Retreating to Nightmane Forest seems wiser,” said Caius. “We have wiped out seven groups of enemy soldiers in the last month. Sooner or later we shall draw a strong reaction. The Frostborn cannot lay siege to Castra Marcaine if we continually disrupt their lines and harass their forces. Eventually they will hunt us down.”
Unfortunately, both Caius and Qhazulak were right. Ridmark’s warband had hit the Frostborn seven times in the last four weeks, and there were other Anathgrimm warbands rampaging through the Northerland. His warriors were a serious irritation to the Frostborn, and he knew their attacks had hindered the Frostborn siege of Castra Marcaine. Too much more and the Frostborn would devote their full attention to driving back the Anathgrimm, or even finding a way to batter through the ancient wards around Nightmane Forest. Or they would seize Castra Marcaine, sweep through the Northerland, and crush the loyalist army against the walls of Castra Carhaine to the south.
The path ahead was unclear, and every choice carried potentially disastrous consequences.
“Castra Marcaine,” said Ridmark. “We’ll head towards Castra Marcaine and seek new foes. The longer we keep the Frostborn bottled up in the Northerland, the longer Prince Regent Arandar has to defeat Tarrabus and reunify the realm. Without the full might of Andomhaim, we won’t be able to drive the Frostborn…”
“Magister,” said Third, gazing at the sky.
Ridmark looked up and saw the frost drake flying high overhead.
The creature was about the size of a wyvern, its muscled body covered in grayish-blue scales, its wings spread like sails. On its back, he glimpsed a massive figure in gray armor the color of ice in the heart of winter. One of the Frostborn themselves, deadly in battle and capable of potent magic, and Ridmark braced himself. A single frost drake was a fierce opponent, and with the power of Frostborn magic to back it up…
Yet the Frostborn warrior was not interested in a battle. The frost drake banked in silence, flying away to the north.
“It seems,” said Kharlacht, “that the scout has flown to report our presence to Lord Commander Kajaldrakthor.”
“Aye,” said Ridmark. “The governance of ten cities, was it not? What the Frostborn promised for my death?”
“They will return with a strong force,” said Third. “Perhaps it is time we returned to Nightmane Forest. Nearly all the other warbands you dispatched would have withdrawn by now.”
“I dislike showing our back to the foe,” said Qhazulak.
“If the Frostborn come for us in force we are finished,” said Caius. “Better to retreat to Nightmane Forest and prepare a new campaign.”
“We have slowed their siege of Castra Marcaine by months,” said Kharlacht. “That will give us time to act.”
All that was true. Yet there was one factor they had overlooked. Ridmark looked to where Accolon followed Camorak, helping with the wounded Anathgrimm. Accolon was the heir to the throne of Andomhaim, assuming Arandar could wrest it from Tarrabus. If Ridmark and the others were all killed, that was bad enough. If Accolon was killed, that was much worse.
“We will return to Nightmane Forest,” said Ridmark, “as soon as the wounded are strong enough to walk.”
###
An hour later they headed west through the pine forests, leaving the dead medvarth to rot. The medvarth warriors had carried a lot of supplies, jerky and the strange thick bread the armies of the Frostborn used. None of it tasted very good, but it was edible, and it seemed impervious to mold and rot.
At the speed the Anathgrimm marched, Ridmark thought they could cross the River Moradel and return to Nightmane Forest within three to four days.
And then?
He didn’t know what they would do then.
They had followed the strategy that Ridmark and Mara had agreed upon with Prince
“Retreating to Nightmane Forest seems wiser,” said Caius. “We have wiped out seven groups of enemy soldiers in the last month. Sooner or later we shall draw a strong reaction. The Frostborn cannot lay siege to Castra Marcaine if we continually disrupt their lines and harass their forces. Eventually they will hunt us down.”
Unfortunately, both Caius and Qhazulak were right. Ridmark’s warband had hit the Frostborn seven times in the last four weeks, and there were other Anathgrimm warbands rampaging through the Northerland. His warriors were a serious irritation to the Frostborn, and he knew their attacks had hindered the Frostborn siege of Castra Marcaine. Too much more and the Frostborn would devote their full attention to driving back the Anathgrimm, or even finding a way to batter through the ancient wards around Nightmane Forest. Or they would seize Castra Marcaine, sweep through the Northerland, and crush the loyalist army against the walls of Castra Carhaine to the south.
The path ahead was unclear, and every choice carried potentially disastrous consequences.
“Castra Marcaine,” said Ridmark. “We’ll head towards Castra Marcaine and seek new foes. The longer we keep the Frostborn bottled up in the Northerland, the longer Prince Regent Arandar has to defeat Tarrabus and reunify the realm. Without the full might of Andomhaim, we won’t be able to drive the Frostborn…”
“Magister,” said Third, gazing at the sky.
Ridmark looked up and saw the frost drake flying high overhead.
The creature was about the size of a wyvern, its muscled body covered in grayish-blue scales, its wings spread like sails. On its back, he glimpsed a massive figure in gray armor the color of ice in the heart of winter. One of the Frostborn themselves, deadly in battle and capable of potent magic, and Ridmark braced himself. A single frost drake was a fierce opponent, and with the power of Frostborn magic to back it up…
Yet the Frostborn warrior was not interested in a battle. The frost drake banked in silence, flying away to the north.
“It seems,” said Kharlacht, “that the scout has flown to report our presence to Lord Commander Kajaldrakthor.”
“Aye,” said Ridmark. “The governance of ten cities, was it not? What the Frostborn promised for my death?”
“They will return with a strong force,” said Third. “Perhaps it is time we returned to Nightmane Forest. Nearly all the other warbands you dispatched would have withdrawn by now.”
“I dislike showing our back to the foe,” said Qhazulak.
“If the Frostborn come for us in force we are finished,” said Caius. “Better to retreat to Nightmane Forest and prepare a new campaign.”
“We have slowed their siege of Castra Marcaine by months,” said Kharlacht. “That will give us time to act.”
All that was true. Yet there was one factor they had overlooked. Ridmark looked to where Accolon followed Camorak, helping with the wounded Anathgrimm. Accolon was the heir to the throne of Andomhaim, assuming Arandar could wrest it from Tarrabus. If Ridmark and the others were all killed, that was bad enough. If Accolon was killed, that was much worse.
“We will return to Nightmane Forest,” said Ridmark, “as soon as the wounded are strong enough to walk.”
###
An hour later they headed west through the pine forests, leaving the dead medvarth to rot. The medvarth warriors had carried a lot of supplies, jerky and the strange thick bread the armies of the Frostborn used. None of it tasted very good, but it was edible, and it seemed impervious to mold and rot.
At the speed the Anathgrimm marched, Ridmark thought they could cross the River Moradel and return to Nightmane Forest within three to four days.
And then?
He didn’t know what they would do then.
They had followed the strategy that Ridmark and Mara had agreed upon with Prince