Frostborn: The False King by Jonathan Moeller

forest was as sharp and clear as if it had been cut by a razor. Beneath the boughs, Ridmark saw nothing but shadows. It was strange that he had come to think of the Forest as a refuge. All his life, the Traveler and his Anathgrimm had been mortal enemies of the High Kingdom. Then Mara had killed her insane father, and only Queen Mara and the Anathgrimm had kept Tarrabus Carhaine from total victory. 
    “Lord magister,” said Qhazulak, cutting into Ridmark’s thoughts. “All the warriors have crossed.” 
    “Good,” said Ridmark. “Into the Forest. Best not to linger.”
    The Anathgrimm formed up, and they marched into Nightmane Forest, passing the boundary of the outer wards. Ridmark had no magical ability, and so could not sense when they passed the mighty layers of wards the Traveler had laid across the boundaries of his realm. Yet the symbols upon his staff flared with white fire for a moment, and Camorak grimaced and shook his head, rubbing his temples. 
    Nightmane Forest might have become a refuge, but Ridmark had to admit that it looked damned strange. 
    The maze of branches overhead blocked out most of the light, but Ridmark had no trouble seeing. An eerie, pale blue glow illuminated the trees, seeming to come from no obvious source. Strange plants grew upon the ground, odd ferns of blue color and mushrooms that gave off a flickering light. Here and there stood menhirs of white stone, carved with dark elven symbols and glowing with the blue fire of the Traveler’s spells. Between the menhirs ran a road of white stone, leading deeper into the Forest. The Traveler had never bothered constructing a citadel within the forest, save for the storehouses that held his vast hoard of weapons and food. Yet he had built roads within the trees, allowing the Anathgrimm to march in haste to the borders of his realm. 
    Four Anathgrimm moved along the road, crossbows in hand, and stopped as Ridmark and the others approached.
    “Lord Magister, Lord Champion,” said the lead Anathgrimm in greeting. “The Queen bade us to wait for your return.”
    “Where is she?” said Ridmark. “We have news for her.”
    “The Eastern Court,” said the Anathgrimm.
    “Lead on,” said Ridmark.
     
    ###
     
    Two hours later they came to the Eastern Court of Nightmane Forest. 
    Most of Nightmane Forest was illuminated by the strange blue glow of the Traveler’s wards, motes of blue light dancing from branch to branch. Silence hung over the Forest, yet ahead Ridmark heard the murmur of voices and saw the flare of firelight. It never rained in Nightmane Forest, and it never snowed, but at the same time, it always remained a little chilly, so the fire’s warmth was a welcome relief as they approached. 
    “Qhazulak,” said Ridmark. “Make sure the men have rest and food.”
    “It shall be done,” rasped the old orc, and he snapped orders to his lieutenants. 
    The Anathgrimm dispersed to their camps and barracks, and Ridmark, Qhazulak, Kharlacht, Caius, Camorak, Accolon, and Third walked into the Eastern Court. 
    The Court had been arranged with oak trees growing on the side, the trunks seeming like pillars and the interlocked branches overhead like a vaulted roof. At the far end of the impromptu hall stood a heaped mass of granite boulders, a few of them arranged to form a stone throne. 
    Mara, Queen of Nightmane Forest, sat upon the stone throne.
    The chair dwarfed her. She was barely five feet tall, and she seemed like a tiny thing in her father’s seat. The dark elven armor and the diadem of blue steel that she wore made her seem taller, but not by very much. She had large green eyes and pale blond hair, the hair swept back to reveal the points of her half-dark elven ears. Once she had taken care to conceal those points, but no longer. Despite her size, she looked like a cold, aloof dark elven noblewoman.
    The illusion shattered when she smiled. 
    “Somehow, I just knew you would return victorious,” said the halfling man