For that matter, Kalussa didn’t even want to steal Calliande’s husband. She just wanted to share him. Kalussa’s view on the matter was like that of the orcs of Rhaluusk and Mhorluusk and Khaluusk back home. The orcs of the three baptized kingdoms would have thought it baffling that a warrior of Ridmark’s renown had only one wife, and Kalussa thought the same.
And that put a sick fear in Calliande’s stomach.
What if Calliande couldn’t lie with Ridmark any longer, at least not without excruciating pain? Joanna’s birth had been hard, and she had not completely recovered. She had tried to sleep with Ridmark exactly once since that awful time, and it hadn’t gone well.
Maybe it was Calliande’s fault. Maybe if she had been able to save her daughter, things would have been different. And perhaps what had happened to Joanna was her fault as well. Calliande had put herself to sleep below the Tower of Vigilance for over two centuries, and maybe that had damaged her body. Both Gareth’s birth and Joachim’s birth had been hard, and maybe Joanna’s death was truly her fault…
Stop it.
Calliande had fallen to pieces in Andomhaim. She could not afford to do so here, not in this hostile land. Ridmark and her sons needed her wits and her magic. For that matter, they had only been here eleven days, and they had already acquired enemies. Calliande doubted that Khurazalin would forget or forgive his defeat at Castra Chaeldon.
And Ridmark was alive. Her sons were alive. Had things gone even a little differently at Castra Chaeldon, they might all be dead. She was grateful for that. Many women of Tarlion had lost their husbands and their sons in a single day during the war against the Frostborn.
She took a deep breath, using the discipline of magic to clear her mind of the toxic emotions, at least for now.
“Calliande?” said Ridmark in a low voice.
She blinked and looked at him, and a wave of deep affection rolled through her. What would she have done without him? Well, that was an easy question. She would have been dead for ten years now without him, and the Frostborn would have conquered the world.
“I think,” said Calliande, “that we…”
And then something so absurd happened that Calliande forgot everything else for a second.
The road was climbing the side of a hill, and the surrounding hills showed cultivation, their slopes hewn into terraces. The Mhorites of Kothluusk and the men of the Northerland did something similar back in Andomhaim, transforming otherwise unusable hills into fertile farmland. The road passed below the stone base of one of the terraces.
And then something small and scaled jumped from the terrace and landed before them.
Ridmark reacted at once, the bamboo staff blurring in his hands as he prepared to strike. Calliande called her power, the staff of the Keeper glowing white with magical flames.
She got a better look at the small, scaled creature. Her first thought was that it was a kobold, but kobolds were far spindlier, and this creature was stocky, almost plump. Kobolds had long, narrow skulls filled with fangs, and this creature’s skull was blockier, with large nostrils and blinking yellow eyes. It stood about four feet tall, its arms and legs thick with muscle, and it had a thick, short tail.
And it wasn’t doing anything threatening. Instead, the creature stared at the white light glowing around Calliande’s staff. It was hard to read anything on that alien, lizard-like face, but Calliande thought the creature looked…fascinated, somehow. Like a human infant with a shiny object.
“Wait!” said Tamlin. “Wait!”
He jogged up to Ridmark’s side.
“What is it?” said Ridmark.
“He’s not dangerous,” said Tamlin.
“Oh!” said Kalussa. “It’s a saurtyri.”
“What’s a saurtyri?” said Calliande.
The lizard-like creature, presumably the saurtyri in question, pointed at himself. “Kezedek.” His voice was a frog-like croak.
“Greetings, Kezedek,” said Tamlin. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Tamlin Lord,” said Kezedek.
“What,” said Ridmark, “are the saurtyri?”
“Another kindred,” said Kalussa. “Long ago they were the slaves of the Sovereign, but my ancestors the High Kings freed them. In gratitude, the saurtyri swore to serve the High Kings of Owyllain.”
“Like the halflings in Andomhaim,” said Ridmark.
That thought left Calliande cold. The halflings in Andomhaim had indeed sworn to serve various noble lords as servants, and not all the lords treated their servants kindly. Sir Paul Tallmane had murdered a man, convinced Jager’s father to take the blame to spare the family’s honor, and then had let old Hilder face execution for the crime.
“Does the High King of Owyllain keep them as slaves, then?” said Calliande, keeping her voice calm.
Kalussa laughed. “Certainly not, my lady. King Justin Cyros and the Confessor might keep slaves, but my father does not, nor have any of the Pendragon kings. Mistreat a saurtyri, and they will go and seek a kindlier lord.”
“Saurtyri must have lord,” said Kezedek. “But saurtyri only work for lawful lord. Not lawless. Humans insane, but tolerably so. Insane humans make for acceptable lords, so long as they are lawful.”
“I see,” said Calliande. The saurtyri looked a great deal like kobolds. Perhaps they had come from the same world in the deeps of time. The kobolds preferred to eat meat, but to judge from the broad, flat teeth in Kezedek’s mouth, perhaps the saurtyri preferred plants. Maybe they wanted a powerful protector to shield them from predators.
“Tamlin Lord,” said Kezedek. He pointed at the road. “Go to human town. Gray elf.”
Tamlin frowned. “There is a gray elf in Myllene?”
“Gray elf,” repeated Kezedek. “Arcanius Knights needed.”
With that, Kezedek turned and jogged up the road. The squat little creature moved with surprising speed.
“That was a saurtyri headman, Sir Tamlin,” said Kalussa. “How do you know a saurtyri headman?”
“Hmm?” said Tamlin. “Oh, I happened to save his life from some kobold raiders the first time I passed through Myllene.” He looked at Calliande. “The kobolds and the saurtyri hate each other for some reason. Goes back to before humans ever came to Owyllain. Maybe even before the Sovereign came here, for all I know.”
“What did he mean about a gray elf?” said Ridmark.
Tamlin shrugged. “Presumably that there is a gray elf in Myllene. I am afraid the saurtyri are somewhat linear thinkers.”
Ridmark looked at Calliande. “Could it be Rhodruthain?”
“It seems unlikely, Lord Ridmark,” said Parmenio. “The Guardian of Cathair Animus is known throughout Owyllain and hated for his betrayal of High King Kothlaric. He would not be welcomed at any town or city in the realm.”
Calliande frowned. Was this gray elf the source of the pulses of elemental magic she had seen earlier?
“Then let’s find out what is happening,” said Ridmark. “How much farther to Myllene?”
“About two miles,” said Parmenio.
“Then the sooner we arrive, the sooner we’ll have an answer,” said Ridmark.
Calliande followed Ridmark as the column jerked back into motion. Could Rhodruthain await them at Myllene? If the Guardian of Cathair Animus was there, he would not take Calliande unawares a second time.
She would force him to send them back to Andomhaim…or she would make him regret putting her children in danger.
A short time later they came to the town of Myllene.
It was a town of about three thousand people, the surrounding hills covered in terraces. Calliande spotted men and women and saurtyri at work in the fields. Unless she missed her guess, there were at least twice as many women as men working in the fields. The town itself filled a wide hilltop, surrounded by a sturdy wall of stone. Within Calliande saw houses roofed with tiles of fired clay and the central tower of a small castra. She was startled to see that the houses did not look all that diff
erent from the houses of Andomhaim. Then again, both the people of Andomhaim and the people of Owyllain had common ancestors, so perhaps it wasn’t all that surprising.
Two hoplites stood guard at the gate, and they stared in surprise as the column approached.
“Sir Tamlin,” said one of the hoplites, a middle-aged man with the weary look of a veteran. “We’re surprised to see you’re alive. We heard that Sir Tyromon’s column had been ambushed and that Sir Archaelon had turned traitor…”
“Aye, he did, Marius,” said Tamlin, “but Castra Chaeldon is in the hands of loyal men once again. It is quite a tale to tell, and we’re on our way to Aenesium to relate it to King Hektor.” The two hoplites were staring at Ridmark with frank surprise. Humans wearing dark elven armor were not a common sight in Owyllain. “But that is a tale for another time. We met the saurtyri headman on the road, and he said there was a gray elf in the town?”
“Aye,” said Marius. “It…I don’t know what is going on, sir knight. The gray elf is standing on the stairs to the church. He didn’t issue any threats, but he says he is waiting for someone.”
“Pardon, hoplite,” said Calliande, “but did he have a staff of red gold?”
Marius blinked at her. “Is he old Rhodruthain, you mean? He isn’t. I was with High King Kothlaric’s host at Urd Maelwyn and Cathair Animus, and I know the old trickster on sight.” He shrugged. “He’s got a bow and a sword, if that helps, and he says he’s waiting for some people called the Shield Knight and the Keeper…”
“What?” said Tamlin.
Marius shrugged. “That’s what I said, sir. The Shield Knight and the Keeper. The gray elf isn’t bothering anyone, but he says he’s waiting for the Shield Knight and the Keeper.”
“Well,” said Tamlin, “they’re here. Meet Ridmark Arban, the Shield Knight of Andomhaim, and Calliande Arban, the Keeper of Andomhaim.”
“Andomhaim?” said Marius, blinking. “But Andomhaim was destroyed a long time ago.”
“Not yet,” said Ridmark, looking back at the column. “Sir Tamlin, take charge here and get the men to lodgings. Lady Calliande and I are going to see what this gray elf wishes.”
“You should not go alone, Lord Ridmark,” said Kalussa at once. “It is too dangerous.” Irritation went through Calliande, but she forced it down. Kalussa had a point. “If this gray elf means you harm, you will need help.”
“Very well,” said Ridmark. “Sir Parmenio, please get the men to their lodgings. Sir Tamlin, Sir Aegeus, Lady Kalussa, come with me.” Ridmark stepped past her to where Gareth and Joachim had been listening to the conversation. “Gareth, Joachim, you’re going to stay in the cart and do whatever Sir Parmenio tells you to do. Understand?”
“Can’t we come with you?” said Joachim, his eyes widening.
“You’re going to be knights someday,” said Ridmark, “which means you have to do what you’re told.” The boys nodded. “This won’t take long. Your mother and I will be back shortly.”
Gareth and Joachim nodded, and both boys climbed into one of the wagons. Once again Calliande wondered how Ridmark got them to do that. The boys usually obeyed her, though sometimes she had to shout the same instruction three or four times. Ridmark just looked at them, and they did what he said.
Still, considering that he had no rank in Owyllain but he had taken command of Sir Tyromon’s remaining forces anyway, perhaps telling two small children what to do was easy by comparison.
“Don’t worry, my lady,” said Parmenio. “I’ll look after them. I have ten children myself, so I know what to do.”
Calliande blinked. Ten? She never would have guessed. For that matter, ten sounded exhausting. Little wonder Parmenio enjoyed scouting alone through the wilderness.
“Let’s go,” said Ridmark.
“Ah…Shield Knight,” said Marius, giving him a wary look. “Before I can admit you, I need to know if you are friend or foe to Owyllain and King Hektor."
Tamlin and Kalussa both bristled, but Ridmark remained calm. “I slew Sir Archaelon with my own hands, so I suppose that makes me a friend.” He tapped Oathshield’s hilt, the soulstone in the pommel giving off a faint flicker of white light. “But this blade was forged to destroy creatures and wielders of dark magic, and if this gray elf means Myllene harm, Lady Calliande and I will see an end to it.”
Marius considered that. “Very well, then. I will have to tell Sir Tramond, though.”
“Do it,” said Tamlin. “We’ll need to speak with him anyway. He needs to hear the news from Castra Chaeldon as well.”
With that, Ridmark nodded to Marius and walked through the gate, Calliande, Tamlin, Kalussa, and Aegeus following him.
In some ways, the main street leading to the agora at the heart of the town seemed little different than many others Calliande had visited. Shops and houses lined the street, and men and women both (but mostly women) went about their business. Calliande heard people speaking in Latin all around them, though conversation ceased as people saw Ridmark and noted his armor and sword. Most of the men wore open-necked red tunics, dusty trousers, and boots, and most of the women wore long red dresses that left the sleeves and neck bare, likely because of Owyllain’s heat. Red was a rare color for clothing in Andomhaim, but Tamlin had said that red dye was cheap and easy to make from the leaves of a flower that grew throughout southern Owyllain.
One fact caught her attention. Most of the shops had two or three women working in them, and the women tended to have only ten to fifteen years’ difference in age. Unless Calliande missed her guess, the wife of the household was supervising her husband’s concubines as they went about their work. Both the thought of having to supervise concubines and of sharing her husband made her skin crawl in revulsion.
“It seems we are causing a stir,” said Tamlin.
Ridmark grunted. “I suppose men wearing dark elven armor are not common here.”
“I’m afraid it’s my fault,” said Aegeus.
Calliande frowned at him. “How?”
He grinned. “The husbands of most of these women are away at King Hektor’s muster, and when they see a strapping man like me, well…”
Despite herself, Calliande laughed, and Kalussa scowled at Aegeus.
“You certainly do not lack for confidence, Sir Aegeus,” Calliande said.
“What use is a timid Arcanius Knight? And I’ve never known women to appreciate a timid man.”
Calliande was spared the need to think up a reply when the Sight flared to life within her.
“Ridmark,” she said, concentrating. “I’m not sure…but I think someone in the agora is using magic. No, that’s not right. I think someone in the agora has an enspelled weapon, maybe more than one.”
“The gray elf?” said Ridmark.
“Perhaps,” said Calliande.
Ridmark nodded, adjusted Oathshield in its scabbard, and kept walking.
Soon they reached the agora at the heart of the town. On the western side of the agora stood Myllene’s church, its doors pointing towards the east. It had been built in the same style as the chapel in Castra Chaeldon, an eight-sided building with a domed roof. On the south side of the agora stood the town’s castra, a strong keep surrounded by a curtain wall.
A small crowd had gathered at the stairs to the church, a group of hoplite soldiers and some older women. At first, Calliande feared it was a mob, but that didn’t seem right. The atmosphere was baffled, not violent. The crowd of soldiers and women seemed more confused than anything else.
She saw the source of their confusion a moment later.
An elf sat on the steps to the church.
The man had to be of the elven kindred. He had the pointed, upswept ears and the sharp, alien features common to all the elven kindreds. But like Rhodruthain, he was neither a high elf nor a dark elf. The elven man lacked the void-filled eyes of the dark elves, and his eyes were instead a strange shade of gold. While he looked about thirty-five years old, his face lacked the ageless quality of the high el
ves Calliande had met. Truth be told, the elven man looked a little weathered, as if he had spent a great deal of time traveling through harsh terrain.
He wore leather armor adorned with bronze rivets, trousers, and dusty boots. A long bow had been laid across his knees, and a sword waited at his belt. Calliande’s Sight saw magical auras around both weapons, spells of elemental magic.
And from the elf’s shoulders hung a gray cloak like the one that Ridmark had worn for years.
The gray elves. That was what the men of Owyllain called the elves of the Illicaeryn Jungles since they wore those gray cloaks.
The elf rose at their approach, his golden eyes looking at Ridmark and Calliande.
“You are leaving?” said one of the hoplites, an older man in bronze armor. No, not a hoplite. He had the more ornate and better-fashioned bronze armor worn by the knights of Owyllain.
“I fear not, Sir Tramond,” said the gray elf in Latin thick with a strange accent. “No, I must remain for a time. I believe those I have been sent to find have arrived.”
Sir Tramond frowned, turned, and then blinked in surprise as he saw Calliande and Ridmark and the others approaching. “Sir Tamlin? Sir Aegeus? What are you doing here?”
“I think,” said Tamlin, “that we might be able to throw some light upon your mystery.”
Sir Tramond fell silent as he looked at Ridmark. The gray elf offered him a polite, if mechanical bow, and then walked towards Ridmark. He stopped a few paces away.
“Yes,” the gray elf said at last. “Yes, you are the ones. The Augurs told me of the signs. I would see a man in the armor of the dark elves and a cloak of our kindred, and a woman who bore a staff. You must be the Shield Knight and the Keeper.”
“We are,” said Ridmark. “I am Ridmark Arban, the Shield Knight, and this is my wife Calliande, the Keeper of Andomhaim. It seems you have some business with us.”
“I do,” said the gray elf. He offered another one of those awkward, choppy bows. “My name is Kyralion, and I represent the Augurs of the Unity of the elves of the Illicaeryn Jungle.”
“I’m afraid neither the Augurs nor the Unity are known to us,” said Ridmark. Perhaps the “Unity” was what the gray elves called their nation.
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