She shook her head in irritation, and Ridmark took her arm.
“Sir Tamlin,” said Ridmark. “Perhaps we could return to your domus. It’s been a long journey from Myllene, and a night under a roof would be pleasant.”
“Aye,” said Kalussa. “I confess that it would. Even under your roof.”
“And food,” said Aegeus. “A hot meal would be splendid. Zuredek was a good cook, as I recall.”
“Yes,” said Tamlin. “Ah.” He scratched his jaw. “It might take a little while to have everything set up. The domus doesn’t often have many guests…”
“What he means,” said Aegeus, “is that he prefers to take his overnight guests elsewhere.”
Kalussa sniffed. “There are ladies present, Sir Aegeus.”
“I have two children, Kalussa,” said Calliande in a dry tone, “and I can’t remember how many babies I’ve delivered. I suspect I know what Sir Tamlin intends with his overnight guests.”
Tamlin had the good grace to look a little embarrassed. Ridmark said nothing, his expression distant, and Calliande felt a flicker of guilt. They had not lain together for a long time, and she was joking about such matters with Tamlin. Yet thinking about that inevitably turned her thoughts towards Joanna, and…
No, she couldn’t think about Joanna now. The grief and the guilt lapped at the edges of her mind like a black sea, and if Calliande wasn’t careful, she would drown in it. She had been drowning in it for months before Rhodruthain had brought them here. Calliande had to keep a clear head. There were too many dangers around them.
“I think we can all agree,” said Tamlin, “that if I am hosting guests, I want them to be as comfortable as possible.”
Calliande smiled at him, trying to hide her unease. “I won’t argue, Sir Tamlin.”
###
An hour later Ridmark sat on one of the benches in the courtyard of Tamlin Thunderbolt’s domus, watching as Kyralion gave his sons an impromptu archery lesson. He wasn’t sure how that had gotten started since they boys had been sleeping when he and Calliande had left.
Still, by now Ridmark ought to stop letting the energy of small children surprise him.
Tamlin, Aegeus, and Michael had all disappeared to direct Zuredek and his clan as they prepared a meal and arranged the rest of the house for guests. One of King Hektor’s hoplites had given Ridmark a chest of gold before they left, and Calliande had taken it and departed with Kalussa. She had a list of things she needed for herself and the children and a list of things she thought that Ridmark needed. In truth, all Ridmark needed was someplace to lie down and sleep, but he knew better than to argue with her on the topic.
So, with nothing better to do, he sat and watched as Kyralion instructed Gareth and Joachim on the finer points of archery. Ridmark had been concerned at first, but the concern faded. Kyralion remained as stiff and as uncomfortable around the boys as he did everyone else, but the other side of that coin was that he was utterly unflappable. That made him a good teacher, and Ridmark saw Gareth’s technique improving as he shot the short bow that Michael had dug up from somewhere. Even Joachim hit the target, and he could barely pull the bow.
It was pleasant to have nothing to do, at least for a few moments. Ridmark laughed at himself a little. As a younger man, he had found idleness intolerable and had rarely sat for more than a moment or two. He had crossed the length and breadth of the Wilderland in search of the Frostborn, and now that thought just made him tired. Calliande had come on some of those journeys with him towards the end.
His thoughts flicked back to the first time he had slept with his wife, and that made his blood stir.
Ridmark might have gotten older, but he still had some strength left, it seemed.
Almost as if his thoughts had conjured her, Calliande stepped into the courtyard. She looked around, smiled at the boys, and sat next to him on the bench.
“How much did you spend?” said Ridmark.
“Not a lot,” admitted Calliande, “but enough. King Hektor was generous. We could live in comfort for some time off what he gave us. I bought some new clothes for all of us, and some other things we’ll need since it seems we’ll be here for a while. It is generous of Tamlin to host us, but he shouldn’t have to pay for everything.”
“No,” said Ridmark. He wondered where Kalussa had went and decided that wasn’t a wise question to ask Calliande. Ridmark wished that Hektor hadn’t assigned Kalussa as their guide. If Ridmark wasn’t careful, he feared he might find Kalussa climbing into his bed at night, or trying to catch him alone in a corridor.
Part of him wondered if that would really be such a bad thing.
He banished that thought sternly.
“Ridmark,” said Calliande.
“Yes?” said Ridmark, wondering if she had guessed his thoughts.
“What are we going to do now?” said Calliande.
Ridmark sighed. “I’m not sure. It will depend on what King Hektor wants of us. And he will want something of us.”
Calliande nodded. “His position is too precarious. The power of the Confessor and Justin Cyros matches his own, and even if he overcomes them both, the Necromancer or the Masked One might swoop in and finish him off. It’s a stalemate, though it looks like Justin is trying to force a resolution.”
“And into this stalemate,” said Ridmark, “walk the Shield Knight and the Keeper.”
“Who might have the power to help him win the war,” said Calliande. She hesitated. “Do we want to help him?”
“We might not have a choice,” said Ridmark. “If we leave tomorrow and set off for Cathair Animus, I don’t think he’ll stop us. But do you think we can get there without help? Without supplies and guides and maybe even soldiers? If I was here alone, I would attempt it.” He had done reckless things like that often enough. “If it was just you and me, we could probably do it. But bringing the boys with us? No. We need help.”
Calliande hesitated. “And Hektor Pendragon might have the right to ask for our help.”
Ridmark frowned. “What do you mean?”
“He’s clearly the lawful ruler of Owyllain,” said Calliande. “And he seems to be the only wielder of the Seven who isn’t using dark magic. Justin Cyros has surrounded himself with orcish warlocks. The Confessor is a dark elven lord. The Necromancer has an army of the undead, and the Masked One seems no less malevolent. God only knows what game Rhodruthain is playing.” She took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts. “Ridmark…the Keeper and the Swordbearers are sworn to protect the realm of Andomhaim from dark magic.”
Ridmark nodded, letting her think it through.
“But when we say that, we’re thinking of the whole of humanity on this world,” said Calliande. “Andomhaim is the kingdom of mankind. Yes, there are exceptions, like the villages in the Wilderland or the renegades on the Isle of Kordain, but when we spoke of Andomhaim, we spoke of mankind.”
“And now we’re in Owyllain,” said Ridmark. “A kingdom of mankind that we didn’t know existed.”
“I think,” said Calliande, “that we are bound to defend them against dark magic as well. They don’t have Magistri or Swordbearers, yet they’ve endured against the Sovereign and now the Confessor for nearly five centuries.” She gazed at him. “If King Hektor is the kind of ruler that I think he is, and if he asks us for help against his enemies…I think we are obliged to help him, Ridmark.”
He nodded. “You’re likely right. For that matter, I don’t think we have any chance of finding Rhodruthain and getting back to Andomhaim without King Hektor’s help.” He shrugged. “Maybe we can work out a deal.”
Calliande sighed. “While I am glad you agree with me, I am not happy that you came to the same conclusion that I did. I had hoped you would tell me that I was wrong. Another war, Ridmark. After the Frostborn, I had hoped we would see the end of such wars.”
“There will never be an end to war, not so long as the world stands,” said Ridmark, watching as Gareth put in arrow into the target. “And we
have seen war since the Frostborn. The Mhorites and the bone orcs and the dvargir. We just haven’t seen war on a scale like the Frostborn.” He snorted. “And we likely will not see it now. No matter how powerful the Confessor or Justin Cyros have become, I doubt they will have the kind of power that the Frostborn wielded.”
“I hope you are right,” said Calliande. She stood and stretched, pressing her hands against the small of her back, and Ridmark found his gaze lingering on her chest. “Well, Tamlin’s domus has a bathtub, and the saurtyri said they would draw me some hot water. I think I will avail myself of the opportunity.”
“Go,” said Ridmark. “I’ll keep an eye on the children. Though they seem to be supervising themselves.”
Calliande smiled. “I should have guessed that all they needed to behave was dangerous toys.”
She hesitated, looking at Ridmark as if waiting for him to follow her to the bath.
The idea had merit, he had to admit. And yet…she was doing better. Grief had paralyzed her for months in Andomhaim. The dangers they had faced in Owyllain had forced her to shake off the paralysis and become again the Keeper who had rallied the nations against the Frostborn.
But if anything reminded her of Joanna, he feared that she would fall back into that numb paralysis.
“So it would seem,” said Ridmark. “And if the water gets cold, at least you will be able to heat it again with your magic.”
She blinked and then smiled. “There have to be some advantages to being Keeper.”
With that, she left the courtyard.
Ridmark sat on the bench, watching the archery lesson with half an eye, and soon found himself dozing.
“Lord Ridmark?”
Ridmark blinked awake and rebuked himself for falling asleep. Still, he hadn’t been asleep long. The boys and Kyralion continued their archery lesson on the other side of the courtyard. Michael limped towards him, both his cane and his wooden leg rasping against the ground.
“Master Michael,” said Ridmark, getting to his feet.
The old man smiled. “Just Michael, sir. I’ve never been a lord or a knight or a master. Now I’m just an old soldier with a comfortable sinecure if I’m honest.” He waved a hand at the courtyard. “This is more house than I have the energy to take care of, but it’s more house than Tamlin needs, so I suppose it works out.”
“Have you known Tamlin long?” said Ridmark.
“Half of his life,” said Michael. “Has he told you?”
“Some of it,” said Ridmark. “Though I would like to hear more.”
Michael hesitated. “Might not be my place to tell it, sir.”
“If you could, I would appreciate it,” said Ridmark. “My wife and children and I find ourselves in the middle of a great mystery. The Guardian Rhodruthain brought us to your land to fight something called the New God. And the first we heard from anyone else about the New God was from Tamlin.”
“His wife,” said Michael. “The poor girl, God rest her soul.”
“But if I’m to understand what this New God is,” said Ridmark, “I need to know more. It seems Tamlin was the first to learn anything about it.”
“Very well, sir,” said Michael. He shrugged. “And if it helps you to understand more about Tamlin, well and good. He’s a good man, sir, but his behavior is not always…”
“Chaste?” said Ridmark.
“Well…let’s leave it at that,” said Michael. “Anyway. Here’s my story. I was a hoplite all my days, serving first High King Kothlaric and then his brother King Hektor. I was at the great battle at Urd Maelwyn, and with King Hektor during the first battles against the Confessor and King Justin. During one of those battles, I was captured and sold as a slave in Urd Maelwyn. Since I knew how to handle weapons, I became a gladiator.”
“Like Tamlin,” said Ridmark.
“Not quite,” said Michael. “The boy’s a genius with a blade. I was good in my prime, don’t get me wrong, but not as good as him.” He grimaced and tapped his wooden leg with the cane. “And the luck runs out eventually. I lost my final match, and I ought to have bled to death, but the dvargir gamemasters had a use for me. Seems they needed someone to train the gladiators for the games. Since I had been a decurion, I got the job.” He snorted. “Turns out I was better at training gladiators than being one. I had been doing that for about five years when I met Tamlin.”
“Had he just been captured?” said Ridmark.
Michael shook his head. “No. It was a few years after his father murdered his mother and sold him to the dvargir. He’d already been through some training and was starting to become the warrior he is now. He had been a sickly child, I gather, and thought he would become a monk at the monastery of St. James outside the borders of the Nine Cities. Maybe his mother thought he would be safe there, but she was wrong.”
“His mother,” said Ridmark. “Who was she?”
“I met her a few times during the campaign against Urd Maelwyn,” said Michael. “Her name was Cathala. She was a Sister of the Arcanii, and she was one of the friends of Master Talitha, along with Nicion and Cavilius and Taerdyn, though you probably know Cavilius and Taerdyn better as the Masked One and the Necromancer of Trojas.”
“What was Cathala like?” said Ridmark.
“Arrogant,” said Michael. “All of those young Arcanii were. If I can be blunt about it, Cathala was an arrogant bitch, and she got worse after becoming King Justin’s mistress. Nothing at all like your Lady Calliande, who seems like she is one of the legendary Keepers of Andomhaim out of the ancient chronicles. But Cathala was the worst of the lot. They were always so proud, too proud. Suppose that’s why Cavilius and Taerdyn went bad and did what they did. Though it seemed odd that they were so close to Master Talitha. She was always so…gentle, so kind. The most powerful wizard in Owyllain, but you wouldn’t know it to look at her. I was shocked that she betrayed the High King, but I suppose the lust for power can eat out even the strongest heart.”
“Truly,” said Ridmark.
“But I am rambling,” said Michael. “Tamlin was already trained when he came to me, but I helped him improve. The dvargir gamemasters are brutal teachers, but they don’t have good technique. The boy had a lot of raw talent, and he was angry. I just gave him a way to use that talent and direct his anger. And he started winning again and again. Anger’s dangerous in a fighter…but disciplined anger that keeps itself under control? That’s something different. Tamlin had wagons full of rage, and he kept winning.” His expression softened. “And then he met Tysia. Well, he already knew her from the monastery. Some orphan or another that Cathala had taken in. But he met her again in Urd Maelwyn as a grown woman.”
“What was she like?” said Ridmark.
“Oh, she was something special, Lord Ridmark,” said Michael. “She was beautiful, aye, but we’re both old enough to know that beauty can mask a black heart.” Ridmark nodded. “Not her, though. She had the kindest and bravest heart of any woman I had ever met. Somehow, she had gotten trained as a physician, and she tended the wounds of the gladiators of the Ring of Blood. When she met Tamlin…God and the saints, the bards like to sing of love, but they made the poems seem trite. It was like watching a torch thrown into a pile of kindling.”
“In a good way or in a bad way?” said Ridmark.
Michael laughed. “A good way. It was rare to see anyone happy for any reason in Urd Maelwyn. It gave Tamlin something to live for. Hell, I had resigned myself to dying in Urd Maelwyn, but Tamlin wouldn’t accept that for Tysia. If he could find a way to escape, he would. Maybe he could find a way to free all of us.”
“And then Khurazalin murdered Tysia,” said Ridmark.
Michael let out a long sigh. “Yes.”
“Do you know why?” said Ridmark.
“To this day it baffles me,” said Michael. “There was no reason for it, no reason at all. At first, I thought he wished to punish Tamlin and break his spirit, but it would have made more sense to take Tysia hostage and use her safety to
ensure Tamlin’s obedience. The Maledicti were usually practical like that. Did she threaten Khurazalin somehow? I can’t see how. She had a little magic, yes, mostly water magic to aid with healing, but not enough to threaten a high priest of the Maledicti. And it was a strange way to kill her. He bound them both with a spell and stabbed her from behind before either Tamlin or Tysia realized what was happening.”
“As if she was a grave threat to him,” said Ridmark, “and he wanted to kill her as efficiently as possible.”
“Aye,” said Michael, “but what threat could she had been to one of the high Maledicti?” He hesitated. “You…know about the Maledicti, Lord Ridmark?”
“Some.” Ridmark frowned as he remembered the withered figure in the red robe he had confronted at Castra Chaeldon. “They were the priests of the Sovereign, were they not?”
“And the high priests of the Maledicti were the most terrible foes the men of Owyllain faced before the Seven Swords,” said Michael. “They were great warlocks and necromancers and wielded terrible dark magic. If Rhodruthain had not founded the Order of the Arcanii and taught the first Arcanius Knights the use of elemental magic, the Maledicti would have destroyed Owyllain long ago. Most of the Maledicti fell alongside the Sovereign at Urd Maelwyn, but the seven high priests who survived…”
“Wait,” said Ridmark, blinking. “You said seven of the Maledicti high priests survived?”
Michael nodded. “Khurazalin was one of them. Most of them allied themselves with the Confessor. Or they wander about working evil.”
“Seven Maledicti,” said Ridmark, “and the Seven Swords. Doesn’t that seem like an odd coincidence?”
“I suppose it is,” said Michael. “Never thought about it, though. Of course, it should be six Maledicti, since Tamlin killed Khurazalin, but the old devil’s come back as an undead horror.”
“What about Tysia’s last words?” said Ridmark.
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