“The archmage Ardrhythain,” said Ridmark, “and the city of Cathair Solas, the last city of the high elves in this world.”
Even in the medium of the carving, Calliande still recognized Ardrhythain, the last archmage of the high elves. Five centuries ago he had founded the Order of the Magistri and the Order of the Swordbearers among the men of Andomhaim, giving them the weapons they needed to defeat the urdmordar. Calliande had met and spoken with the ancient archmage, had walked through the corridors of Cathair Solas and stood upon the pinnacles of its mighty towers.
“Kyralion,” said Calliande. “What does the script say?”
“It is an account of our arrival in this land,” said Kyralion. He pointed his bow at the lines of symbols. “It says that we were once of the high elves, but to escape the urdmordar, we renounced our immortality. The archmage Ardrhythain did not oppose us, and the threefold law of the high elves released its hold upon us as we returned to the river of time. We sailed across the sea to the land you humans call Owyllain, and founded mighty kingdoms and raised proud cities and tall towers.” He paused. “The account ends there. I fear this was before the Sovereign followed us here.”
Calliande frowned. “The Sovereign followed you here? He wasn’t already in Owyllain?”
Kyralion shrugged. “So the Lorekeepers say. I know not why he followed us. Vengeance, perhaps.”
“Or to get away from the urdmordar,” said Tamlin. “Our own ancestors came here to escape the urdmordar.”
“Or there was some other reason,” said Ridmark. “Calliande. Look at this.”
She moved to her husband’s side. He was looking at another panel of the relief. This carving showed Ardrhythain, a staff held crosswise before him. Kneeling before him was another elf, hands held up to receive the staff, and…
Calliande’s breath hissed through her teeth. “Rhodruthain.”
The kneeling elf was Rhodruthain. In the carving, he looked young and strong, not the ragged, battered figure that she had seen in the great hall of the Citadel of Tarlion. The staff that Ardrhythain held had a figure of a dragon’s head at one end, identical to the staff that Rhodruthain had carried.
“Kyralion,” said Calliande. “What does this inscription say?”
“It says that as the gray elves departed for their new home,” said Kyralion, “the archmage Ardrhythain appointed Rhodruthain as the Guardian of Cathair Animus, and gave him a staff as a badge of his office.”
“Ardrhythain made Rhodruthain the Guardian?” said Calliande, stunned. Ardrhythain hadn’t mentioned that. But Ardrhythain had been over a hundred thousand years old. He had countless experiences that he would never have mentioned to Calliande.
“So the inscription says,” said Kyralion.
“While this is fascinating,” said Tamlin, “it brings us no closer to finding the wizard who opened the Low Gate and sent the abscondamni into the city.”
“No,” murmured Calliande, still looking at the inscriptions. “No, it doesn’t.” She sent the Sight spinning out again, seeking for dark magic, and found it once more. It hadn’t moved in the last few moments.
“Aye,” said Ridmark, his voice darkening. He stooped and picked something up from the floor. “But perhaps we can learn more from the others down here.”
“Others?” said Calliande. Ridmark held out his hand for her to see. “Are those black hairs?”
“Not hair,” said Ridmark. “Muridach fur.”
###
Tamlin waited with Calliande and Aegeus.
The strands of muridach fur led to the archway on the left, and Calliande had said that the dark magic was in that direction. Ridmark and Kyralion had taken the left-hand corridor to scout. Kyralion moved with the silence of a spirit, but to Tamlin’s surprise, the Shield Knight had moved with equal stealth.
“I had not expected Lord Ridmark to move so quietly,” said Tamlin. “Knights are usually not so stealthy.”
“I am as silent as a ghost,” said Aegeus.
“That would be a first,” said Tamlin. “Usually the enemy can hear you coming from five miles off.”
“Aye, that’s because they fear my coming,” said Aegeus. He thumped his chest and grinned. “My boot strides are like thunder, and that’s because…”
That was one of his favorite jokes, and it usually ended with him comparing the proportions of his manhood to a ballista bolt. But Aegeus glanced at Calliande, seemed to remember that he was in the presence of a woman, and changed his boast.
“Ah…because I am indeed a mighty warrior,” said Aegeus.
“Eloquent,” said Tamlin.
“Ridmark learned to move like that,” murmured Calliande, gazing down the corridor, “in the Wilderland, the wilderness beyond the boundaries of the High King’s realm. The High King of Andomhaim, I mean. He spent five years looking for the Frostborn,” she smiled a little, “and I’m sure he did all manner of reckless things he’ll never get around to telling me. So, he knows how to move in utter silence.”
Tamlin smiled. “I keep hearing one remarkable tale after another from you, Lady Calliande.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Do not undersell yourself, Sir Tamlin. The gladiator who escaped from Urd Maelwyn to become an Arcanius Knight and a Companion of the King of Aenesium? That is a remarkable tale itself.”
“Ah.” Tamlin made himself smile. That made it sound far more gallant and noble than it really had been. It overlooked that he had watched his mother and his wife die, that he had known pain and torment and fear for years, that he had seen horrible things he wished he could forget.
It overlooked the warnings of the Dark Lady.
But perhaps there was truth in that. The Shield Knight and the Keeper sometimes mentioned the things they had seen and done. Never boastingly, and always in passing, yet even the passing mentions spoke of great deeds. Likely they both had known the same sort of pain that Tamlin had known. Ridmark had spoken of his first wife, killed by an orcish warlord in Andomhaim. Calliande had to draw in the pain of wounds to heal them, and Tamlin shuddered to think of how many thousands of wounds she had experienced in her life.
And there had been the sorrow that Kalussa had mentioned, that Calliande had lost a child…
“Bah,” said Aegeus, cutting into Tamlin’s black thoughts. “No one tells grand tales about me. But I don’t want them to. A good fight and a jug of wine after, that’s what I want. And a woman who’s had a jug of wine or two herself, to put her in the mood for a good…” He trailed off in sudden embarrassment. “Well. Companionship.”
Calliande raised an eyebrow. “Are all the knights of Owyllain so lecherous as you two?”
“Lecherous?” said Aegeus. He offered her a polite bow. “As you wish, but I prefer the term vigorous. And why not? The years of war mean there are so many more women than men in our land. I don’t wish for the women to remain lonely.”
“How very altruistic,” said Tamlin. Not that he was in any position to judge. “I think…”
“Ridmark and Kyralion are coming back,” said Calliande.
Tamlin fell silent at once, drawing his sword while Aegeus straightened up with a grunt. It was possible that enemies pursued the Shield Knight and the gray elf, and if they did, Tamlin needed to be ready.
But there was no need to fight, at least not yet. Ridmark and Kyralion returned, and both were unharmed and without any foes in pursuit. Kyralion looked as impassive as ever, and Ridmark’s scarred face was grim. But no more grim than usual, and there seemed to be the glint of an idea in his eyes.
“What did you find?” said Calliande.
“Muridachs,” said Ridmark. “There are about thirty or forty of the ratmen in the next chamber. Another hall like this one. They’ve set up an encampment there, and it looks like they’ve seen some fighting. Kyralion and I saw three dead abscondamni, and I think the creatures killed ten of the muridachs before they went down.”
Aegeus snorted. “Forty muridachs would be a bit much for even us to fight.”
“Maybe not,” said Calliande. The calm way she said it chilled Tamlin a little. She was a kindly woman, so soft-spoken that it was easy to forget how dangerous she was when roused to action. “If I hit them with a spell of sleeping mist or a fireball, we can attack with surprise on our side.”
“That might not be necessary,” said Ridmark. “I think we can get them to talk.”
Calliande frowned. “Can we? Those muridachs we encountered near Castra Chaeldon were eager to fight.”
“You told me you bullied a group of them into talking,” said Ridmark.
Calliande raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t bully them, Ridmark. I persuaded them. Forcefully.” She smiled and conceded the point. “By bullying.”
Ridmark nodded. “Muridachs are scavengers. They’re not like the saurtyri, and they’ll fight when they think they can win. This group has already taken losses, and they’re frightened. Likely they came to Cathair Valwyn to scavenge and didn’t expect to run into the Accursed of the Sovereign. If we give them a display of force and offer to talk, I think they’ll be willing to talk.”
“And if they’re not?” said Calliande.
Ridmark shrugged. “Then we fight.”
“Is it even worth talking to the bastards?” said Aegeus. “The ratmen are more trouble than they’re worth.”
“I think it is worth it this time,” said Tamlin. “They’re trouble, but they’re clever. They’ll have mapped out this entire complex. If they know anything about the wizard that opened the Low Gate and brought the abscondamni, it will be worth the effort.”
“Very well,” said Ridmark. “We’ll try to talk to them. But be ready to fight if this goes sour.”
He beckoned, and Tamlin fell in at his left and Aegeus at his right, Calliande and Kyralion following them. Tamlin saw the pale white light and felt the stirrings of arcane force as Calliande called her magic to herself, magic orders of magnitude more powerful than the elemental forces that Tamlin wielded. Aegeus began his spells as well, white mist swirling around his fingers.
The corridor led away from the hall with the relief, turned, and they descended a flight of broad, shallow stairs. Ahead Tamlin saw the glow of more crystals, and a familiar musky smell filled his nostrils, the odor of muridach fur. He did not like the muridachs, though he would have preferred to fight them over the dvargir or the pagan jotunmiri.
And the rotting, chemical smell of the abscondamni came to his nose as well.
The corridor opened into another hall, larger than the first, the walls ringed with a high balcony. The pillars supporting the balconies had been carved in the shape of elven warriors in armor, sword hilts grasped in gauntleted hands. A dozen leather tents had been set up on the floor, and a mob of forty muridachs stood arguing with each other. The muridachs looked like rats, albeit rats that stood on their hind legs, wore leather armor, and carried swords in their hands. As Ridmark and Kyralion had said, several of the muridachs looked wounded, and a dozen of the creatures lay dead on the floor alongside three slain abscondamni.
To Tamlin’s surprise, the creatures were so engrossed in their argument that they failed to notice the arrival of the newcomers.
“Ready?” murmured Ridmark.
Calliande nodded.
“Then let’s talk to the muridachs,” said Ridmark.
Calliande raised her staff and struck its end against the floor. White fire flowed down its length and a pulse of white flame exploded from the staff and rolled across the hall in an expanding ring. Tamlin had seen enough of Calliande’s magic to know that the white fire would not harm living mortals, only creatures of dark magic, and it ought to leave the muridachs untouched.
The ratmen didn’t know that.
A surge of panic went through the muridachs, and they started snarling orders to each other, turning to face the white fire as it rolled through them. In that moment of panic, Ridmark stepped forward, raised Oathshield, and started bellowing.
“Hear me, muridachs!” roared Ridmark in the orcish tongue, his voice echoing through the hall. “I am Ridmark Arban the Shield Knight, and I come to parley with your leader! Who shall speak with me?”
The muridachs gaped at them. Tamlin’s grip tightened against his sword, his magic snarling and ready at his command. If the creatures attacked, they would come in a rush. Tamlin could kill one or two of them with a lightning bolt, and Aegeus another with an ice spike. Kyralion was a devil with his bow, and with Oathshield and Calliande’s magic, they might indeed have a chance of victory.
“Hear me!” repeated Ridmark. “Who of you will parley with me?” He pointed Oathshield at the dead abscondamni. “For I am sworn to hunt and destroy creatures of dark magic. I come to find whoever commands the abscondamni. I have no quarrel with the muridachs, but if you are allied with the master of the abscondamni, then you set yourselves against me.”
There was a hurried conference among several the muridachs, and at last one of the ratmen stepped forward. He wore finer armor than the others, bronze rings over a cuirass of leather, and he looked older, his black fur turning gray in places. Old scars marked his arms, and his tail lashed behind him with agitation.
“I am Strike Commander Scurifael of the city of Camphylon,” said the muridach in orcish. The depth of muridach voices always surprised Tamlin. Based on their rat-like appearances, he would have expected their voices to be high-pitched and chittering. “What business do you have with us, Ridmark the Shield Knight?”
“Only this,” said Ridmark. “My companions and I hunt for whoever commands the abscondamni.”
“Why?” said Scurifael. “You did not come from the Deeps. We took the road into Cathair Valwyn from the Deeps, and we encountered no humans there.” His beady black eyes turned towards Kyralion, and his whiskers twitched. “Or gray elves.”
“No,” said Ridmark. “We came from the surface, from Aenesium.”
“Then the Low Gate is opened?” said Scurifael. The muridach could not conceal the twitch that went through his frame.
“Do not think to pass through it,” said Ridmark. “King Hektor is there with a strong guard of hoplites and Arcanii. We do not seek a quarrel with you, but I suggest that you do not lift your hands against us.”
“Bah!” Scurifael shook his head. It was odd to see the human gesture from the rat-like creature. “We muridachs are wise. We do not make war upon the bearers of the Seven Swords. In a few weeks, either King Hektor or King Justin shall rule in Aenesium. Perhaps we shall treat with either king then.”
“King Hektor will never be overcome,” said Tamlin. In truth, he was not certain of their chances of victory against Justin Cyros, even with the help of Ridmark and Calliande. But he would be damned if he would let a muridach impugn Hektor Pendragon.
“Perhaps. Perhaps,” said Scurifael. “Who can say? Fate and chance rule all. But when the mighty struggle, the muridachs will stay aloof. The spoils go not to the victors, but to the survivors.”
“A wise policy,” said Ridmark. “The abscondamni attacked you, did they not? I have come to hunt them down and to defeat their master. Point me in his direction and stay out of my way, and there will be no cause for conflict between us.”
“Very well,” said Scurifael. “It is time for us to return to Camphylon anyway. Bah! This expedition is a failure. With the dvargir moving to assist King Justin, the tunnels through the Deeps to Cathair Valwyn were left open. We came to take any treasures that might remain in the ruins. But this wretched place is empty anything of value. Too many wars have been fought here, and everything valuable was carried off long ago.”
Ridmark nodded. “When did you encounter the abscondamni?”
“Less than an hour ago,” said Scurifael. “We were exploring the upper levels of this miserable ruin, and we saw a large group of abscondamni come from a pillared hall.”
“Were they going in the direction of the Low Gate?” said Ridmark.
“They were, Shield Knight,” said Scurifael. “We stayed out of the
ir way, but several of the Accursed of the Sovereign emerged from the pillared hall and attacked us.” He waved a hand at the dead. “You can see the results.”
“Did you see who commanded the abscondamni?” said Ridmark.
A chittering laugh rose from the muridachs, their whiskers and tails twitching.
“We did,” said Scurifael. “But by telling you, we send you and your companions to your death, Shield Knight.”
“Perhaps,” said Ridmark with smooth calm. “But as you said, chance rules all things.”
“A Maledictus commands the abscondamni,” said Scurifael. “And not just a common Maledictus, but one of the seven remaining high priests of the Maledicti.”
A bolt of rage went through Tamlin.
“Khurazalin,” said Tamlin. “Was it the Maledictus Khurazalin?” Had the moment for revenge come at last? Tamlin had slain Khurazalin at Urd Maelwyn, but the Maledictus had risen again as an undead horror. But now Tamlin was in the presence of powerful companions. Together they could at last put an end to Khurazalin.
“I know not his name,” said Scurifael. “Unlike the other kindreds of this land, the muridachs were never ruled by the Sovereign. No, we remained a free people.”
Tamlin kept his scornful reaction to himself. The reason the Sovereign had never conquered the muridachs had been because he never needed to. The muridachs had always done whatever the Sovereign ordered of them. Conquering Camphylon would have been superfluous.
“Which way to this pillared hall?” said Ridmark.
“That corridor beneath the balcony,” said Scurifael, pointing at an archway. “Perhaps when the Maledictus slays you, I shall carry your fine sword and armor with me back to Camphylon.”
“No, you won’t,” said Ridmark. “Because if the Maledictus slays us and you’re still within his reach, he will kill you all.”
Silence hung over the hall for a moment.
“Yes,” said Scurifael at last. “Yes, perhaps you are right. Good fortune to you, Shield Knight. Perhaps the Maledictus will not kill you after all.”
Sevenfold Sword Page 18
