Sevenfold Sword

by Jonathan Moeller

  Two things happened then.

  “Take her!” shouted Qazaldhar, and a surge of dark magic came from his left.

  Another creature leaped into the air, black wings spreading behind a slim form encased in dark armor.

  Calliande caught a glimpse of the creature, and she saw a beautiful feminine face, pale and sharp, though the eyes were an utterly black void of nothingness. Close-fitting plates of black armor covered the body, claw-tipped gauntlets sheathed her hands, and great black wings flexed behind her. The creature was an urdhracos, one of the most powerful creations of the dark elves, deadly in battle and able to wield dark magic with great skill.

  Kyralion stumbled, and an urvaalg leaped upon him, clawing and biting.

  The urdhracos dove towards Calliande, blue fire whirling around her claws as she worked a spell.

  ###

  Tamlin wrenched his sword free from the skull of a dead urvaalg, the blade glistening with the black slime that served as the creature’s blood.

  Only the fact that his blade had been forged from dark elven steel kept him alive. Swords of the dark elves wounded creatures of dark magic, though not as effectively as Ridmark’s soulblade. Tamlin’s magic also helped, stunning the urvaalgs long enough for him or Kyralion to land killing blows. Ahead of them, Ridmark tore through the urvaalgs like a storm, his sword arm fueled by the magic of his soulblade and his long experience fighting the creatures. Because it was obvious that he had fought urvaalgs many times before. He seemed to understand the creatures, to know how they would react.

  Calliande and Qazaldhar battled, white light struggling against the venomous green mists and blasts of shadow fire that the Maledictus conjured. The Keeper also had to guard against the urdhracos that Qazaldhar controlled. The creature swooped back and forth overhead, hurling bolts of blue fire that Calliande had to deflect.

  Tamlin had encountered urdhracosi before, but he had never been forced to fight one. In Urd Maelwyn, they were the Confessor’s closest lieutenants, the minions he trusted above all others. From what Tamlin understood, urdhracosi were created when a dark elven noble lay with a human woman. Such hybrid children were always daughters, and when they had their first monthly bleeds, the power in their dark elven blood transformed them into urdhracosi. Tamlin had no idea how to fight them, but fortunately, Calliande did.

  Then an urvaalg bounded past Aegeus and slammed into Kyralion.

  The gray elf went down, his head bouncing off the floor with a loud crack. The urvaalg raked at him, claws tearing into his chest. Kyralion’s leather armor might have been good enough for deflecting blows from bronze blades, but the claws of the urvaalgs were harder than steel. Kyralion lashed at the urvaalg with his lightning-wreathed sword, keeping the creature from biting out his throat. Yet the claws kept raking and tearing.

  Tamlin attacked, casting a spell as he did. His lightning bolt cracked out and hit the urvaalg in the flank, and the creature reared back with a scream. As it did, Tamlin slashed his sword across the urvaalg’s throat. Black slime sprayed from the wound, and the creature fell over. It tried to rise, and Tamlin plunged his sword into its head.

  That finished it off.

  Tamlin started to wrench his sword free, and a second urvaalg bounded towards him, jaws yawning wide. There was no time to dodge, no time to duck, and the creature’s fangs would punch through his bronze armor like paper.

  A shaft of glowing ice shot through the air, trailing steam. It slammed into the side of the urvaalg’s neck, and the creature jerked to the side with a growl, its limbs twitching. Tamlin wrenched his sword free from the dead urvaalg and attacked the living one. His blade met the wound that Sir Aegeus’s magic had carved and made it far larger, and the creature fell dead at its boots.

  “Good shot!” said Tamlin.

  Aegeus nodded, and Tamlin turned as Kyralion got to his feet, blood dripping down his chest. He gripped his sword in his right hand, but his face was pale and tight with pain. The gray elf had lost a lot of blood.

  “You should stay down,” said Tamlin, scanning the room. “You’re hurt…”

  “The battle still rages,” said Kyralion, but Tamlin barely heard him.

  Because it looked like the battle was nearly over.

  Ridmark still battled three urvaalgs, but the other creatures had been slain. Tamlin had feared that the urvaalgs would rip him apart as he rescued Kyralion, but they had not because all the remaining urvaalgs had been slain or were fighting Ridmark. Calliande stood surrounded by a blaze of white light as she battled the urdhracos and the magic of Qazaldhar, and the Maledictus glided back and forth faster than a man could run, hurling bolts of shadow fire at her and conjuring more of those poisonous-looking green clouds. Tamlin realized that Calliande had been forced to divide her attention between the Maledictus and the urdhracos. Had she been able to focus her attention on one or the other, she would overcome them, but both the urdhracos and Qazaldhar were fast enough to keep her in a defensive stance. For all her magical might, even the Keeper of Andomhaim could only divide her attention in so many directions at once.

  Then an idea came to Tamlin.

  “Aegeus!” he called. Aegeus had been heading towards Ridmark to help against the remaining urvaalgs, but he paused. “The wing! On the next dive, pierce the wing!”

  Aegeus frowned at him, and then his eyes went wide with understanding. The urdhracos never came low enough to risk a sword blow, but Tamlin was willing to bet that the wings were not as well-armored as the rest of the creature.

  Calliande called a dome of white light before them, blocking another wave of venomous gas from Qazaldhar. The urdhracos whirled overhead, blue fire dancing around her clawed fingers, and cast another spell at Calliande. The Keeper responded at once, shielding herself in a ward of white light, and the blast of blue flame shattered against her spell. The urdhracos swooped down and started to rise again.

  But this time, Aegeus’s ice bolt ripped through her left wing.

  The urdhracos let out a furious shriek, wings flapping, her clawed fingers raking at the air. But her efforts were futile. Her left wing collapsed, and the urdhracos hurtled to the ground. She landed well, hitting the floor and rolling, and sprang to her feet, already beginning another spell.

  But by then, Tamlin and Kyralion had reached her.

  The urdhracos reacted with lightning speed, her clawed fists crossing before her and blocking Tamlin’s strike. She retracted her arms and went on the offensive, slashing and clawing, and Tamlin found himself forced back. The urdhracos was fast, blinding fast, so quick he could not spare a single second to pull together power for a spell.

  Kyralion hit her in the side with his sword. The blade failed to penetrate the black armor that sheathed her slim body, but the lightning encircling his sword crackled up and down her limbs. The urdhracos staggered with a scream of rage, and Tamlin struck, his blade biting deep into her neck. The same black slime that had leaked from the wounded urvaalgs dripped from the wound, and her void-filled eyes met his.

  There was no trace of sanity in her expression, only rage and hate and a desire to rend and maim and kill. Tamlin wrenched his sword free, readying another blow, but his first had been enough. The urdhracos tottered and fell dead to the floor, the void-filled eyes still glaring at him.

  He took a deep breath and stepped back, raising his sword.

  Ridmark finished off the last of the urvaalgs and turned towards Qazaldhar, and next to Tamlin, Kyralion collapsed to the floor, blood dripping from him.

  ###

  Ridmark ripped Oathshield free from the urvaalg’s carcass and strode toward Qazaldhar, intending to end the fight.

  The Maledictus struck at once, flinging a blast of shadow fire at Ridmark. He raised Oathshield and called upon the blade’s power to protect, and the enhanced strength and speed drained from him, leaving him weary. But the shadow fire shattered against the sword’s glow, and Ridmark broke into a run. Twice more Qazaldhar struck, once throwing another blast of shado
wy fire, and the second time a concentrated stream of that poisonous gas. Each time Oathshield protected Ridmark from the dark magic.

  Qazaldhar glided backward as Ridmark approached, and grim determination filled him. In Andomhaim, neither the dark elven lords nor the urdmordar nor the orcish warlocks had been able to stand against the wrath of the Swordbearers and their soulblades.

  It was time for the Maledicti to learn the same lesson.

  Ridmark broke into a sprint, drawing back Oathshield to strike. Qazaldhar snarled and reached into his robe, yanking out a bronze axe with harsh symbols of orange-yellow light glowing up the blade. No, the axe wasn’t bronze. Rather, it had been forged of dwarven steel, which looked like bronze, but was far harder and stronger and lighter than either bronze or normal steel.

  Qazaldhar surged forward, chopping with the axe, and Ridmark blocked.

  He dueled the Maledictus and found himself forced to guard himself. Qazaldhar glided a few inches above the floor, which meant he didn’t need to worry about his footing, and he could change direction with quicksilver speed. Ridmark drew on Oathshield to enhance his own speed, and he spun around the Maledictus, blocking and ducking under the swings of the deadly axe.

  A blast of white fire shot past Ridmark and hit Qazaldhar. The Maledictus jerked back with a hiss, and Ridmark saw Calliande and Tamlin and Aegeus hurrying forward. Qazaldhar began casting a spell, but Ridmark struck first.

  Oathshield sliced through Qazaldhar’s right wrist, sending the rotting hand and the dwarven axe tumbling to the floor. The Maledictus roared in rage, and another of Calliande’s blasts of white fire hit him in the chest. The blast threw Qazaldhar into a pillar, and Ridmark hurried after him, hoping to land a killing blow.

  “This is not over!” said Qazaldhar, and he cast a spell. His body changed, becoming a wraith of mist and smoke. The wraith sank into the earth, and Ridmark’s blade clanged off the stone pillar. He drew back Oathshield to strike again, but the wraith disappeared into the floor.

  He turned, expecting Qazaldhar to rise from the floor and become solid once more, but there was no sign of the Maledictus.

  “He’s fleeing,” said Calliande. “It’s far easier to track the Maledicti with the Sight when they become immaterial. Looks like he’s retreating in great haste to the north.”

  “Khurazalin did the same thing at Castra Chaeldon,” said Tamlin, pulling off his helmet and wiping sweat from his forehead. “He didn’t come back after that. Lady Calliande, can you do anything for Kyralion? He was gravely wounded.”

  But Calliande was already hurrying towards the gray elf, who lay bleeding on the floor.

  ###

  “Hold this for a minute,” said Calliande, shoving her staff in Tamlin’s direction. The young warrior blinked but took her staff without complaint.

  Kyralion’s wounds were serious. The urvaalg’s claws had sliced open his chest. His ribs had stopped the talons, but they had also opened his belly. If he moved too much, his viscera might fall out, but he seemed to be barely conscious.

  “I am sorry,” croaked Kyralion. “I have failed in my charge.”

  “Not yet, you haven’t,” said Calliande, bracing herself as she summoned healing magic. This was really going to hurt.

  She put her hands on Kyralion’s temples and cast the healing spell.

  And nothing happened.

  The power surged out from Calliande, touched Kyralion, and bounced away from him. It was like trying to pour water on an oiled cloak and watching it bead away.

  “You’re…you’re immune to magic?” said Calliande, baffled. “You never said that.”

  “I told you I was not part of the Unity,” said Kyralion, his voice growing raspy. Ridmark and the others gathered around them.

  “He’s immune to your healing spell?” said Ridmark. “Would Oathshield’s power work on him?”

  “No,” said Calliande, her mind racing. She knew how to treat Kyralion without using magic, but it would take the gray elf weeks to recover from his wounds, and blood loss and sepsis might kill him first. “It wouldn’t work either. But maybe…”

  She flexed her fingers and started summoning more power, but this time she drew on both the magic of the Well and the mantle of the Keeper to fuel her spell. It was something that Calliande hardly ever did. There was never any need. If a man was wounded badly enough that she needed to use the Keeper’s mantle to augment her healing spell, then he was likely beyond all help.

  But perhaps this would work.

  Once more Calliande put her hands on his temples and cast the healing spell.

  This time pain exploded through her, and Calliande gritted her teeth, her will holding on through the agony. She felt the wounds in Kyralion’s flesh as if they were her own, and she commanded them to close. Slowly, slowly, the wounds shrank, the torn flesh and skin and muscle knitting itself together. The pain roared through her, and Calliande’s world sank to the wounds and her power.

  In an instant, the torment ended.

  Kyralion let out a long groan and slumped against the ground, and Calliande straightened up, breathing hard, sweat pouring down her face. She had worn her new gown for only a few hours, and it already needed washing.

  But the spell had worked. The wounds on Kyralion’s chest and stomach had faded to ugly red scars. Kyralion sat up, looked at himself, and blinked in surprise.

  “Lady Calliande,” he said. “Thank you. I feared my wounds were fatal.”

  “Kyralion,” said Calliande. “Magic doesn’t work on you?”

  Kyralion shook his head. “I am not part of the Unity. Consequently, most forms of arcane energy do not affect me.”

  “God and the saints,” said Tamlin. “That would be useful.”

  “May I try something?” said Calliande. Kyralion nodded, and Calliande cast a simple elemental spell. A single flame danced at the end of her index finger, and she brushed it against Kyralion. The gray elf showed no reaction, and Calliande ran the flame over his hand.

  Nothing. The magical fire did not touch him.

  “You are immune to magic,” said Calliande, getting to her feet. Tamlin passed her the staff, and she smiled and took it. “Or, at least, immune to all but its most powerful forms.”

  “How did you heal me, then?” said Kyralion.

  “The mantle of the Keeper of Andomhaim,” said Calliande. “Its power let me push through your immunity to magic.”

  Kyralion retrieved his sword and bow. “Thank you for healing me, Lady Calliande. And thank you for my life, Sir Tamlin.”

  “Me?” said Tamlin. “What did I do?”

  “Had you not come to my defense,” said Kyralion, “the urvaalg would have killed me.”

  “Urvaalgs,” said Aegeus. “Damned things. Hopefully, that’s the last we have seen of them.”

  “I think so,” said Calliande, reaching for the Sight. “I can’t sense any more dark magic down here. If we can close the Low Gate and rebuild the wards around it, Aenesium ought to be safe from attack from Cathair Valwyn.”

  “Calliande,” said Ridmark.

  She turned her head and saw that he had moved to one of the pillars and was staring at it with a frown.

  “What do you make of this?” he said.

  ###

  The others joined him, and Ridmark pointed at the pillar.

  All the other pillars in the vast hall were unmarked, but this one was not. A crude symbol had been carved into the white stone. It looked like a double ring, the circumference of the ring crossed by seven spikes at equidistant intervals. It put Ridmark in mind of a crown, or perhaps some sort of ghastly torture device applied to a victim’s head.

  “I’ve never seen that symbol before,” said Calliande.

  “I have,” said Kyralion.

  “When?” said Ridmark.

  “Just now,” said Kyralion. “Did you observe the medallion that Qazaldhar wore around his neck?”

  “I did,” said Ridmark. “I couldn’t get a good look at it, though. It
was too dark, and it matched the color of his robes.”

  “The medallion was worked in the shape of the same symbol,” said Kyralion. “A double ring, pierced with seven spikes.”

  “Do you know what that symbol means?” said Ridmark.

  “I do not, Lord Ridmark,” said Kyralion. “Until this battle, I had not seen it before.”

  “I see,” said Ridmark, scowling as he looked at the symbol.

  They had won this fight, but he did not like what he had found. There were Seven Swords, seven high priests of the Maledicti…and now this ring with seven spikes driven through it. Was all that a coincidence? Maybe, or maybe not.

  He didn’t like it at all. Ridmark felt as if he had found the edges of some monstrous and terrible secret. Worst of all, it felt similar to suspicions he had experienced before. During his years in the Wilderland and the war against the Frostborn, he had discovered some dark secrets, and those secrets had nearly killed him.

  And if Ridmark had realized the truth of those secrets sooner, perhaps many people who had died during the war against the Frostborn and the civil war against the Enlightened of Incariel would now be alive.

  Was this another such secret?

  “We can ponder it later,” said Ridmark. “We ought to return to the surface and tell King Hektor we have cleared the dark magic from Cathair Valwyn.”

  “I agree,” said Tamlin. He hesitated. “What about that axe? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Oh?” said Ridmark, and he looked to where Qazaldhar’s axe rested on the ground. The Maledictus’s hand still grasped the haft, leaking black slime. Calliande solved that problem by burning the hand to ash with a blast of elemental fire, and then picked up the weapon and examined it.

  “It’s a dwarven weapon,” said Calliande. “And it’s enchanted. The dwarven stonescribes carved glyphs of power into it.” She ran a finger over the symbols glowing on the blade. “It can slay creatures of dark magic. You used to have an axe just like this, Ridmark.”