“Well,” said Aristotle once Third had finished. “It seems that Andomhaim indeed breeds warriors of renown. First the Shield Knight, and now the Keeper, and now you, Lady Third. I don’t suppose there is an entire army of half-breeds like you? You could travel within King Justin’s camp and cut his throat before he realized what was happening.”
“Alas, that is unlikely,” said Third. “As far as I know, only Queen Mara possesses traveling abilities like my own. Additionally, the Seven Swords appear to inhibit magical travel with a hundred yards of their bearers. King Justin would be warned of my approach, and I would be slain before I could draw near.”
“Then we shall have to defeat him through knightly combat!” said Aristotle, thumping his armored chest with a fist. A murmur of agreement rose from the assembled knights and Companions. King Lycureon gazed at Aristotle with open respect, Kyrian with ill-dsguised annoyance.
After meeting Aristotle, Kyrian, and Lycureon, Ridmark had no trouble seeing how Hektor Pendragon maintained his dominant position. None of the other three kings had his force of personality, his experience, or his skill as a commander. No wonder Khurazalin had tried to use Rypheus to kill his father. If Hektor had been killed, Aristotle, Lycureon, and Kyrian would have all fallen to squabbling, and Justin or the Confessor would have been able to conquer them one by one.
That still might happen, if Hektor lost the impending battle with Justin.
“Speaking of the Seven Swords, my lords,” said Hektor, “it is time to address the second strange matter of the day.” His black eyes shifted to Calliande. “My lady Keeper, we must decide what is to be done with the bearer of the Sword of Air.”
Chapter 4: A Dream Or Not
Kalussa looked at Calem.
The white-cloaked assassin made no response to Hektor’s pronouncement. His face had returned to its calm mask, and he waited behind Calliande like a white shadow. The Sword of Air, one of the Seven Swords that had plunged Owyllain into twenty-five years of war, hung at his belt in its scabbard.
Kalussa wondered if keeping him alive had been such a good idea.
Calliande was a merciful woman. Kalussa knew that as profoundly as she had ever known anything. She knew it because she had been prone on the floor of the great hall of the Palace of the High Kings, dying from the wounds the Staff of Blades had inflicted on her, and she had looked up and asked Calliande to help her.
And Calliande almost hadn’t.
Kalussa had seen the hatred in the Keeper’s eyes, cold and stern and terrible. Tamlin had warned her. He had said that if Kalussa tried to convince Ridmark to take her as his concubine, she would turn both Ridmark and Calliande against her. At the time, Kalussa had dismissed Tamlin’s concerns. He was a seducer and a lecher. What did he know about anything?
But as Calliande had glared down at her, Kalussa realized that he had been right, and she had been certain that Calliande was going to let her die.
Yet Calliande hadn’t. She had healed Kalussa and taken her as an apprentice, training her to use the Staff of Blades that she had inadvertently claimed. But Kalussa knew she would never forget the implacable rage she had seen in Calliande’s eyes, and certainly Ridmark seemed to go out of his way to avoid her now.
So Calliande understood mercy…but Kalussa wasn’t sure that extending that mercy to Calem had been such a good idea.
The man was dangerous, as dangerous as anyone Kalussa had ever met. If Ridmark and Calliande hadn’t been there, Calem could have killed everyone in Myllene. Kalussa did not possess the power of the Sight as Calliande did, but she could cast the spell to sense magic, and whenever she did, she felt the dark magic writhing beneath Calem’s skin like worms in rotting wood. Calliande’s ward held it back, but how long would it last? What would happen if the ward failed?
During the walk to her father’s pavilion, Kalussa had considered using the Staff of Blades to kill Calem. She could make it quick. A single crystal sphere to the back of the head and Calem would be dead before he hit the ground.
Two fears stopped her. First, she had vowed to obey Calliande as her apprentice, and Calliande wanted Calem kept alive.
Second, she was starting to guess that Calliande had a reason for keeping Calem alive in addition to mercy.
Namely, if Calem was killed what would happen to the Sword of Air?
Her father was speaking, and Kalussa forced aside her musings and turned her attention to the King of Aenesium.
“As I am sure all of you have heard,” said Hektor, “before the army stopped to camp, the assassin called Calem made another attempt upon the life of the Shield Knight and the Keeper. As before, he was defeated. This time, he did not escape, and the Keeper suppressed whatever dark magic binds him. The question before us is to decide what is to be done with him.”
“From my perspective, lord King, the matter is settled,” said Calliande. Kalussa was struck by how different Calliande seemed when she treated with kings, how calm and cool and collected. Queenly, even. It was a far cry from the woman who smiled at Ridmark with stars in her eyes. “Calem has repented of his evils and sworn to the service of my husband and me as a knight.”
Aristotle laughed. “Sir Calem, then?”
“Such is the title, I believe,” said Ridmark in a dry voice.
“That is so,” said Hektor. “Regardless, I would speak with the assassin.” He beckoned. “Sir Calem, if you would step closer.”
Calem’s green eyes turned towards Calliande, and she nodded. The white-cloaked assassin took several steps forward and executed a proper bow.
“Do you know who I am?” said Hektor.
“Hektor Pendragon,” said Calem. “King of Aenesium, rightful High King of Owyllain, and bearer of the Sword of Fire.”
“And who are you, sir?” said Hektor.
“My name is Calem. I am a gladiator of Urd Maelwyn, owned by the Confessor.” He shrugged. “Though I suppose I am now a knight in service to the Lord Ridmark and the Lady Calliande, if I understand the customs.”
“You do,” said Hektor. “You recognize the value and the power of the weapon you carry?”
“It is the Sword of Air, King Hektor,” said Calem. “One of the Seven Swords forged by the Sovereign and taken by High King Kothlaric to Cathair Animus to be destroyed, where he was then betrayed.”
King Kyrian’s watery eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You are quite well informed, sir.”
“I regret to say that I am not,” said Calem. “But I only repeat common knowledge. In the fighting pits of Urd Maelwyn, the tale of the Seven Swords and High King Kothlaric’s death is well-known. The Confessor’s lieutenants and urdhracosi,” his eyes strayed towards Third, “regularly gloat of it.”
Hektor stirred. “You were a gladiator in Urd Maelwyn, then?”
“I was, lord King,” said Calem.
“I can vouch for that part of his story, my lord King,” said Tamlin. “I did not realize it at the time, but I fought Calem several times in the Ring.”
“Very well,” said Hektor. “How, then, did you come to possess the Sword of Air? No one knew what happened to it after Cathair Animus and Rhodruthain’s betrayal, but twenty-five years later you turned up with the blade at Myllene.”
“I do not know, lord King,” said Calem.
Aristotle snorted. “A sword of unfathomable power, one of the weapons that have torn apart Owyllain in war for a quarter of a century…and you don’t know where you found it?”
“I do not, King Aristotle,” said Calem. “I wish that I did.”
“You understand our caution, I trust,” said Hektor. “The Swords are weapons of immense potency. Just one of the Swords gave evil men like the Necromancer of Trojas and the Masked One of Xenorium the strength to defy the rest of the realm of Owyllain.”
“Though the Masked One of Xenorium is no threat,” said Aristotle, and Kalussa nodded her agreement, as did several of the knights and Companions. Calliande gave her a puzzled look, but Hektor kept speaking.
“Then how did you come to bear one of the Seven Swords, sir?” said Hektor.
“I do not know,” said Calem with a shrug, “but because Lady Calliande commands it, I will tell you what I know. The Confessor slew my parents and took me to the Ring of Blood in Urd Maelwyn. I trained all my life in combat, and I won far more matches than I lost. But then my second master came.”
“Who is your second master, then?” said Hektor.
“I do not know,” said Calem. “I cannot remember him.”
Disbelief spread over the faces of the kings and knights.
“It is my belief,” said Calliande, “that Calem’s second master, whoever or whatever he is, used magic to cloud Calem’s mind and remove the memory.”
“Is that even possible?” said King Kyrian. “Could magic remove a man’s memory?”
“Yes.” A flicker of pain went over Calliande’s face, so fast that Kalussa was not sure she actually saw it. “I know firsthand that such magic is possible.”
“My second master gives me decrees,” said Calem. “They are written into my flesh with great pain, and when they are, I fall into a deep sleep and dream of dealing death with a silver sword of great power. When I awake, I am often wounded and in great pain, and the Confessor’s dvargir gamemasters use their alchemical elixirs to heal my wounds.” He shrugged. “Then I return to the arena and fight until my hidden master returns. Nothing ever changes.” A hint of wonder entered his voice. “Then the Keeper’s magic burned in my mind, and some of the shadows lifted from my thoughts.”
“It seems clear to me,” said Calliande, “that the Confessor escaped from Urd Maelwyn with both the Sword of Air and the Sword of Water. Even a dark elven lord and wizard of power like the Confessor can only wield one Sword at a time, so the Confessor chose to wield the Sword of Water. But what could he do with the Sword of Air? He could entrust it to no one because any of his captains or lieutenants who carried the Sword would rebel against him.”
“So instead he bound dark magic within a slave,” said Hektor, nodding as he followed Calliande’s reasoning, “and could give the Sword to the slave when he wished someone slain.”
“That is my belief,” said Calliande.
Hektor nodded again. “Have you removed the dark magic within him?”
“Not yet,” said Calliande. “The spell is one of great resilience and power. If given enough time, I can probably manage it, but not yet.”
“Then if your ward breaks,” said Hektor, “Sir Calem will return to the control of his master.”
“Yes,” said Calliande.
“It seems clear,” said Aristotle, “there is only one thing to do. We must execute Calem and take the Sword of Air for ourselves.”
Hektor frowned, and a murmur went through the lords and kings and knights. Calem himself showed no reaction.
“No,” said Ridmark. “Calem has sworn as my vassal.”
“He has also confessed to multiple murders, my lord,” said Aristotle, and both Kyrian and Sir Kamilius nodded in agreement. “It would not be murder, but a just sentence.”
“I would not oppose it,” said Calem in a quiet voice. “I surely deserve it, even if I cannot remember my crimes. What is life but endless killing, endless struggle, endless suffering? Perhaps I shall be damned for my crimes, but even that would be a respite from the misery that is Urd Maelwyn and the Ring of Blood.”
He looked so weary as he spoke, and Kalussa felt a surge of pity for him. She hated her life, hated serving as a Sister of the Arcanii, hated her magic, hated this war. Yet she was a free woman, a daughter of a great and noble King. Calem had been enslaved so utterly, so thoroughly, that if Calliande ordered him to fall upon the Sword of Air, he would do it.
He would even do it gladly, free of his suffering at last.
The thought revolted Kalussa. She had seen Calem fight. He was a great warrior, among the best swordsmen she had ever seen. He ought to have been an honored knight, a Companion of a king, not a broken slave ready to accept death as an end to his torment.
“Lord King,” said Calliande. “I urge you to consider carefully. This moment may mean victory or defeat. For if you kill Calem, this might mean the destruction of Owyllain and final victory for King Justin or the Confessor.”
Hektor frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Is that a threat, my lady?” said Aristotle. The Lionesses shifted behind him.
“Certainly not,” said Calliande. She didn’t even blink. Kalussa had to admit that she found King Aristotle intimidating, but the Keeper of Andomhaim had likely seen far more terrifying sights than the Lion of Echion. “Instead I counsel you to consider the answer to a question, for your answer might decide the fate of Owyllain here and now.”
“And what question is that?” said Hektor, still calm.
“If you execute Sir Calem,” said Calliande, “who will take the Sword of Air?”
Silence answered her.
“I would take the burden upon myself,” said Aristotle, “for it is a fit duty for one of the Nine Kings of Owyllain.”
“You?” said Kyrian the Pious, snorting. “You with your lechery and debauchery? You would abuse the power of the Sword.”
“At least I would use the power,” said Aristotle with a contemptuous smile, “rather than spending my days upon my knees and waiting for God to save me, doing nothing meanwhile to defend my lands or my people…”
“Neither of you should bear the Sword,” said Master Nicion. Kalussa didn’t like him, but she did respect him. The Master of the Order of the Arcanii was a sour-looking man with receding hair and a thin, bitter-looking face. Nicion was a joyless tyrant of a man who trained the Order with an iron fist, and Kalussa had hated learning under him. Yet he was utterly fearless and had fought with ferocity against Rypheus’s abscondamni. “I should take the burden. Already King Hektor has the Sword of Fire. If a second King of the Nine Cities took the Sword of Air, we would have dissension in the realm. Already King Justin opposes the rightful High King of Owyllain. Should another king take the Sword of Air, we might have two kings opposing King Hektor instead of just one.”
“The Arcanii?” said Aristotle, incredulous. “You expect us to trust one of the Seven Swords to your Order? Master Talitha betrayed and murdered High King Kothlaric to claim their power. Taerdyn and Cavilius were both Arcanii, and now they are the Necromancer of Trojas and the Masked One of Xenorium. For that matter, half of your precious Order defected to King Justin so they could wield filthy necromancy and dark magic. If we give you the Sword of Air, no doubt you’ll go insane, seize control of Aenesium, and call yourself the Wind Wizard or some other such rot.”
Nicion scowled. “This from a man who calls himself the Lion of Echion? I’m sure you would exercise great restraint while wielding the Sword of Air. Perhaps you’ll have to hire a second monk to follow you around and write even more bad poetry.”
“Enough!” said King Kyrian. “It is clear that no one can be trusted to wield the Sword of Air. Let us instead take the weapon to Aenesium and seal it within the Palace of the High Kings. If no one wields it, no one can use its power to work evil.”
“I fear we cannot surrender the advantage the Sword of Air offers,” said Sir Tramond, and Sir Kamilius nodded in agreement. “If King Hektor did not have the Sword of Fire to match the Sword of Earth and the Sword of Water, then either King Justin or the Confessor would have conquered Owyllain by now, or the Necromancer of Trojas would have killed us all. If we have two of the Swords fighting in our cause, then our chances are all the greater.”
“Then someone must wield it,” said Aristotle. “It must be one of the Kings of Owyllain. King Hektor already has the Sword of Fire. King Kyrian is too old, and King Lycureon is too young and inexperienced at war.” Both Kyrian and Lycureon scowled at that. “Therefore, I am the best choice to bear the Sword of Air.”
“You?” said Kyrian, not bothering to hide his scorn. “You are a man enslaved to the lusts of the flesh and your own pomp and grandeur
. I barely trust you to wield a sword of bronze, let alone one of the Seven Swords.”
“The Order of the Arcanii should safeguard the Sword of Air,” said Nicion. “We are accustomed to wielding arcane forces, and we are the best ones to guard the weapon. The wielders of dark magic have been purged from our Order or defected to join King Justin.”
“Have they?” said Aristotle. “Sir Archaelon fought for King Hektor for years, and then he declared his allegiance to this so-called New God and started practicing necromancy. Think of the disaster that would have befallen Owyllain if you had entrusted the Sword of Air to Archaelon!”
“And if you take the Sword of Air,” said Kyrian, “no doubt you will devote yourself to seizing lands belonging to Callistum rather than focusing your attentions on our true enemies.”
Nearly everyone began shouting at once. Aristotle was in a three-way argument with Nicion, Kyrian, and Sir Kamilius. Kalussa looked at her father, wondering why he didn’t put a stop to this. She then looked at Calliande and Ridmark. Both were watching the argument with calm expressions. Why didn’t they intervene? This kind of dissension before a battle was dangerous…
“My lords!” shouted Hektor. “My lords!”
The argument fell silent, and the kings and lords looked to Hektor.
“While I do not doubt Lady Calliande’s eloquence,” said Hektor, “I fear we have proved her argument far more effectively than any rhetoric.”
Dismay flickered over both Aristotle’s and Nicion’s expressions. Kalussa glanced at Ridmark and saw him smile, very briefly, in Calliande’s direction. Understanding came to Kalussa in a flash. Ridmark had known all along what Calliande was going to do. The Keeper had maneuvered them into this argument, knowing it would prove her point, and Ridmark had trusted her enough to let it happen.
A deep wave of melancholy rolled through Kalussa. She wanted a marriage like that for herself, to have a husband she could trust utterly. But it had been unlikely before, and it was even less likely now. She had never married or been taken as a concubine because her magic was too useful for the war.
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