Sevenfold Sword_Warlord

by Jonathan Moeller

  And as much as Kalussa wished she didn’t have the Staff of Blades and she didn’t have magic, there was one advantage to serving as the Keeper’s apprentice. She got to go through the gate to the courtyard first with the King and the Keeper while the others waited.

  Decurion Rallios awaited them in the courtyard, grim and solid as ever. Lord Ridmark was with him, as were Sir Tamlin, Sir Aegeus, Kyralion, and Third. Calliande looked at Ridmark and smiled, and Kalussa saw the relief go over her face when she saw that he was uninjured.

  That had to be hard, watching him go into danger again and again. Then again, it had to be hard for Ridmark to watch Calliande take the pain of wounds into herself. And it must have been just as painful to leave their sons behind in Aenesium. During the march from Aenesium, Kalussa had once seen Ridmark and Calliande sitting together, Calliande crying softly into his shoulder.

  There was no trace of that now. The relief vanished behind the calm, cool mask Calliande assumed when acting as the Keeper of Andomhaim.

  “Lord King,” said Rallios with a deep bow. “It is with great pleasure that I welcome you to Castra Chaeldon. I wish that Sir Tyromon Amphilus could welcome you here, but I must serve in his place.”

  “Aye, Decurion,” said Hektor, his face grave. Like Calliande, he seemed to assume a mask when performing his duties as the King of Aenesium. “I have keenly felt Sir Tyromon’s absence on our march. But you have served well in his place as commander of Castra Chaeldon. However, I must now relieve you of this command and appoint another in your place.”

  Rallios blinked and then offered a bow. “As my King wishes.”

  “Castra Chaeldon will instead be commanded by Sir Rallios, Companion of the King and knight of Aenesium,” said Hektor. Ridmark smiled, and Kalussa laughed a little at the surprise on Rallios’s face.

  “Sire,” said Rallios. “I am not fit to be a knight. I have a rough tongue, and…”

  “Owyllain is at war, my friend,” said Hektor. “I need neither polished tongues nor fine words in my knights. What Owyllain needs are knights with strong sword arms, honest tongues, and loyal hearts, and you have all three.”

  Sir Tramond laughed. “Accept, you rascal. Now when you tell me that my battle plans are folly, at least it shall be from one knight to another rather than impertinence from commoner to noble.”

  “Then I accept gratefully, lord King,” said Rallios.

  “It is traditional to have a feast to mark the ascension of a new Companion,” said Hektor, “but I am afraid we must lay aside such pleasantries for now. King Justin’s host is only days away. Do you have any reports of its movements?”

  “I do, lord King,” said Rallios. “This way, please.” He headed towards the great hall, and Hektor and the other kings followed, Calliande and Kalussa trailing after them. Ridmark and the others came to join Calliande.

  “The High Warlock?” said Calliande in a quiet voice.

  “We stalemated each other, I think,” said Ridmark. “He couldn’t harm me, but he wielded spells of illusion, and I couldn’t get close to him. Eventually, he sent his undead and urvaalgs after us, and he escaped with an Ironcoat called Prince Krastikon.” Kalussa glanced at Tamlin, wondering how he felt about facing a half-brother in battle, but his face was blank. “He’ll be back, I suspect.”

  “If I can catch him in the battle,” said Calliande, “the Sight can pierce his illusions, and I can tell you where to strike.”

  “I suspect we’ll have our hands full with the Dark Arcanii and the rest of the Vhalorasti warlocks,” said Ridmark. “I’m just glad the High Warlock didn’t find a way into the castra.”

  “Aye,” said Calliande. “That would have been disastrous.”

  They reached the great hall of Castra Chaeldon. It was a fine example of the engineering skill of Owyllain, a basilica-like hall with a vaulted roof, thick stone pillars, and a high balcony. A dais at the far end of the hall held the curule chair, where a lord or magistrate would sit and give his judgments. A table had been set up in the center of the hall, and it held a large and surprisingly detailed map of the terrain between Castra Chaeldon and Cytheria. Kalussa wondered where Rallios had found it.

  The kings, lords, and knights gathered around the table. Since Kalussa was with Calliande, she got to stand next to the table. Calem waited behind the Keeper, face calm. His blue armor and white cloak drew some odd stares from Rallios’s hoplites, but no one approached him. Kalussa wondered if they recognized that one of the Seven Swords that had caused so much woe hung from Calem’s belt.

  “My scouts report that King Justin’s army is there,” said Rallios, pointing at a spot on the map. It was on the coastal road from Castra Chaeldon to Cytheria, about three days’ march northwest of the hill country. “He is not moving in haste, though he’s been sending Vhalorasti warbands south to make trouble, and I had the High Warlock standing outside the gate this morning.”

  “Aye,” said Hektor. “No doubt he hoped the High Warlock would take Castra Chaeldon and give him a stronger position, or that the warbands would slow our march long enough for him to find another way to take this castra. Well, in this, at least, he has failed. Our army has arrived, and should be marching up the road to the castra’s gates even now.”

  “We should march from the hills at once and fall upon Justin Cyros like a storm,” said Aristotle. The monk behind him scribbled down that bit of wisdom for posterity.

  “That would be rash, King Aristotle,” said Hektor. He pointed at the map. “In warfare, many advantages lie with the defender, and we shall seize those advantages for ourselves. We shall meet King Justin here.” He tapped a spot on the road just to the northwest of the hill country. “From there, we can wait for Justin to come to us. We are well-supplied from Aenesium, and if the battle goes ill, we can withdraw into the hills, or fall back to Castra Chaeldon and contest the road. If we are victorious, we will be in an excellent position to seize Cytheria, or to meet the Confessor’s host if he should issue from Urd Maelwyn.”

  “What about the Necromancer of Trojas and the Masked One of Xenorium?” said Sir Kamilius. “King Lycureon is concerned about the threat they pose.” Lycureon bobbed his head in agreement, attempting to look stern.

  “The Necromancer is dangerous and commands numerous powerful undead,” said Hektor, “but so far has held himself aloof from the fighting. I suspect he plans to see who wins the three-way battle between us, Justin, and the Confessor, and then to attack the victor. And the Masked One of Xenorium is no threat.”

  Calliande gave Hektor an odd look. Kalussa wondered why that troubled her. The Masked One of Xenorium really was no threat to anyone. He had the Sword of Shadows, and he ruled Xenorium, but the Masked One commanded barely a thousand hoplite soldiers. He had waged no military campaigns against any of the other bearers of the Seven Swords, and as far as Kalussa knew, he had never even left Xenorium in the twenty-five years since he had seized control of the city.

  Yes, the Masked One of Xenorium was no threat…but Justin Cyros and the Confessor most certainly were.

  “My lords and knights,” said Hektor. “We have a battle to plan.”

  ###

  At sunset, Kalussa leaned upon the battlements of the central keep, the Staff of Blades propped against the stonework next to her, and gazed to the west.

  The sea was eight or nine miles away, but from the pinnacle of Castra Chaeldon’s soaring keep, Kalussa could see the distant waves.

  She had to admit it was a beautiful sight. As the sun dipped below the waves, the sea seemed to turn to molten metal. The rocky hills and broad ravines of the hill country were thrown into stark relief of light and shadow. As the sky dimmed, she began to see the moons appear in the sky overhead. Five of the thirteen, she thought. Or would it be six? Kalussa could never keep track.

  She ought to have been in the great hall, she knew. Her father was giving a meal for his chief lieutenants and advisors. Lady Calliande was there, and Kalussa should have been at her side. But right
now, Kalussa wanted to be alone. She was tired and sad, and watching Calliande with Ridmark would make her…

  Not jealous, not really. Kalussa knew that she would never be Ridmark’s concubine, that Ridmark would never take a concubine. One could not be jealous of the unattainable. But watching Ridmark and Calliande together, how well they knew each other, how Calliande smiled at him and how sometimes even Ridmark’s grim face smiled when he looked at Calliande, that made Kalussa feel…

  Lonely. It made her feel lonely.

  It was wretchedly foolish, she knew. Tens of thousands of men were marching to battle, and in another few days, many of them would die. All Kalussa had ever really wanted was a husband and children of her own, and those tens of thousands of men had left their children behind to go to war. For that matter, Kalussa had seen how much it upset Calliande to leave her sons in Aenesium.

  Her mind knew all this, but she supposed if her mind could talk her heart out of its emotions, then she wouldn’t have made such a fool of herself with Ridmark.

  So Kalussa wanted to be alone.

  She leaned on the battlements and watched the sunset, lost in her thoughts.

  Twilight had fallen when she heard someone climbing the stairs to the top of the keep.

  Instinct took over, and she reached for both her magic and the Staff of Blades. Though it was unlikely that any enemies had made their way into the castra. And if some soldier or knight thought to take advantage of Kalussa while she was alone, her magic would give him a very painful lesson.

  An odd thought occurred to her.

  Carrying the Staff of Blades meant far fewer things could threaten her than before.

  A man in bronze armor climbed onto the top of the keep, and Kalussa blinked in astonishment.

  It was Hektor Pendragon, and he was alone. No Companions, no advisors, no knights, just him.

  “Father?” said Kalussa.

  “Daughter,” said Hektor, his voice quiet and grave. “May I join you?”

  “Yes,” said Kalussa, surprised. “Yes, of course.”

  Hektor stood next to her at the battlements, watching the last glimmer of sunlight fade. Standing close to him, Kalussa was struck by how weary he looked. Had the lines always been so deep in his face? Had there always been that tired slump to his shoulders?

  She realized this was the first time that she had ever been alone with her father.

  “How go your lessons with Lady Calliande?” said Hektor.

  “Well,” said Kalussa. “She is a very demanding teacher, but I am learning.”

  “She is not pushing you too hard?” said Hektor.

  “She pushes me hard,” said Kalussa, “but…I think it is working. Already my magic is stronger than it was when we left Aenesium and crossed the River Morwynial.” She grimaced and tapped the Staff of Blades with a finger. “And my control over this weapon is better. I think it is for the best that she pushes me hard.”

  Hektor sighed. “Then you do understand, my daughter.”

  “Understand what?” said Kalussa.

  He gave the pommel of the Sword of Fire a tap with his left fist. “What it means to bear a weapon of terrible power. It is a grave responsibility, and so easy to misuse. If you were locked in a room with a hundred common hoplites and the Staff of Blades, you could likely kill them all.”

  “I know,” said Kalussa. “It…I just want to do my duty well, Father.”

  Hektor inclined his head. “Then it is a second thing we have in common. I am sorry that you have to understand something of the burdens I carry.” He sighed again. “Though I have not been very good at understanding my children, have I?”

  Kalussa hesitated. “Are we talking about Rypheus now, Father?”

  “We are,” said Hektor, “but more importantly, we are talking about you. May I be blunt with you, Kalussa?”

  “You are the King,” said Kalussa. “You can be blunt with whoever you want.”

  Hektor smiled a little at that. “You might be surprised. Of my surviving children, you are now the closest to being my peer and equal. And you are the closest because of the burden you chose to take upon yourself to bear the Staff of Blades.”

  “But I didn’t choose it, Father,” protested Kalussa. “I just wanted to get it away from Khurazalin before he killed us all. And if I could get rid of the damned thing, I would.”

  “But you knew that trying to get the Staff from Khurazalin might mean your death,” said Hektor. “You were prepared to accept the ultimate consequence that mortal life can offer for your decision. Instead of death, the consequence of your decision is that you will have to bear and wield the Staff of Blades and use its power responsibly and wisely.” He shook his head. “I faced such a choice twenty-five years ago at Cathair Animus. I didn’t want the Sword of Fire. What I wanted was to keep it from falling into the hands of men like Taerdyn or Cavilius or women like Talitha.”

  “And you’ve had to live with the consequences of that choice ever since,” said Kalussa.

  Hektor nodded.

  They stood in silence, watching the sky darken.

  “Father,” said Kalussa at last. “We’ve never…talked like this. Not ever.” She loved her father, certainly, but all her life he had been a distant figure. Her mother had died in childbirth when she had been young, and Kalussa had been raised first by nurses and then by the teachers of the Arcanii. She had talked to him, but their conversations had always been formal.

  “We have not,” said Hektor. “But we are talking like this now because of consequences. And the consequences of my choice to take up the Sword of Fire twenty-five years ago have affected every one of my children.”

  “Because we are Swordborn,” said Kalussa.

  “You were born with power,” said Hektor. “And Rypheus…” He let out a long breath, and he looked even older. “I failed Rypheus. I do not understand why he did what he did.”

  “It is not hard to understand,” said Kalussa. “Khurazalin corrupted him. The Maledictus poured all sorts of nonsense about the New God or the Kratomachar or whatever it is into Rypheus’s ears, and Rypheus soaked it all up. He ought to have refused Khurazalin, or told the Arcanii so we could set a trap for the Maledictus. Instead, Rypheus listened to Khurazalin’s nonsense, and so his own abscondamni tore him apart.”

  “Yes,” said Hektor. “But why did Rypheus listen to him?”

  “I don’t know,” said Kalussa.

  “It was clear he hated Queen Adrastea for not being his mother,” said Hektor, “which meant he hated his half-siblings, you included. And that is my failure, daughter. I should have seen it. I should have stopped it. All the power of the Sword of Fire, and I failed to use it wisely.”

  “I don’t know how you could have stopped it,” said Kalussa. “We all loved Rypheus. If love cannot cool hatred, then nothing can.”

  “Perhaps the men of Andomhaim are wiser than we are,” said Hektor. “They take but one wife, and cannot have concubines, at least not licitly.” He shook his head. “But if we did not have concubinage, our realm would have collapsed long ago, and the survivors would be the slaves of the Sovereign. Sometimes kingship means selecting the least evil choice from a list of evil choices. Life is no different.”

  “I fear so, Father,” said Kalussa.

  “I think I have wronged you,” said Hektor. “You, Rypheus, and all my other children. You are Swordborn, so I placed too much emphasis upon your power. Perhaps that was what helped twist Rypheus. I committed the sin of Justin Cyros.”

  “That is too harsh, Father,” said Kalussa. “Justin turned his sons into brutal thugs. We’re nothing like the Ironcoats.”

  Though Rypheus had gone berserk and tried to kill his father and everyone else in the banquet hall.

  “I let it be known,” said Hektor, “among my knights and lords, that I did not wish for any of them to court you. Your magic was too powerful, too useful a weapon, for it not to be used in battle.”

  “I know,” said Kalussa. She tried to keep
the bitterness from her voice and hoped that she succeeded.

  “That was a mistake,” said Hektor.

  Kalussa blinked. “Father?”

  “Justin Cyros has turned his Swordborn children into instruments of his will,” said Hektor, “and his Ironcoats are monsters. I thought I was better than him…”

  “You are!” said Kalussa. “You have the Order of the Arcanii, not the Dark Arcanii. You haven’t allied yourself with the High Warlock of Vhalorast. You haven’t taken your subjects and sold them into slavery to the dvargir to pay your debts. And you didn’t turn me into an Ironcoat. You didn’t do that to Rypheus. He made his own choices.”

  “Maybe not,” said Hektor. “I did not abuse you the way Justin did with his children. But I did try to turn you into instruments of my will, did I not? I am an old man, Kalussa…”

  “You’re not that old, Father,” said Kalussa, shaken by his confessions. Her father was the King of Aenesium, the rightful High King of Owyllain, the bearer of the Sword of Fire. He was the man who had kept Owyllain from falling to the Confessor or Justin Cyros. To hear him talk like this unsettled her. To learn that the King of Aenesium was haunted by the same sort of self-doubt that she experienced was shocking.

  Maybe she had inherited it from him.

  Hektor smiled a little. “Thank you, but I really am. I already felt old when I met your mother, and that was a long time ago. But I am an old man, and I do not have much time left to correct my mistakes. I wish to correct at least one. When we return to Aenesium, I will no longer discourage my knights and lords from approaching you and seeking your hand.”

  Kalussa blinked.

  “I will even find you a husband if you wish,” said Hektor. “If you do not desire to be a concubine. Presumably, your husband would take other concubines in time, but you ought to be a wife. I can do that for you, at least.”

  Kalussa didn’t know what to say.

  “Lord Ridmark is married,” she said at last.

  Hektor laughed. It was so unexpected that Kalussa blinked in surprise.