Sevenfold Sword_Warlord

by Jonathan Moeller

  “That is something else that reminds me that I am old,” said Hektor. “How very young I am.” He sighed again and rubbed his chin, the beard rasping beneath his palm. “When I was your age, I thought Helen would be the only woman I would ever love. I was wrong. I loved your mother. I loved Adrastea. And I loved some of my other concubines, though others I took for duty and alliance.”

  “Father,” said Kalussa. She didn’t know what to say. She did want a husband and children. Did she want one right now? Did she want to share her husband with concubines? Definitely not, but she didn’t see how she had much choice.

  “You don’t have to decide anything now,” said Hektor. “But think on what have I said once we return to Aenesium.”

  “Do you think we will win?” said Kalussa.

  “Of course,” said Hektor. “We will crush King Justin, defeat the Confessor, and destroy the Seven Swords and bring peace to our realm.”

  They watched the stars come out for a while.

  “Are you trying to comfort your daughter with soothing words?” said Kalussa. “Or are you speaking as a King?”

  “Why can it not be both?” said Hektor. “What about you, daughter? Do you think we will win?”

  “Beyond all doubt,” said Kalussa. “We have the bearer of the Sword of Fire, the true Arcanii, the Shield Knight, and the Keeper of Andomhaim. We’ll smash Justin and the Confessor.”

  She could almost make herself believe it. Almost.

  Bootsteps rasped against the stairs. Kalussa and Hektor turned at once, Hektor reaching for the Sword of Fire, Kalussa grabbing the Staff of Blades.

  A figure in a white cloak appeared on the stairs.

  “Perhaps you should marry Sir Calem,” said Hektor.

  Kalussa gave her father an incredulous look.

  “You’re joking,” said Kalussa. “He’s violent and dangerous and probably insane.”

  “Even kings are allowed to joke, daughter,” said Hektor.

  Sir Calem walked to join them, bowed to Hektor, and straightened up.

  “Lady Kalussa,” said Calem. “The Keeper asked me to find you. She believes there is time for another lesson before you both retire for the night.”

  “How did she know where to find me?” said Kalussa, and then realized the answer. “The Sight. She can probably find me anywhere.”

  Calem shrugged. “I merely do as I am bid.”

  “Then I will give you a task, young knight,” said Hektor.

  “If you will, King Hektor,” said Calem, “so long as it does not contradict any command from Lord Ridmark and Lady Calliande.”

  “A knight should be loyal to his liege,” said Hektor, voice grave. “Look after my daughter in the fighting to come.”

  Calem blinked. “I shall, but why do you ask this of me?”

  “Because you are one of the greatest warriors I have ever seen,” said Hektor, “and my daughter’s life is precious to me.”

  Kalussa looked at her father and blinked, a surge of emotion going through her.

  “I shall do as you bid then, King Hektor,” said Calem. “If I am to be a knight, then I understand knights are obliged to defend fair maidens.”

  Kalussa laughed and raised an eyebrow. “Fair, am I?”

  Calem’s green eyes settled on her. “I am many things, Lady Kalussa, but I am not a liar.”

  Kalussa didn’t know what to say, so she only nodded.

  “Go,” said Hektor. “You don’t want to keep Lady Calliande waiting.”

  Kalussa nodded, bowed to her father, and followed Calem to the stairs.

  And as Kalussa had promised, she thought on what her father had said.

  Chapter 10: Gathering Armies

  The next morning King Hektor’s party departed Castra Chaeldon, the army following behind.

  Ridmark and Third ranged out, scouting the road through the hills towards the plains of the north. Kyralion went scouting as well, and Sir Parmenio and his hunters roved through the hills. For once, they found no enemies. King Justin must have decided to pull all his forces back, preparing to meet the enemy on the road to Cytheria. Ridmark spotted many signs of the passage of Vhalorasti warbands, but he saw no trace of the enemy.

  Justin Cyros, it seemed, was concentrating his forces to meet them.

  The mood in Hektor’s army grew tense as the men marched northwest. Many of the older hoplites had been fighting in the War of the Seven Swords for their entire lives. Some of the younger soldiers had not even been born yet when Kothlaric had been betrayed and the Seven Swords had been taken from Cathair Animus. The war had raged for twenty-five years, and the men knew they were approaching a decisive battle.

  One way or another, many things would be determined in the next few days.

  Ridmark thought about the battle as he and Third scouted for any sign of the enemy. What was the quickest path to victory? Until Ridmark saw Justin’s army, he could not know for sure. Hektor had the loyalty of four of the Nine Cities of Owyllain, and Justin commanded only three. Yet he also had allied with the Warlord of Vhalorast, and it seemed Vhalorast was a larger and more powerful city-state than Warlord Obhalzak’s city of Mholorast. Justin also had the Dark Arcanii and the Vhalorasti warlocks to balance out Hektor’s Arcanius Knights, pagan jotunmiri to fight Earl Vimroghast’s warriors, and if the rumors were true, dvargir mercenaries he paid with slaves taken from the commoners of his lands.

  The armies were too evenly matched for Ridmark’s taste.

  Of course, the quickest way to end the battle would be to kill King Justin. That would be easier said than done, given that Justin carried the Sword of Earth. Ridmark did not know the Sword’s capabilities, but he had fought Calem and the Sword of Air, and he had only beaten Calem because Calliande had disrupted the spells of dark magic binding the younger man. Had the battle gone on any longer, Ridmark did not know if he could have beaten Calem without calling on the power of the Shield Knight. He had to assume the Sword of Earth would be just as potent.

  The battle seemed like a dangerous gamble for both Hektor and Justin. It was far, far better to attack from a position of strength than to engage with an equal foe. A courtly knight might refuse to fight an unhorsed enemy, but a battle was not a tournament or a duel. A lot of men were going to die, and if Hektor lost the battle, far more men would die when Justin seized the Seven Swords or the Confessor overran Owyllain.

  Ridmark knew it. The men marching down the road knew it. He could see it in their faces, hear it in their murmured conversations. He missed his sons, but he was grateful they were safe behind Aenesium’s walls, hundreds of miles from the impending battle. Hektor had gathered a powerful army, but so had King Justin, and even a mighty army could be overthrown in a day if chance went against them.

  Ridmark supposed that his arrival here with Calliande had been the pebbles that heralded the coming of the avalanche. Not that the avalanche was his doing or Calliande’s work. The War of the Seven Swords had been raging for twenty-five years, and Ridmark had no idea Owyllain even existed until a month and a half ago. And if he and Calliande hadn’t been brought here against their will, likely Justin or the Confessor would now hold Castra Chaeldon, and their armies would be marching on Aenesium even now.

  “I wonder if Rhodruthain intended that,” said Ridmark to Third. They had seen no enemies in the hills, and he was confident that there was no one to overhear them.

  Third shrugged. “If Rhodruthain knew of your abilities and those of the Keeper, he would know that you would side with King Hektor against the other bearers of the Seven Swords, since King Hektor does not permit the use of dark magic. If the Guardian wished to ensure that Justin or the Confessor did not gain control of Owyllain, bringing you here would be the logical course of action.”

  “Why does Rhodruthain care if Hektor rules Owyllain?” said Ridmark.

  “I think the Keeper’s speculation is correct,” said Third. “Rhodruthain referred to himself as a Guardian. Therefore, he is keeping watch over something in Cat
hair Animus, some source of power or a relic that cannot fall into the wrong hands. Likely he fears that whoever claims all seven of the Swords will be strong enough to seize Cathair Animus.”

  “But Hektor is working to take all seven of the Swords to Cathair Animus so he can destroy them and free his brother,” said Ridmark. He had told Third the truth about Kothlaric Pendragon, that the High King was imprisoned within magical crystal inside Cathair Animus. “If he wins, he’ll take the Seven Swords to Cathair Animus. For that matter, a man can only wield one of the Seven Swords at a time.”

  “Then perhaps Rhodruthain fears another use of the Swords,” said Third. “Maybe when they are combined, they can serve as a potent weapon, or perhaps a key.”

  Ridmark stopped and looked at her, a thought stirring inside his head.

  “A key,” he said.

  Third shrugged again. “It is only speculation.”

  “Yes,” Ridmark murmured. “But a key to what? God and the saints, Third. We are about to fight a battle, but I feel like I am chasing shadows. Seven Swords, the seven high priests of the Maledicti, and that symbol of the New God that Rypheus carried had seven spikes piercing a double ring.”

  “A strange coincidence,” said Third.

  “It is,” said Ridmark. “You remember the war with the Frostborn?”

  “Rather well, as it happens,” said Third, a hint of dryness in her voice.

  “We didn’t understand why Imaria Shadowbearer summoned the Frostborn through the world gate,” said Ridmark. “We thought she just wanted to destroy Andomhaim, but that wasn’t her main purpose. She wanted to free the shadow of Incariel. That was the reason for everything that had happened – the Enlightened of Incariel, the Frostborn, the war, all of it. All of it was just a tool to allow the Shadowbearer to free Incariel.”

  “Then you fear that the War of the Seven Swords is a similar tactic,” said Third. “That it is designed to accomplish some sinister goal, or that it is a distraction to hide something else.”

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. “That is exactly right.” He shook his head. “If we ever…when we find Rhodruthain, I’m going to force him to return us to Andomhaim. Immediately after that, I’m going to make him tell us just what the hell is going on in Owyllain.”

  Third thought about that as they walked north through the hills. The hills were becoming lower, and Ridmark saw more grasses and tough little trees. A little further, he thought, and they would be out of the hills and into the plains.

  “Rhodruthain is a gray elf,” said Third at last.

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. “Or, at least, the gray elves say he is one of them. Calliande and I saw a carving of Rhodruthain receiving his staff from Ardrhythain in Cathair Animus.”

  “Then he is at least fifteen thousand years old,” said Third. “But from what I understand, the gray elves live a thousand years or so.”

  “That’s what Kyralion said.” Ridmark shifted his grip on the bamboo staff. “They renounced their immortality in exchange for release from the threefold law of the high elves.”

  “It seems to have worked well for them,” said Third, that dry note returning to her voice. “But if Rhodruthain is a gray elf, how has he lived for fifteen thousand years?”

  “I don’t know,” said Ridmark.

  “Perhaps whatever he guards in Cathair Animus is the source of his immortality,” said Third.

  Ridmark frowned. “Then this entire war has been just to extend his life? No, that doesn’t seem right.” He thought it over. “I wonder if his immortality is because he is a Guardian. That he is bound to defend whatever is inside Cathair Animus.”

  “That seems reasonable,” said Third.

  “I wish we knew more,” said Ridmark. “We’re chasing shadows, and if we’re not careful, we’ll blunder right into disaster.”

  “A reasonable fear,” said Third. “Kyralion thinks…”

  She trailed off. That was unlike her. Ridmark glanced back at her.

  “I do not know what to make of Kyralion,” said Third. “Or his Augurs’ claim that I will either save or destroy his people.”

  “Neither do I,” said Ridmark. “It is another mystery.”

  “I begin to see why you find mysteries so frustrating,” said Third. “Kyralion is…I do not know what to make of Kyralion. He is clearly a brave warrior and a loyal man. Else why undertake the journey to find you?”

  “He fought alongside us against Qazaldhar and Calem and Rypheus,” said Ridmark.

  “Yet he says he is an outcast,” said Third. “That he is not part of their Unity. Why? That does not make sense. What manner of society would cast out a brave and loyal warrior? He is immune to magic, and so if the Unity is a spell he could not be part of it, but why would that make him an outcast?”

  “Perhaps he ought to be glad of it,” said Ridmark. “It seems to have spared him from the plague curse upon the gray elves.”

  “Perhaps,” echoed Third, and they lapsed into silence.

  A short time later the hills ended.

  “We have at least solved one mystery,” said Third. “We now know where the plains are.”

  “Aye,” said Ridmark, stepping onto the road.

  The plains stretched away to the north. From the maps that Ridmark had seen, he knew that the plains reached from the hill country around Castra Chaeldon to the Cloak Mountains in the north. The orcish city-states ruled by the various Warlords lay between Castra Chaeldon and the strongholds of the jotunmiri in the mountains. Ridmark had not been sure how the orcish city-states had avoided slaughtering each other or unifying into a single kingdom, but after looking at the plains with his own eyes, he knew why.

  The landscape was ideal for ambushes. There were frequent hills, and rocky tors jutted from the ground here and there. The grass was tough and thick and tall. The rolling hills and rocky spurs offered countless places for small forces to hide and launch ambushes. No doubt the orcish city-states carried out endless petty raids and skirmishes against each other using the hills as cover.

  “This is bad terrain for a pitched battle,” said Third.

  “It is,” said Ridmark. “But I think that King Hektor has the right of it. At the edge of the hill country is where his army should make its stand. If the battle goes ill, he can withdraw back into the hills and Castra Chaeldon. And if we are victorious, he can seize Cytheria with a quick march.”

  “But if we are not careful,” said Third, “we shall constantly be harassed by Vhalorasti raiders.”

  “Agreed,” said Ridmark. He wondered if the High Warlock or Prince Krastikon watched them from one of those rocky tors. “Let’s rejoin the others. We can let King Hektor know the way is clear at least this far.”

  Third nodded, and they headed back to the southeast.

  ###

  Calliande watched as the army poured out of the hills like a flood, stationing itself across the road to Cytheria.

  King Hektor’s party arrived first, raising the crimson and gold banner of Aenesium and the Pendragons. The other kings’ standards flew below it (Aristotle’s only a little smaller than Hektor’s) and the army started to raise its camp. At Hektor’s insistence, the army raised a fortified camp, and soon both the hoplites and the saurtyri were busy with shovels, digging a ditch and an earthwork wall across the road. Compared to the camps that the Anathgrimm raised, the ditch and the low wall looked feeble. Nevertheless, it would be enough to allow the army to retreat in haste if King Justin won the coming battle.

  There was little for Calliande to do. The enemy had not yet arrived, which meant there were no wounded men yet. Hopefully, that would continue. She sent the Sight roving around her from time to time, seeking for any sign of dark magic, but there was none nearby.

  Calliande occupied herself by teaching Kalussa, Sir Jolcus, and the band of earth magic-inclined Arcanii that she had gathered around Jolcus. All of them were improving. Sir Jolcus and his men could now command thirty trisalians between them, and the huge lizards lumbered after
the army. They ate a ruinous amount of feed, but fortunately, they could also graze upon the tough grasses of the plains. Calliande hoped the trisalians would prove useful in the battle. King Hektor’s army was too evenly matched with King Justin’s, and anything that she could do to tip the odds in Hektor’s direction might decide the battle.

  Ridmark and Third returned from speaking with Hektor while Calliande set Kalussa and Jolcus to practicing their lessons.

  “I might as well wish for the skies to rain wine,” said Ridmark, “but I feel the absence of horses keenly.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” said Calliande, watching as Kalussa frowned at the flame dancing in her free hand. The girl did not like the exercise, but it was working. She could hold the flame in place for far longer now. “I keep thinking this would be marvelous country for cavalry.” She pointed at the hills. “We could put a band of horsemen there and there, and they could sweep out when the infantry engaged. It would absolutely shatter the enemy.”

  Aegeus frowned. He stood nearby with Tamlin, Kyralion, and Calem. “Would not the rocky ground hurt the feet of the horses? Except horses don’t have feet, do they? They have…ah, what was the word?”

  “Hooves,” said Tamlin. “They do have feet, but the feet end in hooves.” No doubt he had read that in the monastery library as a child.

  “That is correct,” said Calliande. “But in Andomhaim, horses are always shoed.”

  “You make shoes for horses?” said Kyralion. “That seems inefficient.”

  “That is merely their name,” said Third. “The shoes are actually half-rings of iron that are nailed to the hooves by a skilled blacksmith. This protects the horses’ hooves, which are often quite fragile, and allows them to traverse harsher terrain than they could otherwise.”

  “I see, Lady Third,” said Kyralion. “It is a metaphor, then. I often have difficulty with those.”

  “I do not care for them myself,” said Third. “Direct speech is more efficient and saves valuable time.”

  Aegeus snorted. “The conversations the two of you have. Someday, I will tell a joke that will make both of you laugh.”