Sevenfold Sword_Warlord

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Yes, and then the sky will roll up like a scroll and the Dominus Christus will descend to judge the living and the dead,” said Tamlin.

  Calliande let them four of them amuse themselves, glanced at Kalussa and Jolcus, and back to Ridmark. “But I understand what you mean. If we only had five hundred knights of Andomhaim…if they charged at the right time, we could put King Justin’s army to flight.”

  “Aye,” said Ridmark. “But we don’t have them. Maybe your trisalians can make up the difference.”

  “Maybe,” said Calliande, but she did not know. The Arcanius Knights had used trisalians in battle before, but never on this scale. She could see the skepticism from the kings and their lords. Aristotle would not say it to her face, but she had heard him joking that the knights of Andomhaim must ride lizards to war.

  And perhaps it was a foolish idea. But every idea looked foolish until it worked.

  Kalussa dismissed her flame and leaned on the Staff of Blades, breathing hard, the crystal at its top rippling a little as she regained her mental control.

  “That was good,” said Calliande. “You did it for sixteen seconds longer this time.”

  “Did I?” said Kalussa. “Only sixteen? It felt much longer. It…”

  “My lady!”

  Calliande turned her head and saw Sir Parmenio jogging towards them, his bow in hand, sweat on his lined face.

  “What is it, Sir Parmenio?” said Ridmark.

  “Lord Ridmark, Lady Calliande,” said Parmenio. “You said you wanted to be notified at once if we found any trisalians.”

  “I did,” said Calliande. “Did you find any?”

  “A wild herd of about fifty to sixty of the beasts,” said Parmenio.

  Calliande nodded, a wave of excitement going through her. Fifty or sixty of the lizards…she thought Jolcus and his Arcanii had enough skill now to bind that many. What would fifty or sixty trisalians do if flung into the battle at the height of the fighting?

  “Where are they?” said Ridmark. “If they’re too close to Justin’s army, it might be too risky to bind them.”

  “They are not, my lord,” said Parmenio. “They’re about a half-day’s march to the southeast. King Hektor bade us search in that direction to make sure the Confessor wasn’t preparing to attack, but the country is empty in that direction, save for the trisalians.”

  “A half-day,” said Calliande, thinking it over. That would mean a day, minimum, to collect the trisalians and bring them here. Could she spare that? The scouts thought that King Justin’s host was one or two days away. That was tight timing. And if Justin attacked, she needed to be here to counter the powers of the warlocks and the Dark Arcanii.

  “Go,” said Ridmark. She looked at him. “I think you’re right about the trisalians. Go as quickly as you can and get as many of them under the control the Arcanii as possible. I’ll remain here and look after the army.” She smiled a little at the thought of Ridmark watching over an army of over fifteen thousand men by himself. “If the High Warlock or the Dark Arcanii try something, the power of the Shield Knight can stop them. And Justin will likely not offer battle for at least a day after he arrives. Armies aren’t easy things to turn around in haste.”

  “No,” said Calliande. She weighed his words and decided that he was right.

  “Take Calem and Kalussa and the others with you,” said Ridmark. “They can watch your back.”

  “No, I would rather they stay here with you,” said Calliande. He started to frown, and she spoke before he could voice his objections. “I’ll have Sir Jolcus and twenty Arcanii with me…and for that matter, I’ll be going in the opposite direction from Justin’s army. If we hasten, we can bind the trisalians and return. With the animals we already have, that could give us ninety or even a hundred trisalians to command. Ninety trisalians charging at the proper moment…I think that could decide the battle.”

  Ridmark said nothing, his face unreadable. If he told her not to do it, she would stay. Calliande had as much experience of war as he did, but his instincts were often better in the heat of the moment. Likely that was because he had far more knowledge of hand-to-hand combat, where decisions made in the heat of the moment decided life and death.

  “I think you’re right,” said Ridmark. “Go as quickly as you can.”

  “I shall,” said Calliande.

  “And be careful,” said Ridmark.

  She smiled. “I’ll be as careful as you always are.”

  “That’s not reassuring.”

  Calliande laughed a little and kissed him. “I will see you soon.” She stepped back and looked at the others. “Kalussa, Sir Calem. Do whatever Lord Ridmark commands of you in my absence. I will return soon. Sir Jolcus, Sir Parmenio, if you could lead the way.”

  “This way, my lady,” said Parmenio.

  “I’ll get the others,” said Jolcus, and he jogged towards the rear of the army.

  Calliande kissed Ridmark once more, and then she followed Sir Parmenio as he hurried to rejoin his scouts.

  Belatedly, it occurred to Calliande that she had just left her husband alone with a woman who had tried to seduce him, and a wave of misgiving went through her. No – it would be all right. She trusted Ridmark. He had refused Kalussa every time. And Kalussa had likely learned her lesson. Besides, the middle of an army was not the best place for a seduction.

  True, Ridmark had slept with Calliande in their tent many times, but Calliande had spent most of her life traveling and was quite used to sleeping (and doing other things) on the ground. Kalussa probably had more refined tastes. But if Calliande refused to sleep with Ridmark while they were traveling…well, then Gareth definitely wouldn’t have been conceived, and most probably Joachim as well.

  She never had been quite certain of the timing for Joachim. Had it been on the last night on the road back to Tarlion, or at some point during the following week at the Tower of the Keeper?

  Calliande laughed at herself, and then put aside her worries.

  No, she trusted Ridmark – and there was a lot at stake. The trisalians might decide the battle.

  Calliande hurried after Parmenio, intent on her task.

  ###

  The army of King Justin Cyros and his allies arrived the next morning.

  Ridmark stood atop the earthwork wall with Third, Tamlin, Kyralion, Kalussa, and Calem, and watched the enemy come.

  “There are so many of them,” said Kalussa in a quiet voice.

  “At least as many as King Hektor’s host,” agreed Third.

  Ridmark said nothing as he watched the vast host array itself for battle.

  King Justin’s host was raising a fortified camp about three miles further northwest along the road. Ridmark saw thousands of bronze-armored hoplites, and thousands more Vhalorasti orcs and hundreds of jotunmiri, visible among the orcish warriors and human hoplites like trees among the grass. There were thousands of saurtyri, and just as many carts pulled by scutian lizards. Both armies were very well supplied. The farmlands of Owyllain were far more fertile than those of Andomhaim, perhaps because of the climate, so neither army would have to worry about supplies so long as the scutian-pulled wagons stayed in service.

  Once more Ridmark cursed the absence of horsemen. King Justin’s army was scattered as it raised its fortified camp. A charge of mounted knights would have caused them considerable harm and might have even forced the army to withdraw for the day. A charge of infantry would only cause a general melee, triggering the battle before Calliande and Jolcus returned with the trisalians, and the chaos of such an unfocused battle might cause disaster.

  Of course, Ridmark feared that the battle might turn into a general brawl anyway. Despite their constant decades of war, the men of Owyllain did not have the military sophistication of the men of Andomhaim. Individually, they were valiant fighters, but their knowledge of tactics was limited to simple infantry formations, and that seemed true of every man of Owyllain from the common hoplites to King Hektor himself. Likely that was tru
e of Justin Cyros and his men, and perhaps even of the Confessor, who seemed to lack the Sovereign’s genius as a commander. The Sovereign had conquered a continent and crushed the gray elves. The Confessor had spent twenty-five years launching petty raids from Urd Maelwyn.

  Ridmark had wondered how the War of the Seven Swords had managed to remain stalemated for twenty-five years, and now he knew. King Hektor was a good man and a good commander. He was not, however, a brilliant commander. If he followed the same tactics as his forefathers and Justin followed suit, they would pound on each other endlessly. Little wonder the kings and knights were so dubious of Calliande’s plan with the trisalians. It had never been done before. Hektor was wise enough to see the potential in the stratagem, but none of the other kings shared his foresight. Ridmark was glad that Calliande had gone to enspell the trisalians.

  Perhaps they could give Justin Cyros a nasty surprise.

  “I recognize the green banner with the golden crown,” said Third. “That is the banner of Justin Cyros and the city of Cytheria, is it not?”

  “It is,” said Tamlin. “Do you see the next banner, the one with a black falcon upon a golden field?”

  “I do,” said Third. “I presume that is the banner of one of the kings allied to Justin.”

  “Yes,” said Tamlin. “That is the banner of King Atreus Trenzimar, the king of the city of Cadeira.”

  Aegeus spat into the ditch. “Greedy old bastard.”

  “I assume that King Justin has purchased King Atreus’s loyalty?” said Third.

  “That would be correct,” said Tamlin.

  “King Atreus the Miser, they call him,” said Kalussa, her disdain plain as she stared at the distant banners. She was usually quiet around Ridmark, but her dislike of Atreus was strong enough to break that silence. “The greedy old wretch. If he had supported my father as his duty demanded, we might not be preparing for battle.”

  “Perhaps King Atreus will soon regret his decisions,” said Third. “What of that banner, the red sword upon the blue field? I assume that is the banner of the final city allied with Justin…Talyrium, is it?”

  “It is, Lady Third,” said Tamlin. “Your eye is keen. Talyrium is ruled by King Brasidas Valaros. He is a valiant knight and a good king.”

  Kalussa snorted. “He is a thick-headed fool whose rigid honor is about to lead him to disaster.”

  “If he is a good king,” said Ridmark to Tamlin, “why is he following a man like Justin Cyros?”

  “Honor,” said Tamlin. “Justin saved his life when they were young men. In gratitude, Brasidas swore fealty to Justin for as long as Justin lives. I think Brasidas would have preferred to follow King Hektor, but he would not break his sworn word.”

  “I hope his honor was a comfort to him,” said Kalussa with some bitterness, “as Owyllain burned in the flames of civil war. If Atreus had not been so greedy or Brasidas such a rigid old fool, perhaps my father would have prevailed decades ago.”

  “Perhaps,” said Tamlin. “Or instead we would be at war with the Necromancer of Trojas or the Masked One of Xenorium. Justin has expended great efforts fighting them.”

  Kalussa shook her head. “The Masked One is no threat to anyone.”

  Ridmark frowned, looking at her. Something about the way she had said that seemed odd. He started to ask what she meant, but Third spoke first.

  “And that black banner with the swirling pattern of red upon it,” said Third. “I saw the same pattern upon the faces of the Vhalorasti orcs I slew. I assume that is the banner of Vhalorast and Warlord Khazamek.”

  “Pagan bastards,” muttered Aegeus.

  Tamlin grinned. “As Sir Aegeus pointed out, you are correct.”

  “The orcs of Vhalorast have a red tattoo on their faces, and our allies the Mholorasti orcs a black tattoo,” said Third. “Why is that?”

  “I do not know for certain,” said Tamlin, “but I believe the red tattoo is in honor of the ancient blood gods of the orcs. When the Mholorasti orcs rejected the blood gods and accepted baptism, they changed the tattoo from red to black to show their renunciation of the blood gods.” Tamlin shrugged. “Or so the story goes.”

  Kalussa grinned. “You read it in a book when you were a child, didn’t you?”

  “There weren’t many other children at the monastery,” said Tamlin. “There wasn’t much else to do. And I thought I was going to become a monk.”

  Aegeus laughed. “And half the widows of Aenesium would have cold beds at night.”

  Kyralion frowned. “I do not understand.”

  “Presumably Sir Tamlin’s wife or lover was slain, and he now takes comfort in the arms of other women,” said Third. Tamlin blinked at her in surprise. He hadn’t told her about his past, but Ridmark knew firsthand how observant Third could be. “It is a common response from men in mourning. Superior to suicide, certainly.”

  They stood in silence, watching the army.

  “She can certainly cut someone down to size, can’t she?” said Aegeus. Tamlin snorted.

  “Just as well that you didn’t try to seduce her, then,” said Tamlin.

  “Lady Third,” said Kalussa, “is far too noble a lady to fall to the base charms of a fellow such as yourself, Sir Tamlin.” She grinned as she said it, though. They had been through too much together, Ridmark suspected, for Kalussa to really dislike Tamlin.

  Third gave no reaction to that, though Ridmark did see her smile a little.

  He let Tamlin, Aegeus, and Kalussa continue their good-natured bickering as he watched the army. The Vhalorasti orcs were gathering on the western side of Justin’s line, facing the left of Hektor’s camp. Ridmark wondered why. The Warlord Khazamek would prefer to remain in command of his own men, but why gather there?

  “You see it, too?” murmured Third.

  “Aye,” said Ridmark.

  “See what?” said Tamlin.

  “The orcs of Vhalorast,” said Kyralion. “They mass to the west. Farther west than they should.”

  Tamlin’s smile vanished at once. “You think they might try to turn our flank?”

  “They might,” said Ridmark. As battle plans went, he had seen worse. Orcish warriors, in general, preferred to charge headlong into their foes, overwhelming the enemy with sheer power and rage. Given that orcs were usually stronger and bigger than humans, the tactic often worked. If Khazamek flung his warriors at Hektor’s camp and forced a breach, Hektor would have no choice but to respond. And if Justin marched the rest of his soldiers in good order into the melee, the battle could be decided then and there.

  “Follow me,” said Ridmark, and they headed west.

  It was about a half-mile down the earthwork wall to the left-hand side of Hektor’s camp, and Ridmark and the others came to a stop. The orcish warriors of Mholorast camped here along with Earl Vimroghast’s jotunmiri, and Ridmark spotted Warlord Obhalzak standing with the jotunmiri Earl, both of them looking at the massing Vhalorasti warriors. Though Vimroghast stood a good three feet taller than the Warlord and undoubtedly had a better view.

  “Ah, Shield Knight,” said Vimroghast, his melodious voice a strange contrast with his craggy features and gray skin. “Join us, please. The Warlord and I were discussing the strange behavior of the Vhalorasti orcs.”

  Obhalzak growled and spat into the dust. “They are planning something, I am sure of it.” He hefted his huge double-bladed axe of dark elven steel and pointed the weapon at the enemy. “It seems they are preparing to charge while the rest of Justin’s host prepares their camp.”

  “It would seem so,” said Vimroghast. The jotunmiri settled his tree-trunk sized club against the ground and leaned upon it. “Yet they are too far away for a charge.”

  “Aye,” said Tamlin, shading his eyes as he looked north. “They’re…what, three miles away?” Vimroghast nodded. “Armored men cannot charge that distance without exhausting themselves. If the Vhalorasti warriors tried to charge, we would see them coming and have ample time to prepare. Our archers could easily t
hin their numbers.”

  “It would be a slaughter,” said Kyralion. “There is only a mild breeze today. Archery would be easy. Massed arrow fire would wipe most of them out.”

  “Then what are they doing?” said Ridmark.

  He was missing something important, he was sure of it.

  “Perhaps we should speak with my father and warn him of the danger,” said Kalussa.

  “What would we tell him?” said Tamlin. “He can likely see the Vhalorasti orcs as well as we can. What can we do other than counsel him to caution?”

  That answer seemed to disturb Kalussa.

  “Didn’t we have this exact same conversation right before Rypheus tried to kill us all?” said Kalussa.

  “That…is a very good point, my lady,” said Tamlin. “A very good point.”

  “Lord Ridmark,” said Calem. “I wish to speak.”

  Ridmark looked at him in surprise. Calem had stood as motionless and silent as a statue during the conversation.

  “Go ahead,” said Ridmark.

  “The position of the Vhalorasti orcs is a distraction,” said Calem. “It is a ruse designed to draw attention from something else. Such tactics were common in the Ring of Blood.”

  “He’s right,” said Tamlin.

  “A distraction from what, though?” said Ridmark. He looked south to the hill country, west towards the ocean, and then north and northwest towards the plains. “We should talk to King Hektor, have him send out scouts. If Justin is trying something clever, we…”

  Oathshield jolted in its scabbard.

  Alarmed, Ridmark looked down at his soulblade and started to slide the sword free.

  Pale white flames danced around the blade, the soulstones in the tang and pommel flickering.

  “There are creatures of dark magic nearby,” said Third.

  “What?” said Obhalzak, taking his huge axe in both hands. “Why the bloody hell is your sword on fire?”

  “The Shield Knight’s sword burns in the presence of creatures of dark magic,” said Vimroghast, still calm as he took his club in both hands.

  “I don’t see anything,” said Kalussa, looking around as she raised the Staff of Blades.