Sevenfold Sword_Warlord

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Maybe,” said Calliande. “I don’t know. They’re very placid, and they only fight when cornered. They’ll run before they fight…but if they run through Justin’s lines, that will be more effective than anything else they might do.” She shrugged. “It is a gamble, but one worth taking, I think. In Andomhaim, warhorses are trained to aggressiveness. The trisalians aren’t…but they’re still vicious in a fight.” She shook her head. “I should bring the news to King Hektor. Did I miss anything while I was gone?”

  “Well…” started Ridmark, organizing his thoughts.

  Third beat him to it. “Calem and Kalussa killed the High Warlock. The Shield Knight and I killed several ursaars and numerous urvaalgs.”

  Calliande’s blue eyes went wide. “What?”

  Ridmark told her how the High Warlock had tried to force a breach through the lines and had paid with his life for his overconfidence.

  “They’re calling him Sir Calem Whitecloak now,” said Ridmark. “The hoplites were all afraid of him before, but now there’s some respect mixed with the fear. The High Warlock was a bitter enemy of Owyllain for a long time.”

  “And that is one fewer powerful ally Justin will have when the battle starts,” said Calliande. “I’m pleased that Kalussa managed to control the Staff so well.”

  Third nodded. “Your strict teaching has proven effective.”

  “Strict?” said Calliande. “I don’t think I’m a strict teacher.” She blinked. “Am I a strict teacher?”

  “It’s a compliment,” said Ridmark. “Better to be strict with an apprentice now than solemn at her funeral.”

  “That is a good point,” said Calliande.

  Ridmark hesitated. “The children. Did you check on them?” It was unfair, he knew. Many of the men in the army had children they had left at home, and they did not have the advantage of a wife with the Sight who could view them from afar. It was an unfair blessing, but since Calliande had it, Ridmark would certainly not hesitate to use it.

  “Before we set out this morning,” said Calliande. “They were both safe. I think Joachim was in a good mood.” A wistful look went over her face. “Michael or Father Clement must have let him use a wooden sword for…”

  She trailed off, the wistful look fading, and Ridmark turned and followed her gaze.

  Kyralion jogged towards them, his gray cloak trailing behind him. He stopped and offered his awkward bow.

  “Lady Third,” he said. Third inclined her head, expressionless as she watched him. “Lady Calliande. I am pleased you have returned.”

  “You have news?” said Calliande.

  “No, a message,” said Kyralion. “King Hektor requests the presence of the Shield Knight and the Keeper as soon as possible.”

  “What has happened?” said Ridmark.

  “King Justin has sent an emissary under a flag of truce,” said Kyralion, “and King Hektor requests your counsel.”

  Ridmark looked at Calliande. “Then we had better hurry.”

  She nodded, and they set off through the camp, Third and Kyralion following. Soon they reached the center of the camp, where Hektor Pendragon had raised his banner. Ridmark spotted the King standing atop the earthwork wall, the other kings and his advisors gathered around him, their various Companions and nobles waiting below the wall. Ridmark climbed to the top of the wall and saw Tamlin and Aegeus nearby, Calem waiting with Kalussa. Calliande flashed a quick smile to Kalussa and then turned her attention to Hektor.

  “Keeper,” said Hektor. “Your mission was successful?”

  “It was, lord King,” said Calliande. “We returned with fifty-seven trisalians. We now have eighty-seven of the creatures.”

  “With all respect to the Keeper,” said King Aristotle, “I still think this was a waste of time. Wars are won with men and bronze and valor, not with oversized lizards. If Justin’s men see a mob of trisalians charging towards them, they will only break their ranks if they fall over laughing.”

  Calliande’s cool smile turned his direction. “Perhaps the joke shall be on Justin Cyros, King Aristotle.”

  “And wars are also won with beasts, lord King,” said Tamlin, his voice quiet as he gazed at Justin’s army. “If not for the scutian lizards pulling the supply wagons, we should have all starved to death quite some time ago.”

  Aristotle only grunted, conceding the point but not saying anything further. Ridmark wondered if his monk would edit out that exchange from his future chronicle of Aristotle’s deeds.

  Ridmark looked towards Justin’s army and saw a group of about twenty bronze-armored hoplites standing halfway between the two camps. One of the soldiers held up a lance from which streamed a white banner of parley.

  “It seems that Justin Cyros wants to talk,” said Calliande.

  “Maybe,” said Hektor. “The leader of that party is King Brasidas Valaros of the city of Talyrium, one of Justin’s allies. He might wish to parley on his own terms, or Justin might have sent him as an emissary.”

  “A waste of time,” said Aristotle. “I say we ignore him.”

  “There is no harm in talking,” said King Kyrian, perhaps just to disagree with Aristotle.

  “It could also be a trap,” said Warlord Obhalzak. “Justin Cyros has shown no regard for the laws of God or the conventions of men. Perhaps he thinks to murder King Hektor at a parley.”

  It would not be the first time Ridmark had seen that tactic. Fifteen years ago the orcish warlord Mhalek had invited the leaders of the host of Andomhaim to a parley, and he had used the chance to kill them all. That was how Ridmark had wound up in command of the host on that bloody day…

  He put aside the thought. Now was not the time to brood upon the past.

  Though the past often served as a warning.

  “I will go and talk to King Brasidas,” said Ridmark.

  They all looked at him, Calliande with concern.

  “If this is a trap to kill a high-ranking target, better that I go,” said Ridmark. “King Brasidas probably doesn’t know who I am, and likely neither does King Justin.”

  “You underestimate yourself, sir,” said Sir Tramond. “Without your help, we would have lost at both Castra Chaeldon and the ill-fated banquet.”

  “Aye, but Justin might not know that,” said Ridmark. “And if this is a trap, I am well-equipped to escape it.”

  Calliande’s eyes met his. “You won’t go alone.”

  “No,” said Ridmark. “I’ll take Third, Tamlin, Aegeus, and Kyralion with me.”

  Aegeus snorted. “Lucky us.”

  “What about Kalussa and Calem?” said Calliande.

  Ridmark shook his head. “The Sword of Air and the Staff of Blades might make for a tempting target. We’ll go out and see what King Brasidas wants. If it’s an offer of parley, we’ll bring it back to you. If it’s a trap, the five of us should be able to make him regret his treachery.”

  Hektor nodded. “This counsel seems good to me.”

  One of his squires obtained a lance with a peace banner hanging from it, and Tamlin carried it. Ridmark took a deep breath, nodded to Calliande, and climbed down the front of the wall and traversed the ditch. He waited for Tamlin and the others to join him, and they walked towards King Brasidas’s party, the peace banner rippling overhead.

  He felt the eyes of the enemy hoplites on him as he drew closer. All the hoplites were in their twenties, but an older man in fine armor stood before them, tall and regal looking. No doubt this was King Brasidas Valaros of Talyrium. He wore bronze plate armor, his helmet adorned with a golden circlet. He was old and lean and tough and put Ridmark in mind of a weathered oak tree.

  Ridmark stopped a dozen paces away, the others around him.

  “King Hektor has sent me to speak for him,” said Ridmark.

  “Very well,” said the old man. “I am Brasidas Valaros, King of Talyrium. Might I have the honor of knowing your names?”

  “I am Ridmark Arban, Shield Knight of Andomhaim,” said Ridmark. No point in concealing his ide
ntity. Once the battle began, the enemy would find out who he was and what he could do soon enough. “This is Sir Tamlin, Sir Aegeus, Lady Third of Nightmane Forest, and Kyralion of the Illicaeryn Jungle.”

  “A curious company,” said Brasidas. His dark eyes turned to Ridmark. “I have heard of you, sir.”

  “Have you?” said Ridmark.

  “Rumors, anyway,” said Brasidas. “We have heard that a foreign knight has come to the aid of King Hektor, a foreign knight and his sorceress wife.” Ridmark wondered how Brasidas knew that. Perhaps one of the Maledicti had told him. Khurazalin might have conferred with his colleagues before he met his end. “Someone took Castra Chaeldon from Sir Archaelon, and someone stopped Rypheus’s plot in Aenesium.”

  “Then you knew about both?” said Ridmark. Brasidas only grimaced. “You need a better choice of allies, lord King. Sir Archaelon turned to necromancy. Rypheus abandoned the church and the Dominus Christus to follow the New God and to wield dark magic. It did not end well for either of them.”

  “Perhaps it is just as well,” said Brasidas. “Necromancy is a vile crime. And the New God, if it rises, will be an abomination.”

  “Then why are you following King Justin?” said Ridmark. “He permits his Arcanii to wield dark magic. He allied himself with the Vhalorasti warlocks. He’s sold his own subjects into slavery to the dvargir.”

  “All that you say is true,” said Brasidas. “King Justin has made many decisions that went against my counsel.”

  “Then why are you fighting for him?” said Ridmark.

  “Because I gave my oath,” said Brasidas, his voice hardening, “and a knight of Owyllain and a king of the Nine Cities should not break his given word. And the New God is coming, Lord Ridmark. King Justin is our best hope of defeating the New God.”

  “Is he?” said Ridmark. He had not expected Brasidas to say that.

  “King Justin himself can explain it,” said Brasidas. “I come with a message. King Justin desires a meeting here, between the two armies, with King Hektor. Half of Owyllain stands ready to battle the other half, and whoever prevails may be too weak to face the Confessor and his armies. Perhaps disaster can yet be averted.”

  Ridmark frowned. “What are the terms of this meeting?”

  “King Justin will await King Hektor at this spot with ten companions,” said Brasidas. “King Hektor may likewise bring ten companions. King Justin agrees not to harm or attack King Hektor and his companions for the duration of the parley if Hektor will likewise agree to the same.”

  “I suspect he will,” said Ridmark, wondering why Justin wanted to bother with a parley, especially after the High Warlock’s failed attack.

  “If that is not agreement enough,” said Brasidas, “I give you my word, as a knight of Owyllain and the King of Talyrium, that there shall be no violence at this parley, and King Justin will allow you to return unharmed to your lines once it is over. If King Hektor agrees to the same, then King Justin shall meet with him to determine the fate of the realm of Owyllain.”

  “Very well,” said Ridmark. “I will take your offer back to Hektor at once.”

  “I look forward to the King’s response,” said Brasidas.

  Ridmark looked at the others and nodded, and they followed him back towards Hektor’s camp.

  Why did Justin Cyros want a parley? Ridmark doubted Justin intended peace. The differences between Hektor and Justin were too deep for that, and Ridmark had no doubt that Justin intended to seize all Seven Swords and rule Owyllain himself. Was the parley an elaborate trap, or a ruse to gain time for Justin to move more forces into position?

  Ridmark did not know, but he intended to be ready for whatever Justin planned.

  Chapter 13: A Parley Of Kings

  The hoplites had built a wooden gate and bridge in the earthwork wall, and Calliande watched as the doors swung open with a creak of rough hinges. Beyond the gate, she saw Justin Cyros’s army and camp. Halfway between the two camps stood a group of men in armor, an emerald-colored banner adorned with a golden crown flying from a lance.

  Justin Cyros awaited Hektor Pendragon there.

  The Sight stirred within Calliande, and even from this distance, she saw the power of the Sword of Earth that Justin carried.

  “Are we ready?” said Hektor.

  The King of Aenesium wore his best armor, the red gold crown of Owyllain set upon his gray head. The Sword of Fire hung at his belt, burning with magical potency to Calliande’s Sight. A crimson cloak adorned with the sigil of the Pendragons of Owyllain hung from his shoulder, and Hektor looked every inch the wise and solemn king. Calliande wondered how much grief and regret churned behind that regal mask. She knew firsthand the agony of losing a child, but Joanna had only been three days old. Rypheus Pendragon had been a young man in the prime of his strength, and he had betrayed his father and murdered his stepmother…

  Calliande knew the pain of losing a child, but she did not know that. She prayed that she and Gareth and Joachim would never have to experience anything like it.

  “We are, lord King,” said Sir Tramond.

  Hektor had chosen his ten companions for the parley with care. Sir Tramond Azertus, as Constable of Aenesium and Hektor’s right hand. Ridmark and Calliande, since if Justin intended treachery they had the best chance of fighting off any dark magic. Third accompanied them as well for the same reason. Hektor asked Master Nicion and Kalussa to join them since Nicion’s magic and Kalussa’s control over the Staff of Blades would be invaluable if Justin attempted treachery. For that matter, Kalussa had proven herself during the fight with the High Warlock. Calliande was now confident that Kalussa had mastered the Staff enough that she could use it in battle without hurting herself.

  The King also asked Tamlin to accompany the parley. Calliande wasn’t sure that was a good idea. Tamlin hated his father, and the prospect of meeting him again after so many years was a dire one. Yet she thought Tamlin would not do anything foolish during the parley.

  The remaining spots were taken by advisors from the courts of King Aristotle, King Lycureon, and King Kyrian. If Justin intended treachery, the kings would have to take command of the host to repel Justin’s inevitable attack. Calliande wondered if they could cooperate long enough to do that.

  Best make sure Hektor survived, then.

  At Calliande’s insistence, Calem stayed behind. If Justin realized that both the Sword of Fire and the Sword of Air were within his grasp, he might try to gamble everything to claim the weapons. For that matter, while Calliande thought that the Confessor had put the spells of enslavement upon Calem, she might be wrong. Maybe Justin himself had done it, or perhaps one of the warlocks of Vhalorast. Calliande thought her ward held the dark magic within Calem at bay, but if his secret master was among Justin’s party, best not to bring Calem into his reach.

  They walked from the camp and towards Justin’s waiting men. Hektor led the way, his boots rasping against the ground, the grass rustling around his cloak as he walked. Sir Tramond, Master Nicion, Tamlin, and the advisors of the other three kings followed him, Kalussa walking at Tamlin’s side. Ridmark and Calliande followed them, and Third brought up the back, somehow moving with silence despite the grasses.

  Ridmark was pretty quiet as well, come to think of it. For all the time that Calliande had spent traveling, she would never be at home in the wilderness the way that he and Third were.

  She pushed aside the stray thought and called the Sight to her.

  At once she saw the blaze of magical power around the Sword of Earth. Most of the other men near the Cyros banner bore auras of magical power as well. Most likely they were Ironcoats, Justin’s Swordborn sons and elite soldiers. From what Calliande had heard, and from what Ridmark had told her of Prince Krastikon, Justin brutalized his children into fanatical loyalty, training them to be merciless killers.

  It seemed unjust that a good man like Hektor Pendragon would have had a son like Rypheus and not Justin.

  There was another aura of power n
ear Justin, an aura of potent dark magic that Calliande had seen before.

  “King Hektor,” she said in a low voice. “King Justin has several Ironcoats with him.”

  Hektor nodded. “I expected that.”

  “I think he also has one of the seven high priests of the Maledicti with him,” said Calliande.

  “He would dare to show his face with one of the accursed Maledicti?” said Nicion, his scorn obvious.

  “He already allied himself with the High Warlock of Vhalorast and used creatures of dark magic against our host,” said Tamlin. “If Justin Cyros has any scruples, I have not yet encountered them.”

  “If Justin is planning to have the Maledictus kill you,” said Ridmark, his voice hard, “then we’re going to give him an unpleasant surprise.”

  “Agreed,” said Calliande. Together she and Ridmark could handle one of the high priests of the Maledicti…unless the Maledictus had another weapon of power like the Staff of Blades.

  At last, they stopped a dozen yards from Justin Cyros’s banner. A hot breeze blew over the plains, heavy clouds dotting the sky overhead and covering the ground with mottled light and shadow.

  The two parties stared at each other, hands waiting near weapons.

  Then King Justin Cyros stepped forward.

  He could be no one else. For one, the Sword of Earth hung at his belt, burning with power to Calliande’s Sight. The Sword of Fire was red, the Sword of Air silver, and the Sword of Life golden, but the pommel and hilt of the Sword of Earth were an emerald green. Justin bore a diadem of gold upon his gray-streaked black hair, a diadem that looked exactly like the crown upon the green banner flying overhead.

  He looked so much like Tamlin that it was startling.

  Tamlin’s father had the same gray eyes, the same build, the same black hair, though Justin’s hair was turning to iron gray. If Tamlin lived long enough and kept his health, likely he would look like Justin Cyros when he reached his fiftieth year.

  Behind Justin was an older man in fine armor and a golden diadem who was no doubt King Brasidas Valaros. Next to the King of Talyrium…