Sevenfold Sword_Warlord

by Jonathan Moeller

  Justin scoffed. “Then, my lady, you are as weak and blind as King Hektor.”

  “No,” said Calliande. “Instead I make you an offer. Follow King Hektor instead. Turn aside from the Maledicti and the Dark Arcanii and the warlocks of Vhalorast. I fear the Maledictus Urzhalar has poisoned your mind as the Maledictus Khurazalin corrupted the will of Prince Rypheus…”

  Justin laughed. “I know my own mind.”

  “Rypheus Pendragon would have said the same until the moment of his death,” said Calliande. “You can be rid of them, King Justin. You can unite with Hektor to destroy the Seven Swords. Think of what the histories might say of this moment a thousand years from now. The two strongest kings of Owyllain putting aside their enmity and marching jointly against the Confessor. The Seven Swords destroyed, the Maledicti defeated, the New God prevented from ever rising, and Owyllain reunited and strong once more.”

  “You paint a fair picture with words, Keeper,” said Justin, but his voice had lost some of its harsh edge.

  “She does, Justin,” said Hektor, “and I find it to be a fair picture indeed. Listen to her! Do you not remember the campaign against the Sovereign when we were young? All Owyllain united in a single war of liberation to rid the land of the Sovereign’s cruel empire! It can be like that again. We can rid the land of dark magic and reunify our realm.”

  “It is indeed a compelling vision, King Hektor,” said King Brasidas, looking to Justin.

  Justin Cyros said nothing, and to Ridmark’s astonishment, he saw the King of Cytheria hesitate. He was wavering. Ridmark had always been impressed by his wife’s persuasive powers when she put her mind to it, but could she actually change Justin Cyros’s mind?

  For an endless moment, no one said anything, and the world seemed to balance upon the point of a sword.

  Then Justin let out a long sigh, his expression hardening once more.

  “You almost persuade me, Keeper of Andomhaim,” said Justin. “Almost. But we are not children. And if you have seen as much of war as you claim, you know that victory does not go to the kindest or the most chivalrous or the most piously devoted to the teachings of the church. No. Victory goes to the strongest, the hardest, the most ruthless. Victory goes to the man willing to grasp any advantage, no matter how bloody, and any weapon, no matter how terrible. I am willing to do that, and Hektor Pendragon is not. Do you think I regret my alliances with the warlocks and the orcs of Vhalorast? No! If anything, I regret that I was not ruthless enough. Else I might have ended this war far sooner.”

  “Then we have reached the point where further discussion is impossible,” said Hektor.

  “Indeed,” said Justin. “This is a question that will be decided only by force.” He smiled and offered a polite bow. “I regret that you did not see reason.”

  “And I regret, King of Cytheria,” said Calliande, her voice glacial once more, “that you did not heed the whispers of your conscience until it was too late.”

  Justin smiled. “Conscience is a weakness, my lady. As you soon shall learn.”

  He strode back towards his army without another word.

  King Brasidas cast a despairing look at Hektor’s party, then braced himself and followed Justin. Krastikon turned a glowering glance in Ridmark’s direction, a glare that promised death, and then stalked away. The other Ironcoats fell in around him.

  Urzhalar went last, his hands still tucked into his voluminous green sleeves, the blue fire in his eye sockets flickering and dancing. The undead horror’s mummified face remained expressionless, but Ridmark had the distinct impression that Urzhalar was looking at Calliande, measuring and weighing her like a swordsman assessing a foe.

  If the Maledictus came for her, Ridmark would make sure he regretted it. He had helped destroy one Maledictus and drive off a second, and he was quite willing to try for a third time.

  But Urzhalar glided after Justin and Brasidas and the others.

  “It seems we are done here,” said Hektor. “Let us return to our camp and prepare for battle.”

  ###

  Kalussa walked with the others, feeling the rapid beat of her heart and the fear that crawled up her nerves.

  The battle would begin soon. She had known it would, had known that the parley was only a formality before the swords came out and the blood began to flow. When the Keeper had made her speech, and the doubt had appeared on Justin’s weathered face, Kalussa had dared to entertain a flicker of hope. Would Justin turn back from his mad course? Perhaps Calliande could convince him to see reason.

  She had come so close.

  But most likely the battle had always been inevitable. Justin would not turn from his plan to remake Owyllain using the powers of dark magic. Hektor would not permit Justin to turn Owyllain into an empire ruled by malevolent sorcery, and now her father had the Shield Knight and the Keeper to back him up.

  The battle was going to begin.

  Kalussa looked at the grassy field between the two armies and felt a horrible premonition.

  In another hour, she knew, the dead would be scattered here like seeds.

  She wanted to weep at the thought, but she pulled herself together. Kalussa was a Sister of the Arcanii, and she had her duty. Truth be told, now that she had the Staff of Blades and at least a modicum of control over it, she was better equipped to face this battle than she had ever been.

  But still the fear would not leave her.

  ###

  Justin Cyros strode back into his camp, Brasidas and Krastikon and Urzhalar following him.

  He was certain of himself, certain of his purpose. For twenty-five years he had been working towards this day, and his victory was at hand. He did not underestimate the difficulty of the challenge. Hektor Pendragon might have been too weak to do what needed to be done, but he was still a formidable foe, and he carried the Sword of Fire. Nor did Justin underestimate the Shield Knight and the Keeper. He would have to deal with them as quickly as possible before they caused him too much trouble.

  His other chief commanders and advisors awaited him. King Atreus Trenzimar of Cadeira looked as he always did, thin and pinch-faced and perpetually wringing his hands over the massive cost of the army. Cadeira’s gold mines funded Justin’s army, and King Atreus whined about every coin as if he was handing over his virgin daughters. Warlord Khazamek of Vhalorast scowled at King Atreus. While Atreus looked the part of a cringing old miser, Khazamek was younger than some of Justin’s Ironcoats, and he looked every inch the orcish warrior. His bronze armor was magnificent, and both his armor and his greatsword had been scribed with magical symbols of crimson fire by the High Warlock.

  The late High Warlock, that was. The High Warlock had been the brains behind the Warlord’s throne, and Justin doubted Khazamek would last long without him. Still, the young orc was a ferocious fighter, and that was what Justin needed now.

  His other commanders waited, his Companion knights and the warlocks of Vhalorast in their ragged black robes and the Dark Arcanii in their bronze armor.

  “My lords and knights,” said Justin. “We attack at once.”

  He drew the Sword of Earth, the green blade flashing in the morning sun, and pointed the weapon at the earthwork wall.

  ###

  “How did it go?” said Aegeus as Tamlin stopped next to him.

  They stood at the center of a furious knot of activity. As soon as Hektor had returned to the camp, he had started giving orders. Couriers ran back and forth, decurions bawled orders to their hoplites, and knights shouted to their squires. The army began to unfurl, hurrying towards the gates in the earthwork wall.

  Kalussa joined them and planted the end of the Staff of Blades in the ground. Ridmark and Calliande and the others remained near Hektor.

  “Before that meeting,” said Tamlin, “I believed that my father was a murderous, bloodthirsty tyrant. After that parley, I am entirely certain of it.” He took a deep breath. “Unless King Hektor has other duties for me, I’m going to remain near Lord Ridmark. He will
be where the fighting is the hottest, I’m sure of it.”

  Aegeus grunted. “You think he’s going after Justin?”

  “He’s the Shield Knight,” said Tamlin. “Of everyone in the army, he’s got the best chance of facing down the Sword of Earth.” He took a deep breath. “I’m going to kill my father if I can.”

  Aegeus nodded. “I’ll help.”

  Tamlin clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man.”

  “But don’t get yourself killed doing it,” said Kalussa with a frown.

  Tamlin shrugged. At the moment, he didn’t care whether he lived or died, just so long as he killed Justin first. “Men die in war.”

  “They do, and it’s unavoidable,” said Kalussa. “But don’t throw your life away, Sir Tamlin. Your mother and your wife would be saddened to know that you got killed trying to avenge them.”

  Tamlin glared at her. What did she know of such losses? Nothing – but she was still right. He took a deep breath and forced his churning emotions down.

  “I promise,” said Tamlin, “that I will not get myself killed for anything less than the best of reasons.”

  “How reassuring,” said Kalussa.

  Tamlin leveled a finger at her. “And don’t get yourself killed trying to prove yourself to Lady Calliande. That…”

  “For God’s sake, you two,” said Aegeus. “Just shut up and find a tent already.”

  They both glared at him, and he grinned back. Tamlin had come to like Kalussa more than he had expected, but an abrasive tongue that was tolerable and even welcome in a friend would be irritating beyond belief in a lover. And she wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes had drifted to the side, to King Hektor and his advisors…

  She was looking at Sir Calem in his white wraithcloak.

  Sir Calem? Sometimes the romantic taste of women was inexplicable.

  Well, Tamlin had been the recipient of that a few times in Aenesium, so he wasn’t going to complain.

  “We are about to go into battle, Sir Aegeus,” said Kalussa in an arch voice. “This is hardly the time for your ribaldry.”

  Aegeus shrugged. “We’re about to go into battle. There might not be another chance for ribaldry.”

  Kalussa opened her mouth to answer, and drums boomed across the plains, loud and urgent.

  Justin’s army was coming.

  The battle was about to begin.

  Chapter 15: Civil War

  Calliande hurried atop the earthwork wall and drew upon the Sight.

  Mighty magic burned through Justin Cyros’s army. The magic of elemental earth blazed before Calliande’s Sight, and she wondered if Justin had just commanded the earth to open up and swallow his own soldiers…

  No, that wasn’t right. The elemental magic was not within Justin’s army but in front of it.

  As she watched, the earthwork wall that defended Justin’s camp sank into the earth. The ditch closed and vanished in the space of a few seconds. It was almost like watching someone smooth a blanket. The earthwork wall and ditch vanished, and Justin’s army streamed over the ground where it had been, drawing itself up into battle formation.

  It had been an impressive feat of magic. Calliande could have moved that much earth with a spell, but it would have taken her the better part of several days to summon and shape that much magical energy. As far as she could tell, Justin had done it with an act of will, the Sword of Earth shaping the ground at his command.

  “Hasten!” Hektor’s voice rang out. “Hasten! Sound the call to march through the gates and to assemble the army into battle array. Double-time!”

  The drums boomed out from behind Hektor’s wall, and Calliande heard the crash and creak of boards as men tore open the gates, using the planks as bridges to cover the ditch. Decurions bellowed orders as their hoplites streamed towards the gates. Calliande feared Hektor’s army would dissolve into chaos, but the men were too well-drilled and too experienced for that.

  But the timing was still going to be tight.

  Someone grunted, and Ridmark pulled himself next to her, his face grim as he looked at the advancing armies.

  “Do you think we can get into formation in time?” said Calliande.

  Ridmark looked back and forth and then gave a sharp nod. “Yes. Barely, but yes.” He looked to the west. “It helps that Warlord Obhalzak is sending his men around the wall. They’ll save time that way, and I don’t think the Mholorasti orcs fight in tight formation anyway. The jotunmiri can hasten, too.”

  “Justin has his own jotunmiri,” said Calliande. Earl Vimroghast and the baptized jotunmiri seemed affable enough, though they were deadly enough in a fight. The pagan jotunmiri who still held to their cruel gods were far more brutal. Calliande had seen several of them watching the parley. Their gray skins had been painted with fierce red designs, and skulls adorned their bronze armor – human skulls, orcish skulls, even jotunmiri skulls.

  “Aye,” said Ridmark. “We’ll have to hope that our jotunmiri can match them.” He hesitated. “Sir Jolcus and your trisalians. If you sent them to charge at the enemy now, do you think they could break their lines? If Hektor’s army advances after the trisalians, we could smash through the enemy before they could rebuild their formations.”

  “I…don’t know,” said Calliande. Could it work? “I…no, I don’t think so. The trisalians are too far back, and our own camp and our own men are in the way. They could reach Justin’s men before the battle starts, but Justin’s forces would have plenty of time to respond. The trisalians aren’t bred for war. If enough of them take wounds, they will stampede off in all directions. They might run through our own lines. I think our best hope for the trisalians is to wait until both armies are engaged and then try to hit Justin’s left flank.”

  He nodded and met her gaze. “I will need to be where the fighting is hardest.”

  A deep wave of dread rolled through Calliande. Once again, she was about to see her husband go into battle. Would they ever have a rest from war? How many times did she have to see him walk off with a sword in hand, knowing that she might never see him alive again?

  God, God, but she was sick of it.

  But he was the Shield Knight, and she was the Keeper. It was their duty.

  And there was no one better suited for it than Ridmark Arban.

  In a dark sort of way, it helped to know that she would be in as much danger as he would.

  “I know,” said Calliande. “I want you to take Sir Calem with you. No, don’t argue. If Justin was his master, I’m sure he would have hinted at it during the parley. I watched you fight Calem, and it was one of the best displays of swordsmanship I’ve ever seen. The two of you fighting alongside each other will be something to see.”

  “Very well,” said Ridmark. “I’ll take Aegeus and Tamlin as well. Sir Tamlin is itching for a fight after that parley, and Aegeus just likes to fight. I’ll bring Third, as well.”

  “She would follow you anyway,” said Calliande.

  “You should keep Kyralion and Kalussa with you,” said Ridmark. “Kyralion is the best archer I’ve ever seen, and Kalussa has the Staff of Blades. When those Dark Arcanii and warlocks attack, you can ward against their spells while Kyralion and Kalussa strike back. I doubt the warlocks have anything capable of blocking those crystal spheres Kalussa can call up now.”

  “Probably not,” said Calliande.

  She took a deep breath and said a silent prayer in her mind, begging God and the Dominus Christus to watch over Ridmark, not to leave Calliande a widow and her sons without a father. She also asked God to extend that protection to everyone in the army, that the victory might be won swiftly and without great loss.

  But she knew that was not likely.

  ###

  Ridmark watched as the armies formed themselves for battle.

  He had feared Justin would throw his men forward in a wild charge, hoping to catch Hektor’s host before it formed its lines, but the King of Cytheria was too crafty for that. His army began to advance at a slow, steady pac
e. That allowed Justin’s men to conserve their strength, while Hektor’s had to scramble to get into formation. It was only a small advantage for Justin’s army, but victories were made by piling up enough small advantages.

  Hektor assembled the massed ranks of his hoplites in the center, the lines bristling with sword and shield. On the left gathered the orcs of Mholorast, their formations more ragged. Sometimes the orcs brandished their weapons and roared, shouting threats and taunts at their enemies. On the right stood the jotunmiri under Earl Vimroghast. There were only a few hundred jotunmiri, but each giant was worth a dozen humans or orcish warriors in a fight. Behind the center gathered ranks of archers, and Hektor held reserve companies of hoplites ready behind each wing of his army. It was a good formation, though once again Ridmark felt the absence of any horsemen.

  Hektor himself stood behind the center, flanked by the other kings and his chief advisors. Half of the Arcanius Knights had been scattered throughout the host to support the footmen. The other half waited with Hektor, a reserve to be flung into the fray when necessary. The banner of the Pendragons of Aenesium flapped overhead, the bronze helmet sigil stark against the crimson background.