Sevenfold Sword_Warlord

by Jonathan Moeller

But while Nicion wasn’t a complete fool, he was still a fool. He still thought that Talitha had betrayed and murdered Kothlaric.

  No. Talitha, alone among the High King Kothlaric’s advisors, had seen the truth. She had seen that the New God would rise, that the chain of events that started at Cathair Animus would inevitably cause the New God to rise in might and enslave mankind for all time. She had gone to tremendous lengths to stop it – the seven infants proved that – but she had not been willing to go far enough.

  Justin was. He had admired Talitha. There had not been many women capable of resisting his youthful charm back then, but she had done so with calm courtesy. In a way, she had reminded him of the Keeper.

  But she had failed. She had not been willing to go far enough. Justin would triumph where she had not.

  He shook off the memories as another blast of elemental magic hammered against the warlocks’ shadowy ward. Yes, that would be a bitter irony, wouldn’t it? To have come so far, to have reached the cusp of triumph, only to fail because his mind had wandered during the battle.

  His eyes fell on one of the Dark Arcanii in his bodyguard, and Justin felt himself smile.

  “Urzhalar,” he said, and the Maledictus glided to his side.

  “Yes, King Justin?” rumbled Urzhalar.

  “I believe the hour has come,” said Justin.

  He had told Hektor and the others that he would not flinch from any weapon that might defeat the New God, but Justin had no illusions about the weapons he used. Dark magic was dangerous, addictive, and corruptive, and many of the Dark Arcanii were in the process of mutating into monsters. Even those that had kept the mutations under control were mostly insane. Justin respected their abilities and would use them to win his victories, but he had nothing but contempt for the men and women who had become Dark Arcanii themselves.

  “Shall I trigger the transformation, lord King?” said Urzhalar.

  “Yes,” said Justin, watching the Dark Arcanii.

  Urzhalar’s undead face showed little expression, but the withered lips pulled back in something that might almost have been a smile.

  One skeletal hand reached from beneath his robe and grasped the black medallion that hung against his chest, the Sign of the New God. Justin was no wizard, but even he could feel the malefic power radiating from the thing. Truth be told, his skin crawled with revulsion, but Justin did not flinch from it. Talitha had been willing to go to insane lengths to stop the rise of the New God, even inflicting an unimaginable torment upon herself, but that had not been enough.

  Justin would go as far as necessary.

  Urzhalar lifted the Sign of the New God, the sigil of the double ring pierced by the seven spikes shining with blue fire. More blue fire crackled around his fingers, and Urzhalar cast a spell.

  It was such a simple, short spell. The Dark Arcanii craved power, but what the idiots failed to realize was that dark magic made them vulnerable to all kinds of dangers. The orcish kindred, Urzhalar had explained, was vulnerable to magical mutation over successive generations, which was why dark elven lords like the Sovereign had used them as soldiers. Humans were much more resistant to magical mutation…unless they used dark magic, which destroyed their natural defenses much like a drunkard ruining his health through excessive wine.

  Urzhalar gestured with the Sign of the New God, and the Dark Arcanii started screaming in agony.

  Justin watched the nearest Dark Arcanius, and the man staggered, blue fire erupting in his veins and pouring from his eyes and throat. His screams grew deeper and raspier as his skin turned pallid and gray, and black claws burst from his fingers and toes, black fangs ripping from his jaw in a spray of blood. There was a squealing, tearing sound as the metal of his cuirass ripped, and two huge black wings burst from his back. They looked like the black leather of the warlocks’ robes and glistened with pale slime.

  “God and the saints protect us!” croaked Atreus, crossing himself. Justin doubted that God existed or cared about humans, but if He did exist, Justin was certain He would not answer the prayers of a greedy fool like Atreus Trenzimar.

  Justin had no need of prayer. Strength and will shaped the world, not prayer.

  “The transformation is complete,” said Urzhalar. Justin looked around and saw that every single Dark Arcanius in his guard had been transformed into a winged horror. He had scattered the Dark Arcanii around the army, so no doubt there were some surprised hoplites and Vhalorasti orcs just now. “What are your commands?”

  “Send them to King Hektor’s banner,” said Justin. “They are to kill King Hektor, the Keeper of Andomhaim, and as many of the Arcanii as they can manage.” Justin doubted they would succeed, but they would hold the attention of Hektor for a few critical moments. “Meanwhile, the Wise Elders are to strike at the enemy hoplites. Kill as many of them as possible. If we break their formation while the Dark Arcanii distract Hektor and the Keeper, we will win the battle.”

  “As you bid, King Justin,” said Urzhalar. He gestured with the Sign, and the Dark Arcanii leaped into the air, their black wings beating as they soared. Throughout the army, Justin saw the rest of the Dark Arcanii rise into the sky, and a ripple of surprise went through the men not actively fighting for their lives.

  Dozens of Dark Arcanii flew over the battle, converging on King Hektor’s banner.

  ###

  “What is the Maledictus doing?” said Hektor.

  “I don’t know,” said Calliande, white fire flickering along the length of her staff.

  Kalussa looked back and forth between her father and the Keeper. The warlocks had stopped their attacks of dark magic, turning their powers toward a defensive ward. Master Nicion and the Arcanius Knights had been hammering at that ward, but Calliande had told them to stop and reserve their powers for the next attack.

  And during the magical duel, the battle had continued raging. Kalussa couldn’t tell who was winning. It felt like hours had passed, but she knew that it had been only a few moments.

  “A spell,” said Calliande, her eyes hazy as she drew on the Sight. “He’s casting a spell. He’s linked to each of the Dark Arcanii, and…” Her eyes went wide. “The abscondamni! It’s just like the abscondamni!”

  “He’s creating abscondamni?” said Kalussa, revolted. She had fought Rypheus’s abscondamni during the ill-fated banquet, and she never wanted to see another one of the hideous things.

  “No,” said Calliande, the fire around her staff burning brighter. “No, worse. It’s…”

  Dozens of black shapes erupted from within Justin’s army, wings beating as they took to the sky.

  Kalussa had never seen creatures like that. She could tell that they had once been men and women, that they had once been Justin’s Dark Arcanii. But now they were twisted, gray-skinned things, blue fire burning in their eyes and mouths. Great black wings rose behind them like the sails of a ship, and claws jutted from their fingers.

  “Monsters,” said Calliande. “The Maledictus used his power to transform the Dark Arcanii into monsters, just as Rypheus turned his followers into abscondamni.”

  Kalussa expected the Dark Arcanii to dive into the battle, falling upon the struggling soldiers like hawks swooping upon their prey. Instead, the creatures kept flying, heading towards…

  “Defend yourselves!” shouted Calliande. “They are coming for the King!”

  She started casting a spell, and chaos erupted around Kalussa.

  Nicion shouted a command, and the Arcanius Knights threw fire and lightning and ice into the sky. Two of the Dark Arcanii plummeted to the earth, wreathed in flames. Hektor raised the Sword of Fire and swept it before him, and fire exploded above them. Some of the Dark Arcanii fell, burning in the Sword’s fire. Others weaved and dodged and avoided the firestorm. Some of the creatures dove towards the King’s banner, claws extended. Others began casting spells.

  One began casting a spell at Kalussa.

  She sent her will into the Staff of Blades, calling forth a crystalline shield. It
erupted from the ground before her in a thin, glittering sheet, and the lance of dark magic struck it. The sheet of crystal shattered into a thousand shards that vanished into nothingness. Kalussa reacted on instinct and flung a sphere of fire at the Dark Arcanius, but the winged creature banked to the side and avoided her attack.

  The motion gave Kyralion an excellent shot.

  His bow sang, and his burning arrow stabbed through the creature’s left wing, locking it halfway open. The Dark Arcanius let out a furious howl of rage and began to weave back and forth like a drunkard, trying to keep itself airborne. Kalussa called on the Staff of Blades. Her initial impulse was to fling a huge sphere of crystal at the winged monster, as large as she could create, but she remembered that the smaller globes had been far more effective against the High Warlock’s illusionary doubles. She summoned a sphere about the size of her thumb, and because of its lighter weight, she could use the Staff to throw it with far greater speed.

  The Dark Arcanius tried to dodge, but the sphere moved in a shining blue blur. It hit the creature’s forehead and blasted out the back of its skull with enough force that the top half of its head exploded in a spray of brains and blue-glowing blood. The Dark Arcanius went limp and plummeted to the earth like a falling stone.

  Kalussa started to draw breath to compliment Kyralion for a good shot, but another Dark Arcanius swooped towards her. She turned to face the creature, thrusting the Staff of Blades before her.

  ###

  The magic of the Well of Tarlion burned through Calliande, fused to the power of the Keeper’s mantle.

  She cast a spell as a Dark Arcanius hurled a lance of blue fire and shadow, and a ward snapped into existence around her. The defensive spell deflected the dark magic with ease, and Calliande struck back, a shaft of white fire leaping from her staff and slashing across the flying creature’s chest. The spell would have done nothing against a living mortal. But the Dark Arcanius had corrupted himself with dark magic, leaving humanity behind to become a winged horror, and the white fire of the Well burned through the corrupted Dark Arcanius like a firestorm through a field of chaff. The creature screamed as white fire blasted through its veins and then plummeted to the earth like a meteor.

  None of the Dark Arcanii could stand against Calliande. The magic of the Well and the Keeper’s mantle were anathema to them. For that matter, none of them could match her strength or skill. The training of the Arcanii was simply not equal to that of the Magistri of Andomhaim, and Calliande could deflect their attacks and strike them down without much difficulty.

  But there were so damned many of them.

  How many Dark Arcanii had Justin and Urzhalar transformed into those winged horrors? A hundred and fifty? Two hundred? Calliande didn’t know, and she dared not take the time to count, not with dozens of them flitting overhead like a mob of bats. The Arcanius Knights and the Dark Arcanii were locked in a deadly duel, with dark magic and elemental force snapping back and forth. Calliande saw an Arcanius Knight fall, withered to a desiccated corpse by the spell of a winged creature. The Dark Arcanius screamed in victory, but a blast of elemental ice punched through his chest and out his back. Hektor held the Sword of Fire over his head, and bolts of blazing flame leaped upward to incinerate the Dark Arcanii and send their smoldering bones raining upon the grass.

  Kalussa and Kyralion stood behind her. Kyralion sent shaft after burning shaft into the air, aiming for the wings and throats of the Dark Arcanii. His aim was superb, and he sent creature after creature plummeting to the earth. Kalussa hurled both spheres of fire and crystal at the enemy. Her spells of elemental fire set the Dark Arcanii aflame, and her spheres of crystal punched through skulls and throats and wings.

  The two of them were so effective, in fact, that the Dark Arcanii were beginning to focus their attacks on them. Calliande had to extend her warding spells to protect Kalussa and Kyralion. If she had not, the Dark Arcanii would have wiped them out by now.

  She flung another shaft of white fire, burning a winged creature out of the sky, the urgency of the situation drumming inside her head. The Dark Arcanii were deadly and powerful, but they were only a distraction. Justin had sent them to their deaths to hold the attention of King Hektor and the Arcanius Knights.

  Because while Calliande and Hektor and the Arcanii struggled against the winged horrors, the warlocks of Vhalorast were free to act. The warlocks cast their spells over and over, hurling attacks of crimson fire and twisted shadows into the struggling hoplites.

  Every attack turned dozens of men into withered corpses.

  Their tactic was proving decisive. Justin’s hoplites were surging against Hektor’s soldiers, starting to push them back as the hoplites wavered beneath the magical assault. If the line broke, Justin’s hoplites would break through, and the Mholorasti orcs and Earl Vimroghast’s jotunmiri would find themselves surrounded by foes on all sides.

  Calliande needed to fight the warlocks. She needed to find and stop Urzhalar. She needed to find Sir Jolcus and tell him and the other Arcanii skilled in earth magic that the trisalians were needed now, immediately.

  She needed to find Ridmark and make sure that he was safe.

  But right now, Calliande could do nothing but fight, and the fury of the magical battle blazed around her as she brought the full power of the Keeper’s mantle to bear against the Dark Arcanii.

  Chapter 17: Ironcoats

  The battle raged around Ridmark Arban, and he fought for his life.

  They were losing.

  The Vhalorasti orcs charged in a storm, roaring in fury, brandishing swords and spears and axes, their bronze armor flashing in the sun. Their faces twisted with rage, distorting the crimson tattoos upon their faces, and their black eyes gleamed with the battle madness of orcish blood.

  The Mholorasti orcs and Warlord Obhalzak were more than glad to meet their charge.

  The battle of the hoplites might have been a struggle of discipline and organization, two shield walls shoving against each other. The fight between the orcs of Vhalorast and Mholorast became a thousand individual duels, where valor and courage and skill decided the day rather than iron discipline.

  Ridmark fought with Calem, Tamlin, and Aegeus around him, Third flickering in and out of the battle as the power of her blood carried her from place to place. Calem was death in a white cloak, the Sword of Air leaving pieces of slain Vhalorasti orcs upon the ground. Aegeus hammered any enemy that drew too near with his frozen shield, chopping his foes to the ground with his axe. Lightning flickered around Tamlin’s free hand, and his magic stunned the Vhalorasti orcs long enough to land a killing blow with his dark elven sword.

  Ridmark and Third fought with the same tactics they had used so many times before against so many enemies. Third transported herself in the blink of an eye, disappearing and reappearing an instant. When she reappeared, her blades slashed across throats and stabbed into backs, wounding and crippling the Vhalorasti orcs. Those she wounded, Ridmark finished off with thrusts from Oathshield. Those she crippled, he left to die upon the ground. The battle was too fierce for him to do anything else.

  “To me!” roared Warlord Obhalzak. Blood flew from the dark elven steel of his double-bladed axe as he slashed and hacked. “To me, my warriors! To me, my headmen!”

  Ridmark had doubted Warlord Obhalzak. The orcish Warlord had seemed too young, too inexperienced for this kind of thing, and he was close friends with King Aristotle, who Ridmark did not like at all. Yet the battle with the Vhalorasti orcs had dispelled all doubts. Obhalzak fought with fierce courage and ferocious skill. His armor and helmet were dented and scarred from hits, and his green blood leaked from a half-dozen minor wounds, yet he fought on, cutting down every Vhalorasti orc that dared to approach him. Obhalzak had become a pillar of defense, rallying his warriors and leading them step by bloody step against their foes.

  And as their foes swirled around them, Ridmark realized that he and his friends had become a similar pillar of defense. The Mholorasti orcs were r
allying around them, sometimes with cries of “Whitecloak” and “Shield Knight.”

  Another band of Vhalorasti orcs charged at Ridmark. The Mholorasti orcs rushed to intercept them, and soon another furious melee raged around them, green blood spilling into the earth. Ridmark rushed to meet the Vhalorasti warriors, Oathshield in his hands. There was blood spattered over his arms. Most of it was green, but some of it was red. His? Yes – he must have been clipped on the arm and not felt it yet in the heat of the battle.

  Then the orcs were upon him, and Ridmark had no attention to spare for anything but survival and killing.

  An orc hacked at him with a bronze axe, and Ridmark caught the descending weapon on Oathshield’s edge. The orcish warrior’s snarl turned into a look of surprise as Oathshield bit into the axe. Likely the warrior had expected to shatter the sword, as a bronze blade would not have held against the heavier weapon. Ridmark wrenched Oathshield back, and the axe’s wooden haft slipped in the warrior’s grasp. Before his foe could recover, Ridmark whipped Oathshield around and drove the soulblade halfway into the orc’s neck. The warrior fell to his knees, and Ridmark wrenched the weapon free and met his next foe. He parried a bronze sword, the blades clanging, and took a step back to recover his balance.

  Before he had taken another breath, blue fire swirled behind the orc. Third stepped out of the flames, drove her swords through the gaps in the orcish warrior’s armor, and tugged the weapons free. The orc collapsed dying to the ground, and Ridmark turned in search of another opponent.

  It did not take long to find one.

  ###

  Sometimes Tamlin thought that he had known nothing but fighting his entire life, nothing but blood and death and war. First, he had spent years in the Ring of Blood, fighting for the amusement of the Confessor’s soldiers. Then he had escaped and become an Arcanius Knight, and he had fought in King Hektor’s campaigns, battling the Confessor’s soldiers and King Justin’s hoplites and raiders that came up from the Deeps.