Sevenfold Sword_Warlord

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Krastikon?” said Calliande, surprised. “What would he know about the Necromancer?”

  “Cytheria is closer to Trojas than Aenesium,” said Ridmark, voice grim. “Perhaps King Justin learned something that drove him to attack Hektor.” He looked at the squire. “Tell King Hektor that we will join him as soon as possible.”

  The squire bowed and withdrew from the tent.

  “Another battle so soon?” said Calliande. She felt so weary.

  “Maybe,” said Ridmark. “Let’s find out.”

  ###

  Tamlin sat on a flat rock at the edge of the camp, watching the sun rise over the trampled plain of the battlefield.

  The Sword of Earth rested in its scabbard across his knees.

  A score of pyres burned on the field, the smoke of the dead rising into the sky. Thousands of men had died in the fighting, and those were corpses that the Confessor or the Necromancer could raise into a host of undead warriors. The saurtyri and the hoplites had gathered the dead after stripping them of their bronze armor and weapons, and the Arcanii skilled with the magic of elemental flame had burned the slain.

  Tamlin remembered some of the things he had read as a child, passing the time in the library of the Monastery of St. James. In ancient days upon Old Earth, the church had opposed cremation, arguing that since mankind had been made in the image of God, cremation was an offense against the divine image. The necessity of fighting wars against the dark elven princes in Andomhaim and necromancers like the Confessor had requied a change. Cremation had never bothered Tamlin. God would call the living and the dead on the day of the Last Judgment, and if God had set the stars to blaze and shaped the mountains, reassembling a burned corpse would be trivial by comparison.

  Or restoring a woman turned to stone by her cruel former lover.

  Tamlin watched the smoke of the pyres rise and thought about his mother. He thought about Urd Maelwyn and the Ring of Blood, about the cruel lessons of the dvargir gamemasters. And, as always, his thoughts turned to Tysia.

  “Find me again,” said Tysia in his memory as she died. “The New God is coming.”

  Tamlin closed his eyes and rubbed his face. He wanted to get drunk. He wanted to take a woman into his bed. He wanted something to make him forget, to blur the hard edges of his memories. Tamlin had just helped kill his father. A man had a right to get drunk and go wenching after killing his father.

  Even if his father had deserved it and more.

  But he would not get drunk while marching with the King’s army and seducing a woman sounded like too much work just now.

  The rasp of a boot came to his ear, and Tamlin opened his eyes.

  A blond woman in a red tunic and dusty trousers walked towards him, hair pulled back from her face, her blue eyes bloodshot. A staff of dark metal rested in her right hand, the blue crystal at its top seeming to shiver with tension.

  “Lady Kalussa,” said Tamlin.

  “Sir Tamlin,” said Kalussa, leaning on the Staff of Blades. Calem walked next to her, blue armor glinting in the morning sun, white cloak hanging from his shoulders. Calliande had healed him, though he looked as tired as Tamlin felt. Kyralion walked after them, hand resting on his sword hilt.

  Kalussa was a beautiful woman, but Tamlin was amused that he had no desire to seduce her. To be blunt about it, they had been through too damned much together. What Tamlin wanted was to forget. Sleeping with her would not make him forget.

  “Though since you rode a trisalian to victory,” said Tamlin, “perhaps we should find a different title for you.”

  Kalussa snorted. “Do you know something? I was embarrassed. Of all the things to feel when riding to battle, I was embarrassed. Like I was a common servant driving a cart or something. I was afraid I was going to die, of course, but I was more embarrassed.”

  “I’ve heard it said that women prefer death to indignity,” said Tamlin.

  Kalussa let out a quiet laugh. “I was embarrassed…and then we smashed them, Tamlin. We just smashed them. My father fought Justin and his allies for a quarter of a century, and we broke them in five minutes. I have never seen anything like it.”

  “You’re only nineteen,” said Tamlin. “So that’s hardly impressive.” Kalussa glared at him and then laughed. “But no one has ever seen anything like that. Twenty-five years of the War of the Seven Swords and no one has ever won a victory so crushing. Old King Kyrian fell to his knees and called it a miracle from the hands of God. I think he and his monks are still praying in thanksgiving.”

  “Maybe they should,” said Kalussa.

  “I agree with Lady Kalussa,” said Calem. That didn’t surprise Tamlin.

  “It was a very great victory,” said Kyralion. “I feared that we would be defeated utterly. But Lady Calliande broke King Justin’s army, and Lord Ridmark slew King Justin himself.”

  “I wonder if Rhodruthain knew what he was doing,” mused Kalussa.

  “What do you mean?” said Tamlin.

  “He just dropped Ridmark and Calliande into the hills,” said Kalussa. “I thought it was another mad thing the mad Guardian had done. But if he hadn’t…you and I would be dead, Tamlin. Justin would have rolled right past Castra Chaeldon and would likely sit on my father’s throne in Aenesium. Instead, my father has reunited seven of the Nine Cities of Owyllain, and we have three of the Seven Swords. And all this because Rhodruthain sent the Shield Knight and the Keeper to us in our hour of need.”

  “I don’t know,” said Tamlin. “Don’t tell Calliande, though. She is angry at him for putting her sons in danger.”

  “Perhaps she will beat an explanation out of him before she forces him to send her and Lord Ridmark back to Andomhaim,” said Kalussa.

  Tamlin laughed a little. “I can see her doing that. I imagine she is usually the gentle whisper to Lord Ridmark’s mailed fist, but if anyone threatens her children…”

  “The gentle whisper becomes a lightning bolt,” said Kalussa.

  “Or an army of trampling trisalians,” said Tamlin.

  They lapsed into silence.

  “Are you all right?” said Kalussa. “I thought you would be with Sir Aegeus visiting the camp followers, but…”

  “I killed my father,” said Tamlin. “Well, Lord Ridmark killed him, but I helped.”

  Kalussa frowned. “If it helped, he was an evil man who murdered innocents and never repented of his crimes. Owyllain would have been better if he had died decades ago.” Calem nodded in agreement.

  “Even in the Illicaeryn Jungle,” said Kyralion, “we heard tales of the ruthlessness of Justin Cyros. Lady Kalussa is right.”

  “I know,” said Tamlin. “I hated the man all my life. But it is still a grave thing to kill your father. And…” He shook his head. “An infant.”

  “An infant?” said Kalussa.

  “Before he died he was talking about my mother and an infant,” said Tamlin. “It was the last thing he ever said.”

  Kalussa shrugged. “Lord Ridmark’s sword was through his heart. Doubtless, his mind was no longer working.”

  “Men often say strange things in the final instant before they die,” said Calem. “I saw that often in the Ring of Blood.”

  “I wish I could have talked to him,” said Tamlin. “Not from mercy. But…Tysia warned me about the New God. Yet Justin claimed he was fighting the New God, whatever it is. I wish he could have told me more. But I don’t regret killing him. I…”

  Boots crunched against the ground, and Tamlin turned his head in time to see Third walking towards them. She normally moved in such silence that he supposed she had wanted to be heard.

  “Lady Third,” said Tamlin.

  “Sir Tamlin,” said Third. “Lady Kalussa. Sir Calem.” She hesitated for just a moment. “Lord Kyralion.” Kyralion gave her one of his awkward bows.

  “We were just discussing the death of King Justin,” said Kalussa.

  Third nodded. “Justin Cyros was a formidable warrior. But he was also a fool. He should have
heeded the Keeper’s request at the parley and allied with King Hektor. Many lives might have been saved.”

  “Plutarch,” said Tamlin, remembering the monastery’s library again.

  “Who?” said Kalussa, and then she blinked. “Oh, I remember him. He’s one of the armorers in the Agora of the Blacksmiths back in Aenesium.”

  Tamlin smiled. “Yes, but I was thinking of a different Plutarch. This Plutarch lived Old Earth and wrote a book called the Lives Of The Noble Grecians And Romans. He wrote that if Julius Caesar and Pompey the Great had been able to put aside their differences and join forces, they would have conquered the entire world for Rome. Instead, Caesar destroyed Pompey. It seems my father could not see the truth.”

  Third considered him with her unblinking black gaze, and then nodded. “Ah. You regret your father’s death.”

  “No,” said Tamlin. “Yes. I…” He sighed. “What I regret is that things were not different. That he was not a better man.”

  “I understand better than you know,” said Third. “Did the Shield Knight tell you why I am called Third?”

  “No,” said Tamlin, though in truth was curious.

  “I would wish to know, Lady Third,” said Kyralion. “You are a valiant warrior, that is plain, but if you hold the fate of my kindred in your hands, I wish to know more about you.”

  Third looked at him for a long moment, and Tamlin wondered what was happening behind those dark eyes.

  “This is my third life,” said Third. “My first was when I was a child. My second was the centuries I spent as an urdhracos, bound to the will of my father. This is my third life, after Lord Ridmark and my sister Queen Mara showed me the way to freedom. I could not recall my name, so I instead call myself Third.”

  Tamlin nodded, wondering why she was telling him this.

  “I hated my father,” said Third, “and his death freed me. Perhaps King Justin’s death will free you.”

  “Maybe,” said Tamlin.

  But it was not his hatred of Justin Cyros that had enslaved him. No, it was something else.

  Find me again. The New God is coming.

  “Your counsel is wise, Lady Third,” said Kyralion.

  Third smiled a little at him. “I am not wise. I am only old. That makes me seem wise to you children. But I did not come here to dispense wisdom or counsel. Lady Calliande sent me to find you. King Hektor received news of the Necromancer of Trojas, and he is questioning Prince Krastikon. The Keeper wished you to join us.”

  “Krastikon?” said Tamlin, surprised. “What the devil would Krastikon know about the Necromancer?”

  Kalussa shrugged. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

  Chapter 24: The Hidden Army

  Hektor’s circle of advisors had changed since their last council of war.

  Ridmark saw Master Nicion and Sir Tramond and the others, along with Aristotle and Lycureon and Kyrian and Warlord Obhalzak. King Aristotle had apparently killed Warlord Khazamek of Vhalorast in single combat during the furious fighting. Once again Ridmark had to concede that King Aristotle of Echion was no coward.

  But King Brasidas and King Atreus had joined Hektor’s council after swearing oaths of loyalty to the King of Aenesium. Brasidas seemed like an honorable man, though Ridmark thought Atreus Trenzimar a cringing toad. Ridmark wondered how many of Justin’s former allies and vassals harbored secret grudges and desired to avenge their late master.

  Still, given that their other options were allying themselves with the Necromancer or the Masked One or the Confessor, they would throw their lot in with Hektor Pendragon, the man who by right should have been the High King of Owyllain. And the best way for former enemies to become allies was to face a dangerous foe.

  And a dangerous foe was coming.

  “At least one hundred and fifty thousand strong,” said Sir Parmenio.

  He had returned with his scouts, and Hektor had summoned his advisors and nobles to hear the report. They stood in the center of the camp outside the King’s pavilion and beneath the banner of Aenesium. Ridmark stood with Calliande, and Tamlin, Calem, Aegeus, Third, Kyralion, and Kalussa had joined them as well.

  “We have heard many accounts from fleeing villagers,” said Parmenio, “and they all agree. The Necromancer has raised a vast host of undead near Trojas, and is preparing to march on Talyrium and Cadeira with his undead warriors.”

  “I see,” said Hektor, his face graver than usual.

  “Perhaps I can explain further, King Hektor,” said Brasidas.

  “Please,” said Hektor.

  Brasidas nodded. He looked to have aged ten years since the parley, but the old King still stood tall and strong. “Long before humans came here, the Sovereign ruled the lands where the cities of Trojas and Talyrium and Cadeira and Cytheria now stand.”

  “This is well known,” said Aristotle with his usual condescending smile.

  Brasidas was too dignified to respond to the younger man’s provocation. “What was not well known is that the Sovereign secretly buried thousands of his orcish warriors in hidden burial mounds throughout the land. He left them concealed there and told no one but the Confessor and his other lieutenants. The Sovereign planned to use the hidden burial mounds for reinforcements, summoning undead warriors should he ever need them.”

  “And now the Necromancer has found those burial mounds and is raising the dead,” said Calliande.

  Brasidas blinked at her. Ridmark suspected the old King still didn’t know what to make of the Keeper. Perhaps watching the trisalians demolish Justin’s army would help make up his mind. “That…is entirely correct, my lady. With the power of the Sword of Death, the Necromancer is summoning thousands of undead to his side. That was why King Justin decided to march on Aenesium. Our army was not strong enough to face the Necromancer’s forces alone. He wanted a quick conquest of Aenesium to bind the other kings to him, and then to march with a unified army to face the Necromancer.”

  “Do you think we are strong enough to face the Necromancer?” said Hektor.

  Brasidas hesitated. “Maybe. I do not know, King Hektor. I would not have said your army was strong enough to defeat ours…but then the trisalians smashed our lines and the Shield Knight slew King Justin. Who can see what the future holds?” He sighed. “But the Necromancer’s host has easily four times our numbers.”

  “Perhaps there is another way,” said Hektor. “Prince Krastikon?”

  Krastikon stepped forward, wincing a little. Ridmark regretted cracking his skull, though only because Calliande had taken the pain of the injury into herself to heal him.

  Krastikon seemed…shrunken, somehow, diminished since the battle. Some of that was that he had removed his armor, though he was still a large and strong young man. Most of it was the haunted look in his gray eyes. Ridmark realized that Krastikon had loved his father too much. Justin Cyros had been Krastikon’s King, father, and god, and Krastikon had placed utter faith in the man.

  Then Ridmark had killed him.

  He wondered if Krastikon would seek vengeance.

  But the Ironcoat looked too shaken for that, too haunted. Ridmark wondered if he had ever suffered a defeat before.

  Krastikon took a nervous breath, and then some of his old manner returned.

  “My lords, King Hektor,” said Krastikon. “King Justin feared that even the combined army of Owyllain would not be enough to overcome the Necromancer’s host. So, he devised another plan. Do any of you know the name of Zenobia Trimarch?”

  “Malachi Trimarch was the last King of Trojas,” said Aristotle with a frown, “but the Necromancer slew him and his wife, concubines, and children when he claimed Trojas for himself.”

  “Zenobia,” said Hektor. “I remember the name. She was King Malachi’s youngest daughter.”

  “The Necromancer slew all the royal house of Trojas save for her,” said Krastikon, “and he kept her as a figurehead, raised by nurses and monks. Princess Zenobia fears the Necromancer will utterly destroy Trojas in his madness, so in
secret, she contacted my father. She offered to become his concubine and give him the crown of Trojas if he would destroy the Necromancer.”

  “That would be easier said than done, Prince Krastikon,” said Hektor.

  “Yes,” said Krastikon. “But Zenobia also knew of a secret entrance into Trojas, a secret passed from King of Trojas to King of Trojas for generations. I went with a party of Ironcoats to meet with Zenobia, and she showed us the entrance and the hidden door to the Blue Castra at the city’s heart.” He took a deep breath. “Once my father defeated King Hektor, I was to lead a party of Ironcoats to Trojas to surprise and kill the Necromancer and take the Sword of Death.”

  “That could work,” said Calliande. Krastikon looked at her in surprise and with a little fear. His eyes shifted to Ridmark, and he looked away at once. “If Taerdyn has bound the undead to him with the Sword of Death, killing him would break the binding and the spells upon the undead. They would only become corpses again…”

  “And we could defeat an army of one hundred thousand and fifty undead,” said Hektor, “by striking down a single man.”

  Krastikon shrugged. “That is what King Justin planned to do as soon as you were defeated, King Hektor.”

  Ridmark looked at Calliande, and her eyes met his. He saw the weariness go over her face, and he knew she wanted to return to Aenesium and their sons.

  But they had their duty…and if the Necromancer’s undead horde destroyed Hektor’s army and swept south, their sons would not be safe in Aenesium.

  Calliande closed her eyes and nodded. Ridmark squeezed her hand, took a deep breath, and stepped forward.

  “King Hektor,” said Ridmark. All eyes turned to him. “Sir Calem carries the Sword of Air, and Sir Tamlin the Sword of Earth. I carry the soulblade Oathshield, and the Keeper wields great magic. Send us to Trojas, and we will stop the Necromancer.”

  Epilogue: Maledicti

  The Maledictus Khurazalin stood unnoticed in the King’s Chamber of the Blue Castra of the city of Trojas.