Sevenfold Sword: Unity

by Jonathan Moeller

  Ridmark frowned. “Like the aura around the muridach priests?”

  “Yes,” she said. “But stronger. I think many muridach priests are moving through the nearby hills.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right,” said Ridmark. “Let’s move.”

  ###

  An hour later Third followed Ridmark as he climbed the slope of a hill.

  This was something they had done many, many times before. The Shield Knight could move like a silent ghost through the wilderness, and the years since the defeat of the Frostborn had not taken his edge.

  Certainly, his encounters with Justin Cyros and the Necromancer of Trojas and the Maledictus of Shadows proved that.

  He was also Third’s first and oldest friend, and she felt more comfortable around him than anyone else save her sister.

  She felt more comfortable around Ridmark than she did around Kyralion. But Kyralion did not make her feel uncomfortable, not exactly. He just made her feel unsettled. She found her eyes drifting to him, her mind wondering what it would feel like to have him touch her, perhaps to kiss her, or even more…

  Third was centuries old, and this was a new sensation to her.

  In a way, she was almost grateful to find herself near a muridach army. Third knew how to fight and kill and win. What to do about unfamiliar emotions was something else entirely.

  Ridmark came to a sudden stop, and Third halted as she saw what had caught his attention.

  “Muridach scouts coming around the hill,” he said.

  Third heard the rasp of their boots against the rough ground, heard their deep voices as they argued in their own language. The scouts were not making any effort at stealth. That either meant that they were idiots, or…

  “If there is a muridach army,” said Third in a low voice, “likely the bulk of their forces are nearby.”

  The rasp of the boots got louder.

  Ridmark sighed and rolled his shoulders. “We’ll have to take them quickly.”

  Third nodded. “The usual tactic we employed against locusari warriors?”

  Ridmark blinked. “The muridachs aren’t nearly as fast as the locusari.”

  “All the better,” said Third, drawing her short swords. “We can take them quicker, then.”

  “Well, you’re usually right,” said Ridmark, drawing Oathshield. The soulstones in the pommel and the tang flashed, and pale white fire glimmered around the blue blade. Likely the sword was reacting to the aura of dark magic around the muridach priests. “How many, do you think?”

  “Four or five,” said Third. She raised her blades. “Shall we?”

  He snorted.

  “What?” said Third.

  “Just like old times, I suppose,” said Ridmark.

  “There are no frost drakes this time,” said Third.

  “That’s an improvement, at least,” said Ridmark, and he started forward, Third following.

  The muridach scouts came into sight a moment later. As Third had guessed, there were four of the creatures. They wore leather armor reinforced with bronze studs, short swords at their belts and bronze-tipped spears in their hands. That was good. Third had been concerned they would have bows.

  The muridachs froze when they saw Ridmark and Third.

  “Greetings,” called Ridmark in orcish. Third supposed his sense of justice compelled him to offer the muridachs a chance to depart. She would have just killed them all where they stood, but his conscience was sharper than hers. “If you…”

  The muridachs charged, raising their spears. Likely they assumed that one human man and one woman would not put up much of a fight.

  Or that they would make a fine meal.

  Third stepped forward and drew on the fiery song in her blood, and blue fire swallowed the world. When the flames cleared, she was behind the muridachs, who had skidded to a halt in confusion at her disappearance.

  She stepped forward and killed one with a quick stab from her swords. Third had hoped to kill the creature in silence, but she didn’t quite manage it, and the ratman died with a gurgling croak. The other muridachs whirled to face her, and Third had to retreat, snapping her bloody blades right and left to deflect the spear thrusts aimed at her face and chest.

  Of course, while she was doing that, Ridmark closed the distance.

  Oathshield moved in a blur of blue metal and white flame, and Ridmark took off the head of a muridach warrior. The rat-like head rolled away, the expression frozen in astonishment, and the body fell with a spatter of blood. Third darted closer and stabbed, her swords finding the heart of another muridach, and the surviving ratman backed away, preparing to flee. If he escaped, he might warn the rest of the muridachs, but Ridmark finished the creature off before it made another three steps.

  “Good work,” said Ridmark, cleaning the muridach blood from Oathshield’s blade.

  “Thank you,” said Third. She cocked her head to the side, trying to listen. “Do you hear that?”

  Ridmark frowned and listened. “I don’t, but you have better hearing.”

  “I think I can hear a marching army,” said Third.

  Ridmark looked around. “Let’s head to the top of this hill. We’ll get a better look from there.”

  Third nodded, stepped over a dead muridach, and followed Ridmark as he climbed up the hill. Perhaps a dozen yards from the crest, he sheathed Oathshield and dropped to a crawl, and Third followed suit. Reaching the top of a hill in hostile territory was always tricky business. Standing atop a hill was a superb way to let the enemy see you, but the vantage point offered a useful view of the surrounding countryside.

  Ridmark came to a sudden halt as he reached the top of the hill, and Third hurried forward, wondering if he had seen enemies.

  She joined him and froze in surprise.

  Ridmark had indeed seen enemies.

  The hill overlooked a broad, wide valley, and a horde of muridach warriors moved through it like a river in flood. There were thousands of the creatures. No, tens of thousands. Third saw muridach infantry in bronze ring mail and spiked caps marching in orderly lines, muridach berserkers stalking along the sides with their double-bladed axes. Here and there Third spotted the priests of the Lord of Carrion in their crimson cowls, and muridach lancers atop kalocrypts screened the flanks of the host. Creaking supply wagons were pulled by creatures that Third had never seen before, things that looked like glistening, hairless moles.

  “There must be at least thirty-five thousand of them,” whispered Ridmark.

  “Maybe even forty,” said Third.

  “Sir Rion said that the muridachs breed like mice or rats,” said Ridmark. “Most of the time, they’re too busy fighting each other to threaten other kindreds and only come to the surface to scavenge. But when they’re united against a foe…”

  “Like the gray elves,” said Third, thinking of Kyralion, of what Lord Amruthyr had told her in the final moment before his death.

  “They can come forth in terrifying numbers,” said Ridmark. “We need to get back to the others before the muridachs realized we’ve killed several of their scouting parties.”

  “Agreed,” said Third.

  ###

  Ridmark saw Calliande and the others waiting atop the crown of the hill and felt a surge of relief. So far, it seemed, the muridachs had not realized that any of their scout parties or kalocrypt patrols had been slain.

  But the minute they did, the muridachs would attack in force, and Ridmark and the others would not survive that.

  “You’re back, thank God,” said Calliande. “We need to move as soon as possible.”

  Ridmark spotted Kyralion and Magatai waiting near the scutians, and he suspected their news was bad.

  “You’ve seen a muridach army, haven’t you?” said Ridmark.

  “A mighty host perhaps five miles west of here,” said Magatai. “Magatai is uncertain of their numbers, but they were as numerous as the blades of grass upon the Takai steppes. All the tribes of the Takai would be needed to fight such a ho
rde.”

  “At least forty-five thousand of them,” said Kyralion. “Maybe as many as fifty. If there had been a single survivor from our fight with the kalocrypts, we would have hundreds of muridachs falling on us by now, maybe even thousands.”

  “It seems only the grace of God that they have not found us yet,” said Krastikon.

  “We can’t go east or west,” said Ridmark. “If we go north, we’ll run right into the muridachs as well.”

  “What about the Deeps?” said Calliande. “Could we hide there until the muridachs pass?”

  “I doubt it,” said Kyralion. “The muridachs are issuing forth from their underground strongholds, and there will be stragglers.”

  “Another wave might be coming as well,” said Third.

  “Then it seems our only chance is to go south,” said Ridmark.

  Calliande frowned. “But the muridachs are marching south. If we had horses, we might be able to get ahead of them or loop around them to the east, but we don’t. And once we’re on the steppes, there will be no place to hide.”

  “There may be, my lady,” said Magatai, “though the path is fraught with peril.”

  “Where?” said Ridmark.

  “Cathair Avamyr,” said Magatai.

  Kyralion stirred at that.

  “The ruined gray elven city,” said Ridmark.

  “It was to be the final refuge of my people, our last bastion,” said Kyralion. “Most of our people would shelter within Cathair Avamyr, and the fortifications within the Pass of Ruins would hold the Sovereign’s hordes at bay.” He sighed. “But you all saw firsthand how that ended.”

  “Isn’t Cathair Avamyr dangerous?” said Tamara. “You always talk about the Blood Quest to Cathair Avamyr.”

  “Cathair Avamyr is very dangerous,” said Magatai. “Ruined it may be, but ancient guardian spirits guard its streets.” He puffed up a little. “Magatai bested them in glorious battle, and the spirits granted him a boon.” His left hand patted the spiraling tattoos on his right arm. “Hence he is resistant to magical forces. Not quite as resistant as friend Kyralion, of course, but enough to resist the insidious dream spell the wicked Maledicti used against us.”

  “Do the muridachs ever go to Cathair Avamyr?” said Calliande.

  “Sometimes,” said Magatai. “They never come out again. The guardian spirits slay them.”

  “And are the guardian spirits going to slay us?” said Krastikon.

  Magatai laughed. “They will try! But we have the Shield Knight, the Keeper, Tamara Earthcaller, and three of the Seven Swords! And Magatai thinks that we shall have better odds against the guardian spirits of Cathair Avamyr than against a hundred thousand muridachs.” He looked at Kyralion. “Perhaps the guardian spirits shall even let us pass without challenge since we are in the company of a gray elf.”

  “I doubt it,” said Kyralion. “The guardians in Cathair Selenias attacked me before we approached Lord Amruthyr.”

  “Going to Cathair Avamyr will be a risk,” said Calliande.

  “Aye,” said Ridmark, coming to a decision. “Going there will be a risk. But if we stay here, the muridachs will find us and overwhelm us. If we go in any other direction but south, the muridachs will kill us.”

  No one objected. That was a pity. Ridmark had rather hoped someone might have a better idea, but they had no other choice.

  “If we are going to Cathair Avamyr,” said Kyralion, “we need to move at once. The muridach scouts will reach this location at any moment.”

  “Then let’s go,” said Ridmark.

  Chapter 3: Scythe

  The next two days were exhausting.

  Tamlin was used to physical exertion. The dvargir gamemasters in the Ring of Blood had not been forgiving of weakness, and they had pushed him far past the bounds of his stamina. After he had escaped and joined King Hektor as an Arcanius Knight, Tamlin had gone on forced marches, had fought in battles and skirmishes where there was no choice but to fight or die.

  War was also not forgiving of physical weakness.

  Tamlin was used to this kind of thing, but Ridmark still set a hard pace.

  They traveled for the rest of the day and well after sunset. It seemed that Third had some ability to see in the dark, and Northwind could smell the muridachs and the kalocrypts long before they drew near, which let them avoid the creatures.

  They still had to fight roving groups of kalocrypts and muridach riders twice. Fortunately, both times the enemy consisted of only three kalocrypts and their riders, and they made short work of their foes. Once again, it seemed the muridachs had underestimated a group of humans on foot. Tamlin supposed that would last until some of the muridachs escaped to warn the others.

  That would be bad. If the muridachs realized they could get their clawed hands on three of the Seven Swords, they would attack in force, hoping to claim the powerful weapons for themselves. Tamlin wondered if it would have been wiser to keep the Swords in Aenesium, but then the Swords might have been stolen, or Owyllain ripped apart in a new civil war as different lords and kings tried to claim the weapons.

  In truth, there was no safe place for any of the Seven Swords. Perhaps the safest place was the hands of the Swordborn who could use the Swords as weapons but not draw upon their mighty magic. Anyone who could use the Swords’ magic would be tempted to take up their power and try to claim the empty thrones of Justin Cyros and the Necromancer for themselves. Fighting one Necromancer of Trojas had been bad enough. Tamlin did not want to repeat the experience.

  They continued traveling long after dark on the first day, and camped late and arose before the sun came up.

  Towards the middle of the morning, they came to the Takai Steppes.

  “That,” said Krastikon, “is rather a lot of grass.”

  “Indeed,” said Tamlin, who could think of nothing more profound to say.

  He had glimpsed the steppes from the hilltops near Kalimnos, seeing them stretch away to the south. He had expected something like the moors near Trojas and the Cloak Mountains, a rolling plain dotted with rocky hills and small patches of trees.

  The Takai Steppes were nothing like that.

  It was like looking at a sea of waving greenish-gold grass, some of which was high enough to come to Tamlin’s hips. The ground rolled in gentle swells, but none of those swells ever rose to the height of proper hills. For as far as the eye could see, there was not a tree in sight.

  “Absolutely no cover in any direction,” said Krastikon, scowling as he looked around.

  “Fear not, Prince Krastikon,” said Magatai, patting Northwind’s neck. The struthian let out a squawk. “The high grasses shall provide ample cover. When the Takai wage honorable combat among ourselves, we conceal ourselves in the high grasses. Then when the enemy comes, we strike like lightning itself!”

  “Like lions hiding in the grass to stalk their prey,” said Tamlin, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice and not quite managing it. Magatai’s relentless bombast would have been funny, except the halfling said it with such earnest seriousness. Tamlin had little experience of the Takai, but he suspected the halflings would regard insults (imagined or otherwise) as a deadly business.

  And Magatai was as good of an archer as Kyralion, and somehow maintained that accuracy while his struthian mount ran circles around the enemy.

  Fortunately, the amusement in Tamlin’s tone sailed right over Magatai’s head. It would take more than sarcasm to breach the fortress of the halfling’s invincible self-confidence.

  “Exactly like lions, Sir Tamlin!” said Magatai. “Exactly like lions. The Takai are the greatest warriors in all of Owyllain, and so should we not emulate the greatest hunters as well?”

  “Concealment concerns me less,” said Third, “than the trail we are leaving in this grass.”

  She had a point. Tamlin could see across the plains for miles in all directions, and as he looked north, he saw the trail they had left in the grasses, almost like a line of shadow drawn across the landsc
ape.

  “Fear not, friend Third,” said Magatai. “As the sun goes down, the air grows cooler, which causes wind. That will flatten the grasses somewhat and obscure our trail.”

  “Not erase it entirely, though,” said Third.

  “No,” said Magatai. “That is why we must be vigilant.”

  Fortunately, they saw no other enemies that day. Perhaps they had gotten far enough ahead of the muridach horde to avoid its outer patrols. Those damned kalocrypt things could move at least as fast as a charging struthian, but Magatai and Tamara agreed that the kalocrypts lacked the stamina of the struthians.

  Towards the end of the day, something strange happened.

  “Do you see it?” said Calliande.

  To the north, outlined against the distant shapes of the Gray Mountains, Tamlin could just make out a dark speck. It looked like a flying creature, and he glimpsed the flex of vast wings.

  “Aye, my lady,” said Tamlin.

  “I wish I had a damned telescope,” said Ridmark.

  “A…a telescope, Lord Ridmark?” said Kalussa, shaken out of her brooding by the strange word. Tamlin didn’t know what it was either.

  “A clever device some of the Magistri of Andomhaim built,” said Calliande, shading her eyes as she watched the distant black speck. “As you know, the position of the thirteen moons can empower certain kinds of magic. One of the Magistri realized that by grinding glass to make a row of lenses in a metal tube, the image in the lenses could make distant objects look larger and clearer.”

  “Oh!” said Kalussa. “I can think of many times when that would have been useful.”

  “It would be a handy tool in warfare,” said Tamlin.

  “Magatai thinks it seems dishonest,” said the halfling, squinting at the distant shape.

  “More to the point,” said Ridmark, “it would let us see what that flying creature is.”

  “Probably a fire drake,” said Tamara.

  Ridmark looked at her. “There are fire drakes this far south?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Tamara. “They attacked Kalimnos twice that I can remember. Once when I was a child, and once when I was old enough to fight.”