Sevenfold Sword: Unity

by Jonathan Moeller

  “I…think so,” said Tamlin. “I had a strange dream. I’ll tell you about it once we’re moving.”

  Maybe she would know about the Dark Lady. Tamara had a surprising store of knowledge on a variety of subjects, knowledge she could not remember acquiring. Perhaps the Dark Lady was one of those subjects.

  The Dark Lady…

  Tamlin scowled as he sat up, trying to remember. The Dark Lady had appeared to him for years, giving him cryptic warnings of danger. Though come to think of it, she hadn’t appeared in his dreams since before the battle with Taerdyn at Trojas, where she had warned Tamlin he would face an excruciating trial.

  That had turned out to be all too accurate.

  Yet she had not appeared in his dreams since. Not even to warn him about the trap at Kalimnos, which seemed odd. Something danced at the edge of Tamlin’s thoughts, something that he had forgotten but could not quite grasp.

  One of the pack scutians let out an angry croak.

  “Yes, well, I’m not happy to be awake this early either, you damned lizard,” said Krastikon, casting a spell of earth magic to sooth the annoyed scutian, “but if we don’t get moving, you and I both are going to find ourselves in a muridach cookpot.”

  “Fear not, Prince Krastikon,” said Magatai, checking the straps on his saddle. Northwind grazed placidly as he did so. “The muridachs will simply eat us raw. There will be no cookpots involved.”

  “You, sir,” said Krastikon, “are a font of comfort.”

  There was work to be done. Tamlin rolled up his cloak, donned his pack, and followed the others south.

  Soon the strange dream slipped from his mind entirely.

  ###

  The plains stretched in all directions, the grass rustling in the breeze.

  It reminded Ridmark a little of the plains of Caertigris in eastern Andomhaim, the outer march of the realm before the Lion Mountains and the kingdom of the proud manetaurs. Yet these plains seemed larger and wider, the grasses taller.

  It was also hotter. It was almost always hot in Owyllain, but as they went south, the air grew more humid. Ridmark soon found himself sweating beneath his armor. Likely he would smell foul, but everyone else would as well. That and the smell of grass was near-overwhelming. There were blooms of purple flowers that grew on small bushes, and they put out a sweet scent that made Ridmark’s nose itch and his eyes water. He hoped that the smell would throw off the noses of any muridach pursuers.

  Somehow, he doubted they were that lucky.

  “It is beautiful here,” murmured Calliande.

  “It is,” agreed Ridmark. The grasslands gave the illusion of being alone on a vast green sea. “I’d prefer it to be cooler, though.”

  Calliande laughed. “I cannot argue.” She brushed some dust from the golden armor she now wore. “The gray elves might have known the secret of making armor lighter and stronger than normal steel, but it still gets hot in the sun. Too much hotter and I’ll be able to cook an egg on my chest.”

  “Your chest has better uses than that,” said Ridmark.

  She flashed a smile at him. “And what uses are those?”

  He started to draw breath to flirt with her some more, but her blue eyes went wide, and her head snapped around to look to the north.

  “What is it?” said Ridmark. He knew that expression. The Sight had risen within her in response to a nearby source of magical power.

  “Dark magic,” said Calliande. “A few miles to the north. And it’s coming right at us.”

  “That’s likely not a coincidence, is it?” said Ridmark, looking around. He didn’t like what he saw. This land was too damned flat, and there was no defensible terrain within sight. The best they could do was a low swell a few hundred yards to the south.

  “Probably not,” said Calliande. “I’m not sure what kind of dark magic, either. It seems like the spells of blood sorcery that Mournacht used on that huge black axe of his.” She hesitated. “And I think there is at least one urdhracos coming.”

  “An urdhracos?” said Ridmark. The Scythe had escaped from the Tower of Nightmares, but she had promised to come for Ridmark again. He had believed her, but he had not expected that she would return so soon.

  “Yes,” said Calliande. “I think we have perhaps a quarter of an hour before they find us.”

  “All right,” said Ridmark, turning to look at the others.

  “Trouble?” said Third, who had come up to join them.

  “Yes,” said Ridmark, raising his voice so the others could hear. “There’s an urdhracos coming in our direction, along with either creatures or wielders of dark magic.”

  “Perhaps an advance party for the muridachs,” said Magatai, raising his bow as if he expected enemies to erupt from the grass. Given how tall the damned grass was, it was a reasonable fear.

  “Head for that swell,” said Ridmark, pointing. “That’s the closest thing to defensible ground that we’re going to find. We’ll wait for them there.”

  “Could we outrun them?” said Kalussa.

  “I doubt it,” said Calliande. “If an urdhracos is commanding them, it will be able to observe us from the air. No, better to stand and fight rather than having them harry us all the way to Cathair Avamyr.”

  “Cathair Avamyr is about a day away,” said Kyralion. “Perhaps a day and a half.”

  “Maybe if we deal with the urdhracos and its minions now,” said Tamlin, “we’ll have a clear run to the ruins of Cathair Avamyr, and we can shelter there until the muridach horde passes.”

  “Aye,” said Ridmark. “Let’s move. Get the scutians on the hill. You all know what to do. Keep the enemy away from Calliande, Kalussa, and Tamara so they can work their spells.”

  “If that urdhracos was the flying creature we saw earlier,” said Calliande, “it might have prepared to fight us. Be wary.”

  There was nothing Ridmark could say to that, so they hurried up the gentle swell. He looked around as they reached the top. It wasn’t as high as he would have liked, but this was the closest thing they were going to get to high ground. There was also enough room for the scutians.

  “Perhaps I should go and scout,” said Third. “Once I am away from the Swords, I will be able to use my power to travel quickly and return.”

  Ridmark hesitated and then nodded. He didn’t like to send her alone, but they needed more information about their enemies, and Third was the one best equipped to find it. For that matter, she would probably be a match for nearly anything the urdhracos could throw at them. Third left without another word, breaking into a jog. Once she was a hundred yards away, she flared with blue fire and vanished. Ridmark saw her reappear about a hundred yards away, run for another twelve yards, and vanish again.

  “That always gives me chills,” said Krastikon.

  Ridmark snorted. “Given that you tried to kill us on the day we met, I can see why.”

  “Aye, and look how well that worked,” said Krastikon.

  “Lady Third is admirable in every way,” said Kyralion. Ridmark looked at the gray elf. His expression was usually an unreadable mask, but a spasm of emotion went over his features. Longing, perhaps? Ridmark wasn’t sure, and Kyralion’s expression returned to its usual calm.

  “I always thought so,” said Ridmark, “and she tried to kill me the day she met me, too. So the two of you have that in common.”

  Tamara blinked. “Truly?”

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. “Long story.”

  Tamara frowned at him. “How many of your friends tried to kill you on the day you met?”

  “Well,” said Ridmark. He supposed it said something about the kind of life he had lived that he had to stop and think about it. “Prince Krastikon did, and Third, and Sir Calem…”

  “Under duress,” said Tamlin. Calem said nothing, his eyes on the plains to the north.

  Tamara gave Tamlin a concerned look. “You didn’t try to kill him, did you?”

  “Certainly not,” said Tamlin.

  Tamara looked a
t Kalussa. “Did you, my lady?”

  “Ah,” said Kalussa. “No.” Her face colored. “The circumstances of our meeting were rather different.”

  “She was tied up at the time,” said Tamlin. “Also naked.”

  Kalussa gave Tamlin a glare that was just short of murderous. Ridmark wondered why Tamlin was teasing her, then supposed Tamlin was annoyed on Calem’s behalf. Or perhaps Tamlin was trying to annoy Kalussa out of her self-imposed penance for the events at Kalimnos.

  “Really,” murmured Tamara. “What a strange way to meet someone.”

  “Perhaps,” said Calliande. “On the other hand, that was how I met Ridmark, and we have been married for eight years. So maybe there are worse ways to meet people.”

  Tamara’s dark eyebrows climbed halfway up her head. “Truly?”

  “It is not the sort of day you forget,” said Calliande.

  “Many of Magatai’s friends have tried to kill him,” announced Magatai. “Of course, after they inevitably fail, Magatai forgives them, for he is magnanimous in victory. Then we get drunk together. Alas, Magatai has yet to rescue any beautiful women while they are naked, but evidently, this is a more common occurrence then he would have thought.”

  Ridmark let them banter. There were worse ways to let off pressure before a battle.

  And he was certain that a battle was coming.

  Blue fire flared at the base of the shallow hill, and Third reappeared, caught her balance, and jogged up to join them.

  “What did you see?” said Ridmark.

  “Thirty muridach warriors,” said Third. “Large ones, each about seven feet tall. They are wearing crimson armor of a type that I have not seen before, and both their armor and their weapons are marked with sigils of blood sorcery.”

  “Did they see you?” said Ridmark.

  “Yes, but that was inevitable,” said Third. “They know where we are anyway.” She took a deep breath. “The urdhracos is the Scythe.”

  “I see,” said Ridmark. It seemed that the Scythe had indeed returned sooner than he had thought. He looked at Kyralion and Magatai. “These crimson-armored muridachs. Do you know what kind of soldiers they are?”

  “Most probably the Throne Guards,” said Kyralion.

  “Magatai concurs.”

  “Just what are the Throne Guards?” said Ridmark.

  “The best warriors and soldiers of the muridachs,” said Magatai. “The muridach cities are ruled by a Great King, and as you can imagine, the Great King has many brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, nephews, nieces, and cousins, all of whom would like to kill him and devour his corpse at his funeral feast.” Calliande shuddered at that. “The Great King wishes to avoid that, and so every Great King forms his own Throne Guard. He feeds them alchemical elixirs to make them stronger and faster and hardier than normal muridachs, and they are fanatically loyal to him. Should the Great King fall to an assassin’s blade or poison, the Throne Guards go berserk and slaughters every muridach of royal blood they can find until they are defeated.”

  “That seems like a good safeguard against assassination,” said Kalussa, caught halfway between fascination and revulsion.

  “Not really,” said Magatai. “The muridach Great Kings are killed through assassination more often than not. The muridachs fight each other constantly due to their vast numbers. Yet the Windcallers of the Takai believe that the current Great King is a warlord of devilish cunning and iron resolve, and he has held the ratmen together. That is why they have been able to field such vast armies.”

  “This muridach Great King,” said Ridmark. He saw red specks appear in the distance, a dark shape hovering over them. “I’ve heard rumors about a prophet of the Lord of Carrion who has appeared among the muridachs. I assume this prophet is helping the Great King to keep his throne?”

  “So the muridachs claim,” said Magatai. “They say this prophet is the voice of the Lord of Carrion. He has promised the world to the muridachs, and they think they will conquer all kindreds in the name of their god. It is all rubbish, of course. The Takai shall never be overcome.”

  “This prophet,” said Ridmark, a dark idea occurring to him. “Is he a Maledictus?”

  Third blinked. “I did not see a Maledictus with the Throne Guards.”

  “But the Maledicti command the Scythe,” said Ridmark. “And a Maledictus advised King Justin, and another advised the Necromancer. I would not be surprised if this so-called prophet of the Great King turns out to be yet another of the Maledicti playing yet another of their damned games.”

  Yet based upon what Mhazhama had said in the Heart of the Nightmare, Ridmark knew that the Maledicti served the Masked One of Xenorium. It seemed that the Masked One saw himself as a herald or forerunner for the New God, just as John the Baptist had been the herald of the Dominus Christus upon Old Earth. Yet why would the Maledicti raise a horde of muridachs and turn them against the gray elves? The gray elves had held themselves aloof from the War of the Seven Swords. Did the Masked One intend to use the muridach horde against Owyllain? If so, why not let the gray elves hide in the Illicaeryn Jungle and instead march the muridachs to Owyllain proper?

  It was yet another damned mystery.

  Ridmark was getting sick of mysteries.

  But as he watched the red specks draw closer, he realized there would not be time to worry about anything but survival in the next few moments.

  The Throne Guards of the muridach Great King came into sight.

  They were huge, just as Third had said, each creature standing seven or seven and a half feet tall. The muridachs wore crimson plate armor of a metal that Ridmark did not recognize, and blood sigils burned on the armor. The Throne Guards carried double-bladed axes of bronze, and more symbols of bloody fire burned upon the weapons. The muridachs were armored from head to foot, though none of them wore helmets. Their heads were oddly piebald, with patches of fur having fallen away to reveal skin covered with dark, lizard-like scales.

  The Scythe of the Maledicti flew over them, her great black wings beating as they carried her through the air.

  Like all the urdhracosi Ridmark had ever fought, black armor plating covered the Scythe’s slim form, talon-tipped gauntlets concealing her hands. Leathery black wings rose behind her like a sail, and the darkness of the void filled her eyes. Her hair was an odd shade of silver, almost platinum, and it made for a marked contrast with her gaunt, pale face and its pointed elven ears.

  Third shifted next to Ridmark, her grip tightening upon her short swords.

  “Shield Knight!” called the Scythe, her voice ringing over the plains. “Did I not say that I would kill you one day? That day has arrived! You shall fall here, as you should have fallen in Cathair Selenias!” The void-filled eyes shifted to Tamara. “And I’ve killed you twice before, but I suppose I can do it again.”

  “Try it and see what happens,” said Tamlin, his voice low and hard as he raised the Sword of Earth.

  The Scythe blinked at him, and she let out a wild, cackling laugh. “I see. You love her? I have slain her twice, and you love her? Let us see if your love can survive a third death! Though I only think I will have to kill you once, Arcanius. Take them!” She rose higher into the air, a sword of dark elven steel in her right hand, blue fire and shadow crackling around her left hand. “Take them in the name of the prophet of the Lord of Carrion. Take them, and feast upon their flesh!”

  “I’ll deal with her,” said Calliande, her voice low.

  Ridmark nodded. “Wait until I give the word to strike.”

  The muridachs roared something in their tongue, and the creatures charged, raising their huge axes. The Scythe spun over them, dodging and darting like a butterfly in a breeze.

  “Now!” said Ridmark, pointing Oathshield as the soulblade burned with white flames.

  Calliande, Kalussa, Tamara, and Tamlin all cast spells at once.

  Tamlin hurled a bolt of lightning that forked and struck two of the Throne Guards, throwing the muridachs to the grassy earth. Ka
lussa gestured with the Staff of Blades and flung a glittering sphere of crystal wreathed in elemental flame. It struck one of the muridachs in the forehead and exploded out the back of its skull in a spray of embers. Tamara hurled a sphere of mist that shot over the grass and wrapped one of the muridachs in a haze. The muridach fell screaming as the mist chewed into its flesh. Calliande struck the end of her staff against the ground and gestured, and the earth folded and rippled, knocking the Throne Guards from their feet.

  Ridmark started to draw breath to instruct the others to attack, but they knew what to do. He charged forward, and Krastikon, Tamlin, Calem, Third, and Kyralion followed him, swords in hand, while Magatai hung back and sent arrow after arrow into the prone muridachs. One of the muridachs started to come to one knee, and Ridmark swung Oathshield with both hands. The soulblade took off the muridach’s head, and it rolled away, black slime spurting from the stump of its neck.

  Black slime? The muridachs Ridmark had fought earlier all bled red.

  But there was no time to ponder the mystery as the others crashed into the muridachs. The Throne Guards roared and regained their feet as Calliande’s white fire slashed at the Scythe, and they fought for their lives.

  ###

  Tamlin quickly realized that the Throne Guards were far more formidable than any of the other muridach soldiers he had faced.

  They were bigger and stronger and faster, and their axes moved in a blur of bronze and blood-colored fire. For that matter, they were superbly trained and skilled, and it showed. A double-bladed axe was an unwieldy weapon in the hands of anyone but a master, and the Throne Guards knew how to use their axes as both weapons and shields. For that matter, they crawled with blood sorcery, and even without using the spell to sense the presence of magical forces, Tamlin felt the dark power radiating from the creatures.

  That led to another problem.

  The spells on their crimson armor were strong enough to deflect the edges of the Swords.

  The Sword of Earth could cut through nearly anything, as could all the Seven Swords, but powerful magic blocked the cutting effect. When Ridmark had fought Calem and Justin Cyros and Taerdyn, Oathshield had resisted the cutting edge of the Swords of Air, Earth, and Death. Both the axes and the armor of the Throne Guards had the same power.