Sevenfold Sword: Unity

by Jonathan Moeller

  “And you agree with Kyralion,” said Third.

  It was fascinating to watch the struggle go over Rilmeira’s expression. She disagreed with the High Augur and the consensus of the Unity. It had to be a difficult challenge.

  But she did it.

  “Yes,” said Rilmeira at last. “Given that a muridach host now surrounds the city, I think that is persuasive proof of Kyralion’s argument.”

  Third nodded, thought about her next words. “When did Kyralion ask you to marry him?”

  Rilmeira flinched. “You are indeed observant. It was about ten years ago, as the plague curse grew stronger. I would have said yes, but my mother was enraged. She…said many unkind things about Kyralion and forbade us from marrying. Then the Sylmarus sent the vision of you to the Augurs, and Kyralion volunteered to find you.”

  “And so he has,” said Third.

  Rilmeira hesitated, and then rallied her courage and plowed ahead. “Do you love him?”

  Third thought about her answer, about that kiss in the jungle.

  “Yes,” she said.

  Rilmeira wilted like a flower in autumn.

  “But it does not matter,” said Third. “You were his first love, Rilmeira. He does not speak much, but I understand him. And I understand him better, now that I have met you. He would have wed you, would still wed you, but your mother has forbidden it, and he is too dutiful to lead a rebellion. The only reason he was drawn to me was that he could not be with you.”

  “Do…do you really think so?” said Rilmeira. “Oh, it is a horrible thing to ask you, but…”

  “I do think that,” said Third. “And your mother was right about me.”

  “No!” said Rilmeira, anger flashing in her eyes. “No, she was not. She was wrong, and Kyralion was right about you. I saw you fight on the ramparts. The muridachs are dangerous fighters, but you were like a wolf among sheep. Perhaps you were an urdhracos, but now you are a warrior like the ones in the ancient histories of our people. No. My mother threw cruel lies in your face because she is afraid and because she does not like Kyralion.”

  “She wished to be cruel,” said Third, “but she was not wrong. I may not be an abomination, but I am an aberration. I spent nearly a thousand years as an urdhracos, and as far as I know, I am the only urdhracos who was ever freed from the curse of dark elven blood. I…” She paused, trying to sort through her thoughts. “I admire Kyralion a great deal. But he loves his people, Rilmeira. I have no wish to stay in Cathair Caedyn, in the unlikely event we survive the new few days. Nor do I have any wish to take him away from his people. I am a hybrid and therefore cannot have children. Unless I am wrong, you would very much like to have Kyralion’s children.”

  Rilmeira blushed. She could do that prettily. No doubt she wanted both the children and the process of making them. “You…are not wrong.”

  “Kyralion was only drawn to me because he thinks he will never be with you,” said Third. “Your mother is a fool.”

  Rilmeira flinched again. “She…is the High Augur of the Unity of the Liberated. It is a grave responsibility and one she takes most seriously. And she is afraid.” Rilmeira looked at the ground. “She…knows, deep down, that we are likely doomed as you have said. Yet she refuses to acknowledge the depth of our peril, and speaks only of our inevitable victory.”

  Bitter resentment went over her face. Perhaps this was the first time she had ever spoken of it. Of course, likely everyone in the Unity knew of her resentment, but no one had ever acted on it. Maybe that was the price of the High Augur’s consensus. The gray elves brooded upon their emotions but did not act on them.

  “May I offer some advice?” said Third.

  Rilmeira hesitated. “Of course.”

  “Never lie to yourself,” said Third. “No matter how unpleasant the truth, no matter how much you wish to hide from it, never lie to yourself. I am what I am, and you are what you are. That was why I did not care when your mother called me an abomination.”

  “You didn’t get angry until my mother started insulting Kyralion,” said Rilmeira.

  “Ridmark told me once that is how you know whether or not you really care about someone,” said Third. “You get angry on their behalf. And you did not become angry until the High Augur started insulting him, either.”

  “I suppose not,” said Rilmeira. “I am used to having Mother angry at me. But…but she should not talk to Kyralion that way.”

  “I suspect she is hearing everything we are saying right now,” said Third.

  “What?” said Rilmeira. “Oh, no, the Unity doesn’t work like that. We communicate without words. She cannot listen through my ears or see through my eyes, not unless I send the images and the sounds to her with my thoughts. She will know that I am talking with you and that I am annoyed with her, but that is all.”

  Third nodded. “I suppose the High Augur knows what I think of her, so it hardly matters.”

  “I am sorry,” said Rilmeira.

  “You are not responsible for your mother,” said Third.

  “No,” said Rilmeira. “But…but I feel ridiculous. We’re about to die, probably, and so I’m coming here and…and pouring all this on you…”

  Third shrugged. “It is the truth, is it not?”

  Rilmeira blinked and then smiled. “As you said. I do care about Kyralion. I was so worried about him when he left to find you and the Shield Knight and the Keeper. And then he returns with a woman who is prettier than me…”

  Third blinked. “What?”

  “Well, you are,” said Rilmeira. “You said not to lie to myself. You are prettier than I am.”

  “What?” said Third again, baffled. Third knew she was not unattractive, but the harsh alien edge to her features was obvious. It was just as well that she did not desire human men, because humans always found her a little unsettling.

  She had never contemplated the effect her appearance might have on elven men, though. Or that gray elven women might see her as a rival.

  “I wish I had hair like yours,” said Rilmeira. “It’s so thick and black.”

  “I am a thousand years old,” said Third, caught between amusement and bewilderment.

  “And when I am a thousand years old,” said Rilmeira, “I hope my hair is still that thick. And I never liked the color of my hair.”

  “Your hair is perfectly fine,” said Third, bemused. In a thousand years, she had never had a conversation about the color of her hair. Or the color of anyone else’s hair, for that matter.

  Rilmeira tugged at a lock of her golden hair and sighed. “It’s the color of our swords and armor. I always look like I’m wearing a helmet. Your hair is the color of the night in the jungle, and…”

  “For God’s sake!” said Third. Part of her mind was amused by how much she sounded like Ridmark. “I am a thousand years old, and we are in the middle of a siege. I am not comparing the color of my hair to yours.”

  “You do have nice hair,” said Rilmeira. “You did just tell me to be honest.”

  Third laughed, and Rilmeira blinked, smiled, and then laughed as well.

  “I…I hope you will not be offended,” said Rilmeira, “but I hope we can be friends.”

  “I hope that, too,” said Third. “I do not have many friends.”

  “Lord Ridmark is one,” said Rilmeira, “is he not?”

  “My oldest friend,” said Third.

  “I am surprised,” said Rilmeira, “that you follow him, and not the other way around.”

  Third raised her eyebrows. “Why is that?”

  “Because you are far older and far more experienced,” said Rilmeira.

  “In some ways,” said Third. “I have only rarely led men in battle, and he has done that many times. A very different skill than killing, which I am very good at.” She frowned. “There difference between us is that I will fight to the death.”

  Rilmeira frowned. “Would he not do the same?”

  “He would,” said Third. “He would fight to the death.
But he would also win. I have seen it before. Battles we should have lost, but he won anyway. He will never, ever give up, not for anything. If there is a way to win this siege, he will find it.”

  “Maybe you will find a way to win the siege,” said Rilmeira. “The Sylmarus sent the Augurs a vision of you.”

  “It also sent a vision of the Shield Knight and the Keeper,” said Third. She shook her head. “Perhaps the Sylmarus should have a sent a vision of them and not of me.”

  “No,” said Rilmeira. “But you give me hope. Maybe all is not yet lost.”

  Third looked at Rilmeira and felt regret. She looked so…young, so very young. Young enough that she had convinced herself that there was still hope, that this battle might have another outcome than the muridachs slaughtering the remaining gray elves in the smoking ashes of Cathair Caedyn.

  But maybe Rilmeira would turn out to be right in the end.

  “Maybe,” said Third. “We…”

  Rilmeira flinched and looked to the north.

  “What is it?” said Third, getting to her feet, her hands going to her sword hilts.

  “The sentries say the muridachs are moving,” said Rilmeira.

  “An attack?” said Third.

  “I don’t know,” said Rilmeira. “Something strange. But we need to get to the ramparts.”

  Third nodded, and together they hurried towards the northern wall.

  Chapter 12: The Lord of Carrion

  Ridmark stood on the battlements atop the northern gate and watched the muridachs.

  The sun was rising over the jungle to the east, and in the morning light, he saw the muridachs working with the industriousness of an anthill. The vast horde encircled Cathair Caedyn, and he saw the muridachs assembling catapults and siege towers and other machines that Ridmark could not identify. The muridachs had fortified their camps as well, digging ditches and raising low earthwork walls.

  Not that it mattered. On foot, the gray elves could not launch a sortie into the enemy lines. Had the gray elves possessed horses, they could have launched lightning raids into the muridach camps and returned to the safety of Cathair Caedyn’s walls. If the gray elves had bound trisalians as war beasts the way that Calliande had taught the Arcanius Knights, they could have smashed the muridach lines. If they had a hundred Takai warriors riding struthians, they could have rained arrows down on the muridachs and then retreated to the city.

  But the gray elves had no war beasts of any kind, and so they could do nothing but watch and wait as the muridachs prepared.

  Ridmark did not like what he saw. There were at least three hundred thousand muridach soldiers gathered below the city’s hill, and they had numbers enough to attack from all four points of the compass at once. Yet based on their positions, Ridmark thought they would focus on the northern wall, throwing wave after wave of soldiers at the ramparts.

  The casualties would be horrendous. Ridmark suspected nearly one hundred thousand muridach soldiers would die before the battle was over. But the muridachs placed little value on life, and Ridmark doubted the muridach lords or Great King Nerzamdrathus cared about the fates of their soldiers.

  By the time the slaughter was over, a third of the muridach army would be dead, and Cathair Caedyn would be ashes.

  Ridmark could not think of a way to prevent that outcome.

  He heard a rasp of a boot against stone and turned to see Calliande climb up to the ramparts. She smiled at him, but he saw the weariness in her eyes. She had cast numerous spells yesterday and then devoted her strength to healing the wounded gray elves that she could save. Ridmark was glad that Kalussa had a link to the Well of Tarlion and had learned the healing spell since that meant she could bear part of the load.

  “How are you?” said Ridmark.

  “Tired,” admitted Calliande, “but I’m not dead yet, so I shouldn’t complain.” She crossed to his side and gazed over the ramparts.

  “How are the boys?” said Ridmark.

  “They’re well, as far as I can tell,” said Calliande. Likely she had used the Sight to check on them as soon as she had awakened. “You know, I think this is the farthest I have ever been from them.”

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. “But we’re a long way from anywhere. I doubt many humans have ever come to the Illicaeryn Jungle.”

  “When we left Aenesium for Kalimnos,” said Calliande, “I felt terrible. I kept trying to convince myself that there was a way we could have brought Gareth and Joachim with us, kept them safe with us.” She sighed. “But as I look at the muridachs…I’m glad they’re a long, long way from here. A muridach was the first creature I saw in Owyllain. It wanted to take us as slaves and threatened to bite off Joachim’s fingers if I didn’t obey.”

  “I suppose the muridach regretted that,” said Ridmark. Calliande was more forgiving than Ridmark was. But any threats to Gareth and Joachim switched off her conscience, and she became as implacable as the winter in the Northerland.

  “Not for long,” said Calliande. “It was dead before it hit the ground.” She shook her head. “I’m rambling. It’s bad, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. She had seen just as many battles as he had.

  “Well, we’re not defeated yet,” said Calliande. “A battle is never decided until it’s over. Perhaps Nerzamdrathus will make a mistake, or whoever this prophet of the Lord of Carrion is will commit an error.” She glanced back at the towering shape of the Sylmarus rising from the heart of the city. “And maybe Third will save the Unity.”

  “Maybe,” said Ridmark, though he could not see how. “I would never bet against her.” Though even if she saved the Unity, whatever that meant, in the next five minutes, they would still be surrounded by hundreds of thousands of muridachs.

  “I feel sorry for her,” said Calliande.

  “Because of Kyralion and Rilmeira,” said Ridmark. “She’ll handle it.”

  “I know,” said Calliande. “But Third has been such a good friend to us, Ridmark. I want her to be happy. Though I am not sure what happiness would be for her.”

  “Your matchmaking instincts are coming to the forefront,” said Ridmark.

  “I am quite good at arranging marriages, I’ll have you know, Lord Ridmark,” said Calliande with a smile. “The upside of gradually aging into a meddlesome old woman is that it’s actually quite enjoyable to be a meddlesome old woman. I think I’ll even be able to talk Kalussa and Calem back around. A brush with death is good for putting your priorities in order.” She shook her head. “Assuming we live through this.”

  “Hard to play matchmaker for Third, I suppose,” said Ridmark.

  “Yes,” said Calliande. “I…”

  She trailed off, her eyes going hazy, and then her expression hardened.

  “The muridachs are doing something,” said Calliande. “Look.”

  She pointed at one of the siege camps, and Ridmark saw a troop of Throne Guards emerge in their crimson armor, escorting a dozen muridach priests in their red cowls and skull-topped staffs. Ridmark watched the creatures, wondering if they intended to cast a spell at the walls. There were ancient wards in the walls of Cathair Caedyn, strong enough to keep the muridach priests from blasting a breach, but perhaps the muridachs had found a way through that protection.

  “They’re casting a spell,” said Calliande.

  There was a flare of blue light from the priests, and then a voice boomed over the walls.

  “Hear me!” said the deep voice of a muridach speaking the orcish tongue. The echoes rolled off the walls and the houses. “Nerzamdrathus, Great King of the muridachs, invites the gray elves to send forth an emissary to discuss the end of the siege! By the sworn word of the Great King, your emissary shall be permitted to meet with the Great King and return unharmed to your walls!”

  Ridmark shared a look with Calliande.

  “I wasn’t expecting that,” said Calliande.

  ###

  The muridach herald repeated its invitation three more times, and Calliande watched
as the gray elves responded in haste.

  Warriors and archers rushed to the wall, ready to defend if the invitation was a ruse to cover an impending attack. Athadira and the other Augurs arrived on the rampart, along with Lord Rhomathar, Lord Arliach, and Kyralion. Third and Rilmeira arrived together, which Calliande thought odd, and Tamlin, Tamara, Calem, Magatai, Kalussa, and Krastikon joined them a few moments later.

  “Why the devil would they ask for a parley?” said Rhomathar. “There is nothing to be gained from it.”

  Athadira let out a disdainful sniff. The High Augur looked queenly in her robes, her jeweled staff flashing in the sunlight. “Perhaps the failure of their attack yesterday taught them the folly of opposing the might of the Liberated.”

  “I very much doubt that,” said Seruna. “We could trade every one of our warriors for twenty of theirs, and they would still come out ahead.”

  “Likely they think to intimidate us and demand our surrender,” said Kyralion.

  Athadira glared at him. “We are the Liberated, Lord Kyralion. For fifteen thousand years we fought the Sovereign and his armies. We will never surrender, not ever.”

  “He wasn’t saying that, Mother,” said Rilmeira, her tone just on the edge of irritation. “He said the muridachs will demand our surrender, not that we should surrender.”

  Athadira turned her withering stare towards her daughter. “I know that, child. I…”

  “The muridachs know you will not surrender so they will have three possible reasons for demanding a parley,” said Ridmark before the argument could get up to full speed. Athadira and Rilmeira blinked at him, perhaps surprised that someone would dare to interrupt them. “First, to undermine your morale. Second, to buy time to prepare another plan. Third, as part of a clever stratagem that we cannot yet see.”

  “Another reason,” said Third in a quiet voice. “Curiosity. Both the Shield Knight and the Keeper fought in the first attack, and the muridachs will not have encountered a threat of this nature before. The survivors from the previous attack will have told their lords and commanders about the Shield Knight and the Keeper. The muridachs want to assess this unknown threat.”