Sevenfold Sword: Unity

by Jonathan Moeller

  No! This wasn’t real. Her father was dead, her father had been dead for years, slain in Khald Azalar at Mara’s hand…

  Perhaps this was an illusion, but the hatred was real.

  And the hatred gave her strength.

  Third screamed and yanked her swords from their scabbards, her teeth bared in a snarl.

  “I said to kneel!” thundered the Traveler. “I am your god, and I command you to kneel!”

  “Come and make me,” spat Third.

  The Traveler’s fury intensified, and then it turned back to mirth once more.

  “Gladly!” he said, raising his longsword. “Then you have gotten ideas above yourself? You think you are anything more than my slave? I shall teach you otherwise.”

  He strode forward, and the dark cloak rippled behind him. Except it wasn’t really a cloak, it was thousands of coils of shadow stretching off into the darkness. Like he was walking at the center of a vast, ambulatory web.

  Third ran towards him, swords drawn back to strike, and the Traveler raised his left hand to cast a spell. She drew on her power, traveled, and reappeared behind him, both her swords stabbing for his back. The Traveler whirled, and her swords clanged against her father’s blade. His face became a cold mask, and he stalked after her, his longsword rising and falling like a blacksmith’s hammer. He was stronger than Third, quick as a serpent, and he had immense dark magic. But she was just as fast, and she could do something that he could not.

  He lifted his left hand again, and Third traveled a half-second before the spell would have withered her to a lifeless husk. Again, she appeared behind him, but the Traveler had anticipated the movement, spinning around to parry her attacks. The coils of shadow behind him seemed to writhe and snap like ropes caught in a gale.

  “You thought you knew pain before, daughter?” said the Traveler, laughing as he stalked after her. “It will be as nothing to what you will know now. You were foolish to have friends. I will kill them in front of you. Their deaths will take days. Do you wish to listen to the Keeper sob as her children beg for the mercy of death? Your precious sister will see all her work undone, her…”

  Third snarled and went on the attack, her blades blurring around her. The Traveler’s speech came to an abrupt end as he retreated, shifting his longsword to both hands to intercept her furious attacks. Cold amusement spread over that gaunt, terrifying face. He knew that he had provoked her to a furious rage, that when her momentum played out, he would have her.

  But even in her rage, even gripped by hatred older than the realm of Owyllain itself, Third was too experienced to let her emotions govern her.

  The Traveler jumped back, his left hand coming up to work a spell. As before, Third drew back her swords and used her power, traveling in a jump. The Traveler spun, raising his sword in guard.

  Except this time Third reappeared on his right side, rather than behind him.

  So it was easy, so easy, to step closer and plunge her swords into the gaps in his armor. Black blood splashed from the wounds, and the Traveler howled and twisted free, his sword driving for her head. Third ducked and rolled, calling upon her power as she did.

  Her jump carried her behind the Traveler, and her father responded at once, turning to face her. Once again, Third’s swords darted out and plunged through the gaps in his armor. The Traveler screamed and threw out his arms, and blue light and shadow exploded from him in all directions. The spell hit her with the force of a brick wall, and Third went flying, pain exploding through her body.

  But the pain did not override her concentration, and she drew on her power and traveled again.

  She reappeared right in front of the Traveler. Her father started to raise his sword, and Third brought one of her blades hammering down.

  The sword sheared off his right hand at the wrist, black blood spurting from the wound. The armored hand hit the unseen floor with a clang, still clutching the blue sword. The Traveler stumbled back with a scream, his void-filled eyes wide with shock, the coils of shadow lashing and snarling around him. He looked too stunned to fight back, too shocked to do anything but stare at the stump that had been his right hand.

  So Third chopped off his other hand.

  The Traveler fell to his knees before her with a shriek, and a surge of vicious, burning satisfaction blazed through Third as if molten metal had been poured into her veins.

  She kicked him in the face.

  The Traveler’s head snapped back with enough force that his helmet went clattering off into the darkness, and he fell upon his back with a grunt. Third leaped upon him and drove one of her swords into his chest, and the Traveler howled, blood bubbling from his lips.

  Third seized the hilt of the sword and twisted, and his scream of agony was sweeter than any music than she had ever heard.

  “Stop,” he croaked, raising his ruined arms in a futile effort to ward her off. “Stop…”

  “Stop?” said Third, her voice unrecognizable in her ears. “Stop? You want me to stop? You are asking me for mercy?” She kicked him in the face again, the coils of shadow thrashing around them. “When did you ever show mercy? When you killed my mother in front of me and transformed me into an urdhracos? When you forced me to kill your enemies, to slaughter villages of women and children? When you made me torture your prisoners? When you made me lie with them and kill them in the moment of their climax?”

  She kicked him in the face again and again as she twisted the sword hilt, and his scream rose into something unrecognizable. Or was she screaming? She could not tell. Third’s lips were peeled back from her teeth in a furious rictus, and the sight of watching the Traveler writhe in agony was more intoxicating than any pleasure she had ever experienced.

  “Stop,” he croaked.

  Her next kick sent his teeth spattering across the floor.

  Part of her mind, the increasingly small part of her mind that wasn’t burning with hatred, noted that the Traveler should have died of blood loss already. That, and the sword through the heart. But she didn’t care. Maybe he wouldn’t die in this strange place. Maybe he would live no matter what Third did to him.

  That thought filled her with glee. She hadn’t died, either. She had suffered for years and years, for centuries, and she was going to repay him for every single moment. Third found herself trembling with reaction and rage and some emotion she could not identify.

  Maybe this was what she had wanted all along. To be alone with her father, and to make him pay and pay and pay for what he had done to her.

  Forever.

  She started to twist her sword hilt again, and a distant, faraway voice came to her ears.

  “Third!”

  She blinked. That voice, she knew that voice. It was…

  Kyralion. That was it.

  “Whatever you are seeing, it is not real,” said Kyralion.

  She glared into the darkness. Maybe it was real, maybe it wasn’t. Did it matter? Her hatred was real. The satisfaction in seeing her father broken and bleeding was real.

  “Rilmeira says the aura of the Sylmarus is reacting to your dark elven blood,” said Kyralion’s voice. “It is showing you something that is not real.”

  No. Her hatred was real. That was all she had ever wanted. To listen to her father scream in the darkness forever.

  “Whatever you are seeing, it is not there,” said Kyralion. His voice seemed louder, clearer. “Rilmeira thinks that it is showing you something within your own mind. But if you do not try to resist it, it will kill you.”

  “Why?” said Third. She forced the words through her throat. “My father is here. I want him to suffer for what he did to me.”

  “Is that all you want?” said Kyralion. “What about your sister? What about your mission from High King Arandar?”

  Third blinked. Mara…Mara had asked her to find the Shield Knight and the Keeper and their children and bring them home. She hadn’t yet fulfilled that mission. Third could not linger here.

  She looked at the Traveler, th
e hate still burning in her veins. Didn’t she deserve this? Didn’t she deserve to repay him for centuries of torment? Didn’t she have the right?

  She was owed this.

  Something caught her attention.

  The Traveler’s cloak, the coils of shadow, had wrapped around her arms.

  They seemed to be pulling her further into the darkness.

  If she continued, she could torment the Traveler forever.

  But she would never see her sister again.

  She would never see her friends again.

  Ridmark and Calliande and the others would die fighting the muridachs.

  Third closed her eyes and let out a ragged, painful breath.

  She hated her father, but he was dead. Her friends were still alive. There were some things more important than her hatred.

  Third opened her eyes and looked at the wretched mad tyrant who had been her father.

  “I forgive you,” said Third.

  “What?” rasped the Traveler in bewilderment.

  “I forgive you,” said Third, and she ripped her sword free from his chest, “and I am done with you.”

  She turned and walked into the blackness.

  “Weakling child!” screamed the Traveler after her. “Come back and finish your revenge. Come back. Come back! I command you to come back!” His voice rose to a pleading frenzy. “No! Come back, come back, I command you to come back now…”

  The voice faded away.

  The darkness snapped out of existence, and Third stumbled.

  She found herself back in the strange hall within the heart of the Sylmarus. Her heart was a thunderous drum inside her chest, and sweat drenched her body. Third wavered on her feet, and Rilmeira grabbed her left arm and Kyralion her right.

  “What happened?” whispered Third. Her mouth felt like dust, and she forced moisture back into it.

  “You froze,” said Kyralion, “and Rilmeira said you were having a vision.”

  “It was worse than that,” said Rilmeira. “The Sylmarus said we were approaching the heart of the Unity. That power reacted to you. It wouldn’t affect me because I’m part of the Unity, and Kyralion is immune to magic. But you…”

  “It affected me,” said Third, straightening up.

  “I think it reached into your mind and showed you something within yourself,” said Rilmeira. “Some weakness, maybe, or some horror from your past.”

  “I saw my father,” said Third. “I…”

  She shook her head and took a deep breath.

  “He is dead,” said Third. “It is the living who must concern us. Come.”

  She turned and kept walking, Kyralion and Rilmeira following her deeper into the Sylmarus.

  Chapter 19: Something New

  The heartbeat grew louder with every step, and the song of the Sylmarus filled Third’s thoughts, stronger and louder than her father’s song had ever been.

  Stronger and louder than her own.

  But there was no malice within that song, no hatred. Only infinite weariness and sadness. And sickness, as well. The Sylmarus was dying, Qazaldhar’s plague curse working through its limbs and roots. Even if the muridach horde had not been outside the walls, the curse would soon have killed the Sylmarus, and the gray elves would have died as well.

  The song filled her thoughts and drew Third onward.

  Another tunnel opened at the far end of the strange hall, winding deeper into the Sylmarus. The veins of green light shone brighter, pulsing in time to the sound of the heartbeat. The air crawled with magical force, strong and mighty.

  “We are almost there,” whispered Third. She had no logical basis for that. But she heard it in the song that filled her head.

  The tunnel widened into a large round chamber grown from the living wood of the tree. It reminded Third of the domed churches of Owyllain, if churches had been grown from trees rather than built from masonry. Thousands of the green veins covered the walls and ceiling, joining together in the center of the chamber. There were also thousands of the black, tumor-like growths of Qazaldhar’s plague curse, blighting the walls and the ceiling.

  And there was the heart of the Unity, the heart of the Sylmarus itself.

  It looked like an enormous seed the size of a house. It pulsed with the green light, and the heartbeat sound came from it. Third felt the power radiating from the heart, and the song in her head was coming from it. Black veins of corruption, dark and thick, threaded through its bulk, the plague curse slowly but surely killing off the heart.

  “I have never seen anything like it,” said Rilmeira. She closed her eyes, opened them again. “The Unity…it is overpoweringly strong here.”

  “This is the heart of the Unity,” said Third.

  IT IS.

  The great voice of the Sylmarus came from every direction at once and filled both Third’s ears and her thoughts.

  “I did not know that trees could have hearts,” said Kyralion.

  ONCE THERE WERE MANY OF US ON THIS WORLD, AND WE CAST OUR SEEDS UPON THE WINDS OF THE COSMOS TO VISIT OTHER WORLDS. NOW I AM THE ONLY ONE THAT REMAINS. WOMAN OF FLAMES, THIS IS THE MOMENT THAT WAS FORETOLD. YOU SHALL DECIDE THE FATE OF THE UNITY. DESTROY IT OR SAVE IT AS YOU WILL.

  “I understand,” said Third, her voice soft.

  She looked at Kyralion and Rilmeira. She remembered the scorn the High Augur had shown him, how the gray elves seemed enslaved to the consensus of their emotions. She remembered the gray elves falling dead of the plague, the black growths and tumors covering the bark of the Sylmarus.

  Perhaps the destruction of the Unity was inevitable. Maybe it was her purpose to serve as the instrument of its destruction.

  Inevitable…

  It had been inevitable that Third would become an urdhracos, inevitable that she would remain an urdhracos until she died. It had been inevitable that Mara would transform and become an urdhracos.

  It had been inevitable, right until it hadn’t.

  Third had transformed into something new, something the world had never seen before.

  She had transformed. She had become something new.

  Perhaps the gray elves could do likewise.

  The song thundered inside her head, and Third knew what she must do.

  “Come with me,” she said, drawing a sword with her left hand.

  Kyralion and Rilmeira followed as Third approached the great heart, the green light washing around them. Third stopped at the base of the heart and turned to face Kyralion and his beloved.

  “Hold out your hands,” she said.

  “What are you going to do?” said Rilmeira, the fear plain on her face. “Are you going to destroy the Unity?”

  The veins began to burn with blue fire beneath Third’s skin.

  “No,” said Kyralion. There was understanding in his golden eyes. “No, she is not.”

  “I am not going to save the Unity,” said Third. She shifted the sword to her right hand and slid the blade across her left forearm, the blood welling across the blade. Blue fire danced and burned in her blood. “I am not going to destroy the Unity. I need the blood of the dark elves.” She stepped closer and slid the blade across Rilmeira’s forearm. The gray elven woman only flinched a little. “I need the blood of a gray elf of the Unity.” Third turned towards Kyralion. “And the blood of a gray elf not of the Unity.”

  He extended his forearm, and Third raked her blade across it.

  The blood mixed together on the sword, all of it burning with blue fire.

  Third turned and faced the heart of the Sylmarus.

  “What are you doing?” said Rilmeira. “Are you…”

  Third drew back the bloodied sword and plunged it to the hilt into the heart.

  The heart looked as if it had been made of wood, but the steel of the dark elves sank into it with ease. The sword began to burn with a blue flame, and a shudder went through the enormous heart out of all proportion to the size of the wound.

  “What did you do?” said Rilmeira.

 
; “Something new,” said Third.

  All at once, the green light vanished from the heart and the walls, plunging the chamber into darkness. Rilmeira shrieked, and Third heard her stumble, heard Kyralion catch her.

  “What is wrong?” said Kyralion.

  “It’s…it’s gone…” said Rilmeira, her voice full of terror. “They’re all gone. The Unity is gone.”

  Third said nothing, staring at the heart in the darkness.

  Then blue fire blazed to life in the heart, and the thunder of the heartbeat filled the chamber anew.

  Chapter 20: Blue Fire

  Another pair of berserkers rushed at Ridmark, their axes drawn back to strike. He blinked the sweat from his eyes and rushed to meet their attack, Oathshield snarling with white fire in his fists. The first axe clanged off Oathshield’s blade, and Ridmark twisted to the side and swung. His blade bit deep into the muridach’s hip, and the creature snarled with rage and pain. Ridmark ripped Oathshield free, the soulblade’s power driving his weary arms, and took off its head.

  The second muridach chopped at him, and Ridmark dodged to the side, slashing Oathshield. The soulblade severed the muridach’s right arm at the elbow, and the creature screamed as blood spurted from the stump. Ridmark opened its throat and stepped back.

  A third muridach jumped at him, bronze sword drawn back to stab, and Ridmark tried to dodge.

  He wasn’t quite fast enough, and the bronze sword hammered into his chest, the edge clanging off his dark elven armor. The force of the impact knocked him off his feet, and Ridmark landed hard on his back. The muridach sprang after him, sword raised for the kill, and Ridmark got Oathshield up in time to deflect the stab that would have opened his throat. He drove his left foot into the muridach’s right knee, and the heel of the boot landed with a crack. The muridach stumbled back, and Ridmark heaved himself to his feet and swung Oathshield. The soulblade punched through the muridach’s leather armor and sank into its chest, and the creature staggered. Ridmark wrenched Oathshield loose and opened the muridach’s throat.

  The muridach collapsed in a heap, joining the dead carpeting the ground.

  Ridmark took a quick step back and raised Oathshield in guard, risking a quick glance over the square.