Sevenfold Sword: Champion

by Jonathan Moeller

  They sat in silence for a while.

  “I am sorry about your daughter,” said Kalussa.

  Ridmark inclined his head.

  “But if your wife is as valiant as you,” said Kalussa, “and if she possesses powerful magic, then she will find you. Perhaps she had even rescued your sons already.”

  “Perhaps,” said Ridmark.

  A year ago, he would have agreed with Kalussa. But now? He wasn’t sure how Calliande would handle it, especially if the boys were in danger. She might rise to the challenge. She might fall to pieces.

  They lapsed into silence for a time.

  “Can I confess something to you, in turn, Lord Ridmark?” said Kalussa, her voice quiet.

  Ridmark blinked. He had been so drawn into his dark thoughts that he had almost forgotten she was there. Foolish of him to become so distracted when they were in danger.

  “If you wish,” said Ridmark. “I am not a priest, though.”

  Kalussa smiled, but then the expression faded. “I hate this.”

  Ridmark thought she referred to his rejection, but instead, she was gesturing at herself. She hated herself? No, that wasn’t it. She was gesturing at her armor.

  “Your armor?” said Ridmark. “It fits well enough. If…”

  “No, not the armor,” said Kalussa. “What it represents. I hate being a Sister of the Order of the Arcanii. I hate fighting and killing with magic.”

  “Very few people enjoy war,” said Ridmark.

  “I suppose not,” said Kalussa. “But I have to fight in it because of my magic. Most women my age are either wives or concubines and have children of their own already.” A deep bitterness came into her voice. “But not me, though. Not the King’s Swordborn daughter. I must don armor and wield the magic of elemental flame against our foes. The King only fathered me because he needed Swordborn to fight against his foes. And because of that, no man will approach me or seek my hand.”

  “You’re lonely,” said Ridmark.

  Kalussa blinked. “Yes. I would just like…someone. If I can’t have a great warrior like you, then even a soft-bellied merchant, or a slow-witted craftsman so long as he was kind.”

  “And so long as you were smarter than him and could tell him what to do?” said Ridmark.

  Kalussa blinked and then laughed. “Well, I am smarter than most people.”

  Ridmark laughed a little.

  “What?” said Kalussa, caught between surprise and outrage. “I bare my soul to you, and it is amusing, Lord Ridmark?”

  “No,” said Ridmark. “It’s not. I was just thinking. I have no idea what to say to you…but if my daughter had lived, I suppose I would have had a conversation like this with her one day. How old are you?”

  “Nineteen,” said Kalussa.

  Nineteen. Exactly half his age. She really was young enough to have been his daughter. Older lords often wed younger women, but this was ridiculous.

  “I don’t know if it makes you feel better,” said Ridmark, “but you’re not the only one to feel that way. Most people who fight in a war think that. Men leave their wives and children to fight for their lords and kings, but most of them would rather be at home with their families.”

  “But war is the business of men,” said Kalussa.

  “Maybe,” said Ridmark, “but I think most of the soldiers who died today would rather have been at home with their wives and children. And concubines, since that seems to be the custom in Owyllain.” He shook his head. “I’ve had to leave my wife and children for a few months at a time, to accompany the High King of Andomhaim on campaign. I hated it and would rather have stayed at home. I would wager that most of the men who died today felt the same way.”

  Kalussa contemplated that for a moment.

  “I had not considered that,” said Kalussa.

  “I know why,” said Ridmark.

  “Oh?”

  “Because you are nineteen,” said Ridmark, “and things are happening to you for the first time, and so, therefore, you must be the first woman in all of human history to experience such trials.”

  “You mock me, sir,” said Kalussa.

  “Only a little,” said Ridmark, and she laughed.

  “That does make me feel better, oddly enough. I shall ponder on what you have said. I think…” said Kalussa, and her mouth opened a wide yawn.

  “I think,” said Ridmark, “you should get some sleep.” He got to his feet, ignoring the ache in his knees and shoulders. “I will take the first watch.”

  “Maybe I should,” said Kalussa. “You had a hard day of fighting…” She yawned again.

  “I’m an old man,” said Ridmark. “The old need less sleep than the young.”

  “You seem vigorous enough to me,” said Kalussa with an arch smile. Before he could respond to that, she wrapped herself in her cloak and lay down by the flames. “Good night, Lord Ridmark. If you need me for anything, I shall be right here.”

  “I will wake you if any foes approach,” said Ridmark. He knew she had met something else.

  But she did not respond. She had fallen asleep already.

  Ridmark stepped out of the horseshoe of boulders, carrying a waterskin and some hard bread from his pack. The chill of the night washed over him, which was just as well since the cold air would cool the fire that Kalussa had set in his blood.

  “Good God,” he muttered to himself.

  It had been harder to deny Kalussa than he would have liked, much harder. It had been a long time since Ridmark had lain with Calliande. They had been separated for months at a time due to the campaigns of the realm against the Mhorites and the dvargir, but when they had been together, rarely more than a day or two passed without sharing a bed together. Even when Calliande had been pregnant with Gareth and then Joachim, she had been prone to bouts of intense amorousness, much to her surprise.

  That felt like a long, long time ago. It seemed like a distant memory after the last year.

  But some things had to be endured. This was one of them.

  Ridmark closed his eyes and let out a long breath, and then realized that closing his eyes while on guard was an idiotic thing to do. He opened them again and ate and drank as he kept watch.

  And as he did, he prayed over and over again for God to watch over Calliande and Gareth and Joachim, to keep them safe until he could find them again.

  Chapter 10: Last Words

  Night fell.

  Calliande wanted to press on. Her heart screamed for her to press on, to find her children and keep them safe, but she knew they had to stop. Scrambling around the hills in the darkness would be a great way to get herself killed. Tamlin kept going, but she could tell that he was exhausted.

  And Calliande herself could barely keep putting one foot in front of the other.

  It had been a long time since she had exerted herself like this. The mantle of the Keeper could only do so much. She had spent much of the last year in bed, and now she felt it. Her arms and legs felt like wet string. Her heart was willing, but her flesh was exhausted, and her mind counseled caution.

  So they stopped to rest for the night.

  “This will have to do, I’m afraid,” said Tamlin. “A cold camp.”

  “Maybe not,” said Calliande, concentrating as she forced her exhausted mind to call more magic. She worked a spell of elemental flame, and a rotating sphere of fire about six inches across appeared a few yards away. It did not give off much light, but it gave off a good deal of heat, like a fire that had died down to coals.

  Tamlin blinked and then laughed. “How delightful. It will be hard to see from a distance, but it will keep us warm.”

  “A useful spell,” said Calliande. “My apprentice devised it. She has a great deal of practice with elemental fire.”

  “You are a useful woman to know, my lady Calliande,” said Tamlin. He glanced at the sky. Only two of the thirteen moons were out, meaning it was a dark night. “Especially since there is so little light tonight.”

  “It’s a g
ood sign, I think,” said Calliande.

  “Oh?”

  “You’re aware that the positions of the moons can influence spells?” said Calliande.

  Tamlin nodded. “When Caelus and Aquaeus, the Moons of Air and Water, enter their apex, I can cast stronger spells while using less power.”

  “In eight days, Saginus and Shardus, the Moon of Blood and the Moon of Souls, will reach their apex,” said Calliande. “That combination can empower necromantic spells. Whatever Archaelon intends to do, he will do it on that night.”

  Which meant she had eight days to rescue Gareth and Joachim from Castra Chaeldon. She prayed they would be safe until then. Hopefully, Archaelon would make sure his captives remained unharmed until that night.

  “I see,” said Tamlin. “Well, that is one piece of good news, at least. Many of King Hektor’s hoplites were taken prisoner.”

  “Hoplites?” said Calliande, searching her memory. She had heard the word before, but she could not call it to mind just then.

  “Citizens of the city of Aenesium,” said Tamlin, “wealthy enough to equip themselves with arms and armor, and therefore required to serve on campaign.” He sighed. “At least we have eight days to figure out a way to rescue the prisoners.” He gestured. “Should we sit?”

  “Another piece of good news,” said Calliande, and she sat down with a sigh, arranging her dusty skirts around her aching legs. Tamlin had chosen a good spot for their camp, well out of sight from the road, and the light from the sphere would not travel far. Calliande gripped her dagger and cast the spell. Ridmark was still about seven miles away, but it seemed he was moving in the direction of Castra Chaeldon as well.

  She took a deep breath and sent the Sight northeast, seeking her children.

  They were still alive…but they were within the haze of necromantic power.

  “Good news, I hope?” said Tamlin, pulling off his helmet.

  “Yes,” said Calliande. “Well, at least no worse news. The children still alive, and as far as I can tell, they’re unhurt. My husband is safe as well. I think he’s moving in the direction of Castra Chaeldon. If we’re fortunate, we might find him tomorrow.”

  “This weapon of his, this…soulblade, you called it,” said Tamlin. “Is it as powerful as you claim?”

  “It is,” said Calliande. “A good hit from a soulblade will kill an urvaalg, and if Archaelon raises undead creatures to throw against us, Ridmark will cut through them like a storm.” And, in an emergency, Ridmark had other powers to use. Oathshield was a soulblade, but it was unique, and it granted its bearer unique powers.

  But those powers came with a steep cost. Calliande hoped that Ridmark would not have to use the full power of the Shield Knight. But if it came to a choice between that and saving the children, she knew how he would choose.

  “I am sorry for the misfortune that has befallen you and your family,” said Tamlin. He sat next to her with a sigh, rubbing his face. “And yet, I cannot help but thank God for it.”

  Calliande frowned. “Why?”

  “Because I would have bled to death if you had not crossed my path,” said Tamlin. “I thought to save your life from the orcish soldiers.” He smiled. “The dashing knight rescuing the beautiful woman from dreadful foes. Except you saved my life. And with your help, we have a far better chance of rescuing our imprisoned hoplites and bringing Archaelon to account for his treachery and his crimes.” He shrugged. “I know our struggles mean nothing to you, that you wish only to save your family. But I am pleased that we can be allies.”

  “I mean to rescue my children,” said Calliande. “But if I can aid you in the process, well and good. Necromancy is a vile abomination, an abuse of the power of magic. If it is within my power to stop Archaelon, I will do so.”

  “And once we are victorious,” said Tamlin, “you shall be most welcome in Aenesium.”

  “Thank you,” said Calliande automatically, but she blinked as the thought struck her. Suppose they were victorious. Suppose God granted her prayers and she and Ridmark and the boys were all reunited.

  What would they do then?

  They were thousands of miles from home. Rhodruthain might have been able to transport them with his magic, but Calliande could not replicate that feat. How would they possibly get back to Andomhaim? Sailing was impossible. Connmar Pendragon might have crossed the sea with his fleet five centuries ago, but Calliande suspected he had only found his way to Owyllain by accident, and she had no idea whether Andomhaim was north or south or east or west of the realm of the Nine Cities. Probably north, given how much hotter it was here, but that was not helpful. Calliande had no idea how to get back to Andomhaim.

  Were they stranded here?

  Calliande supposed they were. At least until she found Rhodruthain and forced him to return them to Andomhaim.

  “I have said something to trouble you,” said Tamlin.

  “No,” said Calliande. “No, you haven’t. I…just realized that I am a very long way from home. Farther than I have ever been in my life, and I’ve made some very long journeys to strange and dangerous places. It is an…unsettling feeling.”

  Tamlin smiled. “Well, you are brave and beautiful and skilled with powerful magic. Truly, you will always be welcome in Aenesium, for as long as you might wish.”

  Calliande laughed. “That is the third time you have called me beautiful, I think. I’ve already saved your life. There is no need for further flattery.”

  “Flattery and truth,” said Tamlin, “can sometimes be one and the same.”

  He leaned closer to her. Calliande blinked, confused, and then she realized what was happening.

  His right hand closed over her left.

  He was about to kiss her.

  Her first reaction was sheer confusion. Why on earth would he want to kiss her? She had borne three children. She had been ill for months and weighed down with grief for months more, and she looked like a hollow shadow of herself in the mirror. Calliande felt old and tired and used-up.

  Her second reaction was a flush of pleasure. Tamlin found her beautiful? Perhaps she wasn’t as old and tired as she thought.

  A pulse of guilt followed that. Ridmark thought her beautiful. Without him, she would have collapsed completely over the last few months.

  And the thought of Ridmark brought her fourth reaction, which was a wall of blazing fury.

  Just who the hell did Tamlin think he was?

  “Tamlin,” said Calliande. “I told you several times. I am married.”

  He paused. “Happily?”

  “Yes,” said Calliande. “There has been much grief of late…but, yes, happily. The only man I have ever known has been my husband. If I can work my will, that will be true on the day I go to my grave.”

  Tamlin said nothing for a moment. Calliande wondered if she had misjudged him, if his charm and bravery were a cover for a darkened heart. Would he try to force her? If he tried, she would kill him with an elemental spell. She didn’t want to do it, but neither would it weigh upon her conscience. A man who tried to force one woman would undoubtedly do so again, and the next woman might not be able to defend herself as well as Calliande.

  Then a flicker of shame went over Tamlin’s face, and he looked away. Her words seemed to remind him of something, and for a moment he looked almost sorrowful. He moved several feet away and let out a long breath.

  “That is admirable, my lady Calliande,” said Tamlin. “Most admirable. I crave your pardon. I fear I got carried away in the moment.”

  “So long as you don’t try to do it again,” said Calliande, “it is forgotten. But for God’s sake, Tamlin. Why?”

  He blinked. “Why what?”

  “I’m old enough to be your mother.”

  He laughed. “Only if you married very young and started having children very young. You cannot be more than thirty-five.”

  She was actually over two and a half centuries old, though to be fair, she had been asleep for most of that.

  “You
’re a charming young man with a silver tongue,” said Calliande, “so I imagine that finding female companionship isn’t a challenge.”

  Tamlin looked a little embarrassed at that. “It, ah, usually isn’t.”

  She leveled a finger at him. “What you need, Sir Tamlin, is a wife. And the sooner, the better. Otherwise, you’re going to get into trouble or even more trouble than you’ve experienced already. Sooner or later you will offend a woman with a vengeful father or brother and…oh, I see.”

  “See what?” said Tamlin. His face had shifted while she had spoken.

  “You used to be married, didn’t you?” said Calliande.

  He gazed off into the darkness for a while.

  “Yes,” said Tamlin at last.

  “I’m sorry,” said Calliande. “How did she die?”

  He looked at her, a mixture of anger and sorrow going over his face. She wondered if he would tell her to mind her own business. But, then, she hadn’t just tried to seduce him. And she could tell he wanted to talk about it. Sometimes a sorrow shared seemed no less painful, but at little lighter.

  “I told you I was a slave in Urd Maelwyn,” said Tamlin. “It was the Sovereign’s stronghold, but now the Confessor rules there in imitation of his slain master. His armies have orcs and dvargir and kobolds and muridachs and other kindreds, and to keep them from squabbling, the Confessor holds amusements to keep their attention, gladiatorial games and combats and races.”

  Calliande nodded. “You were one of the gladiators.”

  “That is where I learned the sword,” said Tamlin. “And the magic of elemental air, as well. The Confessor and his captains have rather…exotic tastes in gladiatorial games.” His mouth twisted. “One of the slaves was a skilled physician. As you can imagine, I saw her quite often. Her name was Tysia. We actually grew up together, and she was taken as a slave at the same time I was.”

  “What happened to her?” said Calliande.

  “She was murdered,” said Tamlin in a flat voice. “One of the Confessor’s creatures, an orcish warlock who had served the Sovereign and then transferred his allegiance to the Confessor. I killed him for it, but before Tysia died, she said something…”