“There is,” said Ridmark into their argument, “another way.”
All four of them looked at him.
“You have a clever strategy, then?” said Tamlin, with just a hint of disbelief.
“Not terribly clever, no,” said Ridmark, “but simple, and they won’t see it coming.”
“What is it, then?” said Tamlin.
“Lady Calliande will rip a breach in the outer wall,” said Ridmark.
Silence answered him.
“Aye,” said Rallios at last, “that would be nice, but if we’re wishing for things, we might as well wish that we could fly over the wall or for all of Archaelon’s soldiers to drop dead.”
"I'd wish for a room full of beautiful women," said Aegeus, "and a skin of wine that never ran dry."
Kalussa rolled her eyes.
“I cannot make you fly,” said Calliande, “and nor can I kill all of Archaelon’s soldiers, but I can breach the wall.”
They stared at her for a moment.
“You’re serious,” said Kalussa.
Tamlin grinned. “Aye, but should it be so surprising? Remember our fights with the orcs? Her magic made the ground fold and ripple like a cloak in the wind. Imagine what that would to the foundations of the curtain wall.”
Rallios opened his mouth, closed it again, and then frowned. “That…could work. Is that possible, Lady Calliande?”
“It is,” said Calliande. “I’ve done it before. With three walls at once, as it happened.” Granted, as it turned out she hadn’t needed to rip that hole in the three siege walls encircling Tarlion, but they had won the battle, so it didn’t matter.
Aegeus blinked. “God and the saints. I could think of a dozen battles where that would have proven useful.”
“You’re not that old, sir knight,” said Rallios in a dry voice. “I can think of half a hundred.” His attention turned back to Calliande. “Could you do it right now? Just wave your hand and knock the wall down, like Elijah walking around the walls of Jericho?”
“Joshua,” said Tamlin. “It was Joshua that knocked down the walls of Jericho in Canaan upon Old Earth.”
Rallios frowned. “Are you sure? I’m certain it was Elijah.”
“I fear Sir Tamlin is correct,” said Calliande. “It was Joshua, and God commanded him to have the priests march with the Ark of the Covenant around the walls for seven days. I fear I cannot simply wave my hand and knock down the wall. It has to do with the volume of soil and stone moved by the spell. The spells I used against the orcs only affected the top few inches of the ground. If I tried that against the curtain wall, I might make it rattle a little and knock loose some dust, but that would be all. I need to gather sufficient power to knock a breach in a wall.”
“How long will that take, my lady?” said Tamlin.
Calliande considered the wall for a moment, sweeping it with the Sight. Inside the fortress, she saw the auras of hundreds of minor undead creatures, and a far more powerful spell centered on the top floor of the central keep. That was Archaelon’s spell, his ritual to raise an army of the dead to serve him. It was so powerful that Calliande had seen the aura from miles off.
The outer wall was massive, blocks of stone fitted together so tightly that Calliande doubted she could have gotten the point of her dagger into the cracks. An army with proper siege engines would still have a hard time breaking into the fortress.
But her children were in that fortress.
“Two days,” said Calliande at last. “It will take me two days to gather enough power to tear a breach in the wall.”
Kalussa frowned. “Will you need to labor continually for that time?”
“For most of it,” said Calliande. Despite the grim situation, she felt a flicker of amusement at Kalussa’s concern. The births of all three of her children had been ordeals that had taken days without rest, though thankfully she did not remember the experience all that clearly. Compared to that, gathering the earth magic to attack Castra Chaeldon seemed a pleasant stroll.
Though it would still take a great deal of work.
“I will need to rest from time to time,” said Calliande. “This is not a precise metaphor, but gathering the power for the spell is rather like piling bricks. Once the pile of bricks is high enough, the wall will come down.”
Parmenio frowned. “King Hektor will be wroth that we have torn a hole in the wall of the fortress.”
“Walls can be rebuilt, Sir Parmenio,” said Rallios. “Men, I fear, cannot. There are two hundred seasoned hoplites in the fortress, maybe more, and those are men that King Hektor can ill afford to lose.”
“If this can be done,” said Aegeus, “if Lady Calliande can indeed breach the wall, then it seems this is our best chance of victory.”
Ridmark nodded. “She can do it. I have seen her do it before, and if that is not enough proof for you, you shall see it with your own eyes in two days. Once the breach is made, we will attack at once and storm into the courtyard.”
Rallios frowned. “Just like that?”
Ridmark nodded. “Just like that. We have an advantage. Archaelon and Khurazalin have no idea what is coming for them. They haven’t encountered the Keeper of Andomhaim before, and they don’t know how dangerous she is to wielders of dark magic. They’ll be able to sense her spell, I’m sure of it, but they won’t know its purpose. By the time they realize what has happened, it will be too late, and we’ll be inside the courtyard.”
“But what about the Champion?” said Rallios.
“And Archaelon and Khurazalin?” said Tamlin.
“I’ll deal with them,” said Ridmark, his voice hard.
Tamlin raised his eyebrows. “By yourself? Is that really sporting?”
“I’ll have help, of course,” said Ridmark, “but a soulblade can tear through any magical ward.” He tapped Oathshield’s hilt, the soulstone in the pommel flashing. “Neither Khurazalin nor Archaelon have encountered a soulblade before. A single soulblade can kill an urdmordar if it strikes the heart. Oathshield can deal with Khurazalin and Archaelon, and it can also unravel the dark magic around the Champion.”
“If you and Lady Calliande can do as you say, sir,” said Parmenio, “then I think this is our best course forward.”
The others agreed.
“Then I will start at once,” said Calliande. “Further down the road, I think, behind the hoplites.”
Ridmark nodded. “We’ll keep the Arcanius Knights around Calliande as she works. Archaelon and Khurazalin might not understand what she’s doing, but they will sense the spell, and they might try to strike. Sir Parmenio, keep your scouts out and watch the entrance to the secret exit. Archaelon and Khurazalin might try to flee.”
Or, worse, they might try to flee with Gareth and Joachim, if they realized that the boys were the sons of the man commanding the army outside their walls.
“Rallios, you might as well have the men rest,” said Ridmark. “Tell them to keep their weapons at hand, but they can rest.” He looked at the walls. “In two days, we are retaking Castra Chaeldon.”
And Calliande prayed that they would find Gareth and Joachim safe inside the walls.
Chapter 18: Dead Soldiers
Gladiatorial fighting, Tamlin had learned long ago, involved a tremendous amount of preparation and a great deal of waiting followed by a few moments of terror.
Soldiering, he had come to realize, was similar.
For the first day and night after Ridmark and Calliande made their plans, nothing much happened.
Lady Calliande started work on a broad ledge behind the road, the castra rising over her in the distance, a valley stretching below her. At once she began casting spells, writing symbols of purple fire in the air. The symbols of fire remained hovering as she worked, and she cast the spell again and again, walking in circles around the ledge. She had said that piling bricks was an imprecise metaphor for what she was doing, but it looked for all the world like she was building a tower, albeit a tower fashioned of symbols of
purple fire instead of stones. Revolution by revolution, she built a cylinder of sigils of purple flame, and when Tamlin got close, he felt the power rolling off the thing.
The work seemed to transfix her. The weariness fell from her face, and her blue eyes were sharp and clear, reflecting the purple fire as she cast spell after spell. Tamlin thought it made her look fierce, fierce and beautiful…
Stop that, he told himself.
She was married, and her husband was a supremely dangerous man. And while Calliande was lovely, if Tamlin was honest with himself, he knew his attraction wasn’t about her. All this talk of the New God had reminded him of Tysia, and thinking about Tysia put Tamlin into an evil mood. Wine and women could make him forget that evil mood for a time, and Calliande was the only woman in the camp, which was why he was thinking about her.
Well, there was Kalussa as well, but she hardly counted. No doubt King Hektor would marry her off to one of his Companions or another Arcanius Knight soon enough, but until then, the King had made it quite clear the girl was to be left alone. For that matter, Tamlin could just imagine how she would react if he approached her. He pitied the man who ended up wed to her. Kalussa had a tongue like the edge of a razor.
Sir Parmenio’s scouts ranged over the hills but found neither friend nor foe. Archaelon’s forces had withdrawn behind the walls of the castra. Thanks to the War of the Seven, there were no villages left in the disputed lands between Aenesium and Cytheria, which meant it was unlikely anyone else would stumble across their siege. Tamlin only hoped that the Confessor did not send a force to attack Archaelon, or that King Justin or the Necromancer of Trojas or the Masked One did not send troops to take advantage of the situation. For most of the War of the Seven, Tamlin had been a boy at the Monastery of St. James or a gladiator at Urd Maelwyn, but he knew that some complicated five-way battles had taken place in the lands near Castra Chaeldon.
Tamlin remained on guard until Calliande lay down to rest. Once she did, Sir Aegeus and another Arcanius Knight took their turn at watch, and Tamlin got some sleep.
No one attacked during the night, and Tamlin woke at dawn.
Calliande was working again, walking around and around that growing cylinder of whirling purple sigils. It now stood six feet tall, and the power radiating from it made his skin crawl.
Tamlin walked through the camp, stretching his sore limbs, and stopped when he reached the road leading to the gates of the castra. Ridmark Arban stood there, bamboo staff in his right hand, his left hand resting on the hilt of his sword Oathshield.
Tamlin hesitated and then went to join him.
The older man glanced his way and nodded. Tamlin had won most of his fights in the Ring of Blood, but he had lost some, and most of them had been to men who reminded him of Ridmark Arban. The Shield Knight had the same air of restrained violence, the motionlessness of a fighter waiting for the battle to begin.
“They’ve gotten lazy,” said Ridmark in a quiet voice. “Only a few of the orcish warriors were on watch for the night. The rest were undead.”
Tamlin shrugged. “Likely they think that we can’t break into the castra no matter what we do.”
“Perhaps tomorrow morning we can teach them otherwise,” said Ridmark.
“Let us hope so,” said Tamlin.
They stood in silence for a moment.
“You did well,” said Ridmark at last, “not letting Khurazalin goad you during the parley.”
A flash of anger went through Tamlin. What did Ridmark know of the matter? Tamlin cared about King Hektor’s approval, but the approval of this foreign knight meant nothing to him.
“It was difficult,” said Tamlin. “I expect you would not understand.”
Ridmark snorted. “We don’t always get what we expect.”
“And what should I expect of you, Lord Ridmark?” said Tamlin.
“I understand perfectly well how difficult it was,” said Ridmark.
Tamlin smirked. “And just why is that?”
“Calliande is my second wife. My first was murdered.”
Tamlin’s anger fled at once. Suddenly he felt a monstrous fool, and worse, he felt uncharitable. Ridmark had found himself snatched to a strange land, his sons held prisoner by a traitor like Archaelon and a murderer like Khurazalin. Had their places been exchanged, Tamlin was not sure he would have been as calm.
No, he was sure of it.
“I’m sorry,” said Tamlin. “I didn’t know.”
Ridmark’s eyes were distant. “It was five years before I met Calliande. An orcish shaman thought he was the incarnation of the blood gods. He wasn’t, and I defeated him, but he fled, and before I could kill him he took his vengeance.”
“It appears we have more in common than I thought,” said Tamlin, “much to our regret.”
“Indeed.”
Tamlin hesitated. “How…do you bear it? How did you bear it? The grief, I mean. At times, I wake up, and I think she is still next to me, but…”
“But she isn’t,” said Ridmark. “How long ago was it?”
“A little more than two years,” said Tamlin.
Ridmark nodded. “Then you’re asking me how to get over the grief?”
“More or less,” said Tamlin.
“You don’t,” said Ridmark. “But…I will say this. Time may not heal all wounds. But it does sand off the rough edges, at least. The grief will always stay with you, but if you live long enough, there will be other things in your life. Some good, some bad. But the good things are good enough that it’s worth living through the bad things.”
“Like Lady Calliande,” said Tamlin.
“Exactly,” said Ridmark.
“How did you meet her, if I may ask?” said Tamlin.
Ridmark smiled briefly. “If you must know, she was naked and tied to an altar by pagan orcs.”
Tamlin blinked. “You’re jesting.”
“Not at all.”
Tamlin laughed. “And I suppose you rushed in and saved the day?”
“I did have help, but yes.”
“I can see why she took to you, then,” said Tamlin. “But her magic is powerful. How did a rabble of pagan orcs overcome her?”
“At the time, she didn’t remember who she was or that she even had magic.”
“Again, I think you are jesting,” said Tamlin.
Ridmark shrugged. “It’s a long story. It would fill up a dozen books or more, I think.”
“If I can ask,” said Tamlin, “how did you…mourn? Tysia is dead and with the Dominus Christus in paradise. I know that. It is a comfort. But at times it is not, but when it isn’t…”
“You turn to drink and women, is that it?” said Ridmark.
Tamlin sighed. “You see clearly.” He hesitated. “Did…ah, you do the same?”
Ridmark snorted. “No. That might have been more pleasant. I went off into the Wilderland to look for the Frostborn.”
“The Frostborn?” said Tamlin. “What are the Frostborn?
“Part of that long story,” said Ridmark. “It almost got me killed a score of times. I hoped it would, truth be told. But it didn’t, and I’m glad it didn’t. If you live long enough, you’ll be glad you weren’t killed, either.” He paused. “Unless some angry husband splits your head in half with an axe.”
For an awful moment Tamlin thought he was marking a direct threat, but then he realized it was a general warning. Once again Tamlin was glad Calliande was a woman of probity.
“I will remember that,” said Tamlin.
“If we live through this,” said Ridmark, “go back to Aenesium and find a wife. I think that’s what a man like you needs.”
“I will think on that,” said Tamlin, “but I don’t think I have lived long enough yet. It would be too…soon, I think.”
Ridmark inclined his head. “Or go keep Lady Kalussa company.”
“God and the saints, no!” said Tamlin. “I pity the man who winds up with Lady Kalussa. She seems rather fond of you, though.”
&nb
sp; Ridmark grimaced. “Unfortunately. We don’t have the custom of concubinage in Andomhaim, but she seems determined to import it.”
Tamlin blinked. “I cannot imagine Lady Calliande would approve.”
“She doesn’t. Neither do I. I suppose when I was a young man the idea might have had some appeal, but I think of the patriarch Jacob and King David and King Solomon from the scriptures. They all had multiple wives and concubines, and it made them miserable, and it almost got David killed and turned Solomon's heart from God. No, one wife is enough.” He rubbed his face, still staring at the wall. “Having two women compete for your attention is not as enjoyable as you might think.”
Tamlin wondered if he was speaking from experience.
“Do you think Archaelon will attack today?” said Tamlin.
“He might,” said Ridmark. “Or he might be wrapped up in that spell of his. Or Khurazalin might decide to attack. They don’t know what Calliande can do, but they do know she’s a threat.” He turned, and Tamlin followed his gaze to see that Calliande was walking around the cylinder of symbols once again. “And that’s why you’re going to keep watch on the wall. I’ll guard Lady Calliande for a while.”
Tamlin nodded, and Ridmark clapped him on the shoulder and walked towards his wife.
It had been an odd conversation. Tamlin realized that they had not talked about the real reason Ridmark was here, to rescue his sons from Castra Chaeldon. That was not something Tamlin understood. He supposed that if he continued seducing women eventually he would leave a few illegitimate children in his wake, or if he followed Ridmark’s advice and married, there might be legitimate children. Tamlin could not imagine going to war on behalf of children.
Perhaps that was something a man only understood after he had children.
Strangely, Tamlin realized that he felt better. It had been good to talk to someone else who understood. Tamlin supposed that Ridmark made a good father to his sons. Not that Tamlin understood what that was like – his own father had sold him into slavery to the dvargir. Likely Justin Cyros hadn’t even known that Tamlin was his son, and still didn’t know that he existed.
Someday, though. Someday Tamlin would find his father and make him pay for the death of his mother.
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