Sevenfold Sword: Champion

by Jonathan Moeller

  No matter what that choice would cost him.

  “But,” said Archaelon, “as it happens, you aren’t going to kill me. I will kill you, and then Lady Calliande, and all your soldiers. I had hoped to make an army of wraiths, but an army of animated corpses will serve almost as well.” He stepped closer, lifting his bronze sword. “A pity you could not see the truth. I…”

  Ridmark reached through his bond with Oathshield and unlocked the power stored in the heart of the sword.

  Oathshield was a soulblade, and Ridmark was a Swordbearer. But Oathshield was a unique soulblade, and Ridmark was the Shield Knight of Andomhaim. Most soulblades had a single soulstone, but Oathshield had two.

  And that additional soulstone gave Ridmark the power he now summoned.

  The sword blazed hotter, and the fire leaped from the blade to crawl up Ridmark’s arms and over his shoulders. Heat poured through him, making his bones and muscles throb with pain. Archaelon froze in surprise, staring at him with narrowed eyes.

  “What is this?” said Archaelon. “Your sword is burning you alive? A most curious form of suicide, I admit, but…”

  The white fire covered Ridmark’s face, and everything went white.

  An instant later, he could see again, and he felt different.

  The power of the Shield Knight roared through him like a storm.

  “What the devil?” said Archaelon.

  The white fire had covered Ridmark from head to toe, and then it had hardened into blue armor the same color as Oathshield. Ridmark now wore blue plate armor, his face concealed beneath a visored helm. Magic thrummed through the armor, power to make him faster and stronger than even a normal Swordbearer.

  The armor was also impervious to normal weapons…and resistant to magic.

  Which meant Ridmark was no longer pinned in place by the auras of the wraiths.

  He leaped forward, the magical armor driving him with terrific speed, Oathshield drawn back to strike. Archaelon realized his danger at the last minute and snapped up his staff of bone. Oathshield ought to have shattered it to splinters, but the soulblade rebounded from the dark magic surging through the weapon. Ridmark caught his balance and swung again, and Archaelon parried once more. The necromancer thrust his sword, and black fire ripped from the weapon and slammed into Ridmark. The impact threw him backward a dozen feet, and he hit the ground, bounced a few times, and came to a stop.

  He was unharmed. The armor of the Shield Knight had protected him.

  Ridmark bounded back to his feet, Oathshield thrumming in his fist. Archaelon took a step back, his eyes wide with alarm, and cast a spell.

  The shadowy haze vanished as Archaelon’s magic sucked it back across the courtyard, wrapping it around the necromancer. Archaelon charged with a yell, the wraiths driving him forward, and he met Ridmark in battle, sword and staff flashing as he attacked.

  Ridmark stood his ground, Oathshield deflecting and blocking Archaelon’s blows.

  ###

  All at once, the haze vanished, the malefic aura drawn back to strengthen Archaelon as he fought Ridmark.

  Tamlin blinked in surprise. Ridmark moved so fast that he had become a blur of blue armor and white fire, but Archaelon matched his speed, the wraiths wreathing his limbs in a dark haze.

  “What…what happened?” said Kalussa. “Where did the armor come from? How did he do that?”

  “He is the Shield Knight,” said Calliande, her voice grim. “There is a level of power he can access that other Swordbearers cannot, though it carries a terrible price. But Archaelon withdrew all his magic to attack Ridmark. That means…”

  Kalussa was already casting before Calliande had finished speaking. She hurled another bolt of flame at Archaelon, though his wraiths drank the fire without any noticeable effect. Calliande’s magic proved more effective. Her shaft of white fire rocked Archaelon back, and Ridmark surged after him, Oathshield rising and falling in his two-handed grip like a sledgehammer. Tamlin hesitated, unsure of what to do. He could throw a lightning blast at Archaelon, but he doubted it would do any good. Should he join the fight at Ridmark’s side? All that would do was get Tamlin killed. There was no way he could move as fast as the Shield Knight and the traitorous Arcanius.

  And then a flash of red came into sight.

  Khurazalin glided up behind Archaelon, blue fire crackling around his fingers as he cast a spell.

  Neither Archaelon nor Ridmark saw him. For that matter, Calliande didn’t see him either, her full attention on Archaelon and her husband. Tamlin was standing just far enough to Calliande’s right that he saw Khurazalin as the Maledictus approached around the base of the keep, his red robe rippling around his withered, undead frame.

  And Khurazalin was about to cast a spell at Ridmark.

  This was it. This was what the Dark Lady had warned him about.

  Khurazalin came to a stop, the blue fire around his leathery fingers brightening. His attention was focused on Ridmark, and Tamlin wondered if Khurazalin had cast any warding spells to protect himself.

  It was time to find out.

  He sprinted forward, dark elven sword in his right hand, lightning gathering in his left hand. Khurazalin raised his arms, the dark magic between his palms brightening as his spell reached its climax. At last Khurazalin noticed Tamlin’s presence and started to turn, and Tamlin unleashed his magic.

  A bolt of lightning leaped from Tamlin’s palm, all his power and rage behind it. The bolt slammed into Khurazalin, coiling up and down his body, the sleeves of his elaborate crimson robe catching fire. Tamlin sprang after his bolt, his sword drawn back to swing with both hands. He aimed for Khurazalin’s neck, hoping to take off the Maledictus’s head.

  At the last instant, Khurazalin reached into his robe and yanked out a bronze sword. He deflected Tamlin’s stroke and glided backward. Tamlin pursued him, thrusting and swinging his blade, but Khurazalin retreated.

  “Come to avenge your Tysia, Tamlin Thunderbolt?” said Khurazalin, a hint of mockery in his voice. “Not today. But fear not. I have other work first, but we shall meet again very shortly.”

  He gestured, and his form transformed, becoming a specter of mist and pale blue light. Tamlin snarled and slashed again, and his sword passed through Khurazalin without touching anything. The specter turned and fled with incredible speed, vanishing through the wall.

  Tamlin growled in frustration, then his reason reasserted itself, and he ran back to the fight.

  ###

  Ridmark slashed Oathshield at Archaelon’s head and chest and legs. Whatever necromancy Archaelon used made him stronger and faster…but not as strong and as fast as the power of the Shield Knight made Ridmark. Archaelon retreated into the great hall, stumbling past the pillars supporting the balconies. Ridmark did not slow his attacks, his magical armor protecting him from the increasingly frantic spells Archaelon flung at him. He forced Archaelon to parry with either his staff of bones or his bronze sword.

  And, in the end, the staff proved no match for Oathshield.

  Archaelon parried with the staff, and it exploded in a spray of bones, bronze wire, and blue flame. The necromancer stumbled back with a cry, and as he did, the wraiths around him unraveled and vanished. The staff had been the locus of the spell, and without it, the summoning was broken.

  Before Archaelon could regain his balance, Ridmark drove Oathshield forward. The soulblade plunged through the damaged bronze armor and reached Archaelon’s heart. The necromancer fell to his knees with a groan, his pale face going slack.

  “Useless,” he croaked. “Useless, useless, useless.”

  “You should have realized that sooner,” said Ridmark. The helmet made his voice metallic, harsh, unrecognizable.

  Archaelon turned a bleeding smile towards Ridmark.

  “No,” whispered Archaelon. “Your victory. Useless. The New God will come, and he will destroy you…”

  Ridmark yanked Oathshield from Archaelon’s chest and swung. The strike took the necromancer’s hea
d off, and head and body fell to the floor. Best to be safe. If Khurazalin had returned from death as an undead creature, then he might have taught the spell to Archaelon as well. Speaking of which, Ridmark needed to find Khurazalin. The Maledictus was still around here somewhere, and…

  All at once, Ridmark’s grip on the power of the Shield Knight vanished.

  The power was too much. Ridmark could only hold it for so long, and he had reached his limits. The armor turned back into white fire and vanished, and Ridmark swayed on his feet as exhaustion struck him.

  And then the pain came.

  The power of the Shield Knight had a price.

  Ridmark fell to one knee with a grunt, the agony rolling through him in increasing waves. Terrible pain mixed with exhaustion, and he could not stand, could barely breathe. He felt something wet and hot on his lips and chin and realized that he was bleeding from the nose.

  “Ridmark!”

  He managed to look up and saw Calliande go to her knees next to him, her hands on his shoulders.

  “The children,” Ridmark croaked. “The children. Find…find the…”

  The pain swallowed him as he collapsed to the floor, and Ridmark knew no more.

  Chapter 23: Visions

  Ridmark drifted in nothingness for a long, long time.

  Slowly, bit by bit, visions came into focus before his eyes.

  For that was the other cost of the Shield Knight’s power.

  Ridmark had to relive his life every time he used the power of the Shield Knight.

  Specifically, he had to relive his sorrows.

  Again he saw his mother lying on her deathbed.

  More sorrows flashed before his eyes, more agonies. Aelia lay on the black and white tiles of Castra Marcaine’s great hall, the spreading pool of her blood turning the tiles crimson. He walked into Dun Licinia’s great hall and saw Morigna’s lifeless eyes gazing at the ceiling, her throat a bloody ruin from the Weaver’s claws. Other faces flashed before his eyes. The faces of knights and men-at-arms he had commanded in battle, men who had fallen to the blades of their enemies. Widows weeping as they learned of their husbands’ fate, mothers weeping as they learned their sons would not return home.

  But always the visions returned to the same scene.

  Calliande, haggard, disheveled, and exhausted, sitting on her bed, holding the body of their daughter as she sobbed uncontrollably.

  The visions returned him to that room and that awful moment, the moment itself proceeded by weeks of fear and pain. Ridmark had known despair several times during his life, but this had been an entirely new kind, and it threatened to choke him.

  What was the use? What was the use of anything? All things ended in death and sorrow. Best to lie down and stop fighting, to let…

  No.

  That was the trap.

  That was the final test of the sword of the Shield Knight. Ardrhythain had known Ridmark all too well, had known that despair was Ridmark’s weakness. Oathshield could make him all but invincible for a short time, but such power could be abused. And to make sure that he would not abuse the power, Oathshield gave him a test every time he used the power of the Shield Knight.

  Once more Ridmark saw those he had lost. His mother, his father, Dux Gareth, Aelia, Morigna, Joanna, and the despair rose in him. But Ridmark fought against it. Calliande needed him, now more than ever. Joanna’s death had hit him hard, but it had been worse for Calliande. His sons needed him. And if he managed to get back to Andomhaim, he had duties there, friends who would need him.

  Ridmark turned and clawed his way from the despair, moving closer to the light.

  Gradually, he became aware of other things.

  His shoulders and knees and hips ached. Just as well he was lying down on something soft. He was looking at a stone ceiling, a shaft of sunlight stretching across it. He could sense Oathshield a few feet away, likely leaning against the wall. The air smelled of old wood smoke and rock dust. His right arm was numb, but that was because something warm and heavy was lying on it.

  Ridmark concentrated, and after a while, he turned his head.

  Joachim lay next to him, his head pillowed on Ridmark’s shoulder.

  Ridmark felt relief, overpowering relief, that the boy was safe. Then came confusion. Just how had he gotten here?

  Ridmark started to sit up, and Joachim’s eyes popped open.

  “Father?” said Joachim, blinking.

  “Joachim,” said Ridmark. “How…”

  “Mother!” shrieked Joachim at the top of his lungs, right into Ridmark’s ear. He bounded off the bed. “Mother, he’s awake! Mother! Mother!”

  Joachim darted through a wooden door and vanished into a stone hallway.

  Ridmark managed to sit up after a moment.

  He was in a stone room with a bed, a chair, and a small desk. A narrow window overlooked a courtyard and a curtain wall, rocky hills spreading away in the distance. Ridmark recognized it as the courtyard of Castra Chaeldon, which meant he was in the central keep. His foggy mind swam back into focus. He remembered the battle, the fury of Archaelon’s necromancy, the wrath of the Shield Knight…

  “Father!”

  Joachim raced back into the room and jumped into his lap with enough force that Ridmark almost fell over. Ridmark laughed and caught the boy around the shoulders. A moment later Gareth came in the room, and his usually serious face lit up in a smile. Calliande followed him, smiling, and Ridmark blinked in surprise.

  For some reason, he had expected her to look as she did in the vision the sword had shown him. Instead, she looked as she did in his memory of the day he had married her, blond and blue-eyed and smiling at him.

  “Father,” said Gareth, and he hugged Ridmark. “I am glad you are well.”

  “Gareth said you wouldn’t wake up for another week,” said Joachim, “but I thought you would wake up today. I was right, and Gareth was wrong.”

  Gareth scowled at his brother. The sight of them bickering, healthy and alive and bickering, was so normal that Ridmark felt a lump in his throat.

  “Well,” he said, “I don’t think anyone was right. I didn’t know when I would wake up.”

  “I was afraid,” said Joachim, “that you would never ever wake up.”

  “No,” said Ridmark. “I was just tired and needed a rest, that’s all. Someday when you’re a knight, you’ll understand.”

  “Mother and Lady Kalussa and Lord Tamlin…” started Joachim.

  “Sir Tamlin,” corrected Gareth.

  “Sir Lord Tamlin,” said Joachim, unfazed, “they say you defeated a wicked wizard and saved the day.”

  “I don’t know about that,” said Ridmark. “I just tried to do my duty. That’s all a knight or any man can do.”

  “Boys,” said Calliande. “Why don’t you go with Kalussa in the courtyard? If your father is feeling up to it, we’ll all have breakfast in the great hall.”

  “Race you!” said Joachim. He took off for the door. At once Gareth started running after him, refusing to be beaten by his little brother.

  Ridmark looked up at Calliande.

  “How are they?” said Ridmark.

  “They’re fine,” said Calliande. “Thank God and all the saints, they’re fine. A little frightened. Gareth has nightmares about the orcs. Joachim does, too. But they weren’t hurt. They were even fed well, and were kept in this room, away from the other prisoners.” Her mouth twisted. “I think Archaelon intended to use their lives for some filthy necromantic spell once he had completed his ritual. The blood of children is most potent for necromancy, which is why the Magistri and the Swordbearers always kill necromancers.”

  “Good,” said Ridmark. “Good. God has been merciful to us.”

  “He has been merciful to me,” said Calliande, and she sat next to him and hugged him so hard that his ribs creaked a little.

  They sat like that for a time. Ridmark put his arm around her shoulders as she cried in silence for a little while, her head resting against his c
hest.

  “It’s always hard,” said Calliande when she pulled herself together, “when you use the power of the Shield Knight.”

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. “I didn’t think I had any choice.”

  “No,” said Calliande. She sniffled and wiped the tears from her eyes. “No. You did the right thing. You won the battle.”

  “How long was I out this time?” said Ridmark.

  “Two days,” said Calliande.

  Ridmark nodded. The last time it had been three. “What happened while I was unconscious?”

  “The last of the orcs fled,” said Calliande. “Sir Parmenio ought to be in command, but he’s too taciturn, so Rallios has been giving the orders. He’s got the hoplites building a temporary wall to seal the breach.” She glanced towards the ceiling. “I’m afraid Archaelon blew off the top level of the tower when he drained his ritual to empower himself. That will probably take some engineers and masons from Aenesium to repair.”

  “Probably,” said Ridmark. A thought occurred to him. “What about Khurazalin? I didn’t see him anywhere.”

  Calliande sighed. “He got away. He tried to attack you from behind during the fight, and Tamlin interrupted him. Khurazalin fled rather than fight, and we haven’t seen any sight of him.”

  Ridmark grunted. “Likely he’s run back to Urd Maelwyn and the Confessor. Or he’s off somewhere plotting evil. I suppose he’s already died once for this New God of his. Maybe he didn’t want to do it twice.”

  “Sir Tamlin was disappointed,” said Calliande. “I think he wanted to kill Khurazalin again.”

  “I can understand that,” said Ridmark. He remembered his conversation with the young knight outside the walls. “At least he didn’t try to get himself killed doing it.”

  “No,” said Calliande. “He seems the sort to drown his sorrows in wine and women.”

  Ridmark snorted. “Maybe that’s wiser than running off to chase the Frostborn for years.”