“Was it really him?” said Nicion, his voice sharp. “We all saw him destroyed in the great hall. Perhaps the Maledicti chose another to fill his office.”
“No,” said Tamlin. “It was him, I am certain of it. I would recognize that voice anywhere.” He gazed at Nicion without blinking. “He murdered my wife twice.”
“And I recognized his aura of power,” said Calliande. “It was Khurazalin. For that matter, Qazaldhar attacked us in Cathair Valwyn, and then he fought alongside the Necromancer at Trojas. And Qazaldhar has leveled his plague curse upon the gray elves,” Kyralion nodded at that, “and Urzhalar assisted King Justin. All the Maledicti say they are servants of the New God and work towards its coming, but they have all assisted different sides in this war. Why?”
“Why indeed?” said Nicion, his tone polite but his impatience obvious. “They are users of dark magic. Clearly, their devotion to its corruptive powers has driven them insane.”
“Or,” said Aesacus, frowning, “they gain some advantage by doing so. As if they are deliberately maneuvering the different sides in this war to destroy one another.”
“Yes, lord Prince,” said Calliande. “That is my fear. King Hektor, have the Maledicti ever approached you? Offered to aid you against your foes?”
Hektor blinked. “They have, my lady.”
Nicion looked shocked. “They have?”
“In the first year of my reign, after my brother was imprisoned,” said Hektor. “The Maledictus Khurazalin appeared as I marched against Justin Cyros for the first time. He said that the Sovereign had fallen and that the shape of the world was about to change, and that his aid would be vital. I refused and tried to kill him with the Sword of Fire, but he fled and vanished before I could strike him down. None of the Maledicti have approached me since.”
“It seems that my father and Taerdyn and the Confessor,” said Prince Krastikon, “showed less wisdom than you did, lord King.”
“But why?” said Hektor. “Why play games like this? How would it advantage the New God?”
“It seems,” said Ridmark, “that the Maledicti are trying to gather all of the Seven Swords in one place. The best way to achieve that is to ensure there is one victor in the War of the Seven Swords, and then to induce that victor to bring the Swords to Cathair Animus.”
“Where, if Justin and the Necromancer were correct,” said Hektor, “the Seven Swords will somehow summon the New God.”
“Lord King,” said Calliande, a new doubt flickering to life within her mind. “Who told you that using the Seven Swords would free your brother from the crystal?”
“No one,” said Hektor, “but it was obvious. In the heart of Cathair Animus was a ring of blue dark elven steel, lined with seven slots. Rhodruthain told my brother to insert each of the Seven Swords into the appropriate slot. We all entered, all the kings and nobles and knights and Arcanii of the realm, to watch the destruction of the Swords. When Kothlaric did as Rhodruthain asked, the magical crystal appeared around him and imprisoned him within it. I tried to reach the ring, but Rhodruthain and Talitha chose that moment to attack, and Cavilius, Taerdyn, and Cathala all tried to seize one of the Swords.” Tamlin frowned at that. “Only Nicion stayed loyal. I managed to seize the Sword of Fire, but the dome began to collapse around us. We had no choice but to flee, and the Seven Swords were scattered to the far reaches of the realm.”
“My lord King,” said Calliande. “What if this has all been a monstrous trick, a deception? What if the War of the Seven Swords did not happen because of the lust for power, but by design? What if this war was designed to summon the New God when the Seven Swords are brought to Cathair Animus and the Well of Storms within it?”
Hektor frowned and paced a few times. He was more troubled than he wanted to show.
“It sounds fantastical,” said Hektor, “but you have not led me wrong yet, either of you.” He shook his head. “Lord Ridmark, what do you think?”
“I have seen this sort of thing before, a long time ago,” said Ridmark.
“Where?” said Hektor.
“When I was a young man, a new-made Swordbearer, I undertook a quest to the ruins of Urd Morlemoch, the citadel of the dark elven wizard called the Warden,” said Ridmark. Calliande felt a chill as she understood what Ridmark meant. “I escaped, but not before I spoke with the Warden. He told me that the Frostborn would return to destroy Andomhaim and that I would know their coming was imminent when I saw an omen of blue fire that filled the sky.”
“Go on,” said Hektor.
“Ten years later, it happened,” said Ridmark. “I saw the omen. To discover what it meant, I returned to Urd Morlemoch to confront the Warden once more, and Calliande accompanied me.” He shook his head. “But it was all a trap the Warden had engineered. He had been imprisoned in Urd Morlemoch for fifteen thousand years, and in the shadows of my future, he saw his freedom. The Warden knew I would return to ask about the omen, and he knew that Calliande would accompany me. He tried to transfer his corrupted spirit into Calliande’s body so he could escape Urd Morlemoch and conquer Old Earth. We escaped his grasp with our lives, but only barely.” Ridmark took a deep breath. “King Hektor…the War of the Seven Swords reminds me of the Warden’s trap. Some subtle, deadly trap.”
No one said anything.
“And the Warden of Urd Morlemoch,” said Ridmark at last, “was the brother of the Sovereign of Urd Maelwyn. Perhaps they were equals in cunning.”
“Then what do you counsel us to do, Lord Ridmark?” said Hektor.
“The only way to escape a trap is to see it before you step into it,” said Ridmark. “And if the War of the Seven Swords is a cunning trap fashioned by the Sovereign or the Maledicti or some other dark power, then we need to know more. I think our best chance of learning more is to find the woman of the seven shards. Tysia was the first to warn Tamlin against the New God. Then we must free Cathala and speak with her. She knew something, I am certain of it, some secret of the New God.”
Nicion snorted. “Yes, and the arrogant…” He stopped and started over, scowling with a memory. “She was arrogant and proud. Likely she fled to the Monastery of St. James with her unborn child to evade Justin’s wrath.”
“Perhaps,” said Tamlin. “But, Master Nicion, I wonder if that was but a coincidence. I wonder if she fled to the monastery to protect Tysia, not me. My mother told me that she found Tysia and brought her along. Perhaps that was a lie. Perhaps she knew who Tysia really was and brought her to the monastery to protect her from Justin and the Maledicti, and I just…happened to come along, as it were.”
“Consider also,” said Calliande. “Khurazalin murdered Sir Tamlin’s wife at Urd Maelwyn. Why? She was no threat to him. Khurazalin also went out of his way to kill Tirdua at the Blue Castra. I wonder if that was even his main purpose in coming to Trojas. Once Tirdua was dead, both he and Qazaldhar abandoned the field and let us face the Necromancer alone.”
“I see,” said Hektor. “Then you wish to find this…woman of the seventh shard, and then proceed to the ruins of the Monastery of St. James and free Cathala?”
“Yes,” said Ridmark. “If the War of the Seven Swords is a trap, then we must know more about it before we run out of time.”
“My lady Keeper?” said Hektor.
Calliande took a deep breath. “I believe this is what we should do.”
“Sir Tamlin,” said the King. “We are speaking of your wife and mother. What is your counsel?”
Tamlin hesitated. “I…my judgment is not clear on these matters, my lord King. If I had no other duties, I would leave to find the seventh shard at once. But I am sworn as your Companion knight, and I shall do whatever you command me to do.” He sighed. “But though my vision may be clouded, I believe you should follow the counsel of the Shield Knight and the Keeper. For without their aid, King Justin would have crushed us at the Battle of the Plains, and Taerdyn’s plague curse would even now be spreading across Owyllain.”
“Daughter?” said
Hektor. “You have gone through great perils. What is your counsel?”
Kalussa coughed, rubbed her throat, and started speaking. “I think we should follow the Keeper’s counsel, Father. I agree with Sir Tamlin.”
Hektor nodded. “My son, Master Nicion. What say you?”
“I believe we should send the Shield Knight and the Keeper to find the truth of this mystery,” said Aesacus.
Nicion shook his head. “I am unsure. The campaign to besiege Urd Maelwyn will be long and bloody. The aid of the Shield Knight and the Keeper would be invaluable. For that matter, the Swords of Earth, Death, and Air would be of great help. And yet…”
He stared off into the distance for a moment, as frustrated as Calliande had ever seen him.
“Cathala was always so smug,” he said, scowling. “As if she knew a secret that the rest of us did not. Perhaps she did. And perhaps that secret is dangerous. And what man can unravel the snares and traps of the dark elves?” He let out a breath. “I am uncertain if this is wisdom or folly, lord King…but we should send the Shield Knight and the Keeper on their quest.”
“So be it, then,” said Hektor. “I give my blessing to your quest, Lord Ridmark, Lady Calliande. How soon will you depart?”
“A day or two,” said Ridmark. “We will need some time to rest and prepare.” And Calliande desperately wanted to spend some more time with her sons. She had not seen them for over a month, and it seemed cruel that she would have to leave them again so soon.
Hektor nodded. “Do you know where the seventh shard is?”
“Somewhere south of Owyllain,” said Calliande, forcing her mind back to the matter at hand. “I’m not sure exactly where. The northern edges of the Takai Steppes, if the maps I have seen are accurate.”
“Perhaps we can assist with that,” said Hektor. “Arion!”
A boy in a red tunic appeared. He was another of Hektor’s sons and currently served as a page at the Palace of the High Kings.
“Have refreshments sent to the map room,” said Hektor. “My guests and I will be there shortly.” Arion bowed and ran off to carry out his father’s bidding. “This way, please.”
Hektor led the way through the corridors of the Palace, and they came to a large room with the look of a library. Shelves lined the walls, and books of varying ages sat upon those shelves. It was a pity, Calliande thought, that her apprentice Antenora could not see this place. She would have started digging into the books and absorbed their contents in a week. Three wooden tables stood in the room, and one of them held an enormous, detailed map of Owyllain.
“If you can tell us where you believe the seventh shard to be,” said Hektor, crossing to the map, “then perhaps I can tell you what you will find there.”
“Yes,” said Calliande, reaching for the pouch at her belt and drawing out the small vial that held Tirdua’s blood. “Give me a moment to clear my mind, and I shall work the spell.”
She closed her eyes and concentrated, reaching for the Sight and focusing her will. In the background, she heard the saurtyri servants arrive with trays of food and drink. Calem, Krastikon, and Tamlin all began eating. Soldiers could never be quite certain when their next meal would arrive, and so ate whenever food was at hand. The habits of a campaign lasted long after the battle was done.
Calliande focused the Sight upon the vial in her hand and cast a spell through the mantle of the Keeper, seeking for the woman from whom that blood had been drawn. At once she felt the link tugging at her mind, like a lodestone pulling the needle of a compass. She opened her eyes and gazed at the detailed map, both her material eyes and the Sight sweeping over the terrain.
“There,” murmured Calliande, and she pointed at a spot at the northern edge of the Takai Steppes, just south of the Gray Mountains. “There. She is there.”
Hektor and Nicion looked at her pointing finger and then at each other.
“Kalimnos?” said Aesacus, his surprise plain.
“What is Kalimnos?” said Ridmark.
“A town,” said Hektor. “The southernmost town of the realm beyond the Gray Mountains, just south of the Pass of Ruins. The Pass of Ruins is the only good pass through the Gray Mountains to the Takai Steppes, and sometimes bold merchants who wish to trade with the Takai or the xiatami will use that route. Though the wiser ones follow the line of the River Morwynial to reach Najaris. Both the muridachs and the dvargir like to raid from the entrances to the Deeps in the Pass of Ruins, to say nothing of the dangers posed by the ruins themselves.”
“Ruins?” said Ridmark, frowning at the map. “Ruins of the dark elves?”
“No,” said Hektor. “Ruins of the gray elves.”
Calliande gave Kyralion a startled look.
“My kindred once ruled all of what is now known as the realm of Owyllain, my lady Keeper,” said Kyralion. She remembered the reliefs she had seen carved into the walls of Cathair Valwyn, reliefs that showed a mighty civilization raising towers and cities and citadels. “But the Sovereign followed us to this land and waged war upon us for millennia before humans ever came to these shores. Once the Gray Mountains were filled with the cities of my kindred, but the Sovereign broke their gates and threw their towers into ruin.”
“And those ruins are dangerous,” said Hektor. “Strange creatures lurk within, and there is peculiar and wild magic within the towers. Sometimes adventurers enter the ruins in search of treasure, and they tend not to come out again.”
“But this town of Kalimnos,” said Ridmark. “It is sworn to you.”
“Aye,” said Hektor. “It is the southernmost town of our realm. In ancient days, the Takai nomads sometimes attacked Owyllain and swept through the Gray Mountains in search of loot. Several times the High Kings of Owyllain had to repulse them, though we have not had a conflict with the halflings for several generations. The Sovereign’s attention forced us to stand together, and the Takai have fought several wars against the muridachs.”
“Wait,” said Calliande. “The Takai nomads are halflings?”
“Aye, my lady,” said Hektor. He paused. “I recall from my history that the halflings of Andomhaim are not warlike and were slaves to the urdmordar and the pagan orcs. The halflings of the steppes, or the Takai as they call themselves, are a warlike nation, though that must sound strange to your ears.”
“Perhaps not,” said Ridmark, his blue eyes distant with memory. “A long time ago, I met a man and a woman from a tribe of halflings who called themselves the Ghost Path of the Hidden People. They, too, showed no fear of battle.” He looked at Hektor. “What are these Takai halflings like?”
“They are nomads, and can ride upon struthians,” said Hektor. “The struthians are great lizards, akin to the scutians and the trisalians, but far leaner and more agile, and they run like the wind. Because of their smaller stature, the Takai can ride the struthians as the men of Andomhaim ride horses. They are deadly archers and skilled with the javelin, and they can strike like the storm and fade away.”
“Skirmishers, then,” said Calliande. The men of Caertigris back in Andomhaim fought in much the same fashion and produced the best horse archers in the realm.
“Their beliefs are…strange,” said Tamlin. “When our ancestors came to this land, they sent missionaries among the Takai to proclaim the gospel of the Dominus Christus. The Takai accepted the Dominus Christus readily enough, though they revere him as chief of their gods. They use their own form of magic, something they call Windcalling, and fight among themselves constantly.”
“If all goes well,” said Ridmark, “we won’t talk to the Takai at all. We’ll go to Kalimnos and find the seventh shard, and then come to the Monastery of St. James from the north. What can you tell me about the town?”
“About three thousand people live there,” said Hektor. “Mostly farmers, and some herdsmen who have made their peace with the Takai. One of the Arcanii, Sir Rion Lysias, serves as praefectus of the town.” Hektor paused. “It is something of a punishment. I banished Sir Rion there after som
e difficulties.”
“Difficulties?” Nicion snorted. “Sir Rion seduced the concubines of three different men. They would have been within their rights to challenge him to a duel, or to have him brought up on charges of adultery and fornication. Frankly, my King, you were too merciful.”
“You often say that, Nicion,” said Hektor, “but I have yet to regret showing mercy.”
Nicion only grunted.
“With your leave, lord King,” said Ridmark, “Calliande and I will leave for Kalimnos in two days. Lady Third and Kyralion will accompany us, as will Sir Calem, Sir Tamlin, Lady Kalussa, and Prince Krastikon.”
“Very well,” said Hektor. “May God go with you and guide your efforts.” He looked at Ridmark, and then his sad, dark eyes met Calliande’s. “But I pray you do so swiftly. One way or another, I mean to take Urd Maelwyn and defeat the Confessor. If this is indeed a subtle trap of the Maledicti, then the sooner you can tell me, the better.”
“Thank you,” said Ridmark. “Lady Third and I will start making the preparations.”
“A question, lord King,” said Calliande, a thought occurring to her. “We have laid our plans…but what if the Masked One of Xenorium decides to intervene? His army might be small, but he does bear the Sword of Shadows.”
Nicion shrugged. “I don’t think he will pose a problem.”
“For once,” said Prince Aesacus, “I agree with Master Nicion.”
Hektor frowned. “Amidst all our troubles, there is at least one bright spot. The Masked One of Xenorium is no threat to anyone.”
Chapter 4: Courtship
Later that evening, Ridmark stood on the balcony at the top floor of Tamlin’s domus, looking towards the illuminated shapes of both the Great Cathedral and the Palace of the High Kings. During their training, the Arcanii learned how to create long-lasting spells of magical light, so consequently, Aenesium was quite well lit at night.
“Eight or ten scutians ought to do it,” said Third. Ridmark leaned against the railing, watching the city, and Third stood next to him. Calliande had gone to their room to use her bracelet to communicate with Antenora. “Were it just you, me, and the Keeper, we could likely carry our supplies and hunt to supplement them. But with eight of us, better to have scutians to carry supplies.”
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