Sevenfold Sword: Shadow

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Good girl,” said Melex. He looked at his sons. “Well, come on, lads. Those doors aren’t going to fix themselves.”

  “Don’t forget to keep the chicken dung for fertilizer,” said Primus. From anyone else, it would have been condescending. Primus just liked to have things done in an orderly and open fashion.

  “I have mucked out the chicken coops before, thank you,” said Tamara.

  Anyone else would have been offended. Primus only nodded in approval. Her father and her brothers went to continue repairing the window shutters that had been damaged by the last storm, and Tamara headed for the yard. She started towards the chicken coops, but changed her mind at the last minute and headed for the shed her father used for butchering. Better attend to the meat first. It was going to be a hot day, and the fresh-cut pork would turn sour fast.

  The butchering shed was a low wooden building. A set of clay stairs descended underground and Tamara gestured with her free hand, calling a sphere of pale blue light into existence over her palm. The effort to cast the spell was trivial.

  No one had taught it to her. She had just known how to do it. It had come from nothingness, much like her nightmares. Perhaps it was a side effect of whatever would one day drive her insane.

  At the bottom of the stairs was a wooden door, and Tamara swung it open. Inside a dozen sides of pork hung from hooks on the ceiling, already salted down. Tamara lifted her hand, closed her eyes, and concentrated. She drew on her link to the magic of elemental earth, feeling the force of the earth and stone beneath her boots. The power was there, waiting to be used and directed.

  She had always known how to use it. The knowledge had simply been inside her mind, waiting until she needed it.

  Like someone else had learned it, but she remembered it.

  Tamara pushed her doubts out of her mind and cast the spell. Thick white mist billowed up from the floor and filled the underground room, and Tamara stepped back and closed the door. The mist would knock unconscious anyone who breathed it. The mist also had the interesting side effect of preventing decay. Any food within the mist would not go bad. Melex had been capitalizing on that ability for years, using it to keep the Javelin Inn stocked with fresh food.

  Tamara was burdened with magical ability, but there was no reason not to put it to good use.

  She climbed back to the yard and spent the next hour mucking out the chicken coops, keeping their dung for later use as fertilizer. The chickens were mean-spirited beasts and would have pecked her if they had gotten the chance, but Tamara used another spell of earth magic to reach into their minds and calm them, or at least make them less hostile.

  Another useful spell that she knew, though Tamara had no idea where it had come from. Well, if it kept her from getting pecked by spiteful chickens, she wouldn’t complain.

  Once she was done, she cleaned off her hands and boots and stepped back into the yard. The sun was rising in the east now, and she heard the hammering from the other side of the inn as her father and Primus worked on repairing the shutters that had been damaged by the last thunderstorm that swept off the steppes. The smell of bread filled her nostrils. Likely Secundus and Tertius had gone to the kitchens and started the day’s baking alongside the saurtyri servants. Tamara’s initial impulse was to go see if they needed help, but she stopped herself. They had matters well in hand.

  And she ought to check with the watchmen at the gate before she spoke with Sir Rion. The muridachs had not been seen near Kalimnos for several days. No doubt they had been focusing on their march to the Illicaeryn Jungles. But if the muridachs had been spotted near the town again…yes, best to check before she spoke with Sir Rion.

  Tamara nodded to herself, her mind made up, and left the yard and strode into the agora of Kalimnos.

  As ever, she paused for a moment, just a moment, to take in the sights.

  Whatever other dangers life in Kalimnos presented, she had to admit that the town was beautiful.

  About three thousand people lived within the town’s stone walls, mostly farmers who worked their terraces during the day. Kalimnos occupied one of the lower foothills of the Gray Mountains, and to the north rose the mountains, weathered and topped with white snow. Sometimes cool breezes blew down from the mountains, a pleasant reprieve from the heat of the steppes. To the south, the foothills ended, and the Takai Steppes stretched away like a sea of green-gold grass.

  Tamara took a few steps forward, enjoying air that did not smell like chickens. The town’s shops lined the agora, and on the north side rose the tower of Sir Rion Lysias’s keep. On the south rose the village’s church, its stone dome weathered, a cross rising from the apex. Tamara stared at the mountains, following the lines of the Pass of Ruins that crossed the mountains and led to the realm of Owyllain proper.

  And as she did, her eyes lingered, as they often did, upon the white shape of the Tower of Nightmares.

  It occupied one of the highest foothills before the entrance to the pass, and from a distance, it looked like a collection of white bones crowning the gray hill. Tamara shivered and looked away at once. If she cast the spell to sense the presence of magical forces, she would feel the twisted power writhing around the ruined tower.

  In her twenty-five years of life, a few bold adventurers had entered the Tower in pursuit of hidden treasure. Most of them had never come out again. Those few who had returned had been gibberingly insane and had inevitably slain themselves. If anyone happened to sleep too close to the Tower, they were tormented by nightmares. In more peaceful days, the farmers and herders would sometimes sleep on their terraces during nights when the weather permitted it, but they never slept near the Tower.

  A man who fell asleep too close to the Tower might awaken as a madman.

  Tamara wondered if she had been born in the Tower. Perhaps that would explain her constant nightmares. Maybe someday, when the insanity threated to grip her, she would enter the Tower and seek answers.

  But she wasn’t that desperate, thank God for that. Not yet, anyway, and she prayed she was never that desperate.

  Then she heard the rasp of claws against the flagstones and turned, and all thoughts of the Tower of Nightmares fled from her mind.

  She was about to have more immediate problems.

  A Takai nomad atop a struthian lizard rode towards her.

  Vast herds of struthians traveled across the Takai Steppes, and this particular struthian had scales of greenish-blue. The creature was about fifteen feet long from the tip of its muzzle to the end of its tail, both its neck and tail long and slender. Its hands had three fingers and its feet had three toes, each of which ended in a sharp claw. The struthian’s head was large and angular, and its yellow eyes gazed at Tamara without blinking. The top of the creature’s back came to Tamara’s shoulder. The struthians were swift runners, but most humans could not ride them. Humans were simply too heavy for the struthians to bear for long.

  Halflings had no such limitations.

  A Takai halfling sat atop the struthian, guiding the creature with his knees. He dressed in the preferred clothes of the Takai nomads, boots and trousers and a vest of scutian hide. Swirling tattoos marked his muscled arms, and his brown hair had been lacquered into a fanciful design that sort of looked like a horned helmet. His green eyes regarded her without blinking. In one hand he carried a bronze-tipped spear, and a short bow, a quiver of arrows, and a pair of javelins hung from his saddle.

  The halfling reined up a few paces away, and Tamara gazed at him. The struthian sniffed at Tamara, squawked in disgust, and turned its long neck away.

  “Northwind thinks you smell like chickens,” said the halfling in Latin with the burred accent of the Takai tribes.

  “Well, Magatai, you smell like Northwind,” said Tamara. She patted the struthian’s scaly hide, and the creature squawked in approval.

  “Bah,” said Magatai. “Magatai smells of struthians and leather, which is how a warrior should smell. A manly smell that is too strong for the weak stomachs
of humans.”

  “Undoubtedly,” said Tamara. “You have news?”

  “Aye,” said Magatai. “The scouts of the Tumak Valatai have seen a warband of the muridachs creeping through the hills. The Windcallers have spoken to the wind, and believe the muridachs will attack your outer farms to the east. The Tumak in his wisdom has sent Magatai to warn you humans of your danger.”

  “We must tell Sir Rion at once,” said Tamara. “Will you show us the way to the muridachs?”

  “Magatai will,” he agreed. “And Magatai will fight alongside you, for humans must be shown how to fight as the warriors of the Takai people do. Come, Tamara Earthcaller! Let us speak to your Sir Rion, and then show the slinking muridachs the true face of war.”

  Tamara nodded and walked alongside Northwind as Magatai guided his mount towards the keep.

  The Takai had started calling her Tamara Earthcaller, and the name had spread to the people of Kalimnos. She understood it was meant as an honor. The Windcallers were the priests and loremasters of the Takai people, acting as advisors to their Tumaks. They also used the magic of elemental air, calling the wind and lightning and storm to aid the Takai against their enemies. Just as the Windcallers could summon the magic of the wind, so could Tamara call the power of elemental earth, and hence the Takai had started calling her the Earthcaller.

  She felt unworthy of the honor because she knew not where her magic had come from, or how she had learned to wield it.

  But right now, that was unimportant. If the muridach warband was not stopped, it would burn farms and fields and carry men and women and children off into slavery in the dark tunnels where the muridachs made their homes.

  Tamara couldn’t brood. She had work to do.

  ###

  A half-hour later the militia had been called out and marched in haste through the foothills.

  Kalimnos was far from the heart of Owyllain and the War of the Seven Swords, but that did not mean the men of the town were unused to danger. The dvargir and the kobolds often raided out of the Deeps, to say nothing of the harassment from the muridachs as they passed through on their way to their war with the gray elves of the Illicaeryn Jungle. Throughout Tamara’s life, the town’s militia had been called out at least once a month to deal with a threat.

  This was the third time they had marched to deal with a foe in the last four weeks.

  Sir Rion Lysias strode at the head of the militiamen, wearing the bronze armor of an Arcanius Knight, the plume of his helm stirring in the breeze coming down from the mountains. From what Tamara understood, Rion Lysias had been banished to Kalimnos as punishment for trying to seduce the concubines of other men. Given how fat Rion had gotten, Tamara could not see the attraction. Perhaps he had been more rakish in his youth. Still, whatever his faults, he was not a coward, and he did not hide in the castra while the militia marched to face enemies.

  Tamara walked behind Sir Rion and Magatai, her staff in hand. Melex and her brothers marched near her. Melex had the bronze armor of a hoplite from his time serving in Kothlaric Pendragon’s host in his younger days, but her brothers only had leather adorned with bronze studs. In Owyllain, women did not fight, save for the Sisters of the Order of the Arcanii. Tamara was not a Sister of the Arcanii, but nonetheless, she accompanied the militia. Her magic, Sir Rion had said, was the match for most of the Arcanius Knights.

  It was an uneasy thought, but Tamara put it out of her mind.

  She had been in enough fights to know that inattention could be fatal.

  Magatai led the way, and the militia marched east through the foothills. At first, all the hills were terraced, crops growing on the tiers. All the hills near the town had been terraced and planted over the centuries, making the hills look like step pyramids covered in grain and olives. Thanks to the terraces and a clever system of irrigation to catch the rain from the steppes’ violent storms, the farms of Kalimnos were as fertile as any in the realm of Owyllain.

  But as they went further east, the hills became rougher, the slopes dotted with grasses and small, tough trees. There were only a few farmers this far from the town, bold souls who hoped to carve a life for themselves in the hills. The farther a man lived from the town, the more opportunity there was to be had…but the greater the dangers.

  They passed one of the outer farms, herds of scutians and pigs grazing in a broad valley between two of the hills, and Magatai bade them stop. Tamara looked around. The farm seemed a pleasant enough place, with two wooden barns and a single-story house of brick. Tough grasses grew on the valley floor, and it looked like a good place to pasture animals. Tamara remembered that one of the sons of the town’s master smith and his family farmed out here.

  “Sir Rion,” said Magatai. “The scouts of my Tumak say the muridachs will come from that direction.” He pointed at a narrow path that wound between two of the hills. “They think to burn the farm and seize the herds for themselves, to drive them south to aid their campaign against the gray elves.”

  “I see,” said Rion. Despite his age and bulk and tendency to wheeze on a long march, the Arcanius Knight’s voice was still strong and commanding. “What do you suggest then, warrior?”

  “Magatai suggests an ambush,” the Takai halfling said at once. “Hide yourselves in the barn and behind those boulders.” He pointed at the barn and the large boulders piled at the edge of the valley, no doubt cleared from the field by generations of labor. “When the ratmen have committed themselves, serve them sword and spear and teach them the folly of attacking the friends of the Takai.”

  “This counsel seems good to me,” said Sir Rion. He turned and gave a rapid stream of orders to Melex and the other older men. The militiamen broke up, running to conceal themselves in the barn or behind the boulders. “Tamara?”

  “My lord?” said Tamara.

  “You know what to do,” said Rion.

  Tamara nodded. “Wait until they are bunched up, and then use my magic.”

  “Precisely,” said Rion. “Stay hidden until I sound my horn.” He tapped the old war horn that hung at his belt. “When I do, we shall strike. Confuse and hamper the enemy as much as you can. If God is with us, we shall drive back the muridachs.”

  “And, I, Magatai, shall join the fray as well,” announced Magatai.

  “Don’t charge at them until we show ourselves,” said Rion, who was familiar with Magatai’s preferred method of battle.

  Magatai took no offense. “Not until the trap is sprung. Then we shall prevail!”

  “Yes,” said Rion. “Go, both of you.”

  Tamara nodded, picked her vantage point, and ran towards it. She ducked behind one of the piles of boulders, holding her staff before her. Once she was in place, she cast a simple spell of earth magic, sending her will into the ground beneath her feet. She felt the weight of her body against the ground, and she also felt the weight of the men hiding in the barns and scattered around the valley. Tamara held the spell in place, keeping her breathing slow and steady and her mind cleared as she gathered magical force for another spell.

  The muridachs began swarming down the gap into the valley about a quarter of an hour later.

  There were about fifty or sixty of the creatures, and from her hiding place behind the boulders, Tamara had a good look at them. The muridachs looked like men with the heads of black-furred rats. Most of them stood about five and a half feet tall, but some of them rose to six feet, and a few of them were huge, standing seven and a half feet tall, their bodies bulging with muscle. Those were created with the dark magic of the priests of the Lord of Carrion, the muridach god, and were stronger and more vicious than normal muridachs. The muridachs had front teeth that looked like massive yellow chisels. Whiskers twitched next to their slime-covered noses, and most of the muridachs wore earrings of bronze and copper in their ragged, pointed ears. Their hands looked like a cross between a rat’s paws and human hands, the fingers topped with long claws. Most of the muridachs wore leather armor reinforced with bronze studs, swords an
d daggers at their belts. Nearly all the muridachs had long pink tails coiling behind them, as long and as thick as Tamara’s leg. From what she understood, the muridachs considered the loss of their tails as disfiguring as a facial scar on a human, and tailless muridachs tended to fight with particular viciousness.

  The muridachs paused at the edge of the valley, their whiskers twitching as they smelled the air. Tamara knew that the valley would smell like humans, but it would also smell like scutians and pigs, and there were few things as pungent as pig droppings. Hopefully, that would overwhelm or at least mask the smell of the militiamen. The muridachs conferred among themselves for a moment in their own tongue, the harsh deep rasp of their voices coming to Tamara’s ears. From their rat-like appearance, she always thought the voices of the muridachs ought to be high-pitched and chittering, but instead, they spoke in those deep rasps.

  Their laughs, though, their horrible high-pitched laughs, were much worse.

  At last, the muridachs reached a decision, and they headed towards the barn. Tamara tensed, bracing herself for action. The muridachs’ path was taking them right between the barn and a pile of boulders where the rest of the militiamen had concealed themselves. Any minute now Sir Rion would sound his horn. Tamara drew as much magic as she could hold into herself, grateful that there were no priests of the Lord of Carrion among the muridachs. The muridach priests could use dark magic, and they would have been able to sense the power she had gathered like a beacon in a dark room.

  Then the horn rang out, loud and clear, and everything happened at once.

  The militiamen charged from the barn and behind the boulders, rushing towards the muridachs with shields raised. The men of Kalimnos had been in many skirmishes, and the militiamen were experienced fighters. They advanced in haste, but in good order, presenting a solid wall of shields to the muridachs, spears drawn back to stab. Sir Rion ran with the group from the barn, and he cast a spell of elemental air, a forked lightning bolt that struck two of the muridachs and killed them.