Sevenfold Sword: Shadow
Page 16
Ridmark planted himself in front of the gap in the boulders, Oathshield in his right hand. Third, Calem, Tamlin, and Krastikon spread out around him. Ridmark wondered if the muridachs would recognize that three of the Seven Swords were in front of them. That might scare them off.
Or they might try to claim the power of those three Swords for themselves.
The muridach force came into sight. Ridmark thought there were fifty or sixty of the creatures. Most of them looked like the muridach warriors he had fought earlier, but he spotted a dozen of the hulking berserkers in their midst, those double-bladed bronze battleaxes in their clawed hands. Behind the warriors came five muridach priests in their crimson cowls and mantles, their wooden staffs topped with mummified muridach skulls.
The muridachs were advancing in good order, bronze shields raised, swords drawn back to stab. Ridmark realized that the muridachs had no intention of talking this time.
They were here to fight. Perhaps the muridachs had decided to avenge their earlier defeat. Or maybe they had realized that Tamlin, Calem, Krastikon, and Kalussa all carried magical weapons of tremendous potency and wanted to claim those weapons for themselves. Or maybe they simply wanted Ridmark’s and Calem’s dark elven armor.
“It seems the time for discussion has ended,” said Krastikon. He cast a spell, and his shield flickered with purple light.
“Yes,” said Ridmark, and he glanced back at Calliande. She nodded, and both she and Kalussa began casting spells. Kyralion raised his bow and began shooting, sending burning arrows stabbing through the air. He shot down two of the muridachs, and one of the priests bellowed something in the muridach tongue.
The creatures shouted and surged forward. The berserkers charged in an angry mob, and the warriors advanced behind them, trying to keep their shield wall intact. All five of the priests began casting spells, strange greenish light and mist swirling around their staffs.
Calliande and Kalussa struck first.
Kalussa hurled a burning crystal sphere that shot past the warriors and exploded through the head of a muridach priest. The priest fell dead to the ground, the green light around his staff vanishing. Calliande unleashed her own spell, and again she sent a distortion rolling through the ground. It flowed around Ridmark and the others, but it slammed into the muridachs. It threw the berserkers from their feet and disrupted the formation of the warriors.
“Now!” said Ridmark, and he charged, drawing on Oathshield for speed and strength.
He reached one of the berserkers before the hulking creature could rise, and his soulblade stabbed down and sank into the muridach’s throat. The ratman bellowed, slime flying from his mouth, and then went limp, his red-glazed black eyes glaring up at the sky. Ridmark did not hesitate, but ripped Oathshield free and struck down another berserker as the hulking creature started to rise.
The others went on the attack. Calem, Tamlin, and Krastikon each struck, and their Swords cut through armor and flesh and bone with ease. Third methodically killed two berserkers, and then the rest of the warriors charged with a scream.
Ridmark wheeled to meet them, Oathshield trailing white fire.
###
The magic of the Well surged through Calliande, and she fused it to the mantle of the Keeper, preparing another spell.
The four remaining muridach priests were more powerful than the one they had faced earlier. Already all four priests had cast wards around themselves strong enough to deflect Kalussa’s crystalline spheres, and they had joined their powers together to prepare another attack. Their magic roiled and seethed before Calliande’s Sight, cold and corruptive and insidious. It reminded her of the necromantic magic that Qazaldhar had wielded.
She wondered if the Maledictus of Death had instructed the muridach priests the way that he had instructed Taerdyn and that Khurazalin had taught Rypheus.
Then the priests struck.
They unleashed a wave of billowing green mist. It passed through the muridach warriors, and Calliande wondered if the priests had decided to sacrifice their own warriors. Given the muridach contempt for life, it would not have surprised her. Yet the poisoned mist did not affect the muridachs, who appeared immune to its power.
Ridmark and the others would not share that immunity.
Calliande shouted and thrust her staff, and white light exploded from it. Her warding spell rushed across the battle in a wall of translucent light, and she gritted her teeth as she fought to hold the spell in place. The wall slammed into the advancing mist, and she felt the strain in her mind as her will struggled against the muridachs’ necromancy.
Her will, backed by the power of the Keeper’s mantle, proved the stronger, and she shattered their attack. The muridach priests reeled back, and Calliande was already casting again. Her next spell sent a shaft of pale white fire lancing across the battle, and it struck one of the priests, lancing through his defensive wards. Kalussa was ready at once, and she threw a bolt of magical fire that blasted into the priest’s unprotected chest.
The muridach priest fell dead, and the remaining three started another spell.
Calliande summoned more magic to counter them.
###
Tamara heard fighting echoing through the pass ahead.
There was the familiar sound of swords and shields clanging, and the harsh roar of muridach warriors shouting as they attacked. All that was familiar to Tamara. But there were other things she had not seen before – brilliant flashes of white light, accompanied by thunderclaps and booms. She sensed powerful magic ahead, felt it brushing against her arcane senses like the heat of the sun against her face.
“That light,” said Telemachus. “What is that?”
“Powerful magic, sir,” said Tamara. “I’ve…never felt anything quite like it.”
Sir Rion frowned. “Are the muridachs wielding it?”
“No,” said Tamara. “The strangers are.”
She hoped they were friendly. With that kind of power, the strangers could do great harm to Kalimnos.
Then they passed another boulder, and the battle came into sight.
A mob of muridach warriors struggled against a group of five men. No – four men and a woman in dark armor and clothing. The far larger number of muridachs ought to have overwhelmed them, but the five held their own.
What was more, they were winning.
Tamara spotted a dark-haired man in blue armor and a gray cloak. There was a burning sword in his hands, its blade wreathed in white fire. He was moving fast, far faster than anyone should have been able to move, and even as Tamara looked, he swung the burning sword with both hands, the blade a blur of white fire. His blow took off a muridach warrior’s head, and the body and the rat-like head fell to the ground. Behind the fighters, Tamara glimpsed a pair of women, and she felt magic radiating from them as they cast spells.
“Looks like they don’t need help,” said Telemachus.
“Bah!” said Magatai. “No Takai warrior would flinch from a worthy fight!”
“And neither shall we,” said Rion. “Let us make some friends. Telemachus, advance! Tamara, use your magic when we strike. Let us attack the muridachs from the back and crush them against the strangers!”
Telemachus bellowed a command, and the hoplites formed themselves into a line and advanced, shields raised, swords drawn back to strike. Tamara walked behind them, pulling together the magic of the earth for a spell. Northwind trotted next to her, Magatai setting an arrow to his bowstring. A ripple went through the muridachs as they spotted the new threat, and some of the creatures started to turn.
“Charge!” bellowed Rion.
The hoplites broke into a run, and Tamara cast a spell, her will sending a ripple through the earth. Her magic knocked down the first rank of the muridachs, and the hoplites crashed into them, swords rising and falling as they killed.
###
A muridach berserker sprang at Tamlin, and he ducked underneath the sweep of the massive axe, the bronze blade blurring an inch above the
top of his helmet. Before the huge creature could recover, Tamlin slashed with the Sword of Earth, and the blade sliced through the axe’s haft, sending the bronze blades flying. The berserker overbalanced from the sudden loss of weight, and Tamlin swung his weapon.
The Sword sheared through the berserker’s neck. The head tumbled away, and Tamlin jumped to the side as the heavy body fell to the ground.
He turned at once, seeking another foe. The muridachs had learned the danger of the Sword of Earth by now, and were wary, hanging back. He saw Ridmark and Third fighting side-by-side as they usually did, Third stunning and wounding the muridach warriors so Ridmark could land killing blows with Oathshield. Calem and Krastikon carved their way into the muridachs, the Swords of Death and Air leaving dead muridachs and pieces of dead muridachs in their wake. Magic snapped back and forth as Calliande and Kalussa dueled the remaining three muridach priests.
Bronze flashed in the sun, and Tamlin stepped back, the Sword of Earth raised in guard.
His first thought was that more muridachs had arrived. Then he saw a line of hoplites attacking from the rear, crashing into the muridach warriors. In that moment of distraction, Calliande and Kalussa killed another of the priests.
Tamlin grinned behind his helm. It seemed that help had arrived. Likely these hoplites were from Kalimnos, and he would not let them fight alone.
He charged into the fray, cutting down another muridach.
###
The remaining muridachs crumpled beneath the two-pronged assault, and Tamara cast another spell. A ripple through the earth knocked another half-dozen muridachs to the ground, and the hoplites struck. Next to Tamara, Magatai sent arrow after arrow humming from his bow, singing a battle song in the Takai tongue as he did so. As Tamara watched, the two sorceresses killed another muridach priest with a burst of white fire followed by something that looked like a thumb-sized crystalline sphere, and the man with the burning sword hewed his way forward with every step.
The muridachs had seen enough.
The survivors fled for the slopes, making towards one of the gray elven ruins further up the mountainside that no doubt concealed an entrance to the Deeps. Rion and Telemachus shouted orders, commanding the hoplites to hold their ground. One of the muridachs’ favorite tricks was to feign retreat, only to turn and encircle their enemies in an enclosed space. Though the muridachs had just been beaten so soundly that Tamara doubted they wanted to do anything but flee.
She took a step forward, and then her eyes fell upon the warrior with the green sword.
Tamara froze in shock.
The warrior was wearing the bronze plate armor of an Arcanius Knight, a red cloak hanging from his shoulders and a bronze helmet upon his head. He wielded a green sword that seemed to cut through bronze and flesh and bone as if they had been butter, and as he turned, Tamara caught a glimpse of gray eyes beneath the helmet.
She had never seen this man before in her life.
But she knew him at once.
He had haunted her dreams for the last several years. Sometimes she had dark dreams of blood and death. Other times they were pleasant dreams as his arms curled around her and her body pressed against his.
Her first thought was amazement.
Her second thought was an unexpected rush of affection for this man.
And Tamara’s third thought was an almost absurd sense of relief.
If the gray-eyed warrior was real, then she wasn’t insane. She hadn’t been dreaming of delusions.
Granted, that didn’t explain why she had been dreaming about the gray-eyed warrior, but she wasn’t insane. Whatever else she was, she wasn’t a madwoman.
Though it did make her wonder what she really was.
Then the gray-eyed warrior spotted her.
His shock was plain. He froze for a moment, and her eyes met his, and a shiver went down Tamara’s nerves. The warrior pulled off his helm, revealing sweaty black hair and gray eyes in a strong face. She knew that face, somehow knew it as well as she knew her own, and she knew that the body beneath the armor would be strong and lean and scarred, and…
Tamara glanced around, but the muridachs were fleeing.
The battle was over.
She walked to the gray-eyed man, gazing at him as his face worked.
“I know you,” she said. “I don’t know how, but I somehow know you.”
“Yes,” said the warrior. “I…my name is Sir Tamlin of Aenesium.”
Tamara blinked. “It is, isn’t it? My name is Tamara. How do we know each other, Sir Tamlin? I’ve never been to Aenesium.”
“I don’t know,” said Tamlin, “but we came here to find you.”
###
Ridmark lowered Oathshield, breathing hard.
The surviving muridachs fled into the hills. Ridmark glanced over his companions, but he saw that they had come through unscathed. So had the bronze-armored hoplites. Ridmark guessed they had come from Kalimnos, and he thought he had better speak to their leader at once.
“Ridmark,” said Third. “Look.”
Ridmark turned his head and saw Tamlin staring at a woman.
She was dressed oddly, at least by the standards of Owyllain, with dusty boots, trousers, a vest of scutian leather over a shirt, and a long coat. In her right hand, she carried a wooden staff carved with sigils, and her dark hair had been bound back from her head.
The woman looked exactly as Tirdua of Trojas had looked.
No. There was one difference. Tirdua’s right eye had been a cold blue, but her left eye had been a strange, brilliant silver color. This woman’s right eye was blue, but her left eye was a vivid purple.
Ridmark supposed they had just found the seventh shard.
Somehow, he had expected it to take more searching. He had not thought to have the seventh shard come to their aid in battle with a troop of hoplite soldiers.
“Hail!” said one of the hoplites. No, not a hoplite – he had the more elaborate armor of an Arcanius Knight. Though it looked as if the armor had been made for a younger and fitter man. “Well met, strangers. I am Sir Rion Lysias, the praefectus of the town of Kalimnos. We thought to come to your rescue against the muridachs, but it seems you needed little aid. Might we know your names?”
“Fear not,” said Ridmark. “We come in peace. I am Ridmark Arban, the Shield Knight of Andomhaim. This is my wife Calliande, the Keeper of Andomhaim.” Rion’s bloodshot eyes widened. Clearly, he recognized the name of Andomhaim. “This is Lady Third of Nightmane Forest, Kyralion of the gray elves, Sir Calem, a knight in my service, Sir Tamlin of Aenesium, Prince Krastikon Cyros of Trojas, and Lady Kalussa Pendragon of Aenesium.”
Rion’s eyes got even wider. He also recognized the names of Pendragon and Cyros.
“A mighty company, then,” said Rion, “and I sense you have many strange tales to tell.”
Krastikon snorted. “That, sir knight, is an understatement.”
“What business brings you to Kalimnos, Lord Ridmark?” said Rion. “I dare not hope it is to aid us against the muridachs, for we have been sorely pressed of late. But any aid would be…”
“God and the apostles!”
The cry had come from one the hoplites, an older man with the look of a tough veteran. He had pulled off his helmet to reveal a thin face marked with deep lines, and his eyes had gone wide as he looked at Sir Calem.
“What is it, Telemachus?” said Rion.
“That’s the Sword of Air, my lord,” said Telemachus. “God, the apostles, and all the saints. That is the Sword of Air.”
“Impossible,” said Rion, but Ridmark saw the realization start to work its way across his face.
“I remember,” said Telemachus. “I remember when we marched against the Sovereign with the High King, and I saw the High King bring those accursed Swords out of the ruin of Urd Maelwyn. And…”
“It is the Sword of Air,” said Calliande in a quiet voice. “And Prince Krastikon bears the Sword of Death, and Sir Tamlin the Sword of Earth.”
“Sir Rion,” said Ridmark. “Perhaps we ought to come to Kalimnos and speak. I think we have a great many things to discuss.”
“Aye,” said Rion, shaking off his shock. “Aye, I think we do.”
Chapter 10: The Guardian's Ward
The great hall of Kalimnos’s castra was a modest place, but it would suit the discussion at hand.
Truth be told, Tamlin barely noticed, nor had he paid much attention to his surroundings since he had laid eyes upon Tysia once more.
Or Tamara. Tamara was her name this time. Tamara Earthcaller, the men of Kalimnos and that crazy halfling on the struthian called her, though she seemed not to like the title.
She was different than Tysia, different than Tirdua. Tysia had been quiet and gentle and had never lifted her hand in violence. Tirdua had been quiet as well, though hers was the silence of caution and restrained violence, her eyes looking for agents of the Necromancer. Tamara’s quiet was the silence of competence, of restrained power and self-discipline. She seemed to have considerable power with earth magic and was not hesitant about employing that magic in battle.
But other than that, and the differently colored left eye, she was identical to Tysia and Tirdua. She walked in the same confident way, had the same gestures and mannerisms, had the same way of pushing back her dark hair from her face. Tamara also gave him the same shy, sidelong glances that Tirdua had, though unlike Tirdua, she had not reacted with terror to his appearance, but rather puzzled fascination.
It both tore at Tamlin’s heart and made it soar.
“Find me again,” both Tysia and Tirdua had told him. “The New God is coming.”