Sevenfold Sword: Shadow

by Jonathan Moeller

  “How are you?” said Calem.

  “I am well,” said Kalussa. “Ah…I am not with child. I know that much. The Keeper said the Sight would tell her if I conceived. It would also let her know if the child was a boy or a girl. She knew that her sons would be sons before they were born, and…” She realized that nervousness was making her ramble, and she forced herself to stop. “Calem. How are you?”

  “I am sorry,” said Calem at once. “I should have had better self-control. I should have stopped myself. I…”

  “No,” said Kalussa. “It is my fault. I practically threw myself at you and dragged you into bed with me. It…” She frowned and tried to clear her mind. “It was a mistake.”

  He flinched a little as if she had slapped him.

  “I don’t think we should blame each other for what happened,” continued Kalussa, forcing the words from her throat. “The spell twisted our minds. It made Krastikon think that his father was still alive, and it made us think we were married. So, we acted like it. I think…I think we should try to forget that it happened…and I think we shouldn’t talk to each other any longer.”

  Calem said nothing, but all the life seemed to drain from his eyes.

  “I…we have to be careful,” said Kalussa. “You have the Sword of Air, and I have the Staff of Blades. We can’t…we can’t act dishonorably. Or foolishly. We just can’t make mistakes. If we make mistakes, people might die. And I think what we did…I think it was a mistake, and we should avoid each other.”

  Calem just stared at her. His expression did not change, but it seemed to return to the blank, indifferent mask he had worn when he had come to Myllene to kill Ridmark, when he had still been under the control of his secret master.

  “If that is what you think best,” said Calem.

  “I do,” said Kalussa. She stood up and took the Staff. “I…I will see you when we depart, Sir Calem.”

  He inclined his head. “Lady Kalussa.”

  Kalussa turned and walked into the agora. It was deserted so far, thank God, and she stopped and tried to get her breathing under control, the crystal at the end of the Staff of Blades shifting and twitching in response to her roiling emotions.

  Her eyes kept burning, and it was all she could do to hold back the sobbing.

  She had done the wise thing.

  Hadn’t she?

  Then why did she feel more miserable than she had in her entire life?

  ###

  Tamara finished loading her possessions into the pack and attached it to the scutian’s harness.

  She didn’t have much. Just some spare clothing and a dagger. But she had never needed or wanted much in the way of material goods, and she doubted that would change now. No, what Tamara really wanted was neither wealth nor power but knowledge.

  She wanted answers.

  Calliande and Tamlin had already given her some answers.

  Perhaps she could find more as she traveled with them.

  She stepped away from the scutian and picked up her staff from where she had leaned it against the wall of the inn. Her new staff, anyway, the metal smooth and cool beneath her fingers. Despite its smoothness, she never had any trouble keeping a grip on it, and Calliande said that was a property of the gray elven steel. The Keeper had examined the staff with the Sight and declared it safe to use. The spells on the staff would augment and enhance any magic directed through it. In the hands of a powerful wizard like Lord Amruthyr, it would have been an awesome weapon.

  In Tamara’s hands, it wouldn’t be nearly so dangerous, but she would put it to good use nonetheless.

  “All packed?”

  Tamara turned and smiled as she saw Tamlin striding towards her. He was in his armor and red cloak, helmet tucked under his arm, the Sword of Earth on his left hip.

  “I think so,” said Tamara. “I don’t need much, and between what you brought from Aenesium and what Sir Rion gave us, we are well supplied with food.”

  “Yes, I imagine Sir Rion was grateful that you saved the town,” said Tamlin.

  She laughed and hit him in the arm, though not very hard. “I didn’t save the town. Lord Ridmark did. I just helped.”

  “And if we ask Lord Ridmark if he saved Kalimnos, he’ll only grunt, scowl at us, and say that he had help,” said Tamlin. Tamara laughed at that despite herself. “I think we can agree that the five of you managed to save the town.”

  “I’m glad,” said Tamara. She took a long breath and looked around her home. “I would not…I would not have wanted to leave a ruin behind me. I am glad my father and brothers will be safe.”

  “Will you miss Kalimnos?” said Tamlin.

  “Yes,” said Tamara. “I was happy here, Tamlin. I always wondered who I was and why I had such nightmares, how I learned magic, but I was happy.” She took a deep breath, let it out. “But I have to know. I have to find out who I am really am, or who I was.”

  “I understand,” said Tamlin. “I grew up at the Monastery of St. James, and it is now a ruin. I wish it wasn’t.” He paused. “And…I hope I am able to help you discover the truth.”

  “Thank you,” said Tamara. A wave of boldness took her, and she grasped Tamlin’s right hand, squeezed it, and then let go. “And I hope I can find out more about you, too.”

  He smiled, some of the shadows lifting from his face. “I would like that. Ready?”

  Tamara nodded, and Tamlin helped her lead the pack scutians from the inn’s yard.

  ###

  Ridmark looked back at the others.

  Calliande walked behind him, her green cloak streaming in the cool wind coming down from the mountains. Next came Kalussa, her face solemn, her blue eyes distant as she stared at nothing. After them followed Third and Kyralion, and then Tamlin and Tamara. Krastikon and Calem brought up the back, leading their train of pack scutians. Northwind loped next to them, Magatai sitting upon the struthian’s back, his eyes roving over the hills as he searched for foes.

  Ridmark glanced at Tamara. They had found at least some of the answers they had sought in Kalimnos.

  Perhaps Tamlin’s mother held the rest at the Monastery of St. James.

  “Magatai?” called Ridmark. “Which way?”

  “Eastward, friend Ridmark,” said Magatai. “Fear not! Magatai will watch for foes. None shall escape his vigilance.”

  “Another journey?” murmured Calliande.

  Ridmark nodded. “Another journey.”

  They continued to the east, keeping to the foothills.

  Epilogue

  The Maledictus Khurazalin stood in the hidden laboratory beneath Urd Maelwyn, one of the sealed chambers that the Confessor, despite all his assiduous searching, had never found.

  The Sovereign had possessed many secrets, and not even the Confessor knew them all.

  The laboratory was a round chamber built of the white stone the dark elves and the gray elves had used to construct their citadels. A standing circle of black menhirs dominated the space, the reliefs on their surfaces glowing with eerie blue light. An altar of rough black stone rested in the center of the circle, and upon the altar lay a naked orcish woman of about twenty years, her skin a healthy shade of green, her hair thick and black, her tusks white, her limbs heavy with muscle.

  Khurazalin’s remaining eye of flesh beheld her and noted that she was desirable. Such things hardly mattered. The needs of the flesh were irrelevant, save how they might impact his duties for the New God.

  And the joys of the flesh were pale, feeble things compared to the power of dark magic.

  The Maledictus of Life stood over the altar, golden light blazing around his fingers.

  Unlike the other Maledicti, the Maledictus of Life had never been undead. The very nature of his power prevented it. His golden robes hung around him, his face hidden beneath the jade mask of the Immortal One that his deluded followers had given him. The golden light blazed brighter and brighter around his fingers as he worked his spell, and Khurazalin sensed the power as his brother’s spell
reached out and summoned Mhazhama’s spirit. Granted, it was easy to find the spirit of the Maledictus of Air.

  So long as the Sword of Air remained intact, Mhazhama could never die.

  The Maledictus of Life finished his spell, and the golden light washed out from him. The circle of dark menhirs shivered, their symbols glowing brighter, and Mhazhama’s black eyes popped open. She sat up with a cry, her chest heaving, her eyes glimmering crimson with battle rage.

  “Impossible!” she said. “Impossible!”

  Her voice trailed off as she looked around the laboratory.

  “Welcome back, sister,” said Khurazalin.

  Mhazhama’s expression twisted. “It seems that I have failed in my duty to our master.”

  “Fear not,” said Khurazalin, beckoning. “Many of us have failed against the Shield Knight.” Mhazhama rose to her feet and picked up the silvery robe that lay on the floor. “And as our master has said, failures are the stones from which the tower of victory is built.”

  Though Khurazalin had to admit there had been more failures than victories of late.

  Mhazhama donned the silvery robe of the Maledictus of Air, and Khurazalin was amused that he felt a flicker of disappointment as she covered her nakedness. The needs of the flesh were indeed annoying. But he would be undead soon enough, with no distractions within his mind as he wielded the forces of dark magic in the name of the New God.

  “Come,” said Khurazalin. “Our master awaits.”

  He led the way through a door and into the next room, a long hall of white stone, and Mhazhama and the Immortal One followed him. An alchemical and sorcerous laboratory occupied most of the space. Strange machines of arcane purpose stood along the walls, and long wooden tables held intricate instruments of glass and brass. Dozens of bronze chains hung from the ceiling, leading towards a metal circle set in the center of the floor. Once that was where Calem had been enspelled with his instructions, removing the need to influence another bearer of the Seven Swords.

  That, too, had gone wrong.

  The Masked One of Xenorium stood near the bronze circle, a dark shadow in his black armor and cloak and masked helm. The Maledictus of Shadows hovered near him, swathed in his gray robes and mists, and the Maledictus of Water stood a short distance away, cloaked in his blue robes.

  “Return to your duties,” said the Masked One to the Immortal One. “Too much longer and your followers shall become restless.”

  The Maledictus of Life bowed and cast the travel spell, vanishing from sight.

  The four remaining Maledicti faced their master.

  “It seems the Shield Knight and the Keeper have proven even more dangerous than we thought,” said the Masked One, his armored fingers drumming against the hilt of the Sword of Shadows. “How shall we destroy them?”

  “Perhaps we can induce the Confessor to move against them,” said Mhazhama.

  The Maledictus of Water shook his head. He was undead, and a rime of frost covered his leathery flesh, the ice crystals glittering in the blue glow from his eye sockets. “The Confessor will not act until he is ready.” His voice was like the cold moan of freezing wind over a grave. “He is already suspicious of us. He will use the help of the Maledicti when it is offered, but he still thinks to seize the Seven Swords for himself and use their power to take the New God’s place.”

  “It is clever of him,” said Khurazalin. “Let others do the work of uniting the Seven Swords, and he shall seize the prize in the final mile of the race.”

  “The Confessor was ever cunning,” said the Masked One, and there was a hint of mockery in the metallic voice. “But he will not act against the Shield Knight and the Keeper unless they come for him.”

  “At least the Guardian Morigna can no longer warn them of our plans,” said Mhazhama.

  “Yes,” said the Masked One. “They walked into Kalimnos with no warning, and still they escaped the trap. What shall we do to defeat them?”

  “Nothing,” said Khurazalin as the idea came to him.

  “Explain,” said the Masked One.

  “They are going to free Cathala,” said Khurazalin. “Assuming they are not caught up in Qazaldhar’s destruction of the gray elves, they will reach the ruins of the monastery and free Cathala. And in her pride and folly, she will destroy them.” He looked at the Maledictus of Shadows. “Especially once our brother has had a chance to whisper in her ear.”

  “Some are strong enough to resist me.” The Maledictus of Shadows’ hissing voice echoed inside of Khurazalin’s head. “She will not be.”

  Another idea came to Khurazalin. “And not if we give her the spell to control Sir Calem at the same time.”

  For a moment silence filled the laboratory.

  Then the Maledictus of Water began to chuckle, the sound like ice cracking. Mhazhama added her rusty cackle to his laugh.

  “How very cruel,” said Mhazhama. “Worthy of Khurazalin the Corrupter indeed.”

  Khurazalin inclined his cowled head in acknowledgment.

  “We shall turn our foes’ strength against them,” said the Masked One. “So be it. Allow them to free Cathala…and we shall turn her into our weapon against them.”

  Khurazalin felt himself smile. Poor Tamlin Thunderbolt was no doubt looking forward to freeing his mother.

  How he would regret it.

  ###

  In the heart of the Durance, the Guardian Morigna paced back and forth inside of her prison.

  Such as it was.

  She was a spirit, not flesh, so she could not be tortured as a living woman could. Thirst and hunger meant nothing to her. Even the passing of time itself was not a problem.

  Her real problems were far more urgent.

  Morigna’s prison was a ring of dark elven menhirs, perhaps thirty yards in diameter. Beyond the circle of standing stones rose the mist-choked forest of the Durance, the hellish world within the Masked One’s spell-wrought prison. Morigna had seen no one else since the Maledicti had dropped her here, save for one other person.

  The mad smith who had forged the Seven Swords for the Sovereign still wandered the Durance.

  Even Morigna was surprised that Irizidur was still alive.

  In time, Morigna knew, she could break free of the prison. A thousand years or so, she thought, and she would erode the spells on the menhirs and break free. From her perspective, from the perspective of a mind freed from the constraints of the flesh, that did not seem so long.

  But she didn’t have a thousand years to waste.

  More importantly, the Shield Knight didn’t have a thousand years.

  The was something she could try. A desperate gamble, she knew, but desperate times had come.

  Because if Morigna did not help the Shield Knight, the Maledicti would kill Ridmark and everyone else with him.

  She summoned magical power and set to work.

  THE END

  Thank you for reading SEVENFOLD SWORD: SHADOW!

  But there are more adventures to come for Ridmark and Calliande in SEVENFOLD SWORD: UNITY, the next book in the series coming in mid 2018.

  If you liked the book, please consider leaving a review at your ebook site of choice. To receive immediate notification of new releases, sign up for my newsletter, or watch for news on my Facebook page.

  Other books by the author

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