“Intercessor Angashalis?” said Khulmak, his voice becoming slightly more polite.
“Our unexpected allies,” said Angashalis, his yellow eyes turning towards Ridmark. Those eyes did not blink. He recalled that snakes never blinked, having clear protective shields over their eyes instead. “I would speak with them.”
“As you wish, Intercessor,” said Khulmak.
“Might we know your name, then?” said Ridmark.
“As the captain has mentioned, I am Angashalis, an Intercessor of Xophiramus,” said Angashalis. Ridmark had half-expected the hooded xiatami to speak with a hissing sibilance. Instead, Angashalis spoke the orcish tongue with perfect clarity and diction, though there was a strange deadness, almost apathy, to his tone. “You named yourself and your mate as the Shield Knight and the Keeper of Andomhaim. Is this truth or falsehood?”
“It is the truth,” said Ridmark. He had the uneasy feeling that the Intercessor already knew a great deal about them.
“I see, then,” said Angashalis. A forked tongue slid from his mouth as if tasting the air. “Yes. You indeed speak the truth, human. Then it is you and your mate who have disturbed our meditations. You have brought great chaos to Owyllain.”
Khulmak snorted. “Have they?”
“Have you not heard the rumors, captain?” murmured Angashalis. “The man before you slew both King Justin Cyros and the Necromancer of Trojas.”
Khulmak snorted again. “Indeed.”
“And his companions,” continued Angashalis with the same indifferent calm, “carry the Swords of Air, Earth, and Death.”
Khulmak started to laugh, and then his black eyes narrowed with thought.
A second later, they went wide with surprise, and he took a step back, his axe half-raised in guard.
“God and the apostles,” he muttered. “Three of the Seven Swords? A man could make himself a king with just one of them.”
“And do you intend that?” said Ridmark. He looked at Angashalis. “Or will you try to claim them for your master?”
To his astonishment, Angashalis recoiled as if struck. “No!” For the first time, there was a hint of emotion in that toneless voice, and it was fear. “The xiatami shall not claim the Seven Swords. We are not such fools. The Seven Swords bring destruction to all reckless enough to wield them, and ruin to those prideful enough to grasp their hilts.” His tongue flicked back and forth, almost blurring. “Ah. I perceive. You have been wise enough to give the three Swords to the Swordborn. That will limit their destructive force. But still…they are most dangerous.”
“Lord Intercessor,” said Calliande. “You said the Seven Swords bring destruction to all who wield them. What did you mean?”
“Is it not obvious, Keeper of Andomhaim?” said Angashalis, his voice returning to its usual dead tone as he calmed. “Perhaps not. The xiatami are an ancient kindred, and we have dwelled in this land longer than even the gray elves. Our blood is cold, while yours is hot with lusts and hungers that cloud your perception. Our cold blood gives us clear vision, and we see destruction within the Seven Swords.”
“And what manner of destruction is that, my lord?” said Calliande, calm as ever.
“The Sovereign knew he was doomed, so he forged the Seven Swords to destroy his foes,” said Angashalis. “He foresaw his defeat and prepared his vengeance upon his enemies. Have you never wondered why the Sovereign did not use the Seven Swords to save himself from his fate?”
“I have, several times,” said Calliande.
“Because they were not instruments of his salvation, but of his vengeance,” said Angashalis. “He intended them to wreak havoc upon his foes once he was slain, and so they have.”
Yet if the Sovereign had foreseen his doom, surely he would have taken steps to avoid it. And if he had the power and the skill to forge weapons of such potency as the Seven Swords to take revenge upon his enemies, then why not create weapons to destroy his enemies first?
“Have you heard of a dark power called the New God?” said Calliande.
Angashalis let out an irritated hiss. “The means of the Sovereign’s revenge. The surviving Maledicti high priests have transferred their allegiance to this dark power. The Seven Swords are the instruments of the New God’s summoning. The Intercessors and lords of the xiatami know not how, but when the Seven Swords are reunited in Cathair Animus, they shall summon the New God to this world.”
“A more urgent question occurs to me, Intercessor,” said Khulmak. “Shield Knight, if you have three of the Seven Swords, why have you come to the Serpent Marshes?”
“We seek to destroy the Seven Swords and stop the advent of the New God,” said Ridmark. “We believe the answer, or part of the answer, can be found in the ruins of the Monastery of St. James.”
“Indeed?” said Khulmak. “What is there but bones and rubble? Justin Cyros destroyed the place years ago.”
“He did,” said Angashalis. “We thought it odd. King Justin was a calculating man. He was almost like one of the xiatami in his cold-bloodedness.” From the corner of his eye, Ridmark saw Tamlin shudder. “Why take the risk to travel so many miles and cross the Serpent Marshes to destroy an obscure monastery? We thought it was a dispute over a former mate. King Justin was still human, and subject to all the lustful passions and irrationality of his human blood. And yet…years later, you come to seek secrets hidden within the ruins.”
“I have an even more urgent question than that of Captain Khulmak,” said Ridmark. “Will you hinder us in our quest, or will you let us pass?”
“An interesting question,” said Angashalis. Again, his forked tongue tasted the air. “Fighting you would be folly. Even if your Swordborn cannot access the full power of the Seven Swords, you are still deadly foes. Almost certainly my guards and I would perish in the attempt. If we were victorious, we would face the dilemma of what to do with the three Swords. And it would be to the advantage of the xiatami if you found a way to destroy the Swords. No, my guards and I shall not hinder you. Indeed, perhaps we can help each other in our tasks.”
“And what task have you been given?” said Ridmark.
“There are great stirrings and murmurings in the south,” said Angashalis. “Vast hosts of muridachs have emerged from the Deeps and march south to wage war upon the gray elves. The Circle of Lords and the Circle of Intercessors believe that the hour of doom for the gray elves have come at last, that their long path of folly has come to its final and bitter end.”
“You were sent to discover what is happening in the south?” said Ridmark. “We can help you with that. The muridach host has been broken utterly, the gray elves are victorious, and King Kyralion now reigns over them.”
“And how do you know this?” said Angashalis.
“Because we were a witness to those events,” said Ridmark.
“And Lord Ridmark killed the Great King Nerzamdrathus of the muridachs,” said Third.
Ridmark snorted and looked at her. “You won the battle. I just killed Nerzamdrathus.”
“It is true, my lord,” said Calliande. “The muridachs have been broken, and the gray elves have been cured of the plague curse that the Maledictus of Death placed upon them.”
Khulmak grunted, eyeing them with a mixture of wariness and respect. “It does explain why the other scouts have reported seeing so many muridachs fleeing towards the entrances to the Deeps. We thought they were deserters or stragglers, but…”
“But instead they were the shards of a defeated army,” said Angashalis. “Intriguing. If you defeated Justin Cyros and the Necromancer, then why shouldn’t you have defeated the muridach Great King as well? The muridachs, as you can imagine, hate and fear the xiatami, just as the skulking rat hates and fears the majestic cobra. You saved the final shards of the gray elves from their folly even as you did us a favor by breaking the muridach horde.”
“You speak of the folly of the gray elves, Intercessor,” said Third. “What do you mean?”
The hooded xiatami studied h
er. “I took you for a gray elf at first.” His tongue flicked out. “But, no…your scent is wrong. You are something else. What are you?”
“A hybrid of human and dark elf,” said Third. “And before you say that such a hybrid is impossible, and I should have become an urdhracos long ago, permit me to say that I have heard such a speech before and I imagine the xiatami find repetition just as tedious as I do.” Khulmak barked a laugh at that. “I was an urdhracos, but now I am not.”
“Remarkable,” said Angashalis with apathetic surprise. “An intriguing tale, I am sure. But a tale not relevant to the interests of the xiatami. But I return to your first question. The xiatami have dwelt in this land for a long time, long by even the standards of the elves. We fled from the ruin of our homeworld and founded Najaris here. But then the gray elves came here to escape from the urdmordar, and the Sovereign pursued them, jealous of the power they found here. The gray elves built the citadel of Cathair Animus to tap and control the power of the Well of Storms. The fools. The xiatami were wise enough to leave that power untouched. The gray elves sought to control it, and it destroyed them…and it brought the Sovereign here.”
“You allied with the Sovereign against the gray elves,” said Ridmark.
“Yes, without hesitation,” said Angashalis. “For we are wise. Consider a tree, Lord Ridmark, and then contemplate a storm. The tree that bends with the storm and submits to it shall survive. But the tree that stands rigid and immobile will shatter. And the Sovereign was a storm that no power could resist.”
“But you sided with Kothlaric Pendragon against him,” said Calliande.
Angashalis gave an indifferent shrug. “It was clear that the High King of Owyllain would most likely defeat the Sovereign. The High King assembled an impressive coalition of allies and even won the support of the Guardian Rhodruthain, little good that did him in the end. We saw a chance to rid ourselves of the Sovereign’s domination, and we seized it. And now we have no wish to submit to the tyranny of the New God. So I shall not hinder your quest.”
“Shall we return to Najaris now, Lord Intercessor?” said Khulmak. “If the muridach host is broken, there seems little point to our mission.”
“No,” said Angashalis. “The Circle commanded us to scout to the easternmost ringfort of the causeway, and we shall do so. Some muridach warbands might have slipped into the marshes and think to make trouble for us. For that matter, the jastaani have not been seen here in such numbers since before humans came to Owyllain. When we return to Najaris, we shall have much news for the Circles of Lords and Intercessors. Captain, prepare your men to travel. We shall continue southeast as soon as we are ready.” His yellow gaze turned back to Ridmark. “I assume you have no objections to accompanying us? If the jastaani attack again, we can aid each other.”
“None,” said Ridmark. “But I would like to ask some questions about the jastaani.”
“As you wish,” said Angashalis. Khulmak strode away, shouting orders to his mercenaries, who began loading the plunder from the slain jastaani into the wagons.
“What are the jastaani?” said Ridmark. “We have never encountered them before.”
“They are a kindred who live on the far eastern edge of this continent,” said Angashalis. “They migrated here soon after the xiatami settled in Najaris, and we fought several wars, for they are very warlike, and their priests wield powerful magic. Then the Sovereign came, and he conquered the jastaani and made them part of his empire. He forbade them from crossing the Tower Mountains to the western half of the continent, and used them in his eastern campaigns.”
“But now the Sovereign is dead,” said Ridmark, “and the jastaani feel free to turn their hands against the lands west of the mountains.”
“Perhaps,” said Angashalis. “It is also likely this prophet has them riled up and ready for war.”
Ridmark and Calliande shared a look.
“Prophet?” Ridmark said at last. He didn’t like the sound of that. Qazaldhar had convinced the muridachs that he was a prophet of the Lord of Carrion, and that had helped Nerzamdrathus weld the muridach cities into the vast horde that had almost destroyed the gray elves.
“Yes, it seems a prophet has arisen among the jastaani to stir them to war,” said Angashalis. “Or perhaps this prophet claims to be their incarnate god. The prophet is called the Janaab Kal, which in the orcish tongue translates to the Immortal One. Their god is a warlike one, as the jastaani themselves are a warlike kindred, and the Janaab Kal has roused them to battle, saying that he will deliver the lands of the west into their hands.”
“We fought a jastaani warband a short distance west of here,” said Ridmark. “They kept shouting the title of Janaab Kal as a war cry.”
“The men of Owyllain shout the name of their king or their favored saints before charging into battle, as I understand,” said Angashalis. “It is something of the same custom. Still, both humans and orcs are hot-blooded and warlike, but the jastaani are even more so. If they are coming in strength beyond the Tower Mountains, then many things shall change. The xiatami will need to prepare to face them in battle once more. If you live to complete your quest, Shield Knight, then you shall need to return to bring word to your king – Hektor Pendragon, I assume. A jastaani army would be as dangerous of a foe as any he has ever faced.”
“I will do so,” said Ridmark.
“But that is no concern of the xiatami,” said Angashalis. “So long as you do not trouble us, the xiatami care not what you do.” He shifted, tucking his clawed hands into the loose sleeves of his robe. The gesture reminded Ridmark of the Maledicti, and it filled him with unease. Nevertheless, Angashalis had shown no hostility. Had Ridmark attacked, he had no doubt the Intercessor and his soldiers would fight back with ferocity, but as it was, they had no reason to fight and every reason to cooperate. “But we speak of hypotheticals, and we must concern ourselves with the present. Shall we depart?”
“Aye,” said Ridmark, glancing back at the others. “We shall be ready when you are.”
He looked at Khulmak and the mercenaries. Ridmark had no doubt they would cut his throat if they thought they could get away with it, but he suspected they would not cross their employer. For that matter, after watching Ridmark and the others battle the jastaani, they might be hesitant to dare the risks of treachery.
“Very well, then,” said Angashalis. “Let us proceed. We should reach the next ringfort before dark.”
Chapter 7: Reconnect
Calliande watched the mercenaries and the xiatami as they headed southeast, the mercenaries tending to the carts, the xiatami soldiers keeping a guard around Angashalis. Calliande and Ridmark and the others brought up the back, keeping watch on the swamps surrounding the causeway.
“What do you think?” murmured Calliande. “Can we trust them?”
“Not in the least,” answered Ridmark.
Calliande nodded, drawing on the Sight as she examined the aura of magical power around Angashalis. The Intercessor was a powerful wizard, not a match for Calliande or the Maledicti, but nonetheless strong. Despite his alien nature, she did not see any dark magic in his aura. Rather, she suspected that his magic dealt with the power of the mind, with spells of telepathy and telekinesis.
That could be dangerous. The Maledictus of Shadows had shown her firsthand the perils of magic that altered the mind.
“But I don’t think we have to worry about them attacking us,” said Ridmark. “Whatever else Angashalis is, I don’t think he’s a fool. He saw us carve our way through those jastaani. He wouldn’t attack us unless he had a very good reason. And with the jastaani moving through the marshes, it would be folly to fight among ourselves. The jastaani might take us both.”
“Nothing makes for faster friends than a common foe,” said Calliande. She frowned. “This Janaab Kal, the Immortal One. Do you think it’s another of the Maledicti?”
“I hope not,” said Ridmark. “Qazaldhar and the muridachs almost killed us all. The last thing I want to
see is another army of fanatical warriors duped into believing that a Maledictus is the voice of their god.”
“There is no reason why the Maledicti wouldn’t repeat the stratagem,” said Calliande. “It nearly worked at Cathair Caedyn. And we have seen that is how the Masked One and the Maledicti prefer to operate, with tricks and subterfuges and clever little games.”
“Aye,” said Ridmark. He sighed. “Though maybe we’ll be fortunate, and this Immortal One is simply a wizard or a warlord with delusions of godhood.”
“Maybe,” said Calliande, and she laughed.
Ridmark blinked. “What?”
“What does it say about us,” said Calliande, “that we are hoping a potential enemy turns out to be merely a warlord with an inflated opinion of himself?”
Ridmark blinked a few more times, and then let out a quiet laugh. That pleased Calliande. He didn’t laugh often. Though God knew there had been little enough cause for laughter lately. “It means that we are the Shield Knight and the Keeper of Andomhaim, and so facing a mere warlord with dreams of empire is a good day for us.”
“Don’t tell Magatai,” said Calliande. “His sword has already wounded the Maledictus of Fire and the Maledictus of Death. He’d be disappointed to learn that we’re not facing another one of the Maledicti.”
Ridmark snorted. “He’d be disappointed that we’re facing just one. If we came across another Maledictus right now, Magatai would tell him to fetch the other five just so it would be a sporting fight.”
“He would, wouldn’t he?” said Calliande. “Well, maybe it will be that simple. The jastaani won’t wish to attack such a large party, and nor will the swamp trolls or whatever else lives here. We’ll pass the Serpent Marshes, climb to the Monastery of St. James, free Cathala, and she will tell us the secret. Then we’ll destroy the Seven Swords, and that will be that.”
Ridmark smiled. “I hope it will be that simple.”
Sevenfold Sword: Sorceress Page 9
