Sevenfold Sword: Sorceress

by Jonathan Moeller

  Calliande sighed. “I hope so, too.”

  But she doubted it.

  They walked for the rest of the day, and as the sun slid beneath the horizon to the west, they came to the first ringfort. The causeway intersected one of the islands, and the xiatami had expanded the island and constructed a circular fort atop it. A ten-foot wall of rough boulders enclosed the island, and within Calliande saw numerous buildings of brick and stone. She wondered why the xiatami had not built with wood, then realized that wooden buildings would rot away in a short time here.

  “One of our ringforts,” said Angashalis, walking to join them, his guards following in silence. “A crude structure, to be sure, and nowhere near the greatest efforts of our architects and engineers. Yet it suffices to serve as a waystation on our causeway.”

  “It must have taken the labor of many slaves to build this place,” said Calliande.

  “It did,” said Angashalis with the usual xiatami indifference. “Many died of fever and exhaustion.”

  Calliande scowled at him, but Angashalis did not notice. Or he noticed and simply didn’t care, which seemed more likely.

  Xiatami soldiers manned the gate and opened it at their approach. Angashalis spent a few moments conversing with the commander of the ringfort, another hooded xiatami with green and black scales who wore polished bronze plate armor. It seemed that the xiatami with the cobra-like hoods were nobles and the priests, while the hoodless xiatami with the bony rattles on their tails were the commoners. Calliande wondered how that had come about. Had the hooded xiatami conquered the others? Or did the xiatami with the bony rattles submit to the hooded xiatami because of some aspect of their nature alien to human comprehension, just as the saurtyri preferred to serve a lord rather than striking out on their own?

  “This is Lord Ramshalis,” said Angashalis. The Intercessor made the introductions of Calliande and Ridmark and the others. “The cruel capriciousness of fate has worked to our mutual advantage. Lord Ramshalis’s scouts have reported multiple sightings of jastaani warbands further along the causeway. It is well that we shall travel together.”

  “Truly,” said Ridmark.

  They passed through the gate and into the courtyard. The xiatami had used the interior space of the ringfort well, with buildings lining the walls, leaving the center free for troops to move about in response to an attack. Truth be told, the buildings looked little different than those Calliande had seen in Aenesium and Trojas. Maybe the xiatami had copied the style for their ringforts.

  “Captain Khulmak and his men will stay in that barracks,” said Angashalis, pointing. “You and your companions, Shield Knight, may stay in the guest barracks.” His long, scaled finger pointed at another building. “It is equipped for the comforts of our human and orcish mercenaries, and there are separate quarters for the males and the females.”

  “Thank you,” said Ridmark. “Your hospitality is most generous.”

  Angashalis gave an indifferent shrug. “The xiatami understand the nature of gratitude. Also, I believe that humans are required to bathe regularly to maintain their health.”

  “That is so,” said Calliande. Nevertheless, she didn’t want to bathe here, even though she was in desperate need of it. Bathing in the stagnant swamp water, even after it had been boiled, seemed like an invitation to disease.

  “The barracks has an attached…ah, what is the word?” Angashalis’s tongue flicked at the air in irritation. “A steam room, that is it.”

  “Indeed?” said Calliande, intrigued. The public baths in Tarlion had something similar.

  “Stones are heated in a fire, and water poured over them,” said Angashalis. “For the xiatami, the heat is a pleasant form of relaxation. For humans, it causes you to sweat copiously, and then the sweat and its toxins can be cleaned away. The water in the marshes has too many impurities for you to drink or bathe in it safely.”

  “A gracious offer, lord Intercessor,” said Krastikon, “but given how hot it is here, I shall pass.”

  “I quite agree,” said Kalussa with a shudder.

  Angashalis gave an indifferent shrug. “As you will. Should you have any questions, you may speak with me as you wish.”

  Calliande supposed they would be safe enough here for the night. It looked as if Lord Ramshalis and his soldiers kept a close watch on the swamps, and Captain Khulmak would set a guard as well. No doubt Ridmark and Third would insist on keeping watch themselves.

  Calliande took a quick walk through the barracks. The beds were simple, but they were clean, and it would be pleasant to sleep in a bed rather than the sodden ground of the marsh.

  Satisfied that the others were settled in, she went to investigate the steam room. It was a domed room located in the rear of the guest barracks, out of sight of the sleeping rooms. The round chamber had a pit of hot stones in the center, and the Sight showed her that a xiatami wizard had bound a spell of elemental fire upon the stones to keep them hot. There were two rows of stone benches lining the walls, one higher, one lower.

  It looked similar to the steam rooms in the baths of Tarlion, and Calliande was tired of feeling greasy and filthy.

  In the anteroom, she slipped out of her clothes, left them folded near the door, and went into the steam room. The heat radiating from the stones struck her like a slap in the face, and Calliande poured one of the stone jars of water on the rocks. Steam rose forth in a torrent, and Calliande started to sweat.

  She sat on the lower bench and closed her eyes, feeling herself relax, the sweat dripping down her face and body. This was pleasant, wasn’t it? To let the heat soak into the tired muscles of her legs and the sore muscles of her shoulders. Her pack had seemed to get heavier with every mile. Calliande had a thousand worries in her mind – fear for her sons, for her husband, for her friends, for all Owyllain and even the world.

  But, for now, it was enjoyable to sit and let her mind drift along in the heat.

  Then she heard the door shudder and opened one eye. Calliande’s initial impulse was to cover herself, but she decided not to bother. If it was Third or Kalussa or Tamara, she would invite them in. If it was Krastikon or Tamlin, she would deliver a lecture on the importance of knocking.

  Instead, it was Ridmark, and he was as naked as she was.

  He closed the door behind him.

  “Did I disappear on you?” said Calliande, standing and stretching. She felt pleasantly light-headed.

  Ridmark snorted and walked towards her. “It wasn’t hard to guess where you went. You lit up like a lantern when Angashalis started talking about the steam room.”

  “Yes, the xiatami have turned out to be surprisingly good hosts,” said Calliande. He was starting to sweat already, and she felt his eyes roaming over her. “Though so indifferent about it.”

  “Aye,” said Ridmark. “One gets the impression that Angashalis is only housing us because if we died, that meant he would have that many fewer swords to defend himself from the jastaani.”

  “The xiatami seem a practical kindred,” said Calliande. She seated herself on the higher stone bench. It was high enough that her feet just brushed the floor, the stone damp and hot against her legs. “Cold, but practical.”

  “It’s not cold in here, though,” said Ridmark, stepping closer.

  She smiled up at him. “No, it isn’t.”

  “That bench,” said Ridmark, his hands settling on her shoulders and sliding down her back, “it puts your hips at just about the right height for…”

  “Stop,” said Calliande, and she grinned and put one finger over his mouth. “Don’t tell me, Ridmark Arban. Show me.”

  So he did. To her repeated satisfaction.

  After they had finished, they sprawled together on the lower bench. Calliande lay curled against him, her hair plastered against her neck, his hand sliding against her side.

  “It’s been too long,” she murmured.

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. “But we’ve been busy killing muridachs and running from hydras.”
<
br />   She laughed and pressed closer against him. “Hardly the sort of thing to put one in the mood.” She blinked the sweat from her eyes. “Too much longer in here, though, and we’re going to get stuck together.”

  “There would be worse fates,” said Ridmark.

  “We should make sure to drink a lot of water once we get out of here,” said Calliande. “It wouldn’t do the dignity of the Shield Knight and the Keeper much good if we collapsed woozy and naked in the middle of the guest barracks.”

  He laughed at that.

  ###

  Kalussa wanted to be alone but found that hard to accomplish. She ought to get some sleep, but between her headache, the sneezing, and her itchy eyes, she felt too restless to lie down.

  The others were setting up in the guest barracks, getting ready to eat and sleep for the night. Kalussa wandered outside for a while, looking over the ringfort and the surrounding marshes. The Serpent Marshes were as dismal as ever, and the usual nighttime mist was rising. She wondered if the xiatami could see in the dark better than humans but could not bring herself to ask. The xiatami unsettled her with their unblinking alien eyes and their scaled bodies, and something about them made her skin crawl. The snakemen had shown no hostility so far, but neither did Kalussa want to converse with them.

  The mercenaries were no better. The jotunmiri and the few dvargir in Khulmak’s company ignored her. The orcish men stared at her, and she could not shake the feeling that they were calculating the exact price she would bring in the slave markets of Najaris. The human men stared at her with the hungry eyes of men who had not seen a woman in a long time. Kalussa liked that even less, and she walked back to the guest barracks and wound up striding into the narrow alley between the barracks proper and the ring wall.

  It was deserted here, and perhaps Kalussa could sit alone and think. To her surprise, she found a flight of stairs sinking into the earth that led to a closed wooden door. After a moment, she realized it was a storage cellar. It made sense – likely the xiatami preferred to stock their ringforts with provisions in the event of a siege.

  Kalussa descended the stairs and pushed open the door. She expected darkness, but instead, she saw a pale blue glow illuminating the cellar. Perhaps the xiatami priests had created magical lights here. In the gloom, Kalussa saw stacks of wooden barrels, sealed with wax to keep vermin from getting inside. A half-dozen wooden doors led off to smaller rooms, and…

  A long groan came to Kalussa’s ears, followed by a rapid series of grunts.

  Was there a fight going on down here? Had the xiatami lured them into a trap?

  Alarmed, Kalussa gripped the Staff of Blades and hurried forward.

  She came around a stack of barrels just in time to see Tamlin roll off Tamara. A pale sphere of blue light hovered overhead, and in that light, Kalussa saw that both of them were breathing hard, sweating, and not wearing a stitch of clothing. They looked up at her at the same time, and sheer mortification flooded Kalussa.

  She shrieked, whirled, and fled, too embarrassed to speak. Kalussa took six quick steps and came to a sudden halt in front of a brick wall. Too late she realized that she had gotten turned around in the dark cellar and run into one of the side storerooms.

  Which meant that she couldn’t leave without walking past Tamlin and Tamara again.

  A wave of exasperation mixed with her embarrassment. For God’s sake! She was Kalussa Pendragon, descendant of Arthur Pendragon, daughter of Hektor Pendragon, Sister of the Arcanii, apprentice of the Keeper, bearer of the Staff of Blades, and she was hiding in embarrassment like some ill-mannered peasant girl.

  Of course, the daughter of Hektor Pendragon would still have to walk past Tamlin and Tamara to get out of the cellar.

  And then, to make matters worse, she had yet another sneezing fit.

  “Kalussa,” said Tamlin once the sneezing subsided. “You might as well come out. We’ve seen you already. And we heard you sneeze.”

  Kalussa closed her eyes and sighed. Did he sound amused? He did sound amused, damn him. If he tried to make a joke, so help her God she was going to hit him in the face.

  She took a deep breath, forced her expression to calm, and marched into the main room of the cellar. Tamlin had covered the lower half of his body with his cloak, thank God for that, and Tamara held up her long coat to shield herself. Though neither one of them looked embarrassed, annoyingly enough.

  “I apologize for my inappropriate intrusion,” said Kalussa. “I did not know you were down here, and I was looking for a place where I could sit and think alone for a while. I will go back…”

  “Lady Kalussa, it’s all right,” said Tamara with a smile. “You didn’t know. I know you weren’t spying on us.”

  “We just…wanted to slip off alone together,” said Tamlin. Kalussa was struck by the number of scars on his muscled torso and arms. She had healed him at Trojas, so she knew how often he had been wounded, but see it with her own eyes was still unsettling. The green sword mark of the Swordborn stood out on his left shoulder like a tattoo. “It’s not like we told anyone.”

  “No,” said Tamara. “And it wasn’t as if Tamlin could tell anyone he wanted some time alone with his wife. That would have been, well…something of an awkward conversation.”

  “Your wife?” said Kalussa, surprised.

  “Well,” said Tamara, and she took Tamlin’s hand, her other hand (thankfully) holding the coat against her torso and upper legs. “Tysia was his wife. And Tysia was apparently another shard of myself. Which means that Tysia and I were the same woman.” She smiled. “And I am Tamlin’s wife.”

  “I…I see,” said Kalussa, unsure of what else to say.

  Her first reaction was happiness for Tamlin. She had come to understand that his gallant manner and his debauched behavior had been his unsuccessful way of dealing with his grief over Tysia’s death. When they had found Tirdua only for her to die, she had seen the devastation it had wrought on Tamlin.

  He looked so happy. So did Tamara, come to think of it.

  Kalussa’s second reaction was sadness.

  As she looked at their tired, smiling faces, she knew how they felt. Kalussa had felt that way once in her life when she had lain in Calem’s arms in Kalimnos. Except she had done that while in the grip of the Maledictus of Shadows’ spell, and when Ridmark had broken the spell, Kalussa had panicked and pushed Calem away, refusing to talk to him any longer…

  Oh, God. What had she done?

  “Excuse me,” said Kalussa. “I…apologize again for the intrusion, and…and I shall withdraw and let you get back to…” She realized how that sounded, decided that she did not care, and hurried from the cellar at the fastest possible speed dignity would allow.

  Kalussa scrambled up the steps and into the twilight. She came to a stop below the wall, breathing hard, and rested her forehead against the cool metal of the Staff of Blades. She would not cry. She would not!

  One more ragged breath, one swipe at her burning eyes, and she looked up just in time to see Calem come around the corner, his green eyes falling on her.

  He froze, his face going expressionless, and Kalussa stared at him.

  “Pardon,” said Calem. “I will…”

  “Did you know that Tamara has decided that she really is Tamlin’s wife?” said Kalussa.

  Calem stopped, blinked. “I did.”

  “They told you?”

  “No, but it was obvious,” said Calem. “Since we departed Cathair Caedyn, they have spent every possible moment together. When we go into battle, Sir Tamlin always shields Tamara. Also, I have observed them kiss several times when they thought no one was looking.”

  Kalussa tried to smile. “Then you were spying on them?”

  Calem did not smile. “I was not. That would be inappropriate. My life has trained me to observe, often the hard way.” He offered a stiff bow. “And I have done too much that is inappropriate. If you will excuse me…”

  He began to turn to go.

  “No!”
said Kalussa. “No, no. Don’t go. Please wait. I have to say something.”

  Calem hesitated, a flicker of emotion going over his face. “What is it?”

  “I’ve…I’ve not been thinking clearly,” said Kalussa, remembering how happy Tamara and Tamlin had looked. “Not really. Not since…not since Kalimnos.” A muscle worked in Calem’s jaw. “I thought I had seduced you, that…”

  “No,” said Calem. “I took advantage of you, not…”

  “Stop,” said Kalussa. “I know what you think. Lady Calliande told me.”

  Calem hesitated. “She…said something of the same to me. At considerable length.”

  “She does like to lecture, doesn’t she?” said Kalussa.

  “Lady Calliande is a valiant and honorable woman, and we owe her both our lives,” said Calem. He hesitated. “But…she does sometimes talk at great length.”

  “But maybe she’s right,” said Kalussa. “Maybe if I blame myself and you blame yourself, there’s no one to blame. Or it’s the fault of the Maledictus of Shadows.” She took a long, ragged breath. “I think that I’m trying to say…maybe we should forgive each other. And ourselves. That might be harder, I know. But doesn’t the church say we are to forgive? And I am sorry, Calem, I am so sorry that I hurt you. Couldn’t we…start over? Try again?”

  Calem just stared at her. Kalussa stared back, and she suddenly felt like a monstrous fool. She could have had something special with him, and she had ruined her chance. Calem had his pride. Why should he come back to her? She had told him that she didn’t want to talk to him any longer. Why should he not heed her?

  “I…do think I should stretch my legs a little before sleep,” said Calem. “A walk around the ringfort might be pleasant.”

  Relief flooded through Kalussa. “Yes, it would.”

  “It seems that both Lady Calliande and Lady Tamara are otherwise occupied,” said Calem, “but I think Lady Third is free, and she could chaperone us as she did in Aenesium. To make sure there are no questions of propriety.”

  Kalussa smiled at him, and she saw his tentative smile back. “That sounds very pleasant indeed, Sir Calem.”