She risked a look to the side and saw Angashalis approaching, flanked by his bronze-armored spearmen.
“What is it?” said Calliande. Tamlin took off another of the hydra’s heads, but the serpentine neck snapped back too fast for Calliande and the others to throw any spells at the bleeding stump.
“Your strategy is plain,” said Angashalis. “Your swordsmen will sever the creature’s heads, and then you and your sorceresses will burn them. Yet the hydra is moving too fast…”
“I can see that,” said Calliande, her eyes on the creature as it spun and attacked.
“I can assist,” said Angashalis. “My magic will catch the hydra’s neck in a telekinetic grip for a short time. Not long, not with the creature’s strength. But long enough for you to bring elemental fire to bear against it. We must destroy the creature swiftly. If the hydra is not overcome, it will rampage until it kills as many of us as it can.”
“Very well. Strike now!” shouted Calliande. Calem took off another head, and it hit the ground and rolled away. As before, the long neck started to thrash and whip about…
And then it froze, going motionless as Angashalis caught it in a telekinetic grip. The Intercessor trembled with fatigue, his hood flaring out from his neck as he struggled to maintain the spell. Calliande’s Sight showed her the amount of magical force it took for Angashalis to hold the mighty neck immobile. As he said, he would not be able to do it for long.
But Calliande did not need long. Her next spell sent a shaft of fire lancing from her fingers, and she slashed it across the hydra’s neck. The neck shuddered once and then hung limply against the ground.
The hydra twitched, clearly surprised by this development. In that moment of surprise, both Ridmark and Khulmak struck. Khulmak’s blue axe hammered into the neck of a hydra, and Ridmark followed suit a second later with a two-handed blow from Oathshield, all the soulblade’s power driving her husband’s arms. The combined blows were enough to cut off the head, and once again the neck went motionless as Angashalis caught it in a telekinetic grip. This time Kalussa struck, hurling a sphere of fire that sank into the stump and charred it black.
The hydra reared back with a scream from its remaining mouths, and Ridmark and the others pursued it as Calliande started another spell.
###
A blast of fire sank into the stump of the hydra’s last head, and the huge body reared. The headless necks lashed at the air like a torturer’s whip, and then the massive carcass collapsed against the grassy slope of the causeway.
Ridmark stepped back and raised Oathshield in guard, breathing hard, sweat pouring down his face. He had been in a lot of hard fights in his life, but that had been one of the hardest. Had he faced the hydra alone, the beast would have slain him. For that matter, it would have killed Calliande if it had caught her alone, or any of the others.
He looked around, half expecting the jastaani to take advantage of their exhaustion to attack, but it seemed that they had withdrawn to fight another day.
No doubt they would be back.
“Damn me,” said Khulmak, cleaning hydra blood from the blades of his axe. “I thought we were finished. Suppose God was smiling on us when you came our way.”
“It seems God’s favor was mutual,” said Ridmark. “If not for Angashalis’s help, I don’t think we could have overcome the hydra.”
Khulmak grinned behind his tusks and drooping mustaches. “The snakemen are a strange lot, but the scaly bastards can fight when they’re backed into a corner, can’t they? A man like you might think me a fool for working for them, but they pay on time and keep their word.”
Ridmark snorted. “And you must think a man like me a fool.”
“Well.” Khulmak scratched his jaw. “You have an excellent sword, your woman is beautiful by the standards of humans, and you have no shortage of fighting. All you need is more gold, and that sounds like a fine life.”
“Aye,” said Ridmark, looking back to the road. The mercenaries were busily stripping the dead jastaani of their arms and armor. Some of them were taking the claws of the slain jastaani to make into trophy necklaces. A grisly practice, Ridmark supposed, but the Serpent Marches were a grisly sort of place.
No one dared to touch the dead hydra.
He spotted Calliande as she moved through the mercenaries with Kalussa, healing those would could be saved from their injuries.
Yes, they had won today’s fight, but they had been lucky.
Ridmark wondered how much longer that luck would last.
Perhaps in the ruins of the Monastery of St. James they could find the means to putting an end to the War of the Seven Swords at last.
Chapter 9: Harsh Business
Calliande expected the Scythe and the jastaani to attack at once, but they saw no trace of any foes for the next three days.
Several times Calliande spotted swamp trolls swimming through the waters of the marsh, and once she saw a half-dozen of the creatures sitting on a small island, watching as the column passed. Yet the trolls did not attempt to attack. Perhaps they feared the xiatami too much for that, or maybe the column had too many mercenaries to make an attack feasible.
She kept the Sight close to her call, sending it sweeping through the swamp again and again. Yet she saw no creatures of dark magic, nor any users of magic save for those who traveled with her. The lack of enemies should have pleased her, but instead, it only made Calliande uneasy. If their previous battles with the Maledicti had proved anything, it was that the Maledicti were undaunted by failure. When defeated, the Maledicti simply adjusted their tactics and tried again. Calliande and Ridmark had won several fights against the Maledicti, but the cost had been horrendous – the butchered guests at King Hektor’s banquet, the soldiers slain in the Battle of the Plains, those killed fighting the Necromancer in Trojas, and all the gray elves who had died in the battle for Cathair Caedyn.
What scheme did the Maledicti have in mind next?
Calliande suspected she would find out sooner than she would wish.
Three days after the fight with the hydra, they came to another ringfort. This one seemed identical to the one they had visited earlier, with the same style of outer wall and structures. Fifty xiatami spearmen held the ringfort, commanded by another hooded xiatami nobleman.
“This is as far east as I shall travel,” said Angashalis as Khulmak’s mercenaries escorted the scutian-pulled carts into the ringfort. Calliande realized that the carts had been carrying supplies and tools for the soldiers at the ringfort. “The Circle of Lords bade me to scout this far and then return to Najaris with any news.” As far as Calliande had been able to determine, the xiatami had no sense of humor whatsoever, though she thought there was an ironic note in the Intercessor’s voice. “After our meeting, I suspect I shall have far more to report than I would have otherwise.”
“And you’ll be alive to report it, too,” said Calliande.
“That is so,” said Angashalis. He looked to the east. Far in the distance, just at the edge of the horizon, she made out the distant gray shape of towering mountains. “You are not far from your destination. I suspect another two or three days at most will bring you to the Tower Mountains and the ruins of the Monastery of St. James. The monks wished to find a quiet and isolated place where they could worship the crucified God of the humans in peace, and they succeeded. At least until the wrath of Justin Cyros fell upon them.” His gaze swung back to Calliande. “You and the Shield Knight and your friends have my gratitude. Without your intercession, I would have failed in my mission, and I would have been slain. Captain Khulmak and his soldiers are reliable mercenaries, but they are unequipped to fight a creature with the power of that hydra.”
Calliande nodded and then turned her head as Ridmark approached.
“I assume this is where we part ways?” said Ridmark.
“You assume correctly, Shield Knight,” said Angashalis. “On the morrow, my soldiers and I will return to Najaris to make our report to the Circle of Lords
. I invite you to stay here overnight, and then continue your journey at sunrise. Beyond this ringfort, the xiatami patrol the swamps only infrequently, and we do not patrol the foothills of the Tower Mountains at all.”
“The foothills are dangerous?” said Ridmark.
“Likely not to warriors and wizards of your power,” said Angashalis, “but you will wish to remain cautious nonetheless. There are many entrances to the Deeps in the foothills, and tribes of kobolds and deep orcs come and go freely. For that matter, wyverns, hydras, and fire drakes nest in the slopes, and a few basilisks have even ventured to the surface.”
“We shall remain cautious,” said Ridmark, and Calliande nodded in agreement.
“One other matter,” said Angashalis. “You may encounter dvargir slavers in the foothills. In Najaris and the Serpent Marshes, the dvargir slavers would not dare to harm you for fear of incurring the wrath of the Circle of Lords and jeopardizing the Great Houses’ trade with Najaris. In the foothills, they will exercise less restraint, and they may attack you.” His tongue flicked out. “The dvargir lack the wisdom of the xiatami and might try to claim the Seven Swords for themselves.”
“We will remain mindful of the danger,” said Ridmark. “I would like you to take a message back to your Circle of Lords.”
“Indeed?” said Angashalis. “And what message is that?”
“Your people must be ready to fight,” said Ridmark. “The New God is coming, and it is going to try and enslave the world. A time is coming when all kindreds will have to stand and fight or succumb. I know the xiatami prefer to mind their own affairs and stay out of the business of others. But the New God will extend no such courtesy to you. You must be ready to fight, or else the New God will make the Sovereign’s tyranny look mild by comparison.”
Angashalis’s tail twitched, making the skirts of his emerald robe ripple. “I will convey that message to the Circle of Lords, Shield Knight. But whether they will act on it, I cannot say.”
###
The next morning Ridmark and the others departed the ringfort, heading further southeast along the causeway.
Khulmak met them at the gate as they departed. The big orc held his horned helmet under one arm, his huge axe strapped to his back. A circle of glistening black objects rested against his armored chest, and Ridmark saw that Khulmak wore a necklace of freshly-harvested jastaani claws.
“I shall be sorry to see you go, Shield Knight,” said Khulmak, and he clapped Ridmark on the shoulder. “It’s not every warrior who lets everyone else keep all the plunder.”
“I just didn’t want to haul all that damned bronze armor in the mountains,” said Ridmark. “A man can’t eat bronze.”
“He cannot,” said Khulmak, “but he can trade bronze for food. Though I suppose no one sells food in the Tower Mountains. Well, my lads and I are going to escort the Intercessor and his rattlers back to Najaris. If you get bored of wandering about fighting hydras, you’re welcome to join my company any time.”
“I confess,” said Third, “that of all the strange paths my life has taken, I never considered joining a company of mercenaries.”
Khulmak grinned at her behind his tusks. “Aye, my lady? Ah, for a warrior like you in my band! You could appear behind the closed gate of a castra in a flash of blue flame, open the doors, and let my rogues swarm inside. We could conquer a kingdom of our own in a month. We could each have our own kingdoms! What do you say, Lady Third? Would you like to be Queen Third?”
“I would not,” said Third, though she seemed amused. “My sister is a queen. I would not wish it on anyone. Even you, Captain Khulmak. I expect King Khulmak would become bored within a week.”
“Alas, you are probably right,” said Khulmak. “Good luck with your quest, Shield Knight. I think you’re all a band of mad fools, but perhaps you’ll come to your senses and join my company. It was said that the Sovereign’s treasuries in Urd Maelwyn overflowed with gold, but we would make more money by far.”
“Perhaps we will,” said Ridmark. “Good luck, Captain Khulmak.”
Ridmark and Calliande and the others set off, following the causeway as it continued its long line to the southeast.
On the first day, Ridmark and Third went scouting, and while they found several lone swamp trolls, the creatures fled rather than fight, and they saw no trace of any further jastaani. Ridmark and the others took turns keeping a careful watch over the camp that night, but no jastaani appeared, and the Scythe did not return.
On the second day, the swamps started to thin. The pools of water grew more infrequent, and by midday, they were finally out of the Serpent Marshes. The ground grew rockier and more uneven as they approached the beginnings of the foothills of the Tower Mountains. The peaks themselves rose against the eastern sky like a gray wall, their crests topped with snow. They were much larger and more formidable than the Gray Mountains that separated the realm of the Nine Cities from the Takai Steppes. Perhaps that was one of the reasons that the jastaani had never crossed the mountains to wage war upon the western half of the continent before now.
“We need to turn north here,” said Tamlin.
“Why is that?” said Ridmark.
“This causeway will keep going southeast and will eventually pass the southern tip of the Tower Mountains,” said Tamlin. “The monastery is north of here. If we head north now, we’ll find a small valley and an ancient road that leads into the foothills. That will take us to the ruins of the Monastery of St. James.”
His eyes were distant, even haunted. Returning here no doubt summoned bad memories.
“Did the monks build the road?” said Ridmark.
“No, the gray elves did, long ago,” said Tamlin. “The abbot told me the story. There is another gray elven ruin high in the mountains. The Sovereign razed it and killed the gray elves within before Owyllain was founded. But the road remained, and the first monks built the monastery on a ledge atop a high foothill.”
Ridmark nodded. “You’re sure this is the place to turn?”
“Oh, yes.” Tamlin’s eyes wandered over the hills. “I could never forget this place, even if I wanted to.”
###
They headed north, and Tamlin’s fingers itched to hold his sword hilt.
The going was soggy at first, but soon the ground dried out and rose. Walking uphill was harder work than traveling along the flat top of the causeway, but at least the air had become much cooler and drier. After the torrid heat and humidity of the Takai Steppes, the Illicaeryn Jungle, and the Serpent Marshes, Tamlin welcomed the cooler air of the hills.
He did not welcome the memories.
Ridmark and Third went scouting, and this time Magatai joined them. Northwind had been able to move through the marshes without much difficulty, but the struthian’s gangly legs and long tail had made a great deal of splashing. Northwind was more at ease in the foothills, and Ridmark, Third, and Magatai scouted in all directions. They found no trace of enemies, but they did find the road Tamlin had described.
As the sun started to slip away over the western horizon, they began climbing the road, and Tamlin remembered the last time he had come this way.
It had been a long, long time ago.
“You are troubled,” said Tamara as she walked at his side.
“Yes,” said Tamlin.
Whatever else could have been said of the ancient gray elves, they had been engineers of exceptional skill. The road climbing through the foothills was intact after all these millennia. It circled its way around hills, and in some places climbed them. Here and there the surface had crumbled, or embankments had eroded away, but overall the road was in good condition. Certainly, it was smoother than the causeway through the Serpent Marshes.
And there were fewer mosquitoes.
“Bad memories?” murmured Tamara, resting a gentle hand on his forearm.
Tamlin hesitated. He didn’t want to tell her about them. He didn’t want to remember the monastery burning, the library and its precious books going
up in smoke. Or the elderly monks lying slaughtered in their own blood upon the courtyard. Or how he had screamed when Justin had turned his mother to a statue.
At the time, Tamlin had thought that the worst day of his life.
He had been wrong. He had been very wrong. That had just been the first terrible day of many. There had been the long, grim march north to Urd Maelwyn, the march that had started on this road. The dvargir slavers had clapped a bronze collar around his neck, chaining him to the other captives. Tamlin had cried and cried until the sound of sobbing had gotten on the guards’ nerves and they had beaten him until he learned silence. Then they had reached Urd Maelwyn, and he had stood shivering and terrified on the auction block as the dvargir gamemasters purchased him. The long, brutal training had begun…
“Tamlin?” said Tamara.
Tamlin realized that he had come to a stop, that Tamara was staring up at him with concern. Kalussa was walking a short distance ahead with Calliande, but she had stopped to look at him with mild alarm. That wasn’t good. If Kalussa was concerned, then Tamlin’s expression must have been something to behold.
Though given all the effort Kalussa had expended to heal him in Trojas, Tamlin supposed she had the right to be concerned about him.
“Yes,” said Tamlin. “Bad memories.”
Only two things had kept Tamlin from killing himself during those long, awful years. He had known that suicide was a mortal sin, but in the depths of despair, he had doubted that hell could contain any torment not already found in abundance within Urd Maelwyn. Then the Dark Lady had come to him in his dreams, promising that he would have vengeance if he lived. After that, he had met Tysia, and after Khurazalin murdered her, the need to avenge her had driven Tamlin onward.
An odd thought occurred to Tamlin. Come to think of it, the Dark Lady had not appeared in his dreams for some time. Certainly not since Trojas. Which was strange. She had always appeared in his dreams to warn him of danger before, and they had faced deadly danger at both Kalimnos and in Cathair Caedyn.
Sevenfold Sword: Sorceress Page 13
