Sevenfold Sword: Sorceress

by Jonathan Moeller

  But nothing else moved in the foothills. From time to time Ridmark glimpsed winged shapes overhead, but he realized that they were eagles, soaring high on the warm air rising from the swamps below.

  As they traveled further north, Ridmark spotted terraces hewn into the hillsides. Once they had been farmland, but now they looked overgrown and abandoned, home to tough little bushes and coarse grass rather than crops. Tamlin explained that the monks of the monastery had hewn and cultivated the terraces over the centuries, making themselves nearly self-sufficient from the rest of the world.

  At least until Justin Cyros had come for them.

  Shortly before noon, the road crested another hill, and the ruins of the Monastery of St. James came into sight at last.

  “And there it is,” said Tamlin in a quiet voice, gazing at his childhood home.

  “God and the saints,” said Krastikon. “It’s even bigger than the Monastery of St. Paul near Trojas. Little wonder the monks lived here for so long. They could have held out against anything except…”

  “Except the Sword of Earth,” said Tamlin, not looking at his half-brother.

  Ridmark had to agree with Krastikon’s assessment.

  The monastery took up an entire hilltop, and it was larger than the Monastery of St. Paul, larger even than Castra Chaeldon in the hill country north of Aenesium. Hundreds of monks, hundreds of novices, and all their attendant servants could have lived here with ample room to spare. The monastery’s curtain wall encircled the hilltop, twenty feet high and ten feet thick, fortified at regular intervals with bastions and watch towers. The central keep was a huge octagonal tower, rising hundreds of feet into the air, and within the walls, Ridmark glimpsed the roofs of numerous other buildings, probably barracks for the monks and the other structures that an isolated community in the wilderness would have required for its survival.

  At least, Ridmark saw the ruins of such structures.

  The monastery’s barbican had been shattered, the stonework torn apart at the command of the Sword of Earth. Great breaches yawned in several places in the outer wall, and Ridmark could see King Justin’s strategy from all those years ago. Likely the King of Cytheria had shattered the gate first, and as the monks rushed to the barbican, he had used the Sword of Earth to tear additional breaches within the walls. The dvargir would have poured inside and started killing.

  If Cathala had chosen this place as a refuge for herself, her infant son, and the baby she had taken from Cathair Animus, she had chosen poorly indeed.

  Every building inside the monastery had been burned. Ridmark saw that the great octagonal keep was an empty shell, its interior gutted by fire. The various outbuildings had lost their roofs, no doubt when Justin had set fire to the monastery.

  “It doesn’t look as if anyone has taken up residence here since,” said Ridmark.

  “No,” said Third. “At the very least, any soldiers hiding here would have taken the time to barricade the ruined gate.” She paused. “Unless there are substantial subterranean levels beneath the castra?”

  “There are,” said Tamlin. “The keep had several levels of cellars, and there were also smaller chambers for supplies and cold storage. The monks also had a crypt where they stored the urns holding the ashes of brothers who had passed into death.”

  “Where would Cathala be?” said Ridmark.

  Tamlin hesitated. “The statue…she would be before the doors to the keep on the northern side of the castra. Unless the Maledicti moved her.”

  “They might not know that the Sword of Earth could restore her to flesh once more,” said Kalussa.

  “No, they know,” said Calliande. “Taerdyn figured it out, and given how Qazaldhar had manipulated him if Taerdyn knew something, then the Maledicti knew it as well.”

  “Shall I scout ahead and have a look around?” said Third.

  Ridmark hesitated. Almost certainly the Maledicti were waiting somewhere within the ruined monastery. He didn’t like the idea of sending Third to scout, though given her abilities, she had a better chance of escaping danger than anyone else.

  “Calliande?” he said. “Does the Sight show anything?”

  His wife shook her head, blue eyes narrowed as she gazed at the castra. “Nothing. There are no magical auras within that I can detect, but the Maledicti have been able to mask their presence from my Sight before.”

  “Would not the blue flash give away your position, cousin?” said Selene.

  “It can,” said Third, “but look at the watch towers. They are damaged, and I can appear behind them easily enough. That will shield the flash from any observers within the courtyard.”

  Krastikon looked at Selene. “I don’t suppose you can turn invisible?”

  “Alas, Prince Krastikon,” said Selene, “I think I can make myself look like anyone, but I do not believe I can make myself look like no one.” She snapped her fingers and suddenly looked like a perfect duplicate of Krastikon.

  “I can see how that would be useful, but God that’s still disturbing,” said Krastikon, peering at his mirror image.

  Selene resumed her true appearance. “I suppose I could make myself look like one of the Confessor’s orcs or a jastaani and stroll around the courtyard.”

  “No,” said Ridmark. “If you’re attacked, you’ll be alone. Third, go ahead. If you’re not back in a quarter of an hour, we’ll come and find you.”

  “Very well,” said Third. She reached up and adjusted her scabbards, her gray cloak rippling in the cold breeze coming down from the mountain peaks. “I shall return shortly.”

  She stepped forward and vanished in a pulse of blue flame.

  “I will still never get used to that,” said Krastikon.

  Tamara shrugged. “After all the strange things we have seen, Prince Krastikon…that seems to be one of the less remarkable ones.”

  “Do you remember this place at all?” said Tamlin. He took a deep breath. “From your nightmares, perhaps?”

  Tamara gazed at the ruined monastery for a long moment, her mismatched eyes unblinking, and then shook her head. “No. It…seems familiar, somehow. I’m certain I’ve been here before, but I cannot remember anything in particular. No, all I remember from Tysia’s life, all that I can remember clearly, is dying in Urd Maelwyn.”

  “Ah,” said Tamlin, a haunted look flickering over his expression.

  Tamara smiled at him. “And you.”

  “Cathala will have some answers for us,” said Calliande.

  “I hope so,” said Tamlin.

  A few moments later blue fire swirled in front of them, and Third reappeared, breathing hard, the azure flame fading from her eyes and veins as it did when she made several jumps in rapid succession.

  “Anything?” said Ridmark.

  “The monastery seems deserted,” said Third. “The buildings are all empty, burned-out shells, and weeds are pushing up the flagstones. I did locate Cathala. A statue of white stone, just as Tamlin described, standing before the gates of the main keep. That said, it was clear that something large has been moving around the courtyard lately.”

  “Large?” said Ridmark. “How large?”

  “I do not know,” said Third. “But the marks were clear. Many of the weeds and bushes had been trampled recently. Unfortunately, there was not enough dust for the creature to have left footprints.”

  “Could a trisalian have nested in the monastery?” said Kalussa.

  “Unlikely,” said Magatai. “Trisalians prefer to graze on the northern moors or the Takai steppes. There is not enough foliage for them to eat at this height.”

  “A fire drake, perhaps, or maybe a wyvern,” said Calliande.

  “The ruins of the keep were large enough to shelter a wyvern,” said Third. “I did not see one inside, though, nor did I see any wyvern dung.”

  “Perhaps the creature is hunting,” said Calem.

  “Or maybe it killed and ate the Maledicti,” said Kalussa.

  “We’re not that lucky,” said Ridmar
k. “Let’s enter the courtyard.” He shifted his staff to his left hand and drew Oathshield with his right. “Have your weapons ready and keep your eyes open.”

  With that, he took a deep breath and started up the road to the monastery, the others following him.

  Calliande held her staff ready, and while it didn’t glow or burn, Ridmark recognized from her expression that she was gathering magic for a spell. Kalussa followed her, the crystal on the end of the Staff of Blades shivering. Tamara walked next to Kalussa, her mismatched eyes narrowed, the golden staff of Lord Amruthyr in her right hand. Calem, Krastikon, and Tamlin joined Ridmark, holding the Swords of Air, Death, and Earth. Third joined them in silence, her golden swords in her fists, and Selene glided after her, the dark elven longsword resting low at her side in her right hand. Magatai brought up the back, riding on Northwind, his bow laid across his saddle. For once, the halfling was silent. Like Selene, Magatai liked to talk, and also like Selene, he fell silent when the battle was about to start.

  Because Ridmark knew a battle was about to start. He could feel in his bones. Between the power of the Keeper, the deadly edges of the three Swords, and the skill of his companions, they could put up a ferocious fight against any foe. But the Maledicti were just as dangerous, and they were cunning, resolved, and adaptable. Ridmark didn’t like any one of those qualities in his enemies.

  All three of them at once was deadly.

  But he did not slow as he walked through the smashed wreckage of the barbican and into the courtyard of the Monastery of St. James.

  Silence hung over the courtyard, and Ridmark stopped and looked around. He had visited many ruins in his life, more than he could remember – the ruins of dark elves, orcish warlords, the dwarves, the dvargir, and even ruins built by the men of Andomhaim. The Monastery of St. James resembled many of them. Like the Monastery of St. Paul, it had been a strong, solid place, but now it was an empty stone shell, like fossilized bones jutting from the ground. The walls of the various outbuildings still stood, but the roofs had collapsed, and within Ridmark saw the charred timbers crumbling into dust. As Third had said, many weeds and even a few bushes jutted up from between the flagstones.

  And many of the weeds had been bent and crushed as if something heavy had trodden here recently. Very recently, to judge from the weeds. Perhaps even this day.

  “That was the chapel,” said Tamlin, pointing at a long structure that stood on the western side of the keep. “That was the carpentry shop, and the smithy was there.” Tamara started to reach for him as if she wanted to take his hand, but given that he was holding the deadly Sword of Earth she stopped herself. “The library was in that tower, that large one. Thousands and thousands of books. More books than I’ve seen anywhere else in Owyllain. The dvargir burned them all, the fools.”

  “A great waste,” murmured Calliande, her eyes unfocused as she drew upon the Sight.

  Tamlin sighed. “It seems strange to worry about the books when so many good men died here.”

  “Maybe not,” said Krastikon. “Books can outlive men by many generations, and they can instruct and inspire those who walk the earth long after we are dust. Even my father never burned books, and he left the monasteries alone so long as the abbots did not make trouble for him.”

  Ridmark supposed that had been wise of Justin Cyros. Then again, Justin hadn’t been wise enough to keep himself from allying with the dvargir.

  “Calliande?” said Ridmark. “Anything?”

  “No, nothing,” said Calliande. “There’s no magic here.”

  “Very well,” said Ridmark. “Let’s go around the western side of the courtyard. That will give us more room to maneuver if anything attacks. We…”

  “Ridmark!” said Calliande, her head snapping around to look at the base of the keep. “There! Dark magic! It…”

  Shadow and blue fire swirled, and the Maledictus of Life appeared at the foot of the keep thirty yards away.

  The sorcerer floated a few inches above the ground, his golden robes swirling around him, his features concealed beneath the jade mask.

  “Shield Knight!” called the Maledictus in his melodious voice. “Have you come to…”

  “Kill him!” said Ridmark.

  The others responded at once. Calliande, Tamara, and Tamlin all cast spells at the Maledictus. Kalussa leveled the Staff of Blades and sent a crystalline sphere hurtling across the courtyard. Magatai snapped up his bow and released two arrows in the blink of an eye, his bowstring singing. The Immortal One cast a ward that defected the arrows and the lightning bolts that Tamlin and Tamara sent crackling towards him. Calliande’s blast of white fire knocked the Maledictus back into the wall, and Kalussa’s crystal sphere punched through him in a spray of green orcish blood. Before the Immortal One could recover, Third appeared behind him in a swirl of blue fire, driving her swords forward, the blades wreathed with lightning and fire. The swords punched into the Maledictus, and the Immortal One vanished in a pulse of shadow.

  Third stumbled as her blades passed through the air, and she caught her balance and looked around.

  “There!” said Calliande, pointing with her staff.

  The Maledictus reappeared atop the ruined keep, hundreds of feet above the ground. His golden robes rippled about him, and his jade mask gazed down at them. Kalussa’s crystal sphere had blown a fist-sized hole through his chest, and both of Third’s swords had dealt mortal wounds, but the Immortal One seemed unaffected. Perhaps the wounds had already healed. All the other Maledicti had been undead, at least until Khurazalin had returned in a living body, and maybe the nature of the power of the Maledictus of Life meant he could not become undead. Perhaps his power healed any wounds just as quickly as they were inflicted.

  “That was unwise, Shield Knight!” said the Immortal One, his voice rolling over the courtyard like thunder. “Perhaps you might have found profit in our discussion.”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” shouted Ridmark back. “I understand you well enough. You’ve convinced the jastaani that you’re their false god, and you’ve got them twisted around your will like Qazaldhar did with the muridachs. You sent the jastaani and your pet hydra to kill us, and you failed. So now you’re going to try again.”

  The Immortal One laughed. It was a pleasant, mirthful sound. “You might have slain the Scythe, Shield Knight, but you will…”

  “No, he didn’t!” called Selene in a singsong voice.

  The jade mask rotated to look at her. The mask and the robes concealed both the Immortal One’s expression and stance, but Ridmark had the sudden impression that the Maledictus was taken aback.

  “What is this?” said the Maledictus. “Who are you? The companions of the Shield Knight and the Keeper are all known to us…”

  “Oh, come on,” said Selene, grinning, her silver eyes glittering like knives. “Don’t you remember me? I’m hurt. We’ve spent so much time together. I knew you before you put on that stupid jade mask, before you even became a high priest of the Maledicti. I remember when you were still a priest of the Sovereign. Surely you can recall?”

  The Maledictus of Life said nothing for a long moment.

  “You,” he said. “No. Impossible.”

  Selene smiled at Third. “They keep saying that about us, cousin.”

  “So they do,” said Third. “After we kill this Maledictus, Ridmark should tell you the story of my sister and the Artificer.”

  “You will take to the air and join me, Scythe of the Maledicti,” said the Immortal One.

  “Sorry, but I don’t fly anymore,” said Selene. “I traded it for freedom. A good bargain, I think.”

  “You will join me!” thundered the Immortal One.

  “That’s a bad offer,” said Selene. “Aren’t you supposed to offer me all the kingdoms of the world if I fall down and worship you?”

  “I am the Maledictus of Life,” said the Immortal One, gesturing as blue fire danced around his fingers, “and I command you to obey me!”

  But Selene
just laughed at him.

  “It doesn’t work that way any longer,” said Selene. “You can’t compel me to obey you. If you want me, you’ll have to come down here and get me.”

  “So be it,” said the Immortal One, and for the first time, there was a hint of annoyance in the melodious voice. “If by some trick you have freed yourself, urdhracos, then you shall die with your new masters. Behold the instrument of your doom!”

  He gestured, and ribbons of golden light leaped from his fingers.

  ###

  Calliande saw the dark magic surge from the Immortal One, dark magic fused with the twisted regenerative power the Maledictus wielded. She started to cast a ward, preparing to shield her companions from the attack, but the power was not aimed at them.

  Instead, the spell sank into the ground below the keep, vanishing beneath the flagstones.

  “What did he just do?” said Ridmark.

  The Maledictus of Life vanished in a swirl of shadows.

  “He transported himself away,” said Calliande, drawing on the Sight.

  But where? She could find no trace of him near the monastery.

  Then the surges of dark magic beneath the ground drew her attention.

  There were dozens of them, and they were moving towards the surface.

  “Tamlin,” said Calliande. “Did the monks here always burn their dead?”

  His brow creased beneath his helmet. “No. Come to think of it, that was why the monks moved out here. They thought cremation desecrated the image of God in the human form and refused to practice it. Later, they realized the danger the dead posed with so many necromancers in the Sovereign’s service, and then…”

  His eyes went wide, and the history lesson trailed off as he realized the implications of what he had just said.

  A few yards away, a section of the ground exploded, and a glistening creature hauled itself from the earth.

  ###

  Tamlin had never seen a horror quite like the one that rose from the crater in the courtyard.

  It looked a little like the abscondamni, the Accursed of the Sovereign that he had fought during King Hektor’s ill-fated banquet in Aenesium. The abscondamni had been horrors, skinless nightmares fashioned by the dark magic of the Maledicti, but there had still been recognizable humanity in them. The abscondamni looked like men and orcs who had been skinned alive and twisted into tortured killing machines.