“Yes,” said Calliande, a flicker of grief going through her mind as she remembered holding her daughter in the inn of Kalimnos. That had been a hallucination wrought from the magic of the Maledictus of Shadows, but the grief had been real.
The Maledicti were going to regret using that as a weapon against her. Calliande would make sure of it.
“Talitha sacrificed everything for a chance to stop the New God,” said Tamara. “I don’t know if I am still her or not…but maybe I used to be her. At least it is a relief to know what happened to me, why I had nightmares for so long.” She smiled. “Though if any of you call me Talitha, I am going to become cross. My name is Tamara.”
“There was one question that Cathala didn’t answer for us,” said Ridmark.
“Which question is that?” said Tamlin.
“Why?” said Ridmark.
Tamlin shrugged. “Why what?”
“Why did the Sovereign create the Seven Swords?” said Ridmark.
“To summon the New God, that is plain,” said Tamlin.
“Yes,” said Calliande, catching on to her husband’s line of thought, “but why summon the New God?”
Kalussa shrugged. “I suppose only the Sovereign knew, and he’s dead now. Maybe he thought he could use the New God to take Cathair Animus for himself or to destroy all his enemies.”
“That is a common weakness of evil sorcerers,” said Magatai. “The Windcallers of the Takai know many songs of evil sorcerers who tried to summon demons only to be devoured by the demons they called up. It seems calling up hungry demons is a common weakness of evil sorcerers. Fortunately, the Takai are too wise for such folly.”
“Indeed,” said Ridmark. He shook his head. “Perhaps Irizidur will know more once we find him.”
“Perhaps,” said Calliande. She reached into her pack, drew out a piece of bread, and stood. “I’m going to talk to Cathala.”
Ridmark frowned. “You think she might know more?”
“I doubt it,” said Calliande. “I want to see if I can talk her into helping us voluntarily. It’s going to be a long walk to Aenesium if she’s complaining the entire way.”
And, Calliande thought, she wanted to see if she could reconcile Cathala with Tamlin. She wasn’t worried about Tamlin, but she was sad for him. He had been looking forward to seeing his mother again, that was obvious. Cathala’s indifference had hurt him. Perhaps Calliande could find out why Cathala had been so annoyed to see her son again.
“Are you sure you want to talk to her alone?” said Ridmark.
Calliande shrugged. “It’s not as if she will attack me.”
“Will she, now?” murmured Selene.
Calliande gave her a sharp look, but Selene seemed lost in thought, her silver eyes staring at nothing.
“I’ll be on the southern wall,” said Calliande, and she headed across the courtyard, the cool wind from the mountains tugging at her green cloak.
She came to the southern part of the courtyard. The earth was still pitted and torn from the abominations that the Maledictus of Life had raised, but the pools of black slime had all evaporated. It was just as well, given how foul they had smelled. She spotted Cathala standing on the curtain wall, her green dress rippling around her in the wind.
Calliande took a deep breath, climbed to the ramparts, and walked to join Cathala.
“Keeper of Andomhaim,” said Cathala, her voice icy.
“Lady Cathala,” said Calliande.
“Here to berate me, I assume?” said Cathala.
“No,” said Calliande. She held out the chunk of bread. “I thought you might be hungry.”
Cathala stared at her.
“You haven’t eaten in fourteen years, after all,” said Calliande. “That might build up a bit of an appetite.”
Cathala’s lips twitched, and the hard look in her eyes lessened somewhat.
“You might just possibly be right,” said Cathala, and she took the bread and started eating. Calliande watched over the battlements as Cathala ate. The land sloped away in falling hills towards the marshes far below, and Calliande saw the haze of their hot, wet air on the horizon.
“Thank you,” said Cathala, the words grudging.
Calliande nodded.
“You really are the mother of this ragged little band, aren’t you?” said Cathala.
“I’m sorry?” said Calliande.
“All the lost children who follow you and your husband,” said Cathala. “Krastikon and Calem and Kalussa and Tamlin. Like lonely puppies following a woman who gave them food. Does it annoy you?”
Calliande shrugged. “You can think of it that way if you like. I prefer to think of them as good friends who have stood with Ridmark and me against some very dangerous foes.”
Cathala laughed. “How very kindly of you, Keeper. Does my harshness offend you? It offends most people.”
Calliande shrugged again. “Should it?”
The green eyes turned flinty again. “Courtesy doesn’t matter, Keeper. Words don’t matter. Emotions don’t matter. All that matters is power. All that counts are results. Does that disturb you?”
“You’ve been honest with me,” said Calliande. “Can I be honest with you?”
Cathala twitched one slender shoulder in a shrug. “I would prefer it.”
“I don’t know exactly how old I am,” said Calliande, “but it’s over two hundred years old. I’ve seen two wars that nearly destroyed the world. I’ve seen magic that could burn armies and shatter cities. I’ve seen more friends die in battle than I want to remember, but I can remember them all. So, after all that, my lady, it will take more than harsh words to upset me.”
Cathala smiled. “A good speech.” She gazed at Calliande. “And since you just said you appreciate frank speaking, I am going to ask you a frank question.” Calliande inclined her head. “Who were your parents?”
“My parents?” said Calliande, surprised. “My father was a fisherman named Joachim, and my mother was named Joanna. We lived on the western bank of the River Moradel, across from the walls of Tarlion.”
“A commoner, then,” said Cathala. “Not of royal blood as I am.”
“No.”
“Are you ashamed of that?” said Cathala.
“No,” said Calliande. “I am who I am, Lady Cathala.”
“Did you love your parents?” said Cathala.
“Yes,” said Calliande. “With all my heart. I was devastated when they died. My mother died of plague, and my father’s heart failed a few years later. He had worked hard all his life, and he simply wore out in the end. In my grief, my magic came to me, and I tried to heal him, but it was too late. That was the path that led me to the Magistri and then to becoming the Keeper of Andomhaim.”
“A sad tale,” said Cathala. “Do you want to hear another bitter truth, Keeper? I loathed my father and mother.”
“Given your age,” said Calliande, “and that you said your father was the King of Echion, I would guess that your father was King Nichomachus Tempus of Echion.”
Cathala blinked, then smiled. “Very clever. Is the randy old goat still alive?”
“No,” said Calliande. “He allied with King Hektor when the War of the Seven Swords started, and he died some years ago. His son King Aristotle reigns in Echion, and is still allied with King Hektor.”
“You’ve met King Aristotle, then?” said Cathala. “My half-brother, I suppose. What was he like?”
“Well,” said Calliande, “he likes to call himself Aristotle the Magnificent, which probably tells all that you need to know about him.” Cathala snorted. “But he’s not a coward. He led from the front during the Battle of the Plains and killed the Warlord of Vhalorast with his own hands.”
“Different from King Nichomachus, then,” said Cathala. “Does the King of Echion still call his concubines the Lionesses of the King?”
“Yes,” said Calliande. She had not cared for the custom, but she disliked Owyllain’s custom of concubinage. A man ought to have one
wife. Rypheus Pendragon’s miserable fate had only reinforced that opinion.
“My father excelled only in his lechery,” said Cathala. “He scoured Echion and its surrounding lands for the most beautiful women, and he made them into his Lionesses. He had dozens of them, maybe even close to a hundred. All of them picked for their beauty so he could satisfy his wretched lusts by rutting with them.” Her mouth twisted with distaste. “How I loathed that man for his inability to control his appetites. And how I loathed my mother.”
“Why is that?” Calliande asked, but Cathala was speaking before she had finished the question.
“Because she was nothing,” said Cathala. “There wasn’t a thought in her head. She was nothing but a pretty ornament and a toy for my father. And that was all she ever wanted to be, and what she wanted for me. How I dreaded it. Becoming nothing more than the brood mare and plaything of some powerful noble or knight. I can imagine no worse fate than that. My father was already looking to give me away as a concubine when my magic manifested, and I had to join the Arcanii.”
Calliande nodded. Kalussa had hated her magic, wanting nothing more than to become a concubine or a wife and have children of her own. Cathala had likely viewed it as a liberation.
“Then Master Talitha found you,” said Calliande.
“She was a great woman,” said Cathala. She smiled, and it was a genuine smile. “She was powerful, one of the most powerful people in the realm, man or woman. And she was so devoted to her duty. I…had a difficult time with the other Sisters and Knights of the Order, but Talitha took me under her wing. She said that I had it in me to be great. I swore I would do whatever I could to help her, no matter what it cost me.” Cathala sighed. “And it has cost me.”
“Fourteen years as a statue,” said Calliande.
“What? No,” said Cathala. “That was…vexing, yes, to learn that fourteen years have passed for me. At least I didn’t age into a withered old crone when the Sword of Earth restored me to flesh. But it was painless. No, I gave up far more. As Justin Cyros’s mistress, I had power and prestige and wealth. As a Sister of the Arcanii, I had influence and duty. And I gave it all up to come here to raise Tysia into the new Talitha.” Her mouth twisted. “And lived among monks. God, but I hate monks. What sort of weakling shell of a man takes an oath of celibacy?”
Calliande said nothing. She wanted to point out that Cathala had berated the monks for their celibacy a few moments after she had condemned her father for his lusts. Calliande wondered if Cathala saw the contradiction, and decided it was unlikely.
“Then did you seduce Justin, or did Justin seduce you?” said Calliande.
Cathala laughed. “A little of both. But it was mostly me. I had no wish to become a wife or a concubine and limit my freedom. But Justin had power and prestige as the Crown Prince of Cytheria, and I could use that to my advantage. And he was a skillful lover, and not a stupid man. Stupid men are just intolerable. But it was an adequate exchange. What I wanted was power and influence and becoming Justin’s mistress gave me both. Though Master Talitha never approved.” She sighed. “For all her power and wisdom, Talitha was…somewhat naïve at times. That was why she needed me. To help her at times when her naivety and kindliness overrode her good judgment.” She gave Calliande a sidelong glance. “You understand, I think. The Keeper of Andomhaim must be a woman of power and influence. Little wonder you married Lord Ridmark. Taking the Shield Knight as your husband must have increased your own standing.”
Calliande felt a flicker of distaste. “We married before he became the Shield Knight.”
“Hmm. Well, I suppose you learned eventually that emotions must retreat before the demands of power,” said Cathala.
“I think it is time for me to ask you a frank question in turn,” said Calliande. “Why do you dislike Tamlin so much?”
Cathala scoffed. “Because he’s become a swaggering oaf of a warrior, much like his grandfather.” His eyes narrowed. “And he married one of the seven shards. Talitha has a higher and nobler destiny than serving as the brood mare of some idiot knight.”
“The boy is not the man,” said Calliande. “And you haven’t known the adult Tamlin very long.”
“Oh, I know enough,” said Cathala with a dismissive wave. “Men are all the same. Knights especially so. Besides, I would rather have been rid of him.”
“What do you mean?” said Calliande.
“After I fled from Cytheria,” said Cathala, “I realized that I was pregnant with Justin’s child. That was a liability in my plans, so I tried to rid myself of the baby.”
“Rid yourself of him,” said Calliande.
“Yes,” said Cathala. “There are certain herbs, properly prepared, that will induce a miscarriage. Unfortunately, when I tried to take them, I was violently sick for days. I realized that I was allergic to the herbs, and if I tried to take a larger dose, it would probably kill me. I didn’t have any choice but to carry the child to term.” She shrugged. “It was an annoying distraction from my true purpose of raising Tysia, but I made the most of it. The monks did the work of raising the boy. I decided I would turn Tamlin into a monk, and then install him as abbot of the monastery before I left with Tysia to free Irizidur and destroy the Seven Swords. It would be useful to have an ally as the abbot of the monastery if I needed to take refuge here later.”
“I see,” said Calliande, fighting down a wave of dislike. “When King Justin attacked the monastery, did you try to find Tamlin?”
Cathala blinked. “Of course not. My entire purpose was to protect Tysia.” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “I assumed Tamlin would run and hide until the dvargir left. Assuming his blubbering didn’t draw them. He was always crying about some damned thing or another. I planned to injure Justin enough that I could escape with Tysia.”
“I see,” said Calliande again, though this time some of the coldness leaked into her voice.
Cathala eyed her sidelong. “Do you have children, Keeper?”
“Two,” said Calliande. Two who had survived, anyway.
“Ah,” said Cathala, and she smiled. “I approve. I see we have something in common. You have found someone else to raise your children while you deal with more important matters. And I am also impressed that you have tamed your husband sufficiently that he doesn’t object.”
Calliande’s dislike blossomed into full-grown loathing.
She loved her sons. The pregnancies and births had been difficult, and sometimes Gareth and Joachim exasperated her so much that she wanted to pull out her hair, but she loved them. She loved them so much that every day away from them had felt like a blow, waves of guilt rolling through her. Her sons were the entire reason she was doing this, all so they could return home to Andomhaim, so her sons could grow up in a world free of the blight of the New God.
And she had lost her daughter. Calliande had wanted a little girl, had wanted one so badly, but instead, she had held Joanna in her arms as she died. Months of painful pregnancy and sleepless days of labor and healing spells, but Joanna had died.
And Cathala had been willing to so casually throw away her son’s life.
“No,” said Calliande. “I’m here because it’s my duty and there’s no one else to do it. I would rather be at home with my children.”
Cathala blinked, baffled. “Why?”
“Because I love them,” said Calliande.
“Sentiment,” said Cathala with a scoff. “Power is by far more important. I thought you might be a woman wise enough to understand that, but it seems I was wrong.”
Suddenly Calliande had a mental image of slapping Cathala. She pushed back the anger, surprised at how intense it was.
“It seems you are,” said Calliande. “We are leaving tomorrow at dawn. Come with us if you wish.”
She turned and left the ramparts, walking down the stairs and across the courtyard. Her hands were shaking a little with anger, and she made them stop. Ridmark and Tamlin and the others were where she had left them, and the
y looked up as she approached.
“Calliande?” said Ridmark, getting to his feet. He knew her well enough to see the agitation on her face, no matter how hard she tried to suppress it.
“Keeper?” said Tamlin, standing with Tamara.
Calliande crossed to Tamlin, hugged him, and stepped back.
“This is unexpected,” said Tamlin.
“You’re a good man, Tamlin,” said Calliande. “A brave warrior, and a good friend. I know what happened to you in Urd Maelwyn – the whippings, the beatings, the gladiatorial matches. And as much as it pains me to say this, I think it might have been better for you to grow up there than under the eye of that…that hateful woman.” She shook her head. “The fact that a man like you is the son of two people like Justin Cyros and Cathala is proof of the grace of God.”
“I take it your talk with Cathala did not go well,” said Ridmark.
“No,” said Calliande. “Well, yes, it did. I found out all I wanted to know about her. Ridmark…” She took a deep breath. She was about to say something serious, she knew, but she could think of no better way to say it. “Ridmark, she reminds me a little of Imaria Licinius.”
“Imaria?” said Ridmark, his voice quiet.
“Imaria if she had never had a sister, if she had never cared about anyone but herself,” said Calliande.
“I see,” said Ridmark.
“Who is Imaria?” said Selene.
“A woman I knew once,” said Ridmark, his voice still quiet. “She turned to dark magic and murdered…someone I cared about a great deal. She betrayed her family and the realm of Andomhaim and caused the deaths of more people than I can count.”
“My mother seems…harsh, surely,” said Tamlin, “but not that bad?”
“No,” said Calliande. “Maybe that was the wrong comparison. But she is ruthless, Ridmark. More, she is proud of that ruthlessness. Best that we watch her carefully.”
Sevenfold Sword: Sorceress Page 25
