Cathala hesitated. Where were the Shield Knight and Third? Both were dangerous, and she didn’t want them turning up behind her back. But she was committed now. Cathala had no choice but to see this through to the end.
Selene started to turn, and Cathala cast a spell, drawing on the magic of elemental earth.
A wave of mist sprang up from the ground at her command and rolled across the sleeping men and women, engulfing Selene as well. The mist induced unconsciousness in anyone who breathed it in, and anyone already asleep would fall deeper into it. The mist passed Selene, and the strange woman grimaced and fell to one knee. For an awful instant, Cathala was sure that Selene would fight off the spell, but the former urdhracos slumped unconscious to the ground.
The mist dissipated, and Cathala hurried forward.
She had a few moments, and she needed to use them well.
###
Nightmares haunted Tamara’s sleep, as they so often did.
Her other selves had died six times, and Tamara dreamed of those deaths, of fire and drowning and stabbing and claws that rent her flesh. Now that she had recovered the memory, she dreamed of that day in Cathair Animus, of the golden blade of the Sword of Life stabbing into her chest, the agony as the Sword’s magic split her into seven shards.
There were fragments of another dream, sputtering in and out within her nightmares. Sometimes Tamara thought she saw a dead forest, leafless branches reaching against the gray sky. A ring of black stones stood before her and trapped within the ring of standing stones was a black-eyed woman in a strange cloak of tattered strips.
She was shouting, but Tamara could not hear a word. The black-eyed woman in the strange cloak was shouting a warning. But a warning about what?
Then a new sensation forced itself into the dream.
Something cold and metallic had wrapped itself around her neck, and she felt it digging into the skin of her throat. Spikes of dark magic stabbed into her mind, seeming to spread through her thoughts like thorny branches.
Tamara’s first confused thought was that this nightmare was new.
“Wake up.”
The thorns of dark magic pulsed through her mind.
Tamara’s eyes popped open in sudden agony.
She was lying in the darkened courtyard, two of the thirteen moons shining overhead. Cathala knelt over her, a chain of black metal in her hand, the fingers of her other hand near Tamara's throat.
“My first command,” said Cathala. “Be silent.”
The thorns in Tamara’s mind pulsed with agony, and she could not speak.
And in a surge of horror, Tamara understood what Cathala had done.
It was a dvargir slave collar, much like the ones that the dvargir in the foothills had carried. Frantic, Tamara reached for her magic, only for fresh agony to explode through her.
“Not so smug now, are you?” whispered Cathala, her eyes glinting like knives. “You arrogant little bitch. You never appreciated me. Not even when you were still Talitha.” The resentment dripped from her words like poison. “Well, I will make you appreciate me. I am going to force you to save Owyllain from the Seven Swords. And since you refused to listen to me before, we’re going to have to do this the hard way. Stand.”
Tamara stood, unable to resist the compulsion of the thorns inside her mind. Again, she tried to reach for her magic, and again agony exploded through her, disrupting her concentration.
“We’re leaving,” whispered Cathala. “You will follow me. You…”
Her voice trailed off, her eyes narrowing.
###
In the end, it turned out to be so easy.
The dvargir collar fitted around Tamara’s neck as smooth as silk, and for all her magical power, Tamara was unable to resist the collar’s compulsion spells. Cathala found that immensely satisfying, just as she found ordering Calem to be satisfying.
It was about time that people obeyed her.
All she had to do was tell Calem to kill the others, and that would be that. Calem would butcher the sleeping Keeper and her companions, and Cathala would leave Calem behind with instructions to kill the Shield Knight and the urdhracos freak. Maybe Calem would win, or maybe the Shield Knight would prevail. It was of no importance. Either way, Cathala and Tamara would be well away from the monastery by the time the battle was over, and if the Shield Knight survived, he would never catch Cathala.
She drew breath to command Calem to kill them all…and her eyes fell upon the sleeping form of Prince Krastikon.
And all at once, a brilliant idea popped fully formed into her head, almost as if someone had placed it there.
The Sword of Death lay on the ground next to Prince Krastikon, secured in its scabbard.
Why not take it with her?
Urd Maelwyn was well-defended, and to enter Urd Maelwyn, Cathala might end up needing an army. Stealth would only take her so far. Perhaps she would need to force her way into the Confessor’s stronghold. To do that, she would need an army…and that would mean working with that plodding idiot Hektor Pendragon and his collection of imbecilic followers.
But with the Sword of Death, Cathala could raise her own army, an army that would obey her. She had been raised to believe that necromancy was a vile crime against the laws of both God and man…but why not use the power it offered? Think of all the good she could do with an army perfectly loyal to her, an army that required neither food nor rest. An army assembled not of brutish, lustful warriors like the Shield Knight and Tamlin, but of obedient undead creatures that would serve her will.
Cathala took several quick steps to the side, Tamara stumbling after her as the leash pulled her along. None of the others stirred, still trapped in their spell-induced sleep, and Cathala stooped and lifted the Sword of Death, careful to grasp the weapon by the scabbarded blade. One of the Seven Swords would kill anyone who lifted it save for its bonded bearer. But the Sword’s last bearer had been Taerdyn, and it seemed that the Shield Knight and the Keeper had killed Taerdyn in Trojas. As Swordborn, Krastikon would be immune to the Sword’s power, which meant he could handle the weapon without it killing him.
But Cathala knew the spells that wound bind the Sword to her. Once she was far enough from the monastery, she would work those spells and take control of the weapon.
And she would put the Sword of Death to far better use than Taerdyn had ever managed, the wretched fool.
But she hadn’t escaped yet. It was time to act.
“Calem,” said Cathala. “Kill them all. Start with the Keeper.”
Calem lifted the Sword of Air and strode forward.
Tamara’s mouth opened in a silent scream.
Chapter 20: The Assassin
“Wake up!” screamed Morigna at the top of her lungs. “For God’s sake, if you do not wake up right now then all is lost!”
The strange dream wavered and danced in Calliande’s thoughts.
Her mind felt…off, somehow. Heavier, sluggish, slower than usual. Almost as if she had been drugged. Dark magic stirred before her Sight, ribbons of binding and imprisoning power. That alarmed her, but she could not seem to rouse herself through the fog in her mind.
Fog…
A memory flickered through her thoughts. There was a spell that produced fog, a sleeping mist that induced unconsciousness. Calliande had seen that spell used many times, had cast it herself.
And right now, that sleeping mist filled her mind.
Someone had cast that spell on her.
Alarmed, she reached for the Keeper’s mantle, and its power surged through her. Calliande drew on the white fire of the Well of Tarlion, feeding it through the Keeper’s mantle. The brilliant flame exploded through her mind and shattered the mist, burning it away.
Calliande’s eyes popped open as she awakened, and she sat up.
The Sight blazed to life, and she swept it around her.
She wasn’t sure how many of the others were unconscious, but she saw the aura of earth magic clinging to their sleeping forms.
A dozen yards away, at the edge of Kalussa’s rotating sphere of light, Calliande spotted Cathala. The sorceress held a black chain connected to a dark collar around Tamara’s throat, and Tamara’s face was contorted with terror. The Sight saw the dark magic surging through the metal, and Calliande realized it was a dvargir slave collar. She had worn one herself for a few days in Khald Tormen while a captive of a dark elven lord and Calliande knew firsthand the kind of pain those collars could induce in their victims.
In Cathala’s right hand, she held the scabbarded Sword of Death.
In that instant, Calliande knew her suspicions had been right.
Cathala had betrayed them and was trying to use a dvargir slave collar to kidnap Tamara. That was appalling enough, but she was also trying to steal the Sword of Death. God, was Cathala trying to replace Taerdyn, to become another Necromancer? The first one had been an insane tyrant. How much worse would Cathala become if she escaped with the Sword of Death?
Cathala’s eyes went wide, and Calliande surged to her feet, starting a spell. But Cathala was faster. She thrust out her hand, and a blast of magical fire leaped from her palm with terrific speed. Calliande redirected the power of her spell and gestured, casting a ward around herself. Cathala’s attack slammed into Calliande’s defenses. It was a powerful blast of elemental fire, but the magic of the Well and the mantle of the Keeper was more than enough turn it aside.
Calliande worked another spell and flung out her hands. White fire erupted from her and rolled out in a ring, washing over the others. It did nothing to harm them, but it would dispel the earth magic Cathala had conjured to put them to sleep. They should wake up any moment and join the fight.
Cathala began another spell, and a flash of white caught Calliande’s eye.
She glanced to the side and saw Calem running to join her, the Sword of Air in his hands. That was good. He could distract Cathala while Calliande hammered down her defenses. She did not want to kill Cathala, not unless it could be avoided, though if it was necessary Calliande would do it without hesitation. She called more power to her mind…
Calem drew back the Sword of Air to strike, and Calliande realized that he was about to behead her.
Sheer instinct saved her life, and Calliande threw herself backward. The Sword of Air blurred past her face, and Calliande realized that not all the dark magical aura that the Sight had detected came from Tamara’s collar.
Some of it came from Calem.
Cathala had seized control of the spells that Calliande had suppressed, the spells of dark magic that enslaved Calem.
She just had time for that thought to pass her mind, and then Calem struck again.
This time, Calliande was too slow.
Calem hadn’t been able to retract the Sword of Air all the way for another swing, so instead, he hammered down with the pommel. It struck Calliande’s right temple with terrific force, so hard that something exploded behind her eyes.
All the strength fled from Calliande’s limbs, and she stumbled and fell to the ground.
Everything went black.
###
Kalussa awoke to a scene from a nightmare.
For an instant, she thought it was a dream, but then she realized it was all too real.
She looked up just in time to see Calliande fall, blood flying from her head as Calem swung the pommel of the Sword of Air into her temple. Calem’s face had gone blank and emotionless, his eyes dead. He had looked that way on the day that Kalussa had met him, the day that he had tried to kill Ridmark and Calliande at the town of Myllene.
The enslavement spells that the Masked One had put on him had been activated once more.
Behind Calem stood the green-gowned form of Cathala. In her right hand she held the Sword of Death by its scabbard, and in her left, she carried a long black chain. The chain connected to a black dvargir collar around Tamara’s neck, and she stood rigidly, her face contorted with agony.
All at once the truth snapped into focus for Kalussa. Somehow that vile woman had found a collar to put on Tamara, and she had triggered the enslavement spells on Calem. Fury exploded through Kalussa’s mind, followed quickly by cold, deadly calm.
If Cathala had betrayed them, if she had hurt Calem, then she was going to die for it.
Kalussa seized the Staff of Blades and pointed it at the traitor, but Cathala was faster. She whirled and cast a spell, lightning leaping from her fingers. Kalussa reacted at once, casting one of the wards that Calliande had taught her. She drew on the burning power of the Well of Tarlion and shaped it into a defensive shell. The spell ought to have deflected any attack of elemental magic. Unfortunately, while Kalussa had been forced by necessity to have a great deal of practice with magical healing, there hadn’t been time to develop her skill with the warding spell.
It turned aside most of the attack. The lightning bolt that should have killed her instead knocked her to the ground, most of its force absorbed by Kalussa’s ward. Yet enough of the lightning punched through that Kalussa screamed in agony, her limbs thrashing as the force coiled through her muscles. She tried to fight through it as Cathala cast another spell, purple light flashing around her.
Calem went motionless, his green eyes fixing on Kalussa. Had his cold mask wavered?
“Finish the Keeper, and then kill the rest of them!” snapped Cathala.
Then her head jerked around, her eyes going wide.
###
Ridmark sprinted forward, drawing on Oathshield for speed and strength as the soulblade blazed in his fists.
But even the soulblade’s fury was no match for the rage in his heart.
He saw Calliande fall, blood flying from her head as Calem hammered her down. Lightning flashed as Cathala threw a lightning bolt, hurling Kalussa to the ground. The others lay prone on the earth, stunned or dead, Ridmark could not tell.
“Take Cathala!” growled Ridmark. “I’ll handle Calem.”
Third nodded and drew both her swords, lightning and fire dancing around the blades.
Calem strode forward, ignoring Kalussa, and walked to where Calliande lay sprawled. The Sword of Air came up as he prepared to bring the deadly blade down upon her. Cathala looked back and forth, preparing another spell as purple light flashed and danced around her.
Ridmark wasn’t going to reach Calliande in time
“Calem!” he roared at the top of his lungs.
Calem’s head snapped around, but his expression remained blank, emotionless, distant. It was as if he was drugged, or like he was sleepwalking. He had looked much the same when Ridmark had fought him in the agora of Myllene and the redwood forest, at least until Calliande had suppressed the spells enslaving him.
It seemed that Cathala had found a way to take control of those spells.
Calem, recognizing Ridmark as the most dangerous foe, charged towards him, moving with the inhuman speed granted by the Sword of Air.
Third disappeared in a swirl of blue fire and reappeared behind Cathala, driving her blades into the treacherous woman’s back. At least, she tried to. For all her disdain of Justin Cyros’s Ironcoats, it seemed that Cathala was not above copying their methods. Third’s blades rebounded from a ward of earth magic in a spray of purple sparks.
Cathala whirled, cat-quick, and flung the lightning bolt she had intended for Kalussa into Third from a few inches away. The spell struck Third in the stomach and hurled her backward with enough force that she slammed hard into the curtain wall. Ridmark thought he heard bones snap, heard Third’s swords clatter away.
He would have rushed to her aid, but he dared not take his attention from Calem for a single heartbeat.
The young knight hurtled at him, the Sword of Air a blur of silvery metal, its blade crackling and hissing with lightning. Ridmark’s full attention had to turn to his defense, and he drew on Oathshield for everything the soulblade could give him. He had more experience than Calem, but that was his sole advantage. Calem was just as strong, faster, and a single hit from his weapon would kill
Ridmark.
He stumbled back, and barely got Oathshield up in time to deflect a stroke that should have taken his head off. The light from Oathshield’s burning blade fell across Calliande’s limp form, and he saw the blood dripping from her temple, covering the right side of her face in a crimson mask. If he didn’t help her now, right now, she might die from her wound.
And that gave him the strength to fight on.
Calem stabbed at him, and Ridmark deflected the blow and stepped into Calem’s guard. The younger knight responded as he should have, withdrawing his Sword and bringing it around to strike.
But before he could get the Sword of Air all the way up, Ridmark punched him in the face.
It was an unknightly tactic, but Ridmark was out of time. His fist hammered against Calem’s jaw, blood flying from his mouth, and he heard Kalussa’s cry of dismay as she struggled to her knees. Ridmark seized the opening and attacked Calem, driving the younger knight back. Calem had to retreat, the Sword of Air snapping back and forth to block Ridmark’s thrusts and stabs. For the first time, Calem’s expressionless mask wavered, strain going over his face. If Ridmark could disable him, he could turn his attention to Cathala.
And the others were starting to wake up. Ridmark saw Krastikon stir, saw confusion go over the prince’s face. If Ridmark could get help in the fight, he might be able to overpower both Calem and Cathala.
But Cathala saw the danger. She shoved the Sword of Death through her belt and cast a spell, hurling a snarling lance of magical fire at Ridmark. He had no choice but to step back and raise Oathshield in guard, catching the full force of the attack on the soulblade. Heat washed over his face as Oathshield shattered the spell. Yet Ridmark stumbled a few steps from the force of the impact, allowing Calem to get his breath back.
“To me!” snarled Cathala. “Now!”
Calem whirled and ran to join Cathala, and she said something that Ridmark did not catch. Calem put his free hand on Cathala’s shoulder, and suddenly Calem, Cathala, and Tamara all became insubstantial wraiths of mist and smoke. Ridmark had known that Calem’s wraithcloak let him become immaterial for short bursts of time, but he hadn’t known that the power could extend to others.
Sevenfold Sword: Sorceress Page 29
