“This woman, Aeliana Carhaine,” called Dux Tormark. “Is she truly Tarrabus’s daughter? Or is this a false claim for power?”
“She is Tarrabus’s daughter, my lord Dux,” said Ridmark. “I am certain of it. I saw her face in the parley before the battle outside Rhudlan. I saw Tarrabus in her features. It seems Tarrabus gave her as a child to the Red Family of Cintarra, and they raised her as his personal assassin.”
“An appalling thing to do to a child,” said Constantine.
“Even if she lied about her past, it doesn’t matter,” said Calliande. “She has one of the Warden’s corrupted soulblades, and it gives her tremendous power. The important question is how we shall stop her and Merovech before they work more harm.”
“The Keeper is right,” said Arandar. “Tomorrow, we will begin ferrying the army across the river to Rhudlan. Our host will be vulnerable to attack during that time, so the Swordbearers will go over first. Additionally, much of the strength of the Anathgrimm is deployed there, and Queen Mara’s soldiers will screen our crossing.”
He nodded to where Mara stood with Jager, a half-dozen scowling Anathgrimm of the Queen’s Guard surrounding them. Mara wore her usual dark elven armor, her face solemn. Jager, by contrast, seemed almost cheerful, but he usually did. One of the Anathgrimm stood right behind her, the portions of his face that were visible beneath the bone mask scored with deep lines. Qhazulak was the Lord Captain of the Queen’s Guard, and he commanded Mara’s bodyguard and frequently led the Anathgrimm in battle.
“The Anathgrimm are ready, High King,” said Mara in her quiet voice.
“Just as the Anathgrimm fought at Dun Calpurnia and Tarlion and the valley of Cathair Animus,” growled Qhazulak, his voice a deep rumble that always seemed to make Calliande’s teeth vibrate, “so shall we fight in Cintarra. We will show Merovech’s cringing goblins and his haughty knights the true face of war.”
“As always,” said Dux Constantine, “I am glad you are on our side.”
“A sentiment I wholeheartedly understand and endorse,” announced Jager.
“We have a new ally come to our cause,” said Arandar. “Warlord?”
Shalmathrak and several ghost orc rangers appeared in the shadows behind the High King and walked to join Arandar. A murmur of surprise went through the nobles, though the Duxi had already been told of Accolon’s alliance with the Shaluuskan orcs. Vhorshala and the other priestesses had remained behind, lest their presence inspire a hostile reaction.
Calliande understood. She knew that Vhorshala and the other priestesses of Shalask did not use dark magic, but she still felt uneasy around them. As Shalmathrak had said, a thousand years of enmity could not be overcome in a few weeks.
Though if anything could do it, it was an enemy like the Heralds of Ruin.
“The orcs of the Shaluuskan Forest have made an alliance with us against Merovech and Aeliana,” said Arandar. “Our peoples have been foes for centuries, but Merovech cares nothing for our old enmity.”
“You speak truly, High King of Andomhaim,” said Shalmathrak. “I greet you, knights and nobles of mankind. Long have the followers of Shalask held themselves aloof from Andomhaim and slew any who entered our forests. Yet now we face a common foe. Merovech and Aeliana and have overrun the western half of the Prince of Cintarra’s lands, but a Herald of Ruin came for the ghost orcs, wielding another of the Warden’s corrupted soulblades. We defeated him, but at great cost in lives and treasure. We were victorious over the Herald, only to learn that two more such Heralds of Ruin are ravaging Andomhaim. Once they have finished with you, they will turn their fury upon us. We must stop them now.”
“As you all know, the ghost orcs possess the power of invisibility,” said Accolon. “They have served as scouts and raiders for the defense of Rhudlan. Thanks to their efforts, the Dragon Cult has not yet been able to take us by surprise, and we will know of the enemy’s movements long before they know of ours.”
“Once we cross the River Cintarra, we shall march on Castra Melidern,” said Arandar. “Merovech’s army is too large to fit inside the castra, so I expect he will offer battle before we arrive. Once we face his army, the Magistri and the Keeper will devote their attentions to blocking the powers of the Dragon Cult and the fire of Merovech in his dragon form, while the Swordbearers lead the charge to kill the enemy’s leaders, including Merovech himself.”
“Will the ghost orcs truly side with us?” said Tormark, giving Shalmathrak a suspicious glance. A few years ago, when Calliande had been pregnant with her lost daughter Joanna, Tormark and his eldest daughter had almost gotten killed by an ambitious ghost orc priestess who had sought power in a dark elven ruin. For that matter, Tormark was the Dux of Taliand, and the men of Taliand had long been hostile to the ghost orcs.
“Yes,” said Shalmathrak. “If it will put your mind at rest, Dux of Taliand, consider this matter. The faithful of Shalask and the men of Taliand have been foes since your distant ancestor first raised Castra Arban. But the faithful of Shalask fled from our former dark elven masters long before Taliand was founded, before Malahan Pendragon ever came to the gates of Tarlion. The dark elven lord called the Sculptor created us, and we hated and feared him…but next to the Warden, the Sculptor is as a barn cat is to a lion. Better that we all die in battle than fall under his dominion. We must ally now, rather than be devoured separately.”
No one had any further objections to the presence of the ghost orcs. The tales of the Warden of Urd Morlemoch were a dark legend within Andomhaim. Part of Ridmark’s renown, Calliande knew, came from the fact that he had entered and escaped Urd Morlemoch not once but twice. Few others could boast of such a feat.
With that, the council of war turned to more practical matters – the order for crossing the river, where the various lords and knights would camp, setting patrols and sentries and so forth. Calliande listened with half an ear. Arandar and Accolon and the Duxi had such matters well in hand, and there was no need for her to interject.
“What of the red orcs?” said a knight who held lands not far from Castarium. “We all heard the rumors of the red orcs over the last year, and it turns out they are not a fable, but soldiers of some dark empire across the sea. How are we preparing for them?”
“I left Archbishop Caelmark Arban to rule Cintarra as its Regent in my stead,” said Accolon. “He has a force of soldiers to hold the city, and watchmen have been set at various locations along the southern shore. When the Heptarchy returns, we shall be forewarned.”
“And they will return, my lords,” said Arandar. “Our ancestors fought the urdmordar in the days when Ardrhythain of Cathair Solas founded the Two Orders. The Heptarchy will return, and we must be ready for them. But first, we must break the Dragon Cult and reclaim the lands of Cintarra. Then the full strength of the realm can be marshaled to drive back the soldiers of the urdmordar.”
The council continued as the lords and knights asked questions, and then the men dispersed to their tents. Ridmark and Calliande rode back to where Niall and Ricatus had camped with the men, and Calliande was pleased to see that their tent had already been raised. Rhiain accomplished whatever task she turned her hand to with single-minded ferocity, and Calliande had been the beneficiary of that. When the war against the Dragon Cult was over, Calliande thought, she would ask Rhiain to stay as part of her household. Then again, Rhiain might not wish to do so. Accolon would likely have given Niall lands somewhere by then, and Rhiain might want to manage them. Of course, Calliande intended to help Niall find a wife at some point, and it was possible Niall’s future wife would clash with his strong-minded aunt. Perhaps Rhiain would prefer to stay in Calliande’s household…
Calliande shook her head. Her thoughts were getting ahead of themselves. None of this mattered if they did not defeat the Dragon Cult. And while they had many advantages, Calliande knew, victory was not certain.
It never was.
“What is it?” murmured Ridmark as he closed the tent flap behind them.
“Nothing,” said Calliande. “Beyond the obvious, anyway. I have too much on my mind.”
“We all do,” said Ridmark. She pulled off her armor and cloak and dropped them in the corner with a sigh. “And I think we could all benefit from some distractions.”
“Probably, yes,” said Calliande. She started to ask what sort of distraction, but then his strong arms were around her, his hands finding their way beneath her tunic to slide up her back. “Oh. That sort of distraction.”
“It will take your mind off our troubles,” murmured Ridmark.
“Will it?” She grinned. “Prove it.”
He did, quite successfully.
Later, Calliande sank into a dreamless sleep.
Mostly dreamless, anyway. She had the barest flicker of a dream. A young woman with deep blue eyes and thick black hair looked at her, trying to shout a warning that Calliande could not hear. But that was impossible. Rhoanna was only a little girl.
Yet the sense of unease lingered in her mind.
Though there were enough reasons for unease even without dreams.
***
Chapter 6: Champion of the Seven Goddesses
As Morigna contemplated her grave mistake, she thought of the tale of the blind men and the elephant.
She had first heard that story nearly fifteen years ago when her spirit had still been clothed in a human body, before she had been reborn in the body of the gray elven woman Ansalia. Morigna had been traveling with Ridmark and Calliande on their quest to Urd Morlemoch to find the secret of the Frostborn and the truth of Calliande’s identity. Brother Caius of the dwarves and Kharlacht of Vhaluusk had been with them, along with Gavin of Aranaeus. Morigna had joined them after Ridmark saved her life at Moraime. Part of it had been her sense of debt to Ridmark. Some of it had been her admiration and growing attraction to him, which had come to a head before the battle of the Iron Tower.
But the day Morigna heard the story of the elephant and the blind men, they had been traveling somewhere through the forests of the Wilderland. Caius had undertaken to instruct Gavin in the history of the realm of Andomhaim and the teachings of the church. Morigna had scoffed at the lessons, even as she secretly listened.
Back then, she had been too proud to admit that she didn’t know some things.
And now…and now there was so much Morigna didn’t know. So much she didn’t understand. In the face of her responsibilities as the Guardian of mankind against dark magic, her youthful confidence had been replaced by terror. Because while she didn’t understand everything, she did understand the power of the Warden, the power behind the Heralds of Ruin…and the Warden filled her with fear.
But her duty drove her onward, her duty to protect mankind from dark magic.
Because dark magic unlike anything the realm had ever seen was about to descend on Andomhaim, and Morigna had not understood its full extent until it was too late.
That day in the forest came back to her mind.
“I don’t understand,” said Gavin. He was a Swordbearer now, a father and a husband, but back then, he had been a curly-haired boy with more courage than sense and a mild infatuation with Calliande.
“God is infinite, but mortal minds are not,” said Caius. “We can only understand a portion of the truth. It’s like the account of the elephant and the blind men.”
“What is an elephant?” said Gavin, blinking.
“An animal of Old Earth,” said Ridmark. He had spoken only rarely, but sometimes he interjected into Caius’s lectures. “I don’t think there are any on this world.”
“True,” said Caius. “Let us use instead the example of…oh, an ox. Imagine that four blind men stand around an ox, feel it with their hands, and attempt to describe it. One man might stay the ox is a soft beast, for he felt its coat. Another would feel its horns and say that it was hard and unyielding. The third might feel its legs and say that it was a mighty runner…”
“And the fourth,” said Kharlacht, “would feel the load of dung it dropped upon his boots and would say that it had a mighty stench.”
“That he would,” said Caius. “Do you understand, Gavin? Each blind man told the truth as he perceived it. But each man was only able to perceive a portion of the truth and not its totality. So it is with the mind of God.”
Morigna could not remember what had she said next. Something mocking, no doubt.
But she remembered that tale as she watched the Heptarchy’s vast armada prepare to depart.
After the War of the Seven Swords and the defeat of the Sovereign, after Morigna had been housed in a new body, the Sight had come to her in a vision. She had seen a great dark power rising in the south across the ocean, a dark power that would come north to devour Andomhaim. Morigna could not see how that was possible. The oceans were impassible. The currents could change at random, making accurate navigation impossible, and could tear ships apart. Connmar Pendragon’s fleet had managed to survive to found the realm of Owyllain, but that had been mere chance – or perhaps the hand of God, sending an opponent to disrupt the plans of the Sovereign.
Yet Morigna’s Sight warned her of this dark power across the sea, and in the shadows of the future, she had seen that power coming to destroy Andomhaim.
Crossing the ocean was impossible, but the tunnels of the Deeps went far beneath the sea. Morigna traveled to the dvargir city of Khaldurmar. The dvargir had a better map of the Deeps than any other kindred and had even constructed underground canals to ferry their cargoes, for they traded with tribes and kingdoms all across the world. Morigna had spoken to the dvargir, and they had told her of a great empire to the south, a place called the Heptarchy. She traveled with one of the dvargir caravans, intending to see this place for herself.
And Morigna had found the Heptarchy…and beheld the source of the dark power of her vision.
It was an immense empire controlled by seven female urdmordar who ruled over their subject nations as goddesses. The Heptarchy was perhaps five times the size and ten times the population of Andomhaim. The High King’s realm had two large cities, Tarlion and Cintarra. The Heptarchy had at least twenty great cities the size of Cintarra, maybe more, and the seven urdmordar dominated an entire continent, ruling over dozens of tribes, nations, and various kindreds. Some rebel tribes lurked on the frontiers and in the swamps and mountains, but nothing to seriously threaten the rule of the seven urdmordar and their Seven Temples of devoted spiderling priestesses.
And the Heptarchy was preparing for an invasion.
One of the female urdmordar was called the Visionary, and some of the Heptarchy’s subjects called her the Mad Goddess, though never within earshot of the priestesses. Even the other urdmordar considered the Visionary mad, for unlike most female urdmordar, the Visionary was interested in machines, in the sciences, in the study of natural philosophy. She had created several of the subject kindreds that served the Seven Temples, and she had devised a machine called the sea compass, an instrument that charted the ocean currents. With the sea compass, the Heptarchy could cross the ocean, and the Seven Temples had assembled a vast armada and a huge army to add new lands to the sway of their goddesses.
Morigna had hunted the warrior commanding that mighty force. Throughout the Heptarchy, people spoke in fearful whispers of Agravhask of Mazulrast, the Warlord of the Heptarchy and the Champion of the Seven Goddesses. The rumors said that the orcish warrior was the greatest commander and captain of the age, that even his defeats had been the foundations he laid for crushing victories over his foes. The Heptarchy endured a constant state of low-level internal warfare as the client kings, chieftains, and cities of the Seven Temples competed against each other, as the urdmordar used their Temples as pieces on a gameboard for their own amusement. The Heptarchy was a land of many, many experienced warriors.
And all of them feared Agravhask.
Morigna had sought Agravhask out, intending to strike him down. The priestesses of the Seven Temples wanted the invasion to provide more subjects
and sacrifices for their goddesses, but it seemed that Agravhask’s will was the one that drove the effort. If he was killed, the entire thing might fall apart as the priestesses returned to their constant squabbling.
Disguised as one of the priestesses, Morigna had found Agravhask…and then she had understood.
Too late had she understood.
The Warlord of the Heptarchy carried a corrupted soulblade, and the Sight had blazed to life within Morigna as she beheld that vortex of dark power. A mighty vision burned through her, and she saw the forging of the dark soulblades in Urd Morlemoch, saw the five Heralds of Ruin, saw the Warden and the Theophract send the Heralds forth to claim the Great Eye and open it. In the depths of that vision, Morigna understood the Warden’s intent.
She had seen the threat, but only part of its totality. Like the men in Caius’s tale, she had only perceived part of the elephant. Which meant that Morigna was not in Andomhaim to warn them against the coming of the Heralds and the Dwyrstone rifts. She had done what she could, sending visions to warn Ridmark and to help the others on the dangerous paths they must walk. But Morigna had been trapped in the Heptarchy and had done what she could to sabotage Agravhask and the great armada.
She had failed.
Which was why she now stood on the rail of Agravhask’s flagship watching the Isle of Kordain recede to the south.
The large island was one of the very few places that could be reached from Andomhaim by sea with any degree of reliability, at least when the sea currents permitted it. Over the centuries, various exiles from Andomhaim had fled to the Isle, setting themselves up as pirate-lords and robber knights. Something like a stable society had arisen there, ruled by an oligarchy of minor exiles and their descendants who raided the mainland whenever they could work up the courage or the nobles were distracted. Around fifty thousand humans lived on the island, working its farms and fishing its nearby waters.
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