Niall wasn’t sure what to say. He felt a wave of jealousy. Niall did like Moriah a great deal, and sometimes he found himself thinking about her. And she had been brave enough to tell Niall the truth about Pompeia when he had been making a fool of himself.
But why would she want to be with him, knowing that he had made such a serious mistake? Niall was probably fortunate that she did not regard him with total disgust.
“I…think that you should, sir,” said Niall, letting go of the jealousy.
Rufinius blinked. “Truly?”
“I’m…not sure you two would be a well-suited match if I am honest,” said Niall, “but my judgment about such matters is…questionable. Or it has been in the past. If I can offer counsel, I think you should talk to Lady Calliande. I’ve heard Lord Ridmark talk about all the marriages she has arranged.” An idea came to him. “And you’re Lady Calliande’s nephew by marriage, right? So you’re a relative. She probably would enjoy helping you court Moriah.”
“That did not occur to me,” said Rufinius, “but it is a good idea.” He clapped Niall on the shoulder. “Thank you, sir. I will speak to Lady Calliande when the war is over.”
“Maybe you should do it tomorrow,” said Niall, voice quiet. He looked at the southern curtain wall. He couldn’t see the harbor and the ocean from here, but he knew that if he climbed the ramparts, he could view the sea…and where the Heptarchy warships would arrive. “Because we don’t know what tomorrow might bring.”
“Perhaps you are right,” said Rufinius.
Niall looked at the closed door and felt a flicker of disappointment. Maybe he should have told Rufinius that he would have a rival for Moriah’s attentions. But Moriah had seen Niall’s worst mistake. If Niall asked her to a dinner or a ride through the countryside, she would laugh in his face. Once the war was over, maybe he would talk to Rhiain about finding a wife. God knows his aunt had made enough hints about it lately.
“But we can worry about tomorrow when it comes,” said Niall.
Because he feared that tomorrow would bring immense evil.
###
“Thank you again,” said Morigna, “for rescuing me.”
Calliande nodded. “You braved great perils to warn us of the Heptarchy. I only wish we could have done more for you.”
Morigna let out a tired laugh. “Did you not just give me that lecture, Keeper?”
Calliande stood with Ridmark and Morigna in the great hall of the Prince’s Palace. Night had fallen, and the Palace’s halfling servants had cleared away the dishes and the leftovers from the high table. Calliande, Ridmark, and Morigna stood alone in the cavernous space of the great hall.
She remembered when they had first come here, when Cyprian and the Regency Council had held their banquet welcoming the Crown Prince. Moriah had captured and humiliated Lord Hadrian Vindon as part of her campaign against the Drakocenti, and that had been part of the chain of events leading to the destruction of the Drakocenti and the discovery of the Great Eye.
“The longer you are a Guardian,” said Calliande, “the more you will realize that it is easier to give advice than it is to take it.”
“That is indeed the truth,” said Morigna. “But it seems that Arandar and Accolon will take my counsel.”
“Accolon knows the danger,” said Ridmark. “He defended Cintarra from the Heptarchy’s first attack. Thanks to you, we are forewarned against their next assault. Otherwise, they would have surprised us.”
Morigna hesitated. “Do you think that we can defend against them?”
Calliande blinked, surprised. Morigna had just spent years with the soldiers of the Heptarchy. She knew more about them than anyone else in Andomhaim. Then Calliande realized that Morigna was looking for comfort, for reassurance. Ridmark had a way of making the impossible seem feasible, or at least attainable. Calliande could remember numerous times when Ridmark had simply refused to give up, and that had been the difference between defeat and victory.
“I don’t know,” said Ridmark. “We repulsed the first attack, the one that high priestess…” He frowned, trying to recall the name.
“Mayascora,” said Morigna.
“The one that she convinced Agravhask to launch,” said Ridmark. “Accolon was able to drive them off. If you hadn’t warned us, the Heptarchy would have taken Accolon unawares, and they might well have seized Cintarra. Arandar had only begun to gather the army of Andomhaim then, and by the time he arrived, he might have seen Cintarra in the hands of the Heptarchy and Merovech Valdraxis in Rhudlan.” He shrugged. “We do have many advantages. We know Agravhask is coming, and the fortifications of Cintarra are strong. He will not be able to take the city in a surprise attack. Making a contested landing is one of the hardest things to do in warfare. We also have the Magistri and the Swordbearers, and the power of the Arcanius Knights once they arrive from Tarlion. The Swordbearers, I think, will prove especially potent. It sounds like the Heptarchy and the Seven Temples are used to having an overwhelming advantage in any fight, and they won’t know how to deal with a swordsman with a soulblade.”
“I hope you are right,” said Morigna.
Ridmark shrugged again. “Agravhask has many advantages, but so do we. I don’t know what will happen once our forces meet in battle. No one does. And battles are always chaos and unforeseen chances. Agravhask could be on the cusp of victory, and he could catch an arrow through the eye, and his triumph would be undone. Or the same could happen to us.”
“A blunt speech,” said Morigna, “but I find it oddly comforting.”
“The bitter truth is always better than sweet lies,” said Ridmark.
“For one thing, the bitter truth isn’t likely to poison you,” said Calliande.
“Bitter truths,” said Morigna. She shook her head and then looked from Ridmark to Calliande. “There is something I have seen in the shadows of your future, something that you should know.”
“What is it?” said Calliande with a flicker of misgiving. She did not fear the prophetic powers of the Sight. The Sight let the Keeper and the Guardians look into the shadows of the future, but those visions were only shadows cast by the past and present. The shadows had not yet become real, and could still be changed. No futures were ever set in stone.
But some futures were harder to avert than others.
A man who would die of complications related from chronic drunkenness ten years into the future might avoid that fate by swearing off drink today. A man who jumped from a high tower was almost certainly going to die, and once the point of no return had passed, nothing could change his fate. The shadow of the future would become a reality no matter what anyone did.
“The Heralds are going to try to kill you, Ridmark,” said Morigna.
Ridmark snorted. “I don’t have the Sight, and I could have told you that. Aeliana blames me for her father’s defeat, and she wants my head. Merovech will try to kill me because he likes killing, and I suppose this Warlord Agravhask will simply kill me because I am in his way.”
“It is more than that,” said Morigna. “I don’t think the Heralds fully realize it, but the dark soulblades allow the Warden and the Theophract to guide them and control them in a way they don’t even understand. Agravhask likely realized it – of the Heralds, I suspect he is the only one who fully comprehends the Warden’s goals, whatever they are. Do you not feel rage against dark magic whenever you wield Oathshield?”
Ridmark nodded. “I do. Best not to let it control me, though. The warrior who lets his emotions control him will make a mistake that gets him killed.
“The Heralds will feel something similar at the sight of you,” said Morigna. “The Warden wants you dead, Ridmark.”
“Spite over what happened at Urd Morlemoch, I expect,” said Calliande.
“No,” said Morigna. “It is more than that. The Warden can see the shadows of the future more profoundly than anyone save perhaps Ardrhythain himself. And in some of those futures, Ridmark…he sees that you defeat him.”
“I do not know,” said Morigna, “but I have seen it, and so has the Warden.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” said Ridmark. “I am one man with a soulblade. A powerful soulblade, true, but still one man. I cannot defeat the Warden’s plan on my own.”
“No,” murmured Calliande, “but you used to call yourself one man with a stick. Remember? That was before you were a Swordbearer again. And when you were one man with a stick, you saved my life, took the Iron Tower, helped me find my memories and my powers, and killed Tymandain Shadowbearer.”
“I had help,” said Ridmark.
“You did,” said Calliande, “but that’s not the point. You were at the center of those events, Ridmark. The axis. If you hadn’t been there, I would have died, Tymandain Shadowbearer would have triumphed, and the shadow of Incariel would have devoured the world. You didn’t do those things by yourself or without help, but if you hadn’t been there…none of those victories would have happened.” She looked at Morigna. “That’s what the Warden fears, isn’t it?”
Morigna inclined her head. “I believe so.”
Ridmark let out a long breath. “Then we shall have to make sure we are victorious, will we not?”
Calliande shared a look with Morigna, and they both smiled.
She understood. Calliande felt better herself, hearing Ridmark say it.
“Let’s get some sleep,” said Calliande. “Tomorrow will be a busy day.”
And every day after that for some time, she expected.
***
Chapter 16: Storm Clouds
“Riders have come in from the watch posts along the coasts,” said Caelmark, his voice grim. “I fear their news is ill.”
It was just after dawn. Ridmark stood with Calliande, Morigna, Sir Niall, Decimus, Sir Rufinius, and Sir Ricatus in the northern courtyard of the Prince’s Palace. The men he had gathered to rescue Morigna waited nearby, preparing to travel back to Rhudlan. The clatter of armor and the stamping of horses’ hooves filled the air.
“They have seen the Heptarchy fleet, lord archbishop?” said Calliande.
“Not yet,” said Caelmark. “Not in the numbers that the Guardian Morigna described. But there have been multiple sightings of longships of the sort that you encountered yesterday, and three sightings of larger warships and transport vessels. The scouts were most detailed in their reports.” He looked at Morigna. “It seems your warnings were correct, Guardian. The enemy is indeed preparing to land near Cintarra.”
“I urge you to make preparations to defend both the walls and the harbor,” said Ridmark. “I suggest building as many barricades and temporary walls as possible overlooking the quays. If the Heptarchy sails into the harbor and tries to force a landing, that will at least slow them.”
“The work is already underway. After you depart, I will order the city’s gates to be closed, and double the watch,” said Caelmark. “I will have to conscript men from the city into work gangs. I fear the Crown Prince took most of our strength north to reinforce Rhudlan.”
“Once the royal army arrives, we shall have more men,” said Ridmark. “I am leaving you Sir Niall and Sir Rufinius.” The two knights nodded. “I expect you to do whatever is necessary to aid the archbishop in preparing the city for battle. Decimus, the archbishop has Magistri of his own, so you’ll come with us.”
“Yes, my lord,” said Decimus.
“I will use the Magistri to send messages to the Keeper, should there be need,” said Caelmark. “God go with you, brother.”
“And you,” said Ridmark.
“Come, then,” said Caelmark to Niall and Rufinius. “We have a great deal to do and little time in which to do it.”
The archbishop strode towards his waiting horse, the two knights following him. Ridmark and Calliande turned, heading towards the open space where he would open the gate to Rhudlan.
Ricatus came to his side, walking in perfect silence.
“I don’t suppose,” said Ricatus, “there’s a reason you’re leaving Sir Niall here and bringing me back to Rhudlan?”
Ridmark felt a pulse of annoyance but kept it from his face and voice. “You and Sir Niall don’t get along particularly well. You’re both capable knights and leaders, and the royal army and Cintarra itself are about to come under attack, perhaps simultaneously. Better to have one of you here and one of you with the royal army.”
“Very well,” said Ricatus, glancing at where Niall mounted his horse next to the archbishop. No doubt Ricatus wanted to be seen by someone influential and powerful, to come out of the battle with rich rewards. Ridmark thought that pointless – if they did not win the battle first, there wouldn’t be rewards to distribute to anyone.
“Don’t worry, Sir Ricatus,” said Calliande, voice quiet. “Niall will be in as much danger as you are. More, likely, since the Heptarchy might strike Cintarra before the High King can arrive with his army.”
“And if we did leave you here,” said Ridmark, “you might get knifed in your sleep. I imagine quite a few of the commoners of Cintarra remember the enclosures.”
That finally made an impression on Ricatus.
“Perhaps you are right, Lord Ridmark,” said Ricatus. “The commoners always resent when a lord exercises his lawful rights over the land.”
“Go,” said Ridmark. “Get the men ready to move. We’re leaving now.”
Ricatus offered a curt bow and strode back to the waiting men-at-arms, shouting instructions.
“He seems annoyed,” said Calliande.
“He wants the prestige that would come from being seen as a confidant of the archbishop,” said Ridmark. “Never mind that Caelmark would detest him. Dux Gareth used to say that a lord will always have at least two troublemakers among his vassals, and Ricatus Eborium is one of Accolon’s.” He shook his head. “Well, before this is over, Ricatus will have ample opportunity to earn renown in battle, and then some. Ready?”
Calliande nodded, and Ridmark drew Oathshield, preparing to call on the sword’s power to open the gate.
###
A short time later, Ridmark’s soldiers had rejoined the army on the eastern bank of the River Cintarra, the towers of Rhudlan rising on the opposite bank. The mad visions the gates inspired in Ridmark had passed, leaving him with a vague sense of disquiet. Ricatus had taken the men to wait with Hhazakar’s soldiers, and Ridmark, Calliande, and Morigna had ridden in haste to the High King’s banner.
They found Arandar Pendragon and his son Accolon there, along with the High King’s chief magistrates, the Duxi, and the more powerful Comites of the realm. Already they were riding south, and Ridmark saw the ferries moving back and forth in haste across the river, recalling the soldiers that had been sent to the western bank. He hated to think of all the work that had been wasted moving the men across the river. But war had a way of overturning plans like houses built upon sand.
And more than work would be wasted. Lives would be lost, and farms and freeholds built up over generations would be burned.
“Lord Ridmark, Lady Calliande!” called Arandar. “Join us, please.” Ridmark and Calliande steered their horses close to the High King and his guard of knights, Morigna following them. “It has been a long time, Guardian Morigna.”
“Not that long since Cathair Animus, High King of Andomhaim,” said Morigna.
Arandar offered a faint smile. “But a long time since we first met in the Torn Hills on the way to Urd Morlemoch, when I thought you a dangerous witch, and you thought me an arrogant knight.” A few of the lords cast wary glances in Morigna’s direction.
She smiled. “So it has. A long time, and a long path for us both.”
“But somewhat longer, I think, for you,” said Arandar. “For I am told that you have been to the land of the Heptarchy and returned to tell the tale.”
“I have, if barely,” said Morigna. “I almost did not escape the clutches of Warlord Agravhask. I beg you, High Kin
g,” Arandar’s eyebrows lifted at that, “do not underestimate Agravhask. Not only is he a Herald of Ruin, but he has the wisdom of King Solomon of the scriptures, and the ruthlessness of the kings of Assyria.”
“You make him sound like Mournacht,” said Arandar.
“Mournacht of Kothluusk was brutal, not wise,” said Calliande, “and Tymandain Shadowbearer manipulated Mournacht to his doom.”
“Tell us what you have learned,” said Arandar.
Morigna raised her voice and told them, addressing the High King and the chief nobles of Andomhaim. Once again, Ridmark heard about the seven urdmordar who ruled the Heptarchy, about the Seven Temples that served the urdmordar and enforced their will upon their conquered nations and tribes. Morigna told the High King about Agravhask of Mazulrast, about his rise to Warlord and his quest to Urd Morlemoch, how he had seemingly joined the Warden’s cause of his own will.
“And now this great host comes to Cintarra?” said Accolon, frowning. “Greater than the one you warned me against?”
“Greater by far,” said Morigna. “Thousands of warships, and tens of thousands of soldiers. Agravhask’s original plan was to land a third of his host west of the city, a third of it to the east, and send the rest to assault the harbor.”
“But he knows of your escape,” said Arandar. “He knows that you eluded him. Else he would not have sent those longships to pursue you. And when those soldiers fail to return, he will realize that you escaped and told us your plans.”
“So he will change his strategy,” said Accolon.
“Almost certainly,” said Morigna. “If I could have but eluded him without his knowledge…”
Arandar made a dismissive gesture. “What is done is done, it cannot be undone. At least we will not be taken unawares. We might have been halfway to Castra Melidern when Cintarra fell, and the gathered army of Andomhaim would have found itself trapped between Agravhask and the Dragon Cult.” He let out a breath. “We cannot predict what Agravhask and the Heptarchy will do. I don’t suppose there is any chance they will abandon the attack on Cintarra and assail Tarlion itself, or some other coastal region of Andomhaim.”
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