“Thank you, Kyralion,” said Calliande. “One more question. Those are soulstones on your bow and upon your sword, are they not?”
“They are, Lady Calliande,” said Kyralion. “They are not great soulstones like those that empower the sword of the Shield Knight, for the elves of the Unity lost the skill to grow great soulstones after the destruction of our cities. But we still possess the knowledge of lesser soulstones, and those were used to empower my weapons. My bow has the power of fire, and my sword that of lightning.”
“Useful weapons,” said Ridmark. The halflings of the Ghost Path tribe he had met in the Qazaluuskan Forest years ago had possessed something of the same knowledge, growing minor soulstones and using their magic to defend themselves. Such soulstones lacked the mighty power of the stone that Imaria Shadowbearer had used to open her world gate, but the lesser soulstones were still deadly weapons in the proper hands.
“A final question, if I may,” said Tramond. “Do you have any idea who this Calem fellow was? Or how he managed to find the Sword of Air itself?”
“I do not, Sir Tramond,” said Kyralion. “Among the elves of the Unity, it is known that King Hektor Pendragon holds the Sword of Fire, King Justin Cyros the Sword of Earth, the Confessor the Sword of Water, the Necromancer of Trojas the Sword of Death, and the traitor Rhodruthain the Sword of Life, but the fate of the Sword of Air has been a mystery.”
“Until today,” muttered Tamlin.
“But I never saw Calem before today,” said Kyralion.
“I have a thought, Sir Tramond,” said Calliande.
“Please, my lady,” said Tramond.
“Calem was young,” said Calliande. “Or at least he looked young. No more than Lady Kalussa’s age. He couldn’t have been born yet when the Sovereign was killed. For that matter, there was a potent spell of dark magic upon him.” She took a deep breath. “I think someone was controlling him.”
“But who?” said Tramond. “Who could command a bearer of one of the Seven Swords?”
“Who else?” said Tamlin. “One of the other bearers?”
Calliande nodded. “I am correct in assuming that a wielder can only bear one of the Seven Swords at a time?”
“So it has always been thought,” said Tramond.
“I think,” said Calliande, “that someone must have escaped Urd Maelwyn with two of the Swords. Either King Justin, the Confessor, the Necromancer of Trojas, or the Masked One, since they all use dark magic. They each hold one of the Swords, but what would they do with a second? They can’t give it to a lieutenant or a vassal…”
“Because the vassal would promptly rebel,” said Tramond.
“Precisely,” said Calliande. “So, instead, they made a slave. Someone to carry the Sword of Air for them and to wield it at their command. I think that was the spell of dark magic upon Calem. A spell of enslavement.”
Kalussa frowned. “Could he not break the spell, Lady Calliande? The Seven Swords are mighty.”
“Perhaps,” said Tamlin, who as ever seemed eager to argue with Kalussa. “But what if he was raised as a slave? Trained to know no other life but killing and fighting? If the spell was woven deeply enough into him, he might never know anything else. He might not even realize he could resist his masters.”
There was a haunted look on his face as he spoke. Ridmark knew that Tamlin had been taken as a slave as a child and trained as a gladiator in the arenas of Urd Maelwyn. No doubt the comparison was unsettling.
“It may well be,” said Calliande. “But if Calem attacks again, I have a plan. I will try to break the spells of dark magic that bind him. Perhaps we can free him, and deny the use of the Sword of Air to our foes.”
Tramond nodded. “You realize, of course, that means you have an enemy. Someone knew that you were coming to Myllene, and sent Calem to kill you.”
“I do, Sir Tramond,” said Ridmark. But who? As far as he knew, neither King Justin nor the Necromancer nor the Masked One nor the Confessor knew that Ridmark and Calliande even existed. Yet Khurazalin had escaped from Castra Chaeldon and had likely fled back to his master. Whoever commanded Khurazalin was most probably the same man who commanded Calem.
Ridmark was sure they had not seen the last of Khurazalin.
Which likely meant they had not seen the last of Calem, nor of Calem’s master.
“Very well,” said Tramond. “Lord Ridmark, Lady Calliande, I would be honored if you would be my guests this evening. Tomorrow, we shall travel to Aenesium, and lay all these matters before the wisdom of King Hektor.”
###
That night, Ridmark slept, and in his sleep, he dreamed.
“Be ready,” said Morigna.
Ridmark stood on the broad, sandy beach below the hills surrounding Castra Chaeldon, the sea pounding against the shore in foamy waves. The air smelled of salt and gull dung. It was night, and seven of the thirteen moons were out, bathing the shore in silvery light.
Morigna, the woman Ridmark had loved before Calliande, stood at the edge of the water. She looked exactly as she had on the day that she had died nine years ago, exactly as she had when her spirit had appeared to him in his dreams and during the final battle against Imaria Shadowbearer. She had black hair bound back in a thick braid, and black eyes in a pale, sharp face. She wore wool and leather and a tattered cloak of green and brown strips, and carried a carved staff in her right hand. Sometimes the sigils on the wood flickered with pale white light.
“Ready for what?” said Ridmark.
She stepped closer, the sand crunching beneath her boots.
“Your heart is weary and heavy with grief,” said Morigna. “And, I fear, in your grief, you are going to be tested. Be ready for it.”
The dream dissolved, and Ridmark awoke.
For a moment, he did not know where he was. He lay atop a blanket on a stone floor, and next to him Calliande slept curled on her side, her breathing slow and steady. Gareth and Joachim lay against the wall, wrapped in their blankets. Of course – they were guests in Sir Tramond’s castra. The castra was not large, and the accommodations were cramped.
Had he been dreaming?
Morigna, he had been dreaming of Morigna, that was it, though he could not recall the details. It must have been a normal dream and not a prophetic vision since her spirit had passed to whatever fate awaited her after Imaria’s defeat. He hoped God had been merciful to Morigna.
Strange. Ridmark hadn’t dreamed of her in years, not since the defeat of the Frostborn. Sometimes Ridmark’s thoughts turned to Morigna when he was in a melancholy mood, but he hadn’t dreamed of her…
Ah. The answer came to him with a mixture of guilt and annoyance.
Ridmark grimaced and lay back down. He knew why Morigna had appeared in his dreams again. He had not lain with Calliande in nearly a year, and his body was reminding him of that fact.
At least he hadn’t been dreaming of Kalussa. That would have been worse.
Yet…had there been something else?
He closed his eyes and tried to fall back asleep, but the unease would not leave him.
***
Chapter 4: Ambassador
They left Myllene the next morning.
Ridmark noted with bemusement that he was well on his way to collecting an army before he arrived at the gates of Aenesium.
Between the wagons, the Arcanius Knights, the hoplites he had taken from Castra Chaeldon, Sir Tramond’s hoplites, and Sir Tramond’s own supply wagons, Ridmark found himself traveling with nearly a hundred men as they continued southwest towards Aenesium. That slowed their pace, but he did not mind. His sons were traveling with them, and Ridmark placed their safety before any other priority, especially since unlike Calliande, they had no capacity to defend themselves. For that matter, both Tamlin and Kalussa spoke highly of Sir Tramond Azertus, and the two of them rarely agreed on anything.
The more friends Ridmark and Calliande had when they finally met Hektor Pendragon, the better.
Without exception,
the men of Owyllain said that Hektor Pendragon was an honorable man, that he was fighting to restore the realm to the unity it had known under his older brother Kothlaric. Yet Ridmark knew that kings were jealous of their power, and he and Calliande had power. Best to tread lightly around King Hektor.
Especially since they might need his help to find Rhodruthain.
Ridmark expected to turn command of their column over to Tramond, but to his surprise, the older man seemed willing to defer to him, even eager. That baffled Ridmark, but he realized that Tramond had just seen Ridmark fight a bearer of one of the Seven Swords and survive. More than that, Ridmark had won the fight, even if Calem had escaped. Swordbearers were respected and admired in Andomhaim, but Ridmark was the only Swordbearer in Owyllain.
It seemed that the only Swordbearer in Owyllain would be held in awe.
Ridmark didn’t like that thought. Calliande’s warning about the dangers of inadvertently challenging a king flashed through his mind. Ridmark had experienced something similar when he had still carried the sword of the Dragon Knight, when he had possessed powers unmatched by anyone in Andomhaim. In the end, Ridmark had returned the sword of the Dragon Knight to Ardrhythain because the pressure to abuse its power had been growing. He had feared the presence of the sword might cause a civil war in Andomhaim as the nobles tried to exploit its power.
And now Ridmark was the only Swordbearer in Owyllain. Would the pattern repeat itself? Causing strife wasn’t something that Ridmark sought.
Yet, somehow, he had found himself leading soldiers that he had no right to command, men who followed King Hektor.
Still, it was a pity Rhodruthain hadn’t sent more help with Ridmark. If one Swordbearer had changed the fate of Castra Chaeldon, imagine what a hundred might have done. Perhaps they could have defeated the bearers of the Seven Swords, presented the blades to King Hektor, and reunited the realm of Owyllain under one Pendragon High King once more.
They made good time as they marched southwest, despite the hilly terrain. The men of Owyllain were used to marching long distances in great haste, and while the scutians were slow, the beasts had remarkable stamina and plodded ever onward. For that matter, the terrain was leveling out, the hills becoming lower. According to Tamlin and Tramond, in another day they would leave the hill country and enter the redwood forests northwest of Aenesium and its surrounding farmlands. Ridmark had never heard of a “redwood” tree before, but he hoped they would be small enough not to offer hiding places for an ambush.
Calliande was in good spirits, probably because Gareth and Joachim had taken to their new surroundings. Joachim had a daily tantrum about wanting to go home, but even back home Joachim usually had a daily tantrum about something. Joachim’s moods were like a storm, his outbursts passing as quickly as they came, while Gareth was more level-tempered. It helped that Tamlin and Aegeus had taken the boys under their wing and were teaching them swordplay, though Aegeus had to watch his language.
It also helped that Calliande and Kalussa appeared to be getting along, at least on the surface. They were the only women in the column. For that matter, Gareth and Joachim liked Kalussa, and she seemed delighted with the boys, alternating between playing the wise older sister and joining in their games. Kalussa also wanted to become Calliande’s apprentice and asked Ridmark’s wife questions about the nature and practice of magic.
Ridmark suspected that Kalussa had not given up on the idea of becoming his concubine. He made sure to never let himself be alone with her. Thankfully, in the marching column, this was easy.
Ridmark also joined Parmenio and his scouts as they roved over the hills. The land of Owyllain and its plants and animals were unfamiliar to Ridmark. The more he knew about this new land, the better. Kyralion sometimes accompanied him, since the gray elf was uncomfortable around others, and preferred to perform his tasks in silence.
That suited Ridmark. Kyralion was a good scout and did everything well, save talking, and it gave Ridmark time to think.
The morning of the second day from Myllene, Calliande joined Ridmark as he watched the sun rise over the hills to the east.
“What troubles you?” she said in a quiet voice.
Now there was a question with limitless answers. Ridmark worried about his sons, how they had been drawn here and found themselves in the middle of the War of the Seven Swords. He was worried about Calliande. She had dealt well with their unexpected journey to Owyllain, but he knew the grief of Joanna’s death still stirred in her mind, and he feared that she might collapse the way she had in the previous months. He wondered how they would find their way back to Andomhaim. Ridmark was also annoyed by how much he was attracted to Kalussa, and irritated by the necessary effort to make sure he stayed away from her.
But something else troubled him at the moment.
“I was thinking,” said Ridmark, “about Morigna.”
Calliande blinked. “Morigna?” She hesitated. “You’re not…you’re not blaming yourself for her death, are you? It was…”
“No.” In truth, he had been thinking about Morigna because her memory had been in his dreams, but he didn’t want to talk about that with Calliande. He feared anything that might remind Calliande of Joanna and send her mind back into that dark spiral.
But thinking about Morigna had reminded Ridmark of the circumstances of their meeting.
“Do you remember when we met Morigna for the first time?” said Ridmark. “All those years ago?”
She smiled a little. “It was only ten years ago, Ridmark. I don’t think we’re quite old enough to say ‘all those years ago’ yet.”
“All this,” Ridmark waved his hand at the sleeping camp, “reminds me of the day we met Morigna.”
“What do you mean?” said Calliande, gazing at him.
“It was a mystery,” said Ridmark. “Do you remember? We were trying to figure out why the undead were attacking the town of Moraime.” Calliande nodded. “But it was because of us, in the end. Coriolus had set a trap to kill us and take that empty soulstone. We didn’t realize the truth until it was nearly too late to do anything about it.”
“I remember,” said Calliande. “Why are you thinking of it now?”
“Because,” said Ridmark. “This feels the same. All of it. Owyllain, Rhodruthain, the Seven Swords…we’ve walked into something we don’t understand. We don’t understand it, and that’s dangerous.”
“We might not need to understand it,” said Calliande. “We just need to find Rhodruthain and force him to send us home. Or to find some other way back.”
He looked at her. “Do you really believe that?”
Calliande sighed. “No. I don’t. My mind keeps chasing itself with questions. Why did Rhodruthain bring us here? Why did he and Talitha betray and murder High King Kothlaric?”
“Assuming they really did,” said Ridmark. “I’ve heard a dozen different accounts of what happened at Urd Maelwyn when the Sovereign fell, and they all seem to disagree on one detail or another.”
“Aye,” said Calliande. “History always seems to be like that. I ought to know. I lived through enough of it, and people always get what happened wrong. For that matter, why did the Sovereign create the Seven Swords? And why didn’t he use them? Surely, he must have realized that Kothlaric was going to overcome him. Why not use weapons of power that might have saved him?”
“The Sovereign was the Warden’s brother,” said Ridmark. “Like the Warden, maybe he had a clever plan that didn’t work.”
Calliande shuddered. “Another situation we didn’t understand.” Her blue eyes widened. “That’s what this reminds me of, Ridmark. Not Moraime. When we went to Urd Morlemoch. The Warden had set a trap for both of us, years before we even met for the first time.”
“God and the saints,” said Ridmark. He rubbed his jaw. The stubble rasped beneath his palm. He needed a good shave, but it was tricky to shave with a bronze razor. “You’re right. It does remind me of Urd Morlemoch. And I don’t like the comparison.”
They stood in silence for a moment.
“At least this time,” said Calliande, “I have my memory and my magic. And you have Oathshield.”
Ridmark smiled a little. “More impressive than a stick, is it?”
Calliande raised an eyebrow. “As I recall, you defeated Mournacht and Kurdulkar and God knows how many others with that staff. But don’t tell Tamlin. The poor boy is wrapped up in the romance of a knight’s sword, and it would break his heart.”
Ridmark laughed, and Calliande smiled. “Will it? Well, Tamlin has a good grasp of the history of Owyllain, it seems. And Kyralion knows a little about the gray elves and Rhodruthain. Maybe between the two of them, we can learn some more about the riddle.”
Calliande shook her head. “Assuming I can get anything out of Kyralion. He doesn’t like to talk. I wonder what it means that he is of the gray elves but not part of the Unity.” She shrugged. “Maybe he’s just shy.”
“Like a monk,” said Ridmark.
Calliande blinked. “A monk?”
“When we visited that monastery near Tarlion,” said Ridmark. “The monks were so unused to company that their tongues froze in their mouths. I expect Kyralion is unused to company of any sort.”
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