Sevenfold Sword

by Jonathan Moeller

  “He was her lieutenant and student,” said Tamlin.

  “I think he admired her when he was a young man,” said Kalussa, “but he hates her now for betraying Kothlaric. All the men of Owyllain curse her memory, but none more bitterly than Master Nicion.”

  “Have you ever heard Nicion mention the New God?” said Calliande.

  Tamlin’s face went grave.

  “No, never,” said Kalussa. “Until we heard Khurazalin and Archaelon talk about it, I had never heard of this New God.”

  Calliande glanced at the rear of the column, to where a single gray-cloaked figure walked alone. “I wonder if the gray elves know anything of the New God.”

  Kalussa blinked and then her eyes went wide. “Oh! That is clever, my lady.”

  “I should have thought of it sooner,” said Tamlin. “The gray elves have lived in this land far longer than humans. Perhaps they know some lore we never learned. The idea should have come to me long ago.”

  Kalussa smirked. “That is why she is Keeper, and you are not.”

  “And neither are you, Lady Kalussa,” said Tamlin, “and…”

  “Stop bickering, children,” said Calliande in the same tone she used with Gareth and Joachim. Tamlin laughed, and Kalussa went a little red. “Let’s have a talk with Kyralion.”

  She walked to the rear of the column, Kalussa and Tamlin following her. Gareth and Joachim ought to be fine on their own for a few moments. They were too fascinated by the trisalians to wander off, and she doubted Jolcus would run out of lectures about the animals for a few days. Kyralion looked at her as they approached, and he stiffened. He offered one of those mechanical bows.

  “Lady Calliande, Sir Tamlin, and Sir Kalussa,” said Kyralion. Kalussa blinked. “No, that is not correct. Lady Kalussa.”

  “That is right, Lord Kyralion,” said Kalussa.

  Kyralion bowed again. “Forgive me, Lady Kalussa. I have a difficult time remembering such things.”

  Kalussa smiled, taking on the air of a gracious noble lady. “There is nothing to forgive, Lord Kyralion. You fought most valiantly alongside us, and it would be churlish to forget that. Heaven forfend that a daughter of King Hektor should ever act so rudely! Is it difficult for you to be among humans?”

  Kyralion pondered for a moment. “In truth, no. I find it easier to be among your company than my own kindred.”

  Calliande blinked. “Why is that, if I can ask?”

  “Because, like me,” said Kyralion, “you are not part of the Unity.”

  “I see,” said Calliande. She still wondered what the Unity was. She assumed that it was what the gray elves called their government or perhaps their nation, but she suspected there was more to it. Kyralion was willing to explain the concept, but he seemed unable to do so, or the Latin and orcish tongues lacked the proper words. “I wondered if I could ask you a question.”

  “Of course,” said Kyralion. “The Augurs bade me to aid you in all things.”

  “Have you ever heard of something called the New God?” said Calliande.

  Kyralion frowned. “I have not. There is only one God, and nothing can replace Him.”

  “At Castra Chaeldon,” said Calliande, “we fought one of the surviving high priests of the Maledicti and a traitorous Arcanius Knight who turned to necromancy. Both claimed to serve something they called the New God. The Maledictus said that the emergence of the Seven Swords was a sign of the rise of the New God, a power that would enslave the world.”

  “That seems a grave matter,” said Kyralion, “but I have never heard of this New God before, I am afraid.”

  “Rhodruthain also mentioned the New God when he brought my family and me here,” said Calliande.

  That disturbed Kyralion. “The Guardian? What did he say about this New God?”

  “It matched what the Maledictus told us,” said Calliande. “Rhodruthain said the New God was coming, and it would enslave our children.”

  “I see,” said Kyralion. “I heard Rhodruthain address the Augurs and the Lorekeepers once. He did not speak of the New God, but he did mention a dark power he called the Kratomachar.”

  “The Kratomachar?” said Calliande.

  “It was soon after the defeat of the Sovereign and the start of the War of the Seven Swords,” said Kyralion. “Rhodruthain warned us that the Kratomachar was coming, a dark power that would rise, dominate the world, and make all kindreds its slaves. The Augurs and the Lorekeepers dismissed him as a madman, for they still blamed him for the death of High King Kothlaric and the start of the War of the Seven. Soon after he departed, the plague started spreading through the Unity, and our kindred had more immediate problems.”

  Kalussa and Tamlin shared a look.

  “Your description of the Kratomachar,” said Tamlin, “sounds like the New God by another name.”

  “It does,” said Kyralion. “That is one of the challenges of living outside the Unity. Words mean different things to different men, and a man might have many names and titles that mean different things. It is a frustrating way to communicate.”

  Calliande frowned. “Rhodruthain knew about the New God.” Another idea came to her. “He is one of your kindred, Kyralion…but is Rhodruthain part of the Unity?”

  “He is not,” said Kyralion. “He is not part of the Unity. He is the Guardian of Cathair Animus.”

  “Do you know who was Guardian of Cathair Animus before him?” said Calliande.

  Kyralion thought it over. “No one, as far as I know. I believe he has been the Guardian since Cathair Animus was built.”

  “But I thought your kindred only lived a thousand years,” said Calliande. “From what I understand, Cathair Animus was founded fifteen thousand years ago, if not more.”

  “It was,” said Kyralion. “Cathair Animus was one of the first cities the Liberated built when we settled here.”

  “Then that would mean,” said Kalussa, “that Rhodruthain is at a minimum fifteen thousand years old.”

  “That is correct, Lady Kalussa,” said Kyralion.

  “How has he survived so long?” said Calliande.

  “I do not know,” said Kyralion. “I can only surmise his powers as Guardian have somehow extended his life.”

  “He is the Guardian of Cathair Animus,” said Calliande. “Why does Cathair Animus need a Guardian?”

  “I do not know,” said Kyralion. “At least, not entirely. From what the Augurs have said, there is something of great power within the ruins of the city. The office of the Guardian is to protect that power and to make sure it is never used, for the power will bring only ruin.”

  Calliande nodded. Suddenly many of the things she had heard about Rhodruthain made sense. “Then his task is to ensure that the power in Cathair Animus is never claimed. No matter what he does, that it is his purpose.”

  “Perhaps,” said Kyralion. “Among my kindred, it is believed that Rhodruthain is insane. The humans share this perception, though I do not know if it is correct.”

  “Thank you, Kyralion,” said Calliande. “I should speak with my husband with about these matters.” What was within Cathair Animus that Rhodruthain had to defend? An artifact of power like the sword of the Dragon Knight? An imprisoned dark power like the Warden of Urd Morlemoch?

  Or something worse?

  “I am pleased to serve, Lady Calliande,” said Kyralion. “If you wish, I will accompany you and speak of these matters myself. I know firsthand that information is often lost when repeated from person to person.”

  “That would be kind, Kyralion,” said Calliande. “This way.”

  ###

  Tamlin watched Kyralion and Calliande walk to the head of the column. Perhaps he ought to go with them, but in truth, he felt like remaining alone with his own thoughts. He wanted to think over what Kyralion had told them.

  “Find me again,” said Tysia in his memory. “The New God is coming.”

  He had puzzled over her final words for years. Somehow Tysia had known of the New God or the Krat
omachar or whatever it was called, long before anyone else. But how? How had she known? The mystery had fused with the grief of her death, locking itself into Tamlin’s heart and mind.

  He had to know.

  And no matter how drunk Tamlin got, no matter how many foes he slew, no matter how beautiful the women he took into his bed, he couldn’t forget her last words.

  It was his whole problem, he supposed.

  “I think I will go with Lady Calliande,” said Kalussa. “Lord Ridmark may want my counsel.”

  Distracted with the memories, Tamlin spoke before he could stop himself. “I don’t think you should.”

  Kalussa glared. “Really, Sir Tamlin? Why not?”

  Tamlin sighed. It wasn’t any of his business, but…well, his conscience might not have been as keen as it once had been, but it still pricked him. He still felt guilty over trying to seduce Calliande that first night. He might as well speak. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

  Kalussa sniffed. “And what am I trying to do?”

  “You’re trying to seduce Lord Ridmark,” said Tamlin.

  “I most certainly am not,” said Kalussa. “You make it sound like a tawdry thing. I wish to become his lawful concubine. There is a difference.”

  “Is there?” said Tamlin. “For us, there wouldn’t be. It is a common practice in Owyllain. But it isn’t in Andomhaim. Why are you pursuing this anyway?”

  Kalussa glared at him and folded her arms. “It is none of your concern.”

  “Maybe not,” said Tamlin, “but without Lady Calliande and Lord Ridmark, both of us would be dead.” She nodded. “I don’t wish to see you bring pain to them.”

  “I have no wish to bring anyone pain,” said Kalussa. “I shall make their lives easier.” She sighed. “If I could work my will, Sir Tamlin, I would be married with a husband and children of my own. But my father will not allow it.”

  “Because you are Swordborn,” said Tamlin.

  “And a Swordborn with powerful fire magic is too useful in the war to marry off,” said Kalussa. “But Lord Ridmark is a powerful stranger to Aenesium. My father will wish to befriend him. And the traditional way of securing an alliance among the lords of Owyllain is by offering a daughter as a concubine. Why not me?”

  Tamlin snorted. “You’re very sure of yourself. Why would you want to be Ridmark’s concubine?”

  “Why should I not?” said Kalussa. There was a sparkle in her eye. “He is a very great warrior, but neither is he a cruel or a brutal man the way great warriors sometimes are. Nor is he an oaf like your friend Sir Aegeus or a boor like Sir Jolcus.”

  “You’re very choosy.”

  “I am a royal daughter, Sir Tamlin. I can be as choosy as I wish.”

  Tamlin shook his head, trying to find the words to explain himself. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. You’ll come between Ridmark and Calliande, and you will turn both of them against you.”

  “No, I won’t,” said Kalussa. “I know the custom of concubinage is strange and alien to them, but they are stranded here. You know they are. Even if they can find Rhodruthain and force him to send them back, that could take years. My father and I can convince them to see sense. And, in truth, it would be the best for them if I became Ridmark’s concubine. It would make their lives easier.”

  Tamlin snorted. “That’s the most arrogant thing I’ve ever heard from you, my lady, and there is much competition for that honor.”

  “You don’t understand,” said Kalussa, scowling. “I know more than you do.”

  “Really?” said Tamlin.

  She hesitated. “I know you think me wanton and forward, but I’m not.” She took a deep breath. “From what Lord Ridmark and Lady Calliande have said…I think a few months before Rhodruthain brought them here, Lady Calliande had a difficult pregnancy and gave birth to a child that died after a few days.”

  “Oh,” said Tamlin. “That is a hard thing.” Certainly, it explained some of the oddities about Calliande. She was an attractive woman, but she looked as if she had just undergone a harrowing physical ordeal. It also explained the haunted look that often came over her face. She loved Gareth and Joachim so much that she had blasted a hole through the wall of Castra Chaeldon to save them. If one of her children had died in her arms…

  Yes, that would leave terrible scars.

  “It is,” said Kalussa. “I also think the pregnancy injured Lady Calliande enough that she can no longer lie with a man without severe pain.”

  Tamlin frowned. “That can happen to a woman?”

  Kalussa sniffed. “For such a lecher, Tamlin Thunderbolt, you know little enough of women.”

  Tamlin said nothing, troubled by what she had said. There were men, he knew, who would not particularly care if their wives and concubines felt pain as they shared a bed. But he could not imagine Ridmark to be such a man. He obviously loved his wife and would refuse to inflict pain on her for any reason. And if he had a man’s normal appetites…

  “You see, then?” said Kalussa. “It is for the best. I can lie with Ridmark and spare Lady Calliande pain. I can help look after her children. They are good-hearted boys, are they not? I can comfort Lord Ridmark, and help Lady Calliande in her work. Perhaps she can even teach me to heal wounds as she does. Would that not be better for everyone?”

  The sparkle in her eyes had come back.

  “You’re falling in love with him,” said Tamlin.

  She glared at him, but the flush in her cheeks softened it. “What if I am?”

  Tamlin sighed. “You’re playing with fire.”

  Kalussa grinned. “Given that I am a Swordborn of Fire and a wielder of elemental flame, that hardly seems a difficulty.”

  Suddenly Tamlin felt tired and sad.

  “No,” he said in a quiet voice. “You don’t understand. Some women can learn to share a man between them. Owyllain is full of them, out of necessity from all the wars. But I am certain Lady Calliande is not one of them, and I am increasingly certain you are not such a woman. If you become Ridmark’s concubine, you will come to hate Calliande, and she will come to hate you.”

  Her glare returned. “Maybe I can learn to live with that. It’s Ridmark’s opinion that matters.”

  “Lord Ridmark loves his wife,” said Tamlin. “That’s what you don’t understand. Maybe Lady Calliande can no longer share his bed, but Ridmark won’t take a mistress, and he won’t take a concubine. He loves her too much…and he seems the sort of man whose conscience is a harsher ruler than any king or judge. If you keep on this path, you’ll force him to choose between you and his wife, and he will leave Aenesium and offend King Hektor before he would betray Calliande.”

  Kalussa sneered. “And what would Tamlin the lecher know about such love?”

  The words ought to have angered him, but his heart was only heavy.

  “I did,” said Tamlin, gazing into the trees, “once upon a time.”

  Kalussa stared at him, and then she flinched.

  “Oh,” she said in a small voice. “Your wife. You told me about her death at Castra Chaeldon.” She hesitated and then offered him a stiff bow. “I crave your pardon. My words were rash and foolish.”

  “I did provoke you,” said Tamlin. “But I didn’t tell you what I did from cruelty or anger. I think you are walking a fool’s path, and if you try to do as you wish, it won’t end well.”

  Kalussa shook her head. “I should not have said that to you, Sir Tamlin, but I don’t think I wish to talk to you any longer.”

  Tamlin watched as she stalked off, no doubt intending to join Ridmark and Calliande or to spend time with their sons.

  The hell of it, he decided, was that Kalussa was sincere. She really did think she would make Ridmark’s and Calliande’s lives better if she became his concubine. Kalussa was arrogant, but there was no malice in her arrogance. And she had a point about Tamlin. His lecherous behavior hardly gave him a leg to stand upon in the argument.

  But a drunkard warning about the dangers of wine h
ardly made excessive drinking any less dangerous.

  Suddenly Tamlin felt old. Which was odd, because he was only four or five years older than Kalussa. But he had suffered more, hadn’t he? He had suffered and suffered for years. He had heard that suffering brought wisdom, but Tamlin didn’t know if that was true. He certainly didn’t feel wise.

  Tamlin only hoped that Kalussa learned wisdom before she brought too much suffering to herself.

  ###

  After a day of dark thoughts, it was hardly surprising that Tamlin had nightmares when they stopped to rest.

  In his sleep, he dreamed, and in his dreams, he saw again the Monastery of St. James burning, heard the screams as Justin Cyros’s dvargir mercenaries slew those too old or sick to sell as slaves. He saw his mother fighting, the fury of her magic driving back her foes until Tamlin’s father used the power of the Sword of Earth to turn her to stone.

  He remembered the feel of the chains around his neck and arms as the captives were marched to the markets of Urd Maelwyn. When they had arrived at the Confessor’s city, his captors had stripped him naked and forced him to stand on the block as the orcish headmen and the dvargir lords bid on him. As it happened, the gamemasters of the Ring of Blood had won the auction, and then the real pain began.

  There were so many fights, so many battles in the arena. Tamlin could not remember them all. Kill or be killed, that had been the law.

  Then he remembered Tysia, and the pain of the dream eased as he remembered her arms around him, her lips against his.

  But, as always, Khurazalin’s sword erupted from her chest. Why? Why had he killed her? Why had he stabbed her from behind? He had been a Maledictus, one of the Confessor’s high lieutenants, and he could have ordered Tysia’s death or killed her any way he liked.

  Instead, he had stabbed her from behind. As if he feared her.