Her arm ached, but it tightened around Joachim nonetheless. Had she been strong enough, Calliande would have carried both of her sons, and rested her head against Ridmark’s shoulder, just so she could feel her husband and sons close.
The reunion dress was a strange custom, but Calliande found she could not disapprove of it. The costume would have been scandalous in Andomhaim, but the climate was so much hotter here. And Calliande could think of half a hundred times she would have liked to greet Ridmark wearing such a garment, to have him take her in his arms the way Parmenio had taken that woman in his…
Her mood darkened further. Maybe that time in her life was over. It was her own fault. If she had found a way to save Joanna, things would have been different. And maybe she had done it to herself, damaging her body during the long sleep below the Tower of Vigilance. Again she remembered feeling Joanna’s last, shuddering heartbeat, remembered sobbing as…
Stop it!
Calliande had to keep her wits about her. Either today or tomorrow she would speak with a king, and she needed a clear head. For that matter, Khurazalin had escaped from Castra Chaeldon, and there were powerful foes loose in Owyllain.
“Are you all right?” said Ridmark.
Calliande blinked. Some of her dismay must have shown on her face.
“I’m thirsty,” she said, which was true enough. “It’s a hot day.”
“Well.” Ridmark reached over, lifted Joachim from her grasp, and settled the boy upon his shoulders. Joachim laughed in delight and looked around from his higher vantage point. “Why don’t you drink something? Can’t have you falling over from dehydration.”
She smiled at him, a wave of affection going through her. “That would be unfortunate.”
“I am old enough,” Gareth announced, “that I don’t need anyone to carry me.”
Joachim stuck out his tongue at his brother. Fortunately, he was high enough that Gareth couldn’t see it.
“You are,” said Ridmark. He held out the bamboo staff, which he had juggled as he had lifted Joachim. “And in a few years, you’ll be old enough to be a proper squire, which means you will carry a knight’s weapons. Why don’t you carry my staff for a while?”
Gareth blinked, beamed, and took the staff, holding it upright with the pride of a knight carrying the High King’s banner. Calliande hid a smile at how adroitly Ridmark had managed that. Had he just done the same thing to her?
Well, she did feel better.
“No one ever offers to carry me,” said Aegeus.
“That’s because there’s not a man alive strong enough to haul your carcass around,” said Tamlin.
“Why do you require someone to carry you, Sir Aegeus?” said Kyralion. “You appear to be in sound health.”
Aegeus grinned. “A joke, my friend.”
“I do not make jokes.”
Aegeus clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll have to work on that.”
Kyralion did not seem enthusiastic at the prospect.
A short walk later they came to a district of the city filled with two and three story domi. Likely these were the homes of the king’s Companions and chief magistrates. Tamlin strode up to one of the domi, knocked, and then frowned.
“Wait,” he said. “Why am I knocking? This is my house.”
With that, he pushed open the door, and Calliande and the others followed him inside.
They stepped into an atrium with a marble floor and whitewashed walls. Calliande already knew that Tamlin wasn’t married, but even if she hadn’t, she could have guessed it from the complete lack of decoration. On the other side of the atrium was a flight of stairs climbing to the higher levels, and an archway that led into an interior courtyard.
An old man clad in a red tunic and dusty trousers awaited them. He had bright blue eyes, a lined, cheerful face, and a close-cropped white beard. He leaned upon a thick cane in his right hand, and Calliande saw that he had lost his left leg below the knee, a wooden peg serving instead of his foot. Despite that, the old man looked strong and still vigorous, his arms and chest thick, and many scars marked his forearms and heavy hands.
“Well,” said the old man. “Sir Tamlin Thunderbolt himself! Welcome back, you rascal.”
“Michael,” said Tamlin, grinning. He and Michael shared the sort of hug that involved a great deal of thumping on the back. “You haven’t sold the place while I’ve been away, have you?”
“I tried, but I couldn’t find any buyers,” said Michael as Ridmark set Joachim down and collected his staff from Gareth. “There have been too many sordid activities here.” He glanced at Calliande and the children. “But we’re not in suitable company for such tales.”
“You might be surprised, sir,” said Calliande in a dry voice.
“You’ve brought guests, I see,” said Michael.
“I have,” said Tamlin. “It is my very great honor to introduce Ridmark Arban, the Shield Knight of Andomhaim, and his wife Calliande, the Keeper of Andomhaim, and their sons Gareth and Joachim. I also have the pleasure to introduce Kyralion of Illicaeryn Jungle.”
Michael’s eyes climbed halfway up his forehead, and Kyralion offered one of his stiff bows.
“This is Michael, my master-at-arms,” said Tamlin.
“Not that Sir Tamlin has any hoplites who need training,” said Michael. “That’s just a polite way of saying Sir Tamlin let me retire here. My lords, my lady, welcome. I’ve spoken with gray elves before…but Andomhaim? There’s quite a tale here, isn’t there?”
“And a long one,” said Tamlin. “We ought to discuss is over food and drink.”
“I knew you’d have a good idea someday, sir,” said Michael. “Zuredek!”
There was a rustling sound, and a saurtyri emerged from the courtyard, regarding them with unblinking yellow eyes. Calliande felt her usual revulsion at the sight of a scaled creature, but she forced down the reaction. The saurtyri seemed to be harmless.
“Tamlin Lord,” said Zuredek.
“Please fetch wine and cakes for our guests, Zuredek,” said Michael.
Zuredek looked at Tamlin.
“Do as he says,” said Tamlin.
“Tamlin Lord,” said Zuredek, and the saurtyri vanished back into the courtyard, his tail making a faint rasping sound as it dragged against the floor.
“Every time,” said Michael. “I’m your master-at-arms, and they still don’t listen to me.”
Tamlin shrugged. “You know how the saurtyri think. They’re sworn to me, and they’ll only listen to me.”
“They’re as literal-minded as Aegeus,” said Michael.
“I think of myself as simple yet profound,” said Aegeus.
“One of those is true, anyway,” said Michael. “Well, Lord Ridmark, Lady Calliande, Lord Kyralion – please follow me. Let us eat Sir Tamlin’s food and drink Sir Tamlin’s wine, and hear your tale.”
“See?” said Tamlin, grinning at the old man. “I knew you would have a good idea someday.”
###
Ridmark thought Tamlin Thunderbolt’s courtyard a pleasant enough place.
It was a narrow square space, the domus rising overhead on four sides. The sun had already passed overhead, and the domus’s walls provided shade, which was pleasant given the heat of the day. There was space for a garden within the domus, but neither Tamlin nor Michael nor the saurtyri had even gotten around to planting it. Nevertheless, there were stone benches gathered in a circle, and Ridmark and the others could sit and eat and comfort.
Gareth and Joachim ate their cakes, lay down, and went to sleep, worn out by the day’s exertions. That let Tamlin tell the story of Castra Chaeldon without holding back the darker details, and Michael listened with a frown. Ridmark suspected the older man had escaped from Urd Maelwyn with Tamlin. The young Arcanius Knight had mentioned that he had escaped from Urd Maelwyn in the company of Aegeus and someone else named Michael, and Ridmark suspected that this was the Michael he had described.
“God and the saints,” said Michael when Tamlin had f
inished. “I’d call you a liar, lad, but I’ve never known you to tell a lie.” He looked at Ridmark. “A fantastical tale, but the proof is here in front of my eyes.”
“I would not have believed the tale either,” said Ridmark, “but we lived it.”
Michael shook his head. “The Keeper of Andomhaim sitting in front of me. If I had known we would have been entertaining guests from history and legend, Sir Tamlin, I would have made sure we had better fare ready.”
Calliande smiled at the old man. “After a week on the road, sir, honey cakes and watered wine are the finest fare of all.”
“Hunger is truly the best spice,” said Michael. He rubbed his beard. “Lord Ridmark, you seem like a man who would appreciate blunt speech.”
“I always have,” said Ridmark. “It saves time and confusion.”
Michael nodded. “Have you decided what you’re going to do next?”
“Not yet,” said Ridmark. “I want to find Rhodruthain and force him to return us to Andomhaim.” He let out a long breath. “Though I recognize that might take some doing.”
“Because I don’t know if you’ve realized it yet,” said Michael, “but that sword of yours might well be the equal of the Seven Swords. That Calem fellow should have killed everyone in Myllene with the Sword of Air, but you gave him a thrashing instead.” He leaned forward. “What I’m trying to say, my lord…is that you might get to decide who will win the War of the Seven Swords.”
Ridmark said nothing. It seemed his uneasy musings had been correct. In the realm of Owyllain, the only blades that could match the power of Oathshield were the Seven Swords.
Which gave him, as the only Swordbearer in Owyllain, far more power than he wanted.
Ridmark drew breath to answer, and Zuredek walked back into the courtyard.
“Tamlin Lord,” said Zuredek.
“Yes?” said Tamlin.
“Messenger. At door,” said Zuredek. “From Hektor King.”
Ridmark and Calliande shared a look.
The summons had come even sooner than they had thought.
“Then let the man in,” said Tamlin.
Zuredek vanished back into the atrium, and a short time later returned with a young hoplite in bronze armor. The man moved his helm and bowed to them.
“Lord Ridmark and Lady Calliande?” said the hoplite.
“We are,” said Ridmark.
“Hektor Pendragon, King of Aenesium, extends his greetings to you,” said the hoplite. “He asks that you attend upon him at the Palace of the High Kings as soon as is convenient. Additionally, he asks also that Sir Tamlin and Sir Aegeus accompany you.”
Ridmark took a deep breath.
He supposed he was about to find out what kind of man Hektor Pendragon really was.
“We shall accompany you to the Palace, hoplite,” said Ridmark.
***
Chapter 7: Kings & Masters
It did not take them long to get ready.
Ridmark was already wearing his dark elven armor and carrying Oathshield at his belt, and Calliande supposed there was nothing more impressive he could wear than that.
Calliande was irritated that she could not don a proper gown and take the time to wash and prepare her hair, but she recognized the wisdom of not keeping Hektor Pendragon waiting. She woke up Gareth and Joachim long enough to tell them to stay in the courtyard and listen to Michael, and then they were ready to depart.
Calliande did not like leaving her sons in the care of a stranger, but Tamlin trusted Michael. At the very least, she could use the Sight to check on them from a distance, to make sure they remained unharmed. For that matter, if their audience with King Hektor went bad, if the king of Aenesium turned against them, her children would be safe from immediate danger. And if Hektor attacked them, he would see what happened when he challenged the Shield Knight and the Keeper of Andomhaim.
Perhaps that was paranoid. Everyone she had spoken with said Hektor Pendragon was a just ruler, the only reason that a tyrant like King Justin or a sorcerer like the Necromancer of Trojas had not enslaved Owyllain. Certainly, a cruel king would not have been able to command such loyalty from men as different from each other as Tamlin, Tramond, Parmenio, and Arminios. Yet the men of Andomhaim had once thought Tarrabus Carhaine was a strong and just lord, and all the while he had been a serpent plotting to help surrender the world to first the Frostborn and then to the shadow of Incariel.
Calliande would make her own judgments.
“Don’t fear, my lady,” murmured Michael as the boys fell asleep. “Zuredek and I will make sure the lads are well. No harm will come to them under Tamlin’s roof. I will look after them as if they were my own boys.”
Something in his tone caught her attention. “You have children, sir?”
He smiled a little. “I did.”
“I’m sorry,” said Calliande.
“Ah, it was a long time ago.” Michael’s tone was light, but his eyes were distant with sorrow. Then his attention came back to the present and he smiled. “And don’t fear King Hektor, either. He’s a hard man, yes, but a king has to be to administer justice. If it weren’t for him, the Pendragons would be extinct, and we’d all be the slaves of the Confessor or Justin Cyros.”
Calliande hesitated. “He does seem to inspire great loyalty.”
“He does,” said Michael. “I was taken captive fighting for him, but I don’t regret it. His brother Kothlaric was the same way, and I think Rypheus has the same gift.”
“Rypheus?” said Calliande.
“The Crown Prince,” said Michael. “His eldest son by his first wife Queen Helen, God rest her soul. King Hektor named him the Constable of Aenesium. He’s young for it, but I think he’s up to the task.”
Calliande nodded and saw Ridmark and Aegeus and Tamlin waiting by the young hoplite messenger.
“Go, my lady,” said Michael. “Your boys will be safe here.”
“Thank you, Sir Michael,” said Calliande.
The old man grinned. “I’m not a knight, my lady. Just an old soldier.” He thumped his cane against the ground. “Though I can still give the young knights a thrashing when their heads get too big for their necks.”
Calliande laughed. “Let us hope for a more peaceful day than that.”
“Fear not, Lady Calliande.” Kyralion had come up in silence next to Michael. “The Augurs and the Lorekeepers commanded me to aid you and the Shield Knight. If you wish it, I will watch over your children.”
“I do wish it,” said Calliande. For all his stiffness and awkwardness of speech, she had seen Kyralion fight, and even without his magical weapons, he was a formidable warrior. “Thank you, Lord Kyralion.”
Michael smiled and clapped Kyralion on the shoulder, and the gray elf flinched. “We’ll have to get to know one another, my lord.”
“I confess I have little of interest to discuss,” said Kyralion.
“Maybe. But your sword is shorter than I would have thought. Why is that?”
“Because it offers certain advantages in haste,” said Kyralion. “It ought…”
Calliande smiled as the old soldier drew out the gray elf in a discussion of swordsmanship.
With that, she walked to join Ridmark and the others.
“Ready?” said Ridmark.
Calliande nodded. “Let’s meet the King of Aenesium.”
The hoplite led the way from Sir Tamlin’s domus, and they walked through the streets of the city, the afternoon sun hot overhead. Soon they came to a broad square that reminded Calliande of the Forum of the Crown in Tarlion. Tamlin said it was called the Agora of Connmar, named after the founder of Owyllain and Aenesium. A heroic statue in the center of the Agora showed Connmar landing upon the shores of Owyllain, the exiles surrounding him to found their new homeland, and statues of heroes of Owyllain’s past stood scattered around the square. The soaring Great Cathedral rose on one side of the Agora, the afternoon sun flashing on its dome, and the Palace of the High Kings stood on the other side. Lik
e the Citadel in Tarlion, it had been built on a natural hill. Unlike the Citadel, it looked more like a residence than a fortress, with broad colonnades and gardens and wide courtyards. The hillsides had been terraced, and Calliande saw gardens and pools built into their surfaces. The Palace of the High Kings was a beautiful place, and Calliande realized with mild surprise that it was open to the people of the city. She saw women walking with their children in the gardens. Perhaps the Palace served as more of a public space than a fortress.
The hoplite led them through a pair of double doors into a massive great hall. The floor and pillars had been built of red granite, and the ceiling had been worked with elaborate mosaics showing the High Kings of Owyllain leading armies of hoplites against the Sovereign’s hordes. High balconies, large enough to hold hundreds of people, looked over the vast space. A dais with a throne of red stone waited at the end of the hall. To Calliande’s surprise, the throne was empty. She had thought Hektor Pendragon would meet his guests in this imposing and solemn place.
Instead, the hoplite led them to a garden.
A flight of stairs led to a high terrace overlooking the rest of the Palace and the city itself. The bulk of the great hall and the rest of the Palace blocked the harsh rays of the sun, throwing the garden into pleasant shade. A small rectangular pond lay in the center of the garden, and neat rows of flowering bushes and low trees encircled the water.
Sir Tramond, Sir Arminios, and Kalussa stood near the pond, and with them waited three men and a woman that Calliande did not recognize.
The first man was Hektor Pendragon himself. He could be no one else. Kalussa was blond and blue-eyed, but Calliande supposed that the girl must have inherited her mother’s features. Hektor looked like the other Pendragons that Calliande had met over the centuries, with the same dark eyes, proud beak of a nose, and dark hair, though Hektor’s hair had turned the color of iron. His skin was leathery and scored with deep lines, and Calliande saw old scars on his face and hands and knotted forearms. The King of Aenesium wore only a red tunic, trousers, and dusty boots, though a diadem of red gold rested on his gray hair and an elaborate longsword hung at his belt.
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