“Find me again,” said Michael. “The New God is coming.”
“What do you think that means?” said Ridmark.
“Hell if I know,” said Michael. He let out a ragged breath. “I thought it was nothing. People sometimes say strange things when they’re dying. I once saw a mortally wounded soldier ask if his brother had plowed the back field for the crop. Last words out of his mouth.”
“But both Archaelon and Khurazalin spoke of a coming New God,” said Ridmark, “and Lord Kyralion says that the Guardian Rhodruthain and the gray elves fear the coming of something called the Kratomachar which sounds a great deal like the New God.”
“I do not know, Lord Ridmark,” said Michael. He shook his head and tapped his cane against the ground. “In ancient times, God gave the gift of foretelling to the prophets. Perhaps Tysia had that gift in her final moment.” He shrugged. “I wish I knew the answer, sir, but I’m an old soldier, not an Arcanius or a priest. Such deep matters are beyond me.”
“How did you escape from Urd Maelwyn?” said Ridmark.
“Sir Aegeus and some of his hoplites were captured and sold as slaves in Urd Maelwyn,” said Michael. “Tamlin had vowed to escape and find a way to take vengeance on Khurazalin, and Aegeus helped him. Together we broke free, killed the gamemaster, and Tamlin cut down Khurazalin with that dark elven sword he had taken from the slain gamemaster. Then we headed back to Owyllain. Nearly fifty former gladiators, all told. On the way to Aenesium, we came across King Hektor as a patrol of the Confessor’s orcs attacked. Tamlin helped drive them off, and King Hektor said that Tamlin fell upon them with the force of a thunderbolt.”
“So Tamlin Thunderbolt,” said Ridmark.
Michael grinned. “Aye. He hates that name, by the way, but it stuck. Tamlin became an Arcanius Knight and a Companion of the King, and I received a pleasant retirement as Tamlin’s master-at-arms.”
“That is quite a story,” said Ridmark. “Thank you for telling it.”
“I imagine your story is even longer, sir,” said Michael.
“Hmm?” said Ridmark.
“That sword you carry and the magic that Lady Calliande wields,” said Michael. “There’s nothing else like it in Owyllain. I’m an old soldier, my lord, and I can smell disaster on the wind when it’s coming. Castra Chaeldon was almost a disaster. If Archaelon held the castra, we’d have King Justin or the Confessor knocking on the gates of Aenesium by now.”
“I would have preferred to remain in Andomhaim,” said Ridmark, “but since Rhodruthain brought us here, I am pleased that we have managed to avert disaster. At least so far.”
He thought again of what Calliande had said, that they might have a responsibility to help the people of Owyllain. Andomhaim had resisted the wrath of the Frostborn, the urdmordar, dark elven princes, and pagan orcish hordes because of the Keeper, the Magistri, and the Swordbearers. Owyllain had the Arcanii, but neither Swordbearers nor Magistri nor a Keeper.
Whether they wanted it or not, Ridmark and Calliande were here, and he could not in good conscience turn away from Aenesium, just as he had been unable to turn away from Aranaeus or Moraime in the Wilderland all those years ago.
Michael laughed. “So far, aye? I think you’ve seen a battle or two yourself, Lord Ridmark. You have an old soldier’s pessimism.”
“I prefer to think of it as keeping a clear head,” said Ridmark. “I think…”
A saurtyri padded into the courtyard and headed for Michael. Ridmark was not yet familiar enough with the saurtyri kindred to tell the individuals apart, but he was mostly sure this saurtyri was not Zuredek.
“Aye?” said Michael. “If Zuredek needs more wine, there should be plenty in the cellar.”
“Not wine,” grunted the saurtyri, staring at Michael with yellow eyes. “Messenger. From Hektor King.”
Michael frowned and got to his feet, and Ridmark followed him into the atrium. Another young hoplite stood there, bronze helmet tucked under his arm.
“Lord Ridmark?” said the young soldier.
“Aye?” said Ridmark. “What is it?”
“A message from King Hektor, my lord. He extends his compliments, and wishes to call upon you here within the hour.”
***
Chapter 9: An Offer
Calliande dressed in haste, pulling on the green dress she had bought in the Agora of Connmar.
She was annoyed, but not entirely surprised that King Hektor had decided to visit so soon. Calliande had been involved in many negotiations during her time as Keeper, and this was a common tactic. Catching someone off-guard was an excellent way to secure better terms for a pact.
Of course, that assumed King Hektor wanted to negotiate a pact. But based on her earlier speculations with Ridmark, Calliande was almost certain that the King of Aenesium wanted their help.
So Calliande prepared herself to treat with a king, as she had so many times before.
Tamlin’s domus had an odd mixture of furnishings. Some rooms were completely empty, some had only a few pieces of furniture, and some held nothing but weapons and armor. To be blunt, Tamlin’s domus looked like the house of a man who had never lived with a woman for an extended time. Though to be fair, his wife had been murdered, and Calliande suspected that Tamlin spent more time in the field than he did in Aenesium.
Despite that, the domus had a small bath house, with a stone tub carved into the floor and a mirror against the wall. Calliande dressed in the clothing she had purchased in the Agora, which included clean undergarments (thank God for that) and a green dress that mostly fit. Once she was dressed, she considered her reflection in the mirror.
It was an unsettling experience. Calliande looked much as she remembered, with the same blue eyes, blond hair, and lines around her face and eyes. But she was thinner than she had been before Joanna’s death, her cheekbones sharper, her blue eyes seemingly sunk deeper into her head. Calliande had lost too much weight, and she looked as if she had just started recovering from a long and terrible disease.
She had not been taking proper care of herself for a long time now.
But she deserved that, didn’t she? She deserved to suffer. Calliande had failed her daughter, and she deserved…
Stop!
She turned away from the mirror with a grimace. Too much brooding and she might fall to pieces again. Collapsing into a weeping pile before meeting with King Hektor Pendragon would be a terrible idea.
Calliande took a deep breath, cleared her mind, and picked up her staff from where she had left it against the wall. The dagger Ridmark had given her all those years ago rested next to the staff, and she clipped it to her belt and then stepped through the door and into the corridor.
Tamlin and Kalussa waited for her, both scowling a little. Calliande supposed she ought to be glad they hadn’t killed each other.
“King Hektor and Crown Prince Rypheus are waiting for you upstairs, my lady,” said Tamlin. “I’m to escort you there when you’re ready.”
Calliande nodded. “Is Ridmark there?”
“Aye,” said Tamlin. He shrugged. “It seems that King Hektor wishes for you, Lord Ridmark, and Crown Prince Rypheus to have a meeting. I am to attend as well for some reason.”
“I was not invited,” said Kalussa. She didn’t look happy.
“Then can you keep an eye on the children while I speak with your father?” said Calliande. “They’re bound to tire of archery eventually, and it would be best if they didn’t run amok through the Tamlin’s domus.”
“Speaking as the owner of the domus,” said Tamlin, “I quite agree. Though it’s not as if there is anything valuable to break.”
“I would be more concerned about them learning dirty jokes from Sir Aegeus,” said Kalussa. “I shall do as you say, Lady Calliande.”
“Thank you, Kalussa,” said Calliande. “Sir Tamlin?”
“This way,” said Tamlin, leading her through the corridor and up a flight of stairs. “They’re waiting for us in the library. Well. It’s supp
osed to be a library, but I haven’t gotten around to collecting any books yet.” A wistful look came over his face. “Someday. But I do have some chairs.”
They climbed to the top floor of the domus. Tamlin opened a door, and they stepped into a large room that ran along the southern side of the house. The shutters had been thrown open, revealing the street below. A half dozen wooden chairs sat in a circle, and next to them stood a table adorned with an ugly glass vase. It looked as if Tamlin had started decorating the room, and then simply given up.
Ridmark, King Hektor, and Prince Rypheus awaited them.
The power of the Sword of Fire blazed before Calliande’s Sight.
Calliande bowed to the King, as did Tamlin.
“Thank you both for coming,” said Hektor. “Please, let us be seated.”
They sat in a circle facing each other. An old memory flickered through Calliande’s head, the tale of how Arthur Pendragon and his knights sat at a round table to prevent dissensions and quarrels over precedence. Perhaps Hektor knew the same tale. She wondered if the nine kings of Owyllain had met at a round table in more peaceful times.
“I apologize for calling upon you so soon,” said Hektor, “but time grows ever more pressing, and I suspect we have urgent matters to discuss.”
Calliande smiled. “And best to speak with us before we become too settled?”
Tamlin blinked, and Rypheus looked nonplussed, but Hektor let out a quiet laugh. “I see you are used to dealing with kings, my lady.”
“She is,” said Ridmark. “She dealt with kings long before you and I were ever born, King Hektor.”
“Truly?” said Rypheus. “If you have, my lady, then I must say you have aged with exceeding grace.”
“That’s very kind,” said Calliande, “but I think we have more urgent matters to discuss than my history, my lord Prince.”
“We do.” Hektor leaned forward. “I think, perhaps, that we can help each other.”
###
Ridmark watched the King of Aenesium, considering his response.
“How could we help each other, lord King?” said Ridmark.
Hektor offered a thin smile behind his beard. “You are not fools, my lord and lady, and neither am I. We both know perfectly well how we can help each other. For my part, I know that your chief desire is to take your sons and return home to Andomhaim. But no ship has crossed the ocean between Aenesium and Tarlion since the days of Connmar Pendragon. You could attempt to navigate the Deeps and return to Andomhaim that way, but that is not a journey for young children. The only way you will reach Andomhaim is to find the Guardian Rhodruthain and force him to return you home.”
“That was my thought as well, lord King,” said Calliande. “How can my husband and I help you?”
Hektor’s thin smile returned. “Is it not obvious?”
“It is,” said Ridmark. “You’re in a three-way war with the Confessor and Justin Cyros. I suspect Justin Cyros is going to attempt to seize Aenesium, kill you, and claim the Sword of Fire with a single mighty blow. The Confessor will fall upon the weakened victor, and the Masked One and the Necromancer will circle the battlefield like jackals looking for an opportunity to strike.” Rypheus’s lips thinned, but he did not disagree, and Hektor nodded. “But while my sword Oathshield might not have the destructive power of the Seven Swords, it can protect me from their power, and in Owyllain there is no magic to match that of the Keeper. If we help you, it might give you victory against your foes.”
“A concise summary, Lord Ridmark,” said Hektor. “And, if anything, you understate your own power. Until the finding of the Seven Swords, no weapons of such magical power were ever seen in Owyllain…and now you have arrived with Oathshield in your hand. You dueled the bearer of the Sword of Air, whoever he really is, and won. Perhaps this is a small thing to you, but it is not to the men of Owyllain. In the twenty-five years since the death of the Sovereign, the only time a bearer of one of the Seven Swords has been defeated is when another bearer took the field.”
“The Keeper and I know how we can help you,” said Ridmark, “but how can you help us?”
“To begin, I can tell you the location of Cathair Animus,” said Hektor. “It is on the far side of the Tower Mountains, a journey of hundreds of miles from here. There are only two routes to reach the Guardian’s stronghold. The southern route will take you through the marshes ruled by the xiatami.”
“Xiatami?” said Ridmark.
“Snakemen, basically,” said Tamlin.
“The xiatami do not like humans and will not let you pass without a challenge,” said Hektor. “For that matter, their swamps are infested with dangerous creatures of all kinds, and once you get to the eastern side of the Tower Mountains, you will face dangers from the tribes of nomadic orcs that rule the lands there. The northern route is hardly better. You would have to travel through the lands ruled by the city-states of the orcish Warlords, and several of them are allied with the Confessor. Urd Maelwyn itself guards the northern pass through the Tower Mountains, and even if you get past Urd Maelwyn, you will still have to contend with the nomadic orcs on the far side of the mountains.”
“I’ve made perilous journeys of that nature before,” said Ridmark. “I didn’t even carry Oathshield for most of them.” Yet he had not brought two young children with him. For that matter, he had been accompanied by powerful companions. If he set off for Cathair Animus tomorrow, he would travel with Calliande and Gareth and no one else. Could they reach Cathair Animus by themselves? Ridmark doubted it.
“I would wager, Lord Ridmark,” said Hektor, “that you were a younger and more reckless man when you made those journeys.”
He wasn’t wrong.
“Perhaps,” said Ridmark. “But how can you help us reach Cathair Animus?”
“I am the King of Aenesium,” said Hektor. “I command armies of hoplites and the Order of the Arcanii. I can send soldiers, supplies, and Arcanius Knights to help you. If the Confessor and King Justin are defeated, I will have the men to spare to help you reach Cathair Animus.”
“If the Confessor and King Justin are defeated,” said Calliande.
“If you have as much experience of warfare as I think you do, my lady,” said Hektor, “then you know as well as I do that nothing is ever certain in battle. You roll the dice and hope that God favors you.”
“But a wise captain loads the dice in his favor,” said Rypheus, “and with your help, we can do that.”
“What would you have of us?” said Ridmark.
“Stand with us against Justin Cyros,” said Hektor. “He is marching from Cytheria with all his power and allies. I intend to meet him north of Castra Chaeldon and defeat him there. If God grants us the victory, I can then march to defeat the Confessor with seven of the Nine Cities behind me. And if the Confessor’s power is broken, I can defeat the Masked One and the Necromancer and reunite Owyllain under a single ruler once more.” His eyes seemed to flash as he spoke. “I can put an end to the dark magic that infests our realm and bring peace and order and justice. Cyros and the Confessor and the others would make us all slaves. I want a realm of free men working in their fields and workshops, just as Connmar Pendragon envisioned when he sailed here five centuries ago.”
“That is a bold plan,” said Ridmark.
“Perhaps,” said Hektor. “But a king must lead. If I do not, who will? And we cannot sit behind our walls and wait for the enemy to bring the fight to us. The Sword of Earth makes that impossible. No. I have my duty. I must reunite Owyllain and put an end to the War of the Seven Swords at last.”
“A question, lord King,” said Calliande.
“Of course,” said Hektor.
“The Seven Swords are powerful,” said Calliande. “But you can only wield one of them at a time. If you are successful, you shall have six of the Seven Swords under your control, and if we succeed in forcing Rhodruthain to send us back to Andomhaim, you might wind up with all seven of the Swords. How will you then keep the War of the
Seven Swords from starting itself anew?”
“Ah.” Hektor leaned back in his chair. “You see to the heart of the matter, my lady.” He looked to the side. “You might wonder why I invited you here for this discussion, Sir Tamlin.”
“I did, lord King.” Tamlin shifted in his chair. “I go where you command. Whatever you decide here, I shall abide it.”
“Thank you, Sir Tamlin.” Hektor’s dark gaze turned back to Ridmark. “Have you wondered why I have not claimed the title of High King of Owyllain?”
“I have,” said Ridmark. “It does seem to be yours by right and custom and law. Unless High King Kothlaric had a son that no one knows about, you are the rightful High King of Owyllain.”
“I am not the rightful High King of Owyllain,” said Hektor in a quiet voice, “because my brother is not dead.”
Silence fell over the room.
“What?” said Tamlin at last. He sounded bewildered. “But he died at Cathair Animus.”
“This knowledge, Sir Tamlin, must not leave this room,” said Hektor. “I would ask that you keep it to yourself as well, Lord Ridmark and Lady Calliande.”
Ridmark shared a glance with Calliande. She looked as puzzled as he felt. “We shall.”
“Your mother knew the truth, Tamlin,” said Hektor. “I wish she had fled to me, rather than hiding herself in the Monastery of St. James. Nicion knows the truth as well.” He leaned closer. “The histories state that the Master Talitha and the Guardian Rhodruthain betrayed and murdered High King Kothlaric when he came to destroy the Seven Swords at Cathair Animus. That is true. However, they failed. A battle resulted when Talitha and Rhodruthain tried to seize the Seven Swords, and in the resultant clash of magical energy, the powers of the Swords combined in a strange way. Kothlaric was imprisoned within magical crystal, like a fly frozen in ancient amber. To all appearances, he was dead, but Nicion and Cathala divined the truth. My brother was alive but trapped within the crystal by the combined power of the Seven Swords. The only way to free him, the only way to end this war once and for all, is to bring the Seven Swords to Cathair Animus and destroy them upon the ancient forge of the gray elves. That will free the true High King of Owyllain. Kothlaric freed our people from the curse of the Sovereign. If I can do this, if I can bring the Seven Swords to Cathair Animus and destroy them there, I will free my people from the curse of their power and present a unified and restored Owyllain to my brother. That is the purpose and mission of my life. I will destroy the Seven Swords, reunify Owyllain, and free the true High King, or I shall die trying.”
Sevenfold Sword Page 13