“Sir Tamlin?” said Hektor, scowling. “What’s wrong?”
“Lord King,” said Tamlin, meeting the older man’s fierce gaze. “I think we’re about to come under attack.”
***
Chapter 10: Skinless
Calliande was appalled at herself.
She was the Keeper of Andomhaim, not a lovesick child. Yet the thought of sharing Ridmark with Kalussa was so terrible that it threatened to break her self-control.
Especially since Kalussa could lie with Ridmark in the way that Calliande perhaps no longer could.
Calliande’s imagination would not stop tormenting her with images of Ridmark kissing Kalussa, of carrying her to his bed, of lying with her the way he had once lain with Calliande. When Ridmark had stated his flat refusal, such a wave of affection had gone through Calliande that she had almost cried then and there.
She rose, intending to step out and get herself under control with the excuse of needing air, and smashed that gaudy green vase in her haste.
And then she saw the alarm go over Tamlin’s face, and the storm of Calliande’s emotions vanished under the cold grip of her battle reflexes.
They were in danger.
During the siege of Castra Chaeldon, as Calliande prepared the spell to rip through the castra’s wall, Tamlin had somehow roused the camp in time to repulse an attack of Archaelon’s wraiths. She didn’t know how Tamlin had known that the wraiths were coming. He had a warrior’s instincts, and perhaps they had warned him of the wraiths’ approach.
Or perhaps he had some other ability, something he hadn’t mentioned to anyone.
“Under attack?” said Hektor. “What do you mean?”
“We’re in the heart of Aenesium,” said Rypheus. “What could reach us here? King Justin’s host is not yet within striking distance.”
“I don’t know,” said Tamlin. “But something is coming, I’m sure of it.”
“Calliande,” said Ridmark, his voice hard.
She looked at her husband. Ridmark had gotten to his feet and drawn Oathshield an inch or so from its scabbard. A flicker of white flame danced around the blade, and the soulstones in the pommel and the tang were glowing.
Dark magic stirred nearby.
Calliande reached for the Sight and swept it around her, seeking for magic.
She found magic at once. There was the power of the Sword of Fire, an inferno bound within metal, and the power of Oathshield, stern and as unyielding as a tower of steel. There was a faint aura of elemental magic around Tamlin, and as Calliande’s Sight roved through the domus, she glimpsed the aura of magical power around Kalussa and Aegeus and the faint glow of magic from Kyralion’s weapons.
But she could not find any trace of dark magic.
Yet Oathshield was responding to something.
Then dark power surged before her Sight, dark magic unlike anything Calliande had ever seen.
“They’re climbing up the walls!” said Tamlin, raising his sword.
###
Kalussa considered herself a good archer, but she was nonetheless impressed by Kyralion’s skill.
The gray elf stood with Gareth and Joachim, instructing them on the finer points of archery. Kalussa wasn’t sure where Tamlin (or, more likely, Tamlin’s sworn saurtyri) had found an archery butt, but the target rested against the wall. Whenever Kyralion demonstrated a technique, his arrow inevitably thudded into the center of the target.
“You are holding the bow drawn for too long,” said Kyralion to Gareth, who frowned as he tugged at his bowstring. “Your arms have a limited amount of strength, and it is best to conserve that strength. It is, therefore, best to aim before you draw the bow, rather than to hold your bow drawn as you aim it.”
Joachim smiled and loosed another arrow with a happy squeal. This time it skipped off the edge of the target and clattered to the floor. Joachim, alas, did not have a natural eye for archery.
“But it is hard to aim the bow first,” said Gareth. “My aim always shifts as I draw the string.”
“That will become easier as you grow older and stronger,” said Kyralion.
“If I may, Lord Kyralion?” said Kalussa.
The gray elf’s strange golden eyes turned towards her. “Of course.”
“I find that it is best,” said Kalussa, “to take a breath as I draw my bow, and to hold my breath as keep my bow drawn.” She had brought her bow with her from the Palace of the High Kings out of habit, though she had left her armor behind. It was nice to not to have to bear the weight of all that bronze for once. “Like this. Watch.”
She took an arrow from the quiver at her belt, set it to the string and drew the bow, holding her breath as she did so. A moment’s tension, and she sent the arrow plunging into the target. It landed just off-center, not as precise as Kyralion’s shots, but not a bad shot, either.
“That was a good shot!” said Joachim.
“Thank you, Joachim,” said Kalussa. She turned her gaze back to Gareth. “Do you see? If you hold your breath, your hands are steadier for a few heartbeats, making it easier to aim. But you must loose your shaft at once. Else you will need to draw breath, and that will spoil your aim. Give it a try.” She gave the boy an encouraging smile. “See what happens.”
Gareth nodded and faced the target, settling into the proper stance for shooting. Either Kyralion had taught the boy quite well in the last hour, or more likely he had learned it from his instructors back in Andomhaim. His face tightened with concentration, and suddenly he looked a great deal like Ridmark.
A wave of nervousness went through Kalussa. She knew her father was talking to Ridmark and Calliande right now. Kalussa did not know how they would react to King Hektor’s offer. Ridmark seemed set against the idea, but perhaps he could see reason. Surely they would see that it was for the best? Ridmark was a great warrior, and Calliande was the Keeper of Andomhaim. She could help them both in their duties.
And her blood stirred as she thought of Ridmark Arban.
Kalussa had kissed him on the day they had met, and she remembered the feel of his mouth against hers. He had stopped the kiss at once, and nothing else had happened, but Kalussa often imagined that they had continued, imagined what it would feel like to have his hands on her bare skin, his body against hers…
Gareth released, and his arrow slapped into the inner third of the target.
“A good shot,” said Kalussa, shaking off thoughts of Ridmark.
“Much better than your previous ones,” said Kyralion.
“I think I like swordplay better,” said Gareth. “It is more knightly.”
“Perhaps in Andomhaim,” said Kalussa. “Here we do not have horses as you do in Andomhaim.” She had never seen a horse, but it seemed like such an impractical beast for making war. The hooves had to be delicate. Trisalians were far sturdier. “In Owyllain, a knight must fight upon foot, and therefore must also master spear and bow.”
“Lady Kalussa is correct,” said Kyralion. “We…”
He fell silent and turned.
Kalussa looked to the side just as seven saurtyri rushed into the courtyard. She started to ask what they wanted, and then she saw their expressions. Saurtyri tended to have only two expressions or at least two expressions that were comprehensible to humans. Their faces were either filled with placid indifference or with fear.
And Kalussa had never seen such naked terror on the faces of saurtyri.
“What’s going on?” said Kalussa. “What’s wrong?”
The saurtyri ignored her and rushed to the doorway on the far side of the courtyard. They were not warriors, not the way that humans and orcs and jotunmiri and even the muridachs were. Their initial response to a threat was to flee and seek safety, and they would only fight if driven into a corner.
Which meant they were fleeing from a threat.
“An enemy comes,” said Kyralion.
“Gareth, Joachim, stay by me,” said Kalussa. She was surprised how commanding her voice was. She sounded a
little like Calliande. “We’re going to find your mother and father, and…”
The stench hit her nostrils.
She had never smelled anything like it.
Part of the odor reminded her of blood and rotting flesh, odors she had encountered far too often after becoming a Sister of the Arcanii. Yet the rest of it reminded her of the smell of an apothecary’s shop, a strange chemical reek that made her nose tingle and her eyes water.
Then she saw the shadows moving in the corridor.
Kalussa moved in front of the children, Kyralion stepping next to her as he set an arrow to his bowstring.
A creature from a nightmare came into sight.
Her stomach twisted with revulsion.
“What is that?” said Joachim. The boy sounded more bewildered than frightened, though Kalussa suspected that the fear would come soon enough.
“I have no idea,” said Kalussa, but she was utterly certain that the creature was there to kill them.
Worse, there were more behind it.
###
Ridmark stepped between Calliande and the windows, lifting Oathshield as he did so.
The sword shivered a little in his grasp, the blade crackling with white fire. A pulse of rage went through Ridmark, but it wasn’t from the pain that Hektor had caused Calliande. Instead, it was the soulblade’s wrath as it responded to dark magic.
Which meant that whatever had alarmed Tamlin and Calliande was a creature of dark magic.
Tamlin had gone to the windows to look around, but he jerked back, his gray eyes going wide. He raised his blue sword in his right hand, lightning crackling around the fingers of his left hand as he called his magic.
“They’re climbing up the walls!” he said.
King Hektor drew the Sword of Fire, and the red-yellow blade began to burn like a blacksmith’s forge. Prince Rypheus drew his bronze sword, and Calliande called magic, white fire playing around her staff and fingers. Ridmark watched the windows, preparing himself for the attack. What kind of creatures did they face? Urhaalgars could climb almost any vertical surface. Urshanes could probably manage it as well. Urvaalgs could not, and ursaars were too heavy. An urdhracos, of course, could fly overhead and bring dark magic to bear. But Ridmark had fought and defeated all those creatures, and with Oathshield in hand, he could defeat any of them.
He expected one of those creatures to climb through the window.
Instead, a hideous creature unlike anything he had ever seen vaulted over the sill.
It looked like a flayed orc. Ridmark saw the glistening of muscle and pulsing of veins, saw tusks jutting from the bloody head. An orc who had been flayed like that should have been in too much agony to move or (more mercifully) dead from blood loss. Yet the ghastly thing moved without a hint of pain. What was more, things that looked like pulsing black tumors dotted the bloody red flesh of the muscles, or perhaps sacs filled with black slime. Instead of eyes, the creature had spheres of sickly yellow fire in its eyes, and its white teeth glistened in a permanent bloody grin behind its tusks.
“What the hell is that thing?” Ridmark said.
“Impossible,” said Tamlin. “They were all destroyed.”
“An Accursed of the Sovereign,” said Hektor. “An abscondamnius. Do not let it touch you! Its grasp burns like acid.”
The skinless creature, the abscondamnius, took a step forward. As it did, Ridmark saw faint wisps of white smoke rising from the stone floor beneath its glistening feet. Its touch was burning the stone like a vial of acid. Perhaps that was how it had scaled the wall. Its stench rolled over Ridmark, a mixture of decaying flesh and a vile chemical reek that made his nostrils burn.
The thing took one more step, and Calliande attacked.
She struck it with a shaft of brilliant white fire. Ridmark had seen her use that spell many times before. It was drawn from the magic of the Well of Tarlion and augmented with the power of the Keeper’s mantle. Against living mortals, it was harmless.
Against creatures of dark magic, it was a deadly weapon, and the abscondamnius was no exception.
The shaft of fire ripped across the creature, and the abscondamnius let out a shriek. The raw flesh of its body turned black and twisted, and the creature staggered and fell to a smoking heap to the floor.
The stench was hideous.
But before the creature fell to the floor, another dozen abscondamni leaped through the windows and charged into the empty library, arms extended as if to embrace Ridmark and the others. Given the way the stone floor let out thin wisps of smoke beneath their glistening feet, Ridmark knew an embrace from the creatures would be fatal.
Ridmark and the others all attacked at once.
Calliande struck first, hurling another shaft of white fire that burned through an abscondamnius and flung the creature to the floor. King Hektor swung the Sword of Fire before him and shouted, and the blade pulsed with magical fire. Four of the abscondamni caught flame and fell the ground, going motionless as the Sword’s power turned them to twisted husks of smoking char. Tamlin cast his spell, and arcs of lightning leaped from his fingers, wrapping around one of the creatures and stunning it.
Ridmark leaped to meet the enemy, Oathshield’s hilt in both hands, the blade’s magic driving him onward. He slashed, and the soulblade tore through the flesh of the nearest abscondamnius as if it has been made of rotten wood. His blow took the creature’s head off, and no blood came from the stump of its neck, only thick black slime. The abscondamnius’s headless corpse staggered a few steps and then collapsed to the floor.
Another creature reached for him, and Ridmark twisted, slashing with Oathshield. His soulblade took off the creature’s arms at the elbow, and they fell smoking to the ground. Yet still the creature advanced, as if intending to fling its body against Ridmark. Given the acidic slime that seemed to coat the creature, that was something to avoid, so Ridmark sidestepped and swung again. This time he took off the abscondamnius’s head, and the creature joined the others upon the floor.
He whirled, seeking a new foe as fire and lightning snapped across the library. Another abscondamnius reached for him, and Ridmark dodged, using Oathshield’s speed to avoid the glistening fingers that reached for his throat. The abscondamni were strong, and their touch was death, but they seemed no faster than an ordinary man. It was just as well that Tamlin had never gotten around to furnishing his library and filling it with books. Fighting the abscondamni in an enclosed space would have been lethal.
Ridmark avoided the creature’s grasping fingers and opened it from throat to groin with a slash from Oathshield. It staggered back, and within its torso Ridmark glimpsed organs corrupted by more of those black tumors. The blow was not enough to finish off the creature, and Ridmark struck it in the neck. Oathshield sheared through the corrupted flesh, and the abscondamnius fell dead at his feet.
He stepped back, raising his sword in guard as he looked for more foes, but there were none. Calliande was unharmed, the white light playing up and down her staff as she held her magic ready. King Hektor, Prince Rypheus, and Tamlin were all unharmed. The Sword of Fire burned in the King’s right fist, and Rypheus was shaking drops of black slime from his blade with disgust.
“What were those things?” said Calliande. “You called them the…abstainers?”
“Abscondamni,” said Hektor in a grim voice. “The Accursed of the Sovereign. Whenever someone committed a crime within the Sovereign’s lands and was caught, the Sovereign would not put them to death. Instead, the Maledicti used their dark magic to twist them into the abscondamni, creatures of unnatural strength with a deadly touch.”
“God and the saints,” said Calliande. “That’s monstrous even by the standards of the dark elven lords.”
“But they were all destroyed with the Sovereign at Urd Maelwyn,” said Hektor. “None have been seen in Owyllain since the Sovereign’s fall.”
“And there are more of them out there,” said Ridmark, lifting Oathshield’s burning blade.
He met Calliande’s gaze and saw her reach the same conclusion.
“The children!” said Calliande.
Ridmark did not hesitate, but raced from the library, Oathshield in hand.
###
The Sovereign had been dead for six years by the time that Kalussa had been born, so she had never seen one of the abscondamni with her own eyes.
Yet she had heard the whispered tales. When the older knights and Arcanii and hoplites spoke of the final war against the Sovereign, they preferred to speak of High King Kothlaric and his kindness and his courage, or the crushing victory at Urd Maelwyn, or Kothlaric’s duel with the Sovereign. Only when an evil mood came upon them did they speak of the Accursed of the Sovereign, the twisted creatures called forth by his Maledicti priests.
All the abscondamni had been destroyed with the Sovereign, but now the creatures rushed into the courtyard.
Kalussa’s training took over, and she began casting spells. She hurled a bolt of fire into the nearest of the Accursed, and the creature burst into flame. The acidic slime that coated their exposed flesh was deadly to the touch, but it also burned like lamp oil. The abscondamni erupted into flames like a living candle, staggered forward another step, and collapsed smoking to the floor.
Kyralion’s hands moved in a blur, and he began sending arrows at the approaching creatures, the strange crystal in his bow flashing with yellow-orange light. His arrows thudded into the abscondamni and set them aflame, the creatures collapsing to the ground to join the one that Kalussa had slain.
“Gareth!” said Joachim. “Gareth, what should we do?”
“I…I don’t know,” said Gareth. “I…”
“Stay behind me!” shouted Kalussa, throwing another bolt of fire. She turned one of the abscondamni into a blazing torch. But there were too many of the creatures, and in another moment, they would overwhelm her. Kalussa’s skin crawled at the thought of one of those hideous things touching her.
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