Sevenfold Sword

by Jonathan Moeller

  Kyralion dropped his bow and leaped in front of her, his bronze sword in both hands, the blade crawling with lightning. That proved an effective weapon against the Accursed. The abscondamni might have been nightmares made flesh, but they were still living creatures, and the touch of Kyralion’s lightning-wrapped sword set them dancing and jerking like puppets in the hands of a drunken puppeteer. Kalussa used that opportunity to attack, the magic of elemental flame roaring through her as she hurled blasts of flame into their foes.

  They held the abscondamni back, but God and the saints, there were so many of the wretched creatures. They were going to get overwhelmed and slain. Kalussa risked a glance back and saw that Gareth and Joachim had for once listened to her and remained rooted in place, staring in horror at the grotesque creatures. Should she tell them to flee the way the saurtyri had gone? No, the abscondamni might have already surrounded the house. The saurtyri might have run to their deaths.

  She had no other choice. She had to stay here until Ridmark and Calliande arrived. The fury of the Shield Knight and the magic of the Keeper would make short work of the abscondamni. Kalussa and Kyralion just had to hold out until then.

  Though as a score of the abscondamni closed around them, Kalussa realized that might be a vain hope.

  Then someone bellowed from behind her, and Kalussa caught a flash of bronze in the corner of her eye. A man in the armor of an Arcanius Knight charged into the battle, eyes flashing beneath his red hair, a sword in his right hand and a shield fashioned out of magical ice covering his left arm.

  For the first time in her life, Kalussa was glad to see Sir Aegeus.

  Behind him came Michael. Kalussa wanted to scream for the old man to retreat, but he didn’t charge into the fray. Instead, he hefted a huge crossbow and pulled the trigger, and the massive bronze bolt slammed into the chest of an abscondamnius. The bolt struck with enough force to pierce the creature’s heart, and the Accursed fell.

  Aegeus slammed into the abscondamni as Michael began reloading his cumbersome weapon. Kalussa flinched, fearing that the touch of the Accursed would char and blacken Aegeus’s skin, but his shield of ice protected him. The abscondamnius he had struck stumbled, and Kalussa finished it off with a blast of magical fire.

  The three of them fell into a pattern, the only pattern they could use against the creatures. Kyralion used his magical sword to shock the abscondamni, while Sir Aegeus stunned them with the less graceful but equally effective method of bashing them across his face with his icy shield. As the Accursed stumbled, Kalussa unleashed her magic, hurling bolts of fire into the creatures. The abscondamni went up like candles, the magical fire igniting the greasy, acidic slime that covered their misshapen bodies.

  Yet more abscondamni rushed into the courtyard. They were forced further into the courtyard, the children standing behind Kalussa as she worked her magic. Sooner or later the abscondamni were going to surround them, and the creatures would overwhelm Aegeus and Kyralion. Kalussa had used a great deal of magic in the last few moments, and she was coming to the end of her stamina. Already her bolts of flame did not seem to burn as hot as they had a few moments earlier, and if one of the abscondamni shrugged off her attack, they would kill her.

  Then Aegeus’s shield of ice shattered under the punch of an abscondamnius’s fist. The magical shards of ice evaporated before they hit the ground, and Aegeus stumbled. He caught his balance at once, calling another shield of ice to his arm, but it was too late. Kyralion, his flank unprotected, had to retreat, and the abscondamni rushed after them, their white teeth and tusks seeming to grin with horrible glee in their bloody faces.

  They would overwhelm Kalussa and the others.

  She drew breath to shout for the children to run, for Michael to get them away, and then fire exploded through the courtyard.

  Some of the fire was white, and bound into a tight shaft of blazing light. It swept through Kalussa and Kyralion and Aegeus without harming them, but the abscondamni jerked and danced as the fire touched them. They turned black and charred, the dark magic that sustained them burning away, and collapsed motionless to the ground.

  Some of the fire was the familiar orange-yellow wrath of the Sword of Fire. A dozen of the abscondamni burned like kindling, their charred skeletons falling in pieces. Kalussa squinted into the glare and saw that a half-dozen of the abscondamni were still on their feet and attacking.

  Ridmark Arban fell upon them like a storm, the sword of the Shield Knight snarling with white fire in his fist. One creature fell, and then another, and another, and the remaining abscondamni whirled to face him.

  They didn’t last long.

  Ridmark stepped over the abscondamni, the soulblade still flickering with white fire.

  This fight was over, but Kalussa feared the battle had not yet finished.

  ***

  Chapter 11: Cathair Valwyn

  Ridmark took another step into the courtyard, looking at Gareth and Joachim.

  They were both unharmed, thank God. He had seen the scars the acid had cut into the stone, and he could just imagine what that acid would do to human flesh. The thought of his sons falling into the hands of the abscondamni had been a ghastly one.

  “Are any of you wounded?” said Calliande as she hurried towards Gareth and Joachim, looking at them with a concerned eye.

  “I don’t think so, my lady,” said Aegeus. “But by God and the saints, your arrival was timely!”

  Ridmark looked at the dead abscondamni as Calliande straightened up. Nearly thirty of the creatures lay slain upon the ground. The air stank of blood, burned flesh, and the strange chemical reek of the abscondamni. Had the courtyard not been open to the air, the stench would have been intolerable.

  He turned back to the archway as Tamlin, Prince Rypheus, and King Hektor came into the courtyard, the Arcanius and the Crown Prince standing before their king. Kalussa stood next to Sir Aegeus. Kyralion waited next to them, his sword in hand, his expression uncertain as if he did not know what to do next.

  “Thank you for your help, King Hektor,” said Ridmark. “Cutting off the heads of the abscondamni one by one would have been tedious.”

  Hektor snorted. “I should thank you, Lord Ridmark. Almost certainly those creatures were here to assassinate me. If not for your sword and the magic of Lady Calliande, the battle might have gone ill. The power of the Sword of Fire can do much, but it does not make me invincible.” His dark eyes rested on Oathshield. “And it seems we have not yet destroyed all of our foes.”

  Ridmark looked at his sword. The blade still glowed with white fire, though not as intensely as it had before. That meant creatures of dark magic were still nearby.

  More of the Accursed of the Sovereign were still in the city.

  “No,” said Ridmark. “No, there are more outside.”

  Calliande blinked several times, her expression taking on the unfocused look it did when drawing heavily upon the power of the Sight. “Nearby, I think. That agora we passed on our way here, that one that smelled of smoke…”

  “The Agora of Blacksmiths,” said Tamlin.

  “Father, we must move at once,” said Rypheus. “If the abscondamni are the work of the Confessor or King Justin, the city might be under attack.”

  “Yes, you are right,” said Hektor. “Sir Tamlin, Sir Aegeus, Lady Kalussa, you will accompany me.” He looked at Ridmark. “Will you follow me as well, Lord Ridmark? Your aid would be welcome.”

  “I shall,” said Ridmark, but he looked at Calliande.

  “I will come with you,” said Calliande, “and I will take the children with me.”

  Ridmark frowned. He didn’t like taking Gareth and Joachim anywhere near danger. But the domus was not a safe refuge for the children. Truth be told, if creatures of dark magic were loose in the streets of Aenesium, Gareth and Joachim would be safest with Ridmark and Calliande themselves.

  “Very well,” said Ridmark. “Gareth, Joachim, go with your mother.” Both boys started to speak at once. “D
on’t argue. We’re in danger, so do as I say.”

  They fell silent, and Calliande picked Joachim up and held him in her left arm, the boy’s eyes wide with fear. Gareth stood next to Calliande, trying to keep his expression calm, but Ridmark could tell he was terrified. The same rage Ridmark had felt at Castra Chaeldon pulsed through him. Archaelon had threatened the children, and Ridmark had brought destruction onto his head for it.

  Well, he could do the same to whoever had loosed the abscondamni into Aenesium.

  “We should move, Father,” said Rypheus. “We’ve wasted enough time already.”

  “Come,” said Hektor, gesturing with the Sword of Fire.

  They left the courtyard and hurried through the hallways of the domus, leaving Michael and the saurtyri to deal with the dead abscondamni. Tamlin and Aegeus led the way, with Ridmark and Prince Rypheus behind them. King Hektor followed them, and Calliande and Kalussa and the children brought up the back. They passed through the atrium and into the street, and Ridmark braced himself for the familiar sights of a city under attack from a foe.

  Only to find that calm reigned over Aenesium.

  Ridmark looked around, baffled. Nearly fifty abscondamni had attacked Tamlin’s domus. Surely a mob of skinless orcs surging through the streets of the city would have drawn alarm. He saw a few other people on the street, mostly women and a few saurtyri servants going about their business, but there was no sign of danger. Nor could he hear any shouts or screams or the sound of battle rising from the rest of the city…

  Wait. There was something. He heard a sound like a crowd arguing, but it was coming from that market square, the Agora of Blacksmiths.

  One of the women stopped, eyes wide, and did a hasty bow. “Lord King.”

  “Good woman,” said Hektor. “Have you seen anything strange?”

  The woman hesitated, looked at Ridmark, and then back at Hektor.

  “Other than a man wearing dark elven armor, no, my lord King,” said the woman. “But I did hear some shouting from the Agora of the Blacksmiths.”

  Hektor nodded. “Thank you. Go about your business.” The woman bowed again, and Hektor turned back to the others. “Let us hasten to the Agora. Perhaps we shall find some answers there.”

  They walked down the street at a brisk pace, the smell of smoke growing stronger.

  “Could it be the Low Gate, Father?” said Rypheus.

  Hektor’s frown deepened. “Perhaps.”

  “But the ancient Arcanii sealed the Gate with powerful wards,” said Tamlin.

  “What is the Low Gate?” said Ridmark.

  “I hope my suspicions are wrong,” said Hektor, “but if they are not, then you shall see soon enough.”

  They came to the Agora of the Blacksmiths and saw that a commotion was underway. Blacksmith shops and foundries ringed the square, smoke rising from their chimneys, but a crowd had gathered before the doors of the church that overlooked the Agora. The largest church in Aenesium was the Great Cathedral of the Agora of Connmar, but there were many other smaller churches scattered throughout the city. One such church rose on one side of the Agora of the Blacksmiths. Like the Great Cathedral, it had been built in the shape of an octagon with a dome on its top, though it was far less ornate than the larger church.

  A crowd of men with the sooty look of blacksmiths stood outside the church’s open doors, accompanied by a larger group of women. In Andomhaim, Ridmark knew, it was not uncommon for wives to work alongside their husbands at their crafts, and with women more numerous than men in Owyllain, he supposed the custom would be all the stronger here.

  The crowd of smiths was shouting at a bewildered-looking man in the black cassock of a priest. The priest was old, almost ancient, likely old enough that he could not serve as a hoplite. His thin hands were raised to calm the crowd, and his voice reached Ridmark’s ears.

  “Word has been sent to the Palace of the High Kings,” said the old priest. “King Hektor will know what to do about these strange sights.”

  “The Accursed of the Sovereign in the streets of Aenesium!” shouted a man. “That’s not a strange sight, that’s a damned attack.”

  The priest started to say something else, but Hektor’s voice rang out like a thunderclap.

  “King Hektor is here!” said Hektor, striding forward, “and he would like to know about these strange sights.”

  At once the crowd turned, many of them going to one knee or bowing before their King.

  “The abscondamni!” said one of the women.

  “The Accursed of the Sovereign are in the city, lord King!” said the smith who had been arguing with the priest. “I saw them with my own eyes.”

  “As did I,” said Hektor. “A group of fifty abscondamni attacked me as I visited Tamlin Thunderbolt’s domus. Fortunately, the valor of Sir Tamlin and Sir Aegeus and the magical skill of Lady Kalussa proved enough to overcome the creatures, along with the prowess of the Shield Knight and the magical skill of the Keeper. Father Clement!” The old priest straightened up. Ridmark was surprised that Hektor knew his name, but then a good commander knew as many of his men as possible. “What happened here?”

  “I was preparing for evening prayers,” said Clement, “and I heard noises coming from the crypt below the church. Alarmed, I went to investigate, and when I did, I saw that the Low Gate had burst open. A mob of abscondamni issued forth, and I was certain that I would soon stand before the judgment seat of the Dominus Christus. Yet the creatures ignored me. They rushed upstairs to the church, and I feared they would attack the city…”

  “But they did not, King Hektor,” said the smith, an old man who nonetheless still looked burly and strong. “I saw them charge out of the church, and I called the men of the Agora to arms.” He held a heavy hammer in his fist that looked as if it could have crushed a man’s skull with a single blow. “But they ignored us and ran to the street. We sent messengers to the Palace, but we didn’t know what to do.”

  “How many of the abscondamni were there, Marcus?” said Hektor.

  The old smith considered. “I’d reckon about fifty, more or less.”

  “That’s the number that attacked my domus,” said Tamlin.

  “Then it seems someone sent the abscondamni to kill me,” said Hektor. He glanced at Ridmark. “Or you. I may not be the only one to recognize the power of the Shield Knight.”

  “No,” said Ridmark, his voice grim. Archaelon had underestimated both Ridmark and Calliande, and he had paid for that mistake with his life. But Khurazalin had escaped the battle, and undoubtedly Khurazalin had allies elsewhere. If the Maledictus was working with King Justin or the Confessor, perhaps they realized the threat and had decided to kill Ridmark and Calliande.

  “King Hektor,” said Calliande. “This Low Gate. What is it? The Sight shows me…strange magic below the church.”

  “What manner of magic, Lady Calliande?” said Hektor.

  “I’m not sure,” said Calliande, blinking, “but it resembles the magic around Lord Kyralion’s weapons.”

  Kyralion frowned at her, and then looked at the church.

  “Come,” said Hektor. “It is time to show you the Low Gate.”

  “But the danger, lord King,” said Clement.

  “A king’s duty is to defend his people, Father Clement,” said Hektor. “The abscondamni who attacked me burned, and if there are any more creatures or their masters below, I shall see that they perish as well. Come, my friends.”

  The crowd parted for the King, and Ridmark and the others followed him into the church.

  The interior looked little different than the other churches of Owyllain that Ridmark had seen so far. The engineering skill of Owyllain’s builders allowed for eight large windows, one in each of the walls, so the church’s interior was well-lit. Painted on the walls between the windows were bright frescoes showing the Dominus Christus and the saints, their hands raised in blessing. The altar rose from a dais in the center of the church, a silver crucifix standing in its center.
>
  On the far wall of the church, opposite the doors, Ridmark saw a set of stairs descending into the ground.

  “This way,” said Hektor, and they took the stairs. “Daughter, some light, if you could.” Kalussa nodded and cast a spell. She held up her right fist and flames danced around it, transforming her hand in a torch.

  Ridmark found himself in a crypt below the church. Thick stone pillars supported the vaulted ceiling, and Kalussa’s magical light threw flickering shadows over the flagstones of the floor and the masonry of the walls. Stone shelves lined the walls, holding urns of corroded bronze. It seemed that the men of Owyllain burned their dead and interred the ashes. Given that they had fought necromancers like the Confessor and the Maledicti for generations, it was a sensible practice. Most of the men of Andomhaim were buried, but those who had fought the undead often tended to prefer cremation.

  Ridmark had seen places like this many times before.

  But he had never seen a gate like the one in the far wall.

  It had been built of white stone similar to the stone used by the dark elves and the high elves. No, not similar, identical. The gate stood ten feet high and ten wide and within the stone arch gleamed doors of golden metal. Symbols had been carved on the arch, glowing with pale white light, and Ridmark saw several minor soulstones set in the arch’s apex.

  The door stood open, revealing a gallery of white stone that led deeper into the earth.

  “Lord King,” said Calliande, “that looks like a ruin of the elves.”

  Kyralion nodded, a strange, tense expression on his face. “It looks like the other ruins of the Liberated that I have visited.”

  “You are correct, both of you,” said Hektor. “When Connmar Pendragon’s fleet arrived in Owyllain five centuries ago, he sought for a suitable landing place. At the mouth of the River Morwynial, he found the ancient ruins of a citadel. The hill that now holds the Palace of the Kings had already been terraced and fortified, and there were ruined buildings and towers scattered along the bank of the river. There was an excellent harbor, and the river was navigable, so Connmar settled here and built his new city. He named the city Aenesium in honor of Aeneas of the Trojans upon Old Earth. For just as Aeneas fled the fall of Troy to found the city of Rome, so had Connmar fled the destruction of Andomhaim to found the new realm of Owyllain.” Hektor glanced at Ridmark. “Or so Connmar thought.”