“I did,” said Ridmark. She held out the weapon, and he took the haft, a wave of old memories coming through him. He had lost his dwarven axe in Cathair Solas, but with that weapon, he had slain Mournacht of Kothluusk and Prince Kurdulkar of the manetaurs. It was a powerful weapon, but with Oathshield, he had no need of it.
Aegeus snorted. “I suppose the Shield Knight will be twice as formidable now.”
“Actually,” said Ridmark, reversing the weapon and presenting the haft to Aegeus. “You can have it.”
Aegeus blinked in surprise. “Lord Ridmark? The axe is yours by right of battle.”
“Aye,” said Ridmark, “but I have a soulblade. I don’t need it. Tamlin and Kyralion don’t need it, since they already have weapons that can harm creatures of dark magic. You don’t have such a weapon, and if you keep following us around, you’re going to need one.”
Tamlin grinned and clapped Aegeus on the shoulder. “Then the next time, you can chop off some urvaalg heads rather than letting me do all the work.”
“Bah,” said Aegeus. “If I hadn’t shielded you, the urvaalgs would have bitten off your face. Try seducing some widows then.” He took the axe and offered a deep bow to Ridmark. “This is a lordly gift, sir. I shall strive to be worthy of it.”
“I know you shall, Sir Aegeus,” said Ridmark. “Come. Let’s return to King Hektor and seal this place behind us.”
They headed back towards the stairs, and to his surprise, Calliande smiled.
“What is it?” said Ridmark.
“It was just like the old days, wasn’t it?” said Calliande. “Fighting our way through an ancient ruin?”
Ridmark snorted. “It was never that easy in the old days.”
Tamlin blinked. “Easy? That was easy?”
“Sir Tamlin, you have no idea,” said Calliande with a smile.
“Then I hope to remain in ignorance, my lady.”
Ridmark listened, but his mind was elsewhere.
It had been a hard fight, but they were still alive.
Nevertheless, it had left him with more questions than answers…and he feared that those missing answers might be deadly.
***
Chapter 13: The Customs of Owyllain
The next week was busy.
Calliande spent the first day after their return from Cathair Valwyn helping Master Nicion and a team of Arcanii rebuild the wards upon the resealed Low Gate. Nicion Amphilus was just as unpleasant and abrasive as he had been when Calliande had first met him. Nonetheless, he was a good leader. Twelve of the most powerful Arcanii accompanied him, and they jumped to obey his commands, laying down layer after layer of elemental wards upon the barred doors of the Low Gate.
He made the mistake of trying to give her commands, which lasted until Calliande pointed out a flaw in the warding spells, shattered them without much effort, and showed him how to cast a more robust ward.
“A useful spell,” said Nicion, narrowing his hard eyes as he watched her. “You shattered my previous wards easily. Perhaps one wonders if you did it deliberately.”
“If I did,” said Calliande, “then I would have done it for a better reason than nearly getting myself, my husband, and our friends killed at the hand of a pack of urvaalgs, an urdhracos, and their Maledictus master.”
That, at least, Nicion could not deny.
King Hektor and his advisors had insisted on seeing the carcasses for themselves, and so Ridmark and Calliande had taken the King to see the site of the battle. In retrospect, it had been a good idea. While Calliande believed that King Hektor was indeed an honorable man, it would not hurt for the King of Aenesium to have a healthy respect for the magic of the Keeper and the power of a soulblade. The Arcanii could defeat urvaalgs and other creatures of dark magic in battle, but not nearly as effectively as a Swordbearer.
“Perhaps,” said Nicion. “It could be part of a cunning plot.”
His paranoia was getting wearisome.
“If I was that cunning,” said Calliande, “why did I let Rhodruthain transport us here in the first place?”
For once, Nicion had no answer.
“That is a good point, Master Nicion,” said one of the younger Arcanius Knights.
Nicion gave the young man a glare. “Back to work.”
With that, discussion of Calliande’s motives ended, and they resumed work on the Low Gate. Calliande had to admit that for all of Nicion’s truculence and paranoia, he was a skilled and powerful wizard. Like the other Arcanii she had met, his training seemed somehow half-complete. She suspected that Ardrhythain had given the first Magistri a far more comprehensive education in magical principles than Rhodruthain had given to the first Arcanii.
In the end, they built a powerful ward over the Low Gate, stronger than the first one. If the ward was broken and the Low Gate opened, both Calliande and Nicion would know at once. Hopefully, that would keep any more abscondamni (or worse, urvaalgs) from getting into the city. If Calliande could have worked her will, the church overhead would have been razed and the rubble used to bury the crypt, but that was impossible. For one, the men of Owyllain would have reacted with horror at the thought of tearing down a consecrated church, and the idea did not please Calliande.
Second, there simply was no one available to do it, because all Aenesium prepared for war.
Calliande and Ridmark spent a great deal of time visiting the Palace of the High Kings, and they found themselves joining King Hektor’s advisors as he planned the campaign to the north. It was a role that Calliande had played before many times, during both wars against the Frostborn in Andomhaim and in the years of (relative) peace that had followed. Based on what she saw and heard, it seemed that King Hektor and King Justin had nearly equal strength. Both kings carried one of the Seven Swords. Hektor commanded four of the cities of Owyllain and Justin Cyros only three, but Justin had more jotunmiri allies, while King Hektor had more support from the Warlords of the orcish city-states.
Despite the danger, despite the looming battle, Calliande felt oddly calm. Relieved, even. Once again, she found herself in a familiar situation. She knew battle and war, had spent most of her life involved in the wars against the Frostborn. Idleness never suited her, and she preferred to keep busy.
It kept her mind from slipping back into dark brooding over Joanna.
Maybe this was what she needed. Something to hold her attention, something to keep her busy. After Joanna’s death, Calliande had been too sick and too weak to do anything but rebuke herself, but nearly seven months had passed. Her strength was coming back, perhaps fueled by the battles they had faced since Rhodruthain had brought them here.
It helped her state of mind that the children were doing well. Between Michael, Kalussa, and Tamlin, they were in good hands. Ridmark had hired Father Clement as a tutor for the boys, and the old priest took to his task with diligent enthusiasm. Tamlin continued instructing them in swordplay and Kyralion in the use of bows, and once the battle was over and Justin defeated, Hektor offered to take Gareth as a page in his household. It was past time – Ridmark had been considering where to send Gareth as a page in Andomhaim when Calliande had fallen ill.
Once the day’s work was done, Calliande and Ridmark returned to Tamlin’s domus. She worried that they would wear out their welcome, but Tamlin seemed happy of the company. The domus was too large for a single man. Calliande supposed if Tamlin ever got around to marrying again and started fathering children, he would need the space, but until then the young knight was glad his house was no longer empty.
Eight days after Calliande and Ridmark ventured into Cathair Valwyn, a messenger arrived at Tamlin’s domus.
Queen Adrastea requested the honor of a meeting with the Keeper of Andomhaim that morning.
###
The page was one of Hektor Pendragon’s younger sons, to judge from his age and his appearance. The boy was about ten, wearing a red tunic with the bronze helmet sigil of the Pendragons of Owyllain across the chest and he performed his dut
ies with the grave solemnity of youth.
He led Calliande through the corridors of the Palace to one of the terraced gardens facing to the west, overlooking the broad blue expanse of the harbor and of the sea. Since it was morning, the great stone mass of the Palace and its hill blocked the sun, and the garden lay in the cool shade. Flowering bushes and low trees rose from the green earth, and a statue of a hoplite warrior stood on a plinth.
Calliande half-expected Queen Adrastea to be clad in a gown and jewels, attended by an army of maids and her husband’s concubines.
Instead, Adrastea was wearing sandals, dusty trousers, and a sweat-stained tunic, her hip-length hair bound in a thick braid. She was kneeling at the base of one of the bushes, singing to herself in a quiet voice as she dug around the base of a bush. Calliande was suddenly glad that she had not decided to array herself in a fine gown, and had instead worn a red tunic, leather jerkin, trousers, and boots. The attack of the abscondamni had left her wary, and if King Justin or the servants of the New God struck again, Calliande needed to move in haste without encumbering clothing.
“My Queen,” said the page with a bow. “Lady Calliande to see you.”
Adrastea straightened up and dusted off her hands. “Thank you, Arion. Lady Calliande and I will speak alone.” Arion bowed and trotted off, and Adrastea’s sharp eyes turned to her. “Would you care for some refreshment?” She smiled and gestured at herself. “I fear I am being a poor host, but there is so much to be done, and this was the only time of day to do any gardening. At least this way you can be sure I am speaking to you without artifice.”
Calliande smiled. “Since you are Queen, I think you can be as blunt as you wish.”
“You would think so,” said Adrastea, and Calliande followed her across the garden terrace, “but unlike the Keeper of Andomhaim, I cannot back up my words with mighty magic.” A table and a pair of chairs had been set up near the railing, and the table held a dish of fruit and cups of tea. Two women bowed as Adrastea approached. She thanked them, and the women departed. “Please, Keeper, be seated.”
Calliande sat. Adrastea poured two cups of tea, and they raised their cups and drank. The tea of Owyllain was sharp and bitter and strong.
“How are your family and Sir Tamlin Thunderbolt getting along?” said Adrastea.
“Well,” said Calliande. “It was kind of Sir Tamlin to take us into his domus.”
“I suspect Sir Tamlin is glad of the company,” said Adrastea. “He is a young man with a great deal of sorrow in his heart. Hektor has told me some of Sir Tamlin’s story.”
“It is hard for a man to recover from a blow like that,” said Calliande.
Adrastea smiled. “Did Tamlin try to seduce you when you met?”
Calliande opened her mouth, closed it, and decided upon tact. “He hasn’t tried it since he apologized.”
Adrastea laughed. “He is an odd mixture of bravery and lechery.”
“I don’t wish to speak ill of him,” said Calliande. “He has been kind to us. Truth be told, nearly everyone in Owyllain has been welcoming to us.” She chose to overlook Master Nicion. Likely Adrastea had been listening to Nicion complain for years. “We were brought to a strange land against our will, but you have been welcoming to us.”
“Well, you are our lost cousins of Andomhaim,” said Adrastea. “And, truth be told, you have done more for us than we have done for you. If Justin Cyros or the Confessor had taken Castra Chaeldon, it would have been a devastating blow against us. Justin would have been able to march right to the gates of Aenesium. Instead, my husband can defeat him well away from the city. And there is your healing magic as well. You have saved many men who would otherwise have perished. And Lord Ridmark’s soulblade…I never would have believed such a large group of Accursed and urvaalgs could have been overcome so quickly. The War of the Seven Swords has raged for twenty-five years, but your arrival brought more hope than we have known for some time.”
Calliande hesitated. “I should be honest with you, Queen Adrastea. I wish that we had never come here, that we were still in our homeland.” Adrastea inclined her head. “But…what is done is done. We are here, and I am still the Keeper, and my husband is still the Shield Knight. We were sworn to defend humanity from dark magic, and that is what we will continue to do.”
“I am glad,” said Adrastea. “This is not something I can often admit, but I confess that I sometimes fear that I have lived to see the final days of Owyllain. The war of the Seven Swords has raged since I was a girl, and when Justin Cyros ruined my family…”
Calliande blinked. “You were from Cytheria?”
“I was,” said Adrastea. “I grew up there and married one of the Companions of King Justin. But when Justin allied himself with the warlocks of the Vhalorasti orcs and permitted his Arcanii to practice necromancy, my father and husband spoke out against his decision. In response, King Justin had them both executed along with my two-year-old son.”
“I am sorry,” said Calliande. “I have heard many evil things about Justin Cyros since I came to Owyllain, but that is one of the worst.”
“Some of us escaped,” said Adrastea. “My husband’s concubines and I, and some of the wives and children of the other men that Justin executed. But King Justin’s arm is long, and his vengeance is insatiable. Some of his Ironcoats pursued us, and they almost caught us when we found King Hektor. There was a battle, and King Hektor prevailed.”
“And so you wed King Hektor,” said Calliande.
“Yes.” A fond smile went over Adrastea’s face. “I did not expect to end my days as the Queen of Aenesium, but it seemed that God had plans for both Hektor and me. His first wife died of illness. I think Helen was the great love of his life, just as my first husband was mine.”
“Then you don’t love the King?” said Calliande.
Adrastea blinked in surprise. “Of course I love him. I didn’t expect to, but I do. I respected him as a warrior and a King, but love…” She paused. “Ah. You were born a commoner, were you not?”
“I was,” said Calliande. “My father was a fisherman.”
“Commoners marry for love,” said Adrastea. “Or for commercial advantage, if we are to be honest. But nobles usually marry for duty. My first marriage was for duty, even though I loved him. My second was also for duty, though I came to love my husband in time.” She took a sip of her tea. “If you do not mind the question, how did you and Lord Ridmark meet?”
Calliande laughed. “It is almost dramatic as your story. I was tied naked to an altar by pagan orcs who planned to kill me in a spell of dark magic.”
Adrastea’s eyebrows climbed halfway up her forehead. “Truly? He rescued you from the orcs, I presume?”
“Since we have been married for eight years and have two children, I would say so,” said Calliande. She almost said three children but stopped herself in time. “Also, I am still alive to have this conversation with you.”
“It is like a tale from a bard’s song,” said Adrastea.
“I hope not. Bards always get everything wrong.”
Adrastea laughed at that. “They truly do. Some idiot bard thought to write a song to flatter my husband, and he claimed that Hektor had fallen in love with my beauty from afar and waged war against King Justin to rescue me. What utter rubbish.”
“Do not the scriptures say that an honest answer is like a kiss on the lips?” said Calliande.
“Depending on the question, it might be more like a punch in the mouth,” said Adrastea, and they both laughed. “I am glad I have met you, Calliande of Tarlion, and would like to think that we could be friends.”
“I would like to think that as well,” said Calliande. She paused. “But I suspect you brought me here to discuss something unpleasant, which may make that unlikely.”
Adrastea inclined her head and set down her tea cup. “I did, Lady Calliande. I would like you to imagine something. Imagine a realm where men fought wars, but their only weapons were clubs and sticks. Now imagine t
hat a man arrives with a sword of steel, but a sword that only he can wield. Would that not upset the harmony of the realm? Would it not change the course of its destiny?”
“It would,” said Calliande. “I assume you are speaking about Ridmark and Oathshield?”
“I am,” said the Queen. “The men of that realm would seek to ally with the only swordsman. Some of them would be his friend, others would try to control him, and still others might try to kill him.”
Calliande frowned. “Are you one of them?”
“I am not,” said Adrastea. “I meant what I said. Whatever the reason the Guardian Rhodruthain brought you here, it has been a blessing to Aenesium and Owyllain. But human nature does not change. King Hektor must be the supreme power in Aenesium. Yet you and Lord Ridmark have magic to challenge the Sword of Fire. Kings inevitably make enemies, and my husband suffers many who whisper against his rule, who say that it is time to surrender to the murderous King Justin or to make ourselves the vassals and slaves of the Confessor. Those who believe that might try to make common cause with you.”
“Then they are fools,” said Calliande. “Both the Confessor and King Justin are tyrants who wield dark magic. They are the kind of men the Keepers of Andomhaim have always opposed, and the kind of enemies the Swordbearers were founded to fight. No, Lord Ridmark and I have made a pact with King Hektor, and we shall see it through. We will help him against the other bearers of the Seven Swords, and in return, he will help us to reach Cathair Animus and force Rhodruthain to return us home.”
“I have no doubts, Lady Calliande,” said Adrastea. “But others do. Master Nicion is just one of the more polite ones.”
“I doubt Nicion has ever been called polite in his life,” said Calliande.
“Usually he is called worse things,” said Adrastea, “but it he has been a good Master of the Order of the Arcanii. The Arcanius Knights have been a vital force in our wars against the Sovereign and the Confessor, but they turn to dark magic far too often. Nicion does not tolerate such things, and the Arcanii have suffered none of the rot they endured in the time of Talitha and her friends.”
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