Sevenfold Sword_Warlord

by Jonathan Moeller

  Beneath the helm, Ridmark saw that the man’s eyes glowed with harsh blue light.

  He was an Arcanius Knight, but he was wielding dark magic. Already Ridmark saw shadows crawling around the Arcanius Knight’s fingers as he gathered power for a spell. He was one of the Dark Arcanii, a member of the rival Order that had formed to support Justin Cyros.

  “What is this, then?” said the Arcanius. His voice had a faint, insect-like buzz to it. Dark magic sometimes caused mutations in its users. To judge from the sound, and to judge from the grayish corpse-like pallor on the Arcanius Knight’s fingers and neck, the process had begun. “Are you the creature that I have hunted through the woods?”

  “As it happens,” said Ridmark, lifting Oathshield and watching the Arcanius, “I also was hunting for the creature.”

  “That was foolish of you,” said the Arcanius. “When I find the creature, I shall bind its will and enslave it, and wield alongside the others in battle. If you find it first, it shall slay you.”

  “I very much doubt that,” said Ridmark.

  “You are another of the Arcanii, yes?” said the Arcanius. “One of the fools following King Hektor.”

  “I am following King Hektor,” said Ridmark, “but I am not an Arcanius. I’ll give you one chance to walk away from this.”

  The Dark Arcanius laughed, long and loud. “Will you? I decline. Your armor shall make a fine trophy.”

  He thrust out his hand and cast a spell, and a lance of shadow and blue flame burst from his fingers. Ridmark was ready for it, and he called on Oathshield’s power as he raised the sword. The spell struck the soulblade and unraveled in a spray of blue flames.

  The Arcanius blinked, frowning behind his helm.

  “How did you do that?” he said. “No spell of the Arcanii can turn aside dark magic. Are…” A hint of fear entered his voice. “Do you wield one of the Seven Swords?”

  “No,” said Ridmark, striding forward.

  The Arcanius stepped back, yanking his sword from his belt, and blue fire and shadow started to play around the blade. Ridmark kept moving forward, Oathshield ready in his right hand. He braced himself to attack, knowing that the Arcanius would have charged his sword with dark power.

  Then something entirely unexpected happened.

  A pillar of blue fire swirled atop a nearby boulder. Ridmark’s first thought was that another Dark Arcanius had cast a spell, but then a shock of recognition went through him. He had seen pillars of blue fire like that before, not once but many times.

  The fire vanished, and a woman appeared in its place.

  She was about Ridmark’s height, her face too angular to be human, her skin a little too pale for a human, and her ears pointed from her dark elven blood. Thick black hair hung in curtains alongside her narrow face, and she wore close-fitting armor the color of wet ashes, wrought of some black metal known only to the dark elves. Her eyes were usually flat and black and icy, but they glimmered with fading blue fire, the flame shining in her veins like glowing fingers beneath her skin.

  Nine years ago, on the day that Ridmark had first met her, she had tried to kill him.

  Now he trusted her as much as he trusted anyone.

  And he was absolutely astonished to see her in Owyllain.

  “Third?” said Ridmark.

  She looked at him and smiled a little.

  “Third? Third of what?” said the Dark Arcanius, his bafflement plain. He snarled and thrust his free hand, shadow and blue fire snarling around his fingers.

  “Third!” said Ridmark, charging towards the Arcanius.

  “Third of what?” shouted the Dark Arcanius.

  But Third was already moving. She jumped off the boulder and vanished in a swirl of blue fire, disappearing before she hit the ground. The Arcanius gaped at that, and Ridmark closed. Oathshield blazed with white fire, and he hammered the blade at his enemy’s head. The Dark Arcanius snarled and raised his sword, and Oathshield clanged into his blade. The Arcanius rocked back, growling as he began a spell.

  Before he could finish it, blue fire snarled behind him, and Third reappeared out of nothingness. In either hand, she held a short sword of blue dark elven steel, and she stabbed with precision. The Arcanius let out a strangled croak, and then collapsed dead to the ground, the shadow and blue fire fading from his sword.

  Oathshield’s fire faded away, the glow in the soulstones dimming. Ridmark met Third’s dark gaze.

  “I do not believe there are any additional foes nearby,” said Third. Her voice, as always, was cold and precise. “Nor are there any creatures or wielders of dark magic in the area.”

  “No,” said Ridmark.

  An intense memory burned through his mind. Nine years ago, he had led the Anathgrimm warriors of Queen Mara against the Frostborn in the Northerland of Andomhaim. The woman who called herself Third had been at his side for those battles, his trusted lieutenant and his most capable scout, and they had had this exact conversation a thousand times before.

  Then the unreality of the situation caught up with him. The Northerland and Andomhaim were far away, and yet Third was here.

  He felt himself smiling.

  “I am very pleased to see you,” said Ridmark, “and your intervention was timely.”

  Third smiled a little, which was as close to demonstrative as she ever got. “And I am glad to see you, Lord Shield Knight.”

  “But…how the devil did you get here?” said Ridmark. “How did you even find us?”

  “With this,” said Third, lifting her right arm. On her forearm, over her dark armor and clothing, she wore a bracer of blue metal.

  It was the exact same shade of blue as Oathshield.

  “What is that?” said Ridmark.

  “The Keeper’s apprentice forged it the day after you disappeared with the wizard calling himself Rhodruthain,” said Third. “It was imbued with a spell to track Oathshield. Using it, I have been able to follow you here.”

  Ridmark blinked. “Then how did you get to Owyllain? There are at least three thousand miles of ocean between Owyllain…”

  “It is closer to three thousand five hundred,” said Third. “There is also another continent between them. But I traveled through the subterranean passages of the Deeps. With my ability to travel, I covered great distances in a single day.”

  “How did you find the way through the Deeps?” said Ridmark.

  “I went to Khaldurmar and forced the dvargir to tell me,” said Third. “I also forced them to allow me the use of one of their subterranean canals. That allowed me to travel far faster than I could otherwise.”

  Ridmark stared at her. Khaldurmar? She had gone into the city of the dvargir and come out again alive? It was astonishing.

  Then again, if anyone could do it, it was Third.

  Third shrugged. “I did not kill any of the dvargir. And it was the task that my sister Queen Mara and High King Arandar laid upon me. They asked me to find what had become of the Shield Knight and the Keeper. Some of the court of Tarlion feared that you and your family had been slain, but Antenora’s Sight revealed that you were alive. She wrought this bracer and imbued it with seeking magic, and I have followed you ever since. I am very pleased that you are still alive.” She paused. “Are the Keeper and your children well?”

  “They are,” said Ridmark.

  “This sorcerer, this wielder of dark magic,” said Third, glancing at the dead Dark Arcanius. “Was he a foe of yours?”

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. “I didn’t know his name, but he tried to kill me.”

  “He is not the only one,” said Third. “I had to avoid a half-dozen others as I traveled, and there is a large army of humans and orcs and other kindreds beyond the hills to the north. Several hundred more of these wielders of dark magic are accompanying that host.”

  “That would be the army of King Justin Cyros,” said Ridmark. His brain started to work through his shock. “Third, I am glad beyond words to see you. But I’m afraid you’ve landed in the middle
of a war.”

  Third shrugged. “I am no stranger to war.” Now there was an understatement. She had seen centuries of war before she had escaped the curse of her dark elven blood. “And I would be pleased to assist you against any foes. My task from Queen Mara and High King Arandar was to learn of your fate and bring you back to Andomhaim if possible. If you are slain, I will fail in my task.”

  “This way, then,” said Ridmark. “I can explain to you on the way.”

  He paused and then smiled.

  “And I am very glad to see you,” he said. “Very glad. You and I have seen many dangers together, and if we are to face new perils, you are one of the few I would be glad to have at my side.”

  He would have hugged her, but he knew she did not like to be touched.

  Third blinked, then smiled, and offered him a bow.

  “And I am glad to see you, my friend,” said Third. “We have seen perils together, so let us see a few more. But how did you come here?”

  “It’s a long story,” said Ridmark, “but it’s six miles back to King Hektor’s army. The wizard who brought us here is a gray elf called the Guardian of Cathair Animus…”

  ###

  Calliande Arban’s jaw ached.

  That wasn’t a surprise. She knew why it was happening. When she was under stress, she tended to clench her jaw. Her healing magic wasn’t as effective when she used it on herself. That said, it did allow her to probe her body for injuries and illnesses, and she had discovered that she sometimes clenched her jaw so tightly that she inflicted a mild sprain on the joint. Fortunately, it hadn’t yet done any damage to her teeth.

  Perhaps she had inherited that from her mother. Calliande remembered her mother often rubbing her jaw and neck as if they pained her, but both her parents had kept all their teeth right up until the day they died of plague. On the other hand, Calliande had been her parents’ only child, which made her wonder if her mother had experienced difficult pregnancies.

  Maybe Calliande had inherited that from her mother as well…which might explain what had happened to Joanna.

  She expected grief to flood her at the thought of her daughter, and it did…but not with the paralytic, crushing force that it had before. Calliande would always mourn Joanna Arban, but she could not let it dominate her as it had for the previous six months.

  To be blunt, she had too much to do, and if she didn’t do her work properly, a lot of people might die.

  Perhaps work really was the best cure for sorrow.

  Her daughter might have died, but she still had two sons. And if she wanted to see them again, if she did not want to leave them orphaned at a young age, she needed to make sure she and Ridmark returned to them alive and victorious.

  Which explained why she had so much work to do.

  “All right,” said Calliande. “Try it now.”

  The bushy-bearded knight gave her a wary glance, took a deep breath, and nodded.

  The redwood forest rose around Calliande, the trees soaring higher than any tower built by the hands of humans. It was a beautiful place, and it would have been a peaceful place, but the stillness of the forest was shattered by the passage of the army of King Hektor Pendragon.

  The column stretched for miles. Thousands of hoplites marched, clad in bronze armor and helmets, and knights in more ornate armor commanded troops of soldiers. Hundreds of Arcanius Knights ranged up and down the line, patrolling for any sign of the dark magic wielded by the servants of Justin Cyros. Towering jotunmiri warriors walked in their own groups, their skin a grayish-green and ugly to human eyes, though their melodious voices rumbled out the sagas of their kindred. Countless scutians pulled supply wagons. The scutians were giant lizards with sharp beaks and shields of bone that protected their necks. They were not terribly fast, but they were strong and had astonishing stamina, and plodded ever onward with little need for rest.

  At the moment, Calliande’s concern was with teaching.

  Her four students walked with her.

  The first was her new apprentice Kalussa Pendragon. Kalussa was a beautiful young woman of nineteen, with thick blond hair and bright blue eyes. Calliande had forgiven Kalussa for her failed attempt to seduce Ridmark.

  She was still working on forgetting.

  Her other three students were men. Sir Jolcus had a bushy beard and a barrel chest and was more comfortable with animals and the wilderness than people and civilization. Sir Tamlin was tall and strong, with thick black hair and gray eyes the color of steel. He affected the manner of a gallant warrior and a chivalrous knight, but Calliande knew him well enough by now to see the sadness beneath the mask. Tamlin’s best friend Sir Aegeus walked next to him, a big man with close-cropped red hair. Sir Aegeus’s good humor was not feigned, and he was happiest when fighting, drinking, and wenching, though not necessarily in that order.

  Sir Jolcus took a deep breath, gathering himself.

  “As you say, Lady Calliande,” he said, and the Arcanius Knight turned to face the object of their lesson.

  Six trisalian lizards lumbered after them, their massive feet punching the earth as they strode. The great beasts looked like scutians, but far larger, more muscular, and much more dangerous. Each trisalian was thirty feet long from tail to beak, and they stood ten to twelve feet tall. They had the same bony shields and beaks as the scutians, but the trisalians each had three horns, one rising from their beaks, and two more jutting from the bony ridge over their eyes. Those horns were longer and thicker and stronger than a knight’s lance, and just one of those creatures could cause terrible harm if it rampaged through a formation of footmen.

  Calliande had never seen trisalians before Rhodruthain had brought her to Owyllain, but she had spoken with some of the Arcanii since, and she had learned some of the lore of the trisalians. In ancient days, the dark elves had opened doorways to other worlds, summoning the orcs and the kobolds and the manetaurs and countless other kindreds to this world to labor as their soldiers and slaves. The kobolds and the saurtyri had come from the same world, and evidently, the scutians and the trisalians had been drawn from that world as well. Once the Sovereign had owned the scutians and the trisalians, but over the millennia the herds had broken from his control, and the scutians had been domesticated.

  The trisalians could only be tamed, not domesticated.

  Which, Calliande supposed, was the entire point of this exercise.

  Jolcus cast the spell, gesturing with his right hand. Purple flames glared around his fingers as he drew on the magic of elemental earth, and Calliande reached for the Sight. With the Sight, she saw the earth magic that Jolcus summoned, saw the spells already upon the six trisalians that lumbered after them, saw his will shaping the magic into the desired form.

  He did not, alas, use earth magic with any measure of finesse. Nevertheless, he had a good deal of raw power, and a natural talent for this kind of spell, which likely explained why he was the most skilled of the Arcanii at binding animals to his will.

  Yet his skills had improved over the last week as Hektor’s army marched north. Jolcus’s spell settled over the nearest trisalian, and he blinked in surprise.

  “That was easier than I expected, my lady,” said Jolcus. “I think I could bind more trisalians than earlier.”

  “Sir Aegeus,” said Calliande. “You try now.”

  Aegeus sighed and shook his head. “You know, there are times when being an Arcanius is useful, but God and the saints! Give me a foe to beat, not all this magic foolery…”

  “You should heed the Keeper, Sir Aegeus,” said Kalussa. Once she would have said that with pride and bombast. Now she only sounded weary. Once Aegeus would have laughed at her, but now the red-haired man grimaced and nodded.

  The dark staff in Kalussa’s hand tended to inspire fear.

  Aegeus grimaced again and cast the spell. Purple fire pulsed around his fingers. His effort was cruder than Sir Jolcus’s, but it would suffice to control two trisalians.

  “Better,” said Calliande
. “Sir Tamlin?”

  Tamlin gestured with a flourish, the purple light burning to life around his fingers. Unfortunately, despite his Swordborn heritage, Tamlin’s strength in magic lay with the magic of elemental air, not elemental earth. Perhaps it was just as well. He hated his father, which given Justin Cyros’s crimes, was not surprising. Despite that, Tamlin’s skill was increasing, and he managed to exercise control over three trisalians.

  “Good, all of you,” said Calliande. “You’re improving.”

  Aegeus snorted. “Hardly.”

  “That is not so, Sir Aegeus,” said Calliande. “A week ago, you couldn’t manage to control a single trisalian. You are improving, as are the other Arcanii I’ve taught the spell. If we can manage this, think how a hundred trisalians flung into Justin Cyros’s army at the right time will change the course of the battle.”

  Tamlin nodded, but Kalussa and Aegeus and Jolcus looked dubious. The men of Owyllain had no tradition of cavalry. Connmar Pendragon had brought horses to this new land when he had fled here five centuries past, but the horses had died out long ago. Consequently, the men of Owyllain, noble and commoner alike, fought on foot. They had always fought on foot…and Calliande feared that meant they were blind to the potential of the trisalians as a weapon of war.

  That was all right. King Hektor had given her the authority to do as she wished in matters of magic, and by God and the saints, Calliande intended to do just that.

  And if King Hektor’s men were blind to the possibilities of the trisalian as a weapon of war, then perhaps Justin Cyros and his allies were just as oblivious.

  “Lady Calliande is correct,” said Tamlin. He almost always agreed with her in public, perhaps to support his King, or maybe because he was still embarrassed that he had tried to seduce her on the day they had met. “I do not have much facility for earth magic, but it has still improved. And a hundred trisalians charging into the traitor Justin’s ranks…I hope I can see it.”