Sevenfold Sword_Warlord

by Jonathan Moeller

  “I shall speak to the ambassador at once, even if Gavin has to rouse him out of bed,” said Antenora. A fond smile went over Antenora’s face at the mention of her husband. “He is good at being forceful when necessary.” She hesitated. “Keeper…you seem to be more lucid than when we last spoke.”

  Calliande smiled. “You mean I’m not paralyzed by grief and blaming myself for Joanna’s death?”

  “That is what I meant, yes.”

  Calliande sighed. “I…didn’t have much choice, Antenora. When Rhodruthain dropped us here, my choices were to die or to fight for my children. I chose to fight.”

  “That is good,” said Antenora. “Also, have you been sharing the Shield Knight’s bed on a regular basis?”

  Calliande blinked and stifled a laugh. Like Third, Antenora did not prevaricate or deceive. This sometimes resulted in shocking bluntness. A pulse of sadness went through Calliande as she remembered her last conversation with Queen Adrastea. The Queen had quoted the proverb that an honest answer was like a kiss on the lips. But there was another proverb about how iron sharpened iron. Antenora might have been Calliande’s apprentice, but she was also a good friend.

  “Yes,” said Calliande. “I have.”

  “That is well,” said Antenora. “If I go for more than three or four days without lying with Gavin, I become increasingly irritable and short-tempered.”

  “A fact for which I’m sure that Sir Gavin is duly thankful,” said Calliande. “Antenora, thank you. I am grateful you went to such efforts to find us.”

  “I shall endeavor to find useful information before we speak again,” said Antenora. “God go with you, Keeper, until we speak once more.”

  “And you, Antenora,” said Calliande, and they both released their connection.

  Calliande blinked as the Sight snapped back to her, and a wave of intense disorientation washed through her. The bracelets had made it possible to converse over such a vast distance, but it had still been something of a magical strain.

  Calliande closed her eyes and slowed her breathing until the vertigo passed, and then got to her feet to tell Ridmark what she had learned.

  ###

  The next morning Calliande awoke before both the sun and Ridmark.

  She started the morning as she always did. She closed her eyes and reached for the Sight, sending it hurtling south to seek for her sons. At once Calliande sensed their presence, and relief flooded through her. They were safe and well, and they hadn’t moved since yesterday, which meant they were still in Aenesium. She wished she could see them, could hold them with her own arms and make sure they were well.

  But she couldn’t.

  Instead, Calliande said a prayer in silence, thanking God that they were safe and asking Him to watch over them while she was away.

  Once that was done, Calliande sat up, intending to get dressed.

  Instead, her eyes fell on Ridmark.

  He lay next to her, still sleeping, his face relaxed from its usual harsh cast. Calliande found her eyes resting on his torso. Truth be told, his torso was mostly scars and muscles and sinew. She had never told him this, but she had expected him to grow stouter as he aged. His eldest brother Tormark had left behind stoutness for obesity several years ago. But the years in the Wilderland had left their mark on Ridmark, and he looked like the battered warrior that he was. If he lived long enough, Ridmark was going to become one of those stark old Swordbearers who inspired respect and more than a little fear wherever he went.

  There were so many scars on his chest and arms. Most of them were from before Calliande had met him and started using her magic to heal his wounds, but there were some she hadn’t been able to heal all the way. Looking at him, she felt sorry that he had suffered so many wounds in his life. She felt grateful that many of those wounds had been taken in her defense.

  And, if she was honest with herself, she was a little aroused. She liked that this implacable warrior was her husband and the father of her children. It was part of the reason she had been able to forgive Kalussa. Calliande had fallen in love with Ridmark. She could understand why another woman might do the same. She had told Ridmark that she cried now more than she had before they had been married because she trusted him enough to lean upon him.

  Well. There were other experiences Calliande enjoyed after they had been married.

  She leaned down and kissed him. Ridmark blinked awake after a few seconds and smiled at her, and she smiled back. Then she kissed him again, and Ridmark pulled her against him.

  After they finished, Calliande climbed off him, rested her head against his chest, and sighed in contentment, listening to the steady beat of his heart. She was frightened for her children and knew they faced dangerous and unknown foes.

  Still. Things could be worse.

  “I’m getting too old to do that on the ground,” said Ridmark.

  Calliande smiled. “The evidence would suggest otherwise.”

  He laughed a little. “I suppose so.”

  “Though I will admit that my knees are a little sore,” said Calliande.

  “And my back,” said Ridmark. “But once this is finished and we’re back home, we’ll appreciate our bed all the more.”

  “God, yes,” said Calliande. “We might not be too old for this…but I miss my bed. And our domus. And Andomhaim.”

  “We’ll get back home,” said Ridmark. “We’ll finish this and force Rhodruthain to send us back. Third, too.”

  “You seem so certain,” said Calliande.

  “Because that is what we are going to do,” said Ridmark.

  She levered up on one elbow and looked at him. That was one of the reasons she loved him. He never gave up. Not ever. It was one of the things that had kept her from total collapse during the dark months after Joanna’s death.

  “Yes,” said Calliande.

  “The children,” said Ridmark. “Have you…”

  “I did check on them this morning,” said Calliande. “They’re fine.”

  “Good,” said Ridmark. “Then the sooner we smash Justin Cyros’s army, the sooner we can return to them.”

  “We should probably get dressed for that,” said Calliande. Already she heard the noise of the camp awakening around them.

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. His eyes flicked over her. “More’s the pity.”

  Calliande grinned. “Tomorrow is another day.”

  Chapter 7: Besieged

  Four days later, Ridmark and Third scouted through the dry, rocky hills south of Castra Chaeldon.

  King Hektor’s army had left the redwood forest behind and now marched on the road to Castra Chaeldon, the fortress that guarded the main route to Aenesium from King Justin’s city of Cytheria. Ridmark remembered the fate of Sir Tyromon Amphilus and his column, ambushed by the Confessor’s soldiers, and he had no wish for Hektor’s army to share the same fate. Hektor agreed, and he had sent scouting parties in all directions, scouring the surrounding hills for any waiting foes. So far, they had encountered no significant enemy forces. They had seen scattered groups of Vhalorasti orcs led by Dark Arcanii or orcish warlocks, but it seemed that Justin had kept his main forces back.

  “It makes sense,” Ridmark told Third as they walked north along the road. “Castra Chaeldon overlooks the only route a large force can take through these damned hills. Justin has no choice but to besiege it first. If he leaves it in his rear, he might get trapped between it and King Hektor’s host.”

  “You took Castra Chaeldon,” said Third. She walked with her hands resting on the hilts of her swords, her black hair bound back from her pale face with a leather cord.

  “I had help,” said Ridmark. “Calliande blasted a breach in the outer wall. Otherwise, it would take a large host to conquer Castra Chaeldon. It’s too well-secured, and there isn’t enough flat space around its hill to construct proper siege engines.”

  Third frowned. “Does not the Sword of Earth give Justin Cyros the power to rip down the walls of Castra Chaeldon?”


  “It does,” said Ridmark, “but I don’t think it gives him the power to rebuild those walls. If he destroys the castra, he loses the ability to use it as a defense against the Confessor or the Necromancer. For that matter, if he destroys the castra and suffers a defeat before he can reach Aenesium, he can’t use it for his retreat.”

  “I believe I see the game,” said Third. “If Hektor waits within Castra Chaeldon, Justin will destroy it. If King Hektor falls back to Aenesium, Justin can seize the castra at leisure. Therefore, Hektor must march north of the castra to meet Justin, and the battle will be decided there.”

  “And if our army is defeated and forced back to Castra Chaeldon,” said Ridmark, “Justin can destroy the castra with Hektor inside it and proceed to Aenesium.”

  “Which is why the battle will most likely take place north of Castra Chaeldon,” said Third.

  “Aye,” said Ridmark.

  “I do not like that,” said Third. “Justin Cyros is forcing the direction of the battle. In war, the commander who takes the initiative is halfway to victory.”

  “Agreed,” said Ridmark, “but hopefully we can give Justin Cyros a few surprises before this is done.”

  “Like you and the Keeper,” said Third. “King Justin is unlikely to have planned for your abilities.”

  “Or yours,” said Ridmark.

  Third nodded. “It is a pity that the Seven Swords seem to inhibit my abilities within a hundred yards.” They had done some experiments near Hektor and the Sword of Fire, much to the King’s bemusement. “Else I could simply transport behind Justin Cyros and cut his throat. That would be the most efficient path to victory.”

  “Don’t tell that to the Companions,” said Ridmark. “They wouldn’t think it knightly.”

  Third made a scoffing noise that wasn’t quite a laugh. “I am not a knight. Nor am I likely to be one. These children do not understand. Which would be better? Half of Owyllain slaughtering the other half, or the swift death of Justin Cyros?”

  “I suppose I am a knight…” started Ridmark.

  Third did laugh at that, briefly. “You are the bearer of Oathshield and the Shield Knight of Andomhaim. You most assuredly are a knight.”

  “I am a knight,” conceded Ridmark, “but I agree with you. The sooner we end this fight and destroy the Seven Swords, the more men live to return to their wives and concubines and children, and the sooner we can go home.”

  “Agreed,” said Third. She shaded her eyes in the harsh glare of Owyllain’s sun and then nodded to herself. “I suggest we proceed to that hilltop to the northwest. From there we can observe any foes within four or five miles.”

  “And I think we’ll be close enough to see Castra Chaeldon from here,” said Ridmark, looking around the dry, rocky hills once more.

  “Then let us make haste,” said Third.

  They left the road and descended into a shallow valley at the base of the hill, little different from the valley where Ridmark had first met Tamlin and Aegeus and Decurion Rallios. By unspoken agreement, both he and Third stopped talking, lest any foes overhear them. It had been years since the last time they had gone scouting together, but the habits had not left either of them.

  Perhaps it was part of the reason Ridmark found himself in a good mood. Certainly, Ridmark had many concerns upon his mind, concern for his children foremost among them, but he was mostly in a good mood. Some of it was Third’s arrival. She had been a good friend through some of the most dangerous battles and darkest times of Ridmark’s life, and on a more practical level, her skills and abilities were invaluable.

  Quite a lot of it was seeing how well Calliande was doing, especially when compared to the six months after Joanna’s death. She missed Gareth and Joachim, that was obvious, but she was too busy training Jolcus and teaching Kalussa and healing wounds to spare time for worrying. She had been the Keeper of Andomhaim during two wars against the Frostborn, and she had assumed the same role here, the advisor to the King and the most powerful wielder of magic in the army. Brooding did not suit Calliande. Action suited her. The old proverb said that work was the best cure for sorrow, and it was true enough for Calliande.

  And, Ridmark had to admit, part of his good mood was that Calliande enjoyed starting the day by sleeping with him. The physical side of their marriage had stopped after her pregnancy had grown difficult, and now she seemed eager to make up for lost time.

  Maybe there was some wisdom in the men of Owyllain bringing their concubines to war.

  But none of those women could defend themselves as Calliande could.

  They scaled the hill in silence. Ridmark could move quietly when necessary, but Third moved like a shadow, her silence almost uncanny. At last, they reached the crest of the hill, and they looked around. To the west, the ground sloped away and reached the sea, the waves hammering against the rocky shore, the smell of salt coming to Ridmark’s nostrils. To the east, the road wound its way over the hills like a white ribbon in the dust.

  And to the north, at the very edge of the horizon, Ridmark saw Castra Chaeldon outlined against the harsh blue sky.

  The men of Owyllain might have lost the knowledge of ironworking, but their engineering skills had not suffered. The castra was a strong fortress, as secure as anything in Andomhaim. It occupied most of its hilltop, the road running alongside its eastern wall. The castra’s curtain wall stood twenty feet high, and Ridmark could make out the distant shape of siege engines. The courtyard was large, and at its far end rose a massive octagonal tower, nearly a hundred and fifty feet tall and twice as wide. A small force could hold it against nearly ten times its number. Ridmark would not have wanted to attack Castra Chaeldon with anything less than five thousand men. Granted, he had managed to seize the fortress with two hundred and fifty, but that had only been with Calliande’s magic.

  “I can see why neither Justin nor Hektor want this fortress left behind their lines,” said Third.

  “Agreed,” said Ridmark. “We lift a decurion named Rallios in command. A solid man. We…”

  He broke off as a detail came to his attention.

  Figures moved along the road below Castra Chaeldon’s curtain wall.

  Quite a few figures, come to think of it.

  “Third,” said Ridmark. “Your eyes are better than mine. Can you make out those men below the wall?”

  “I cannot,” said Third. “They are too far away.” She frowned. “But some of them are giving off a blue glow.”

  “A blue glow?” said Ridmark, and his hand jerked towards Oathshield’s hilt on reflex. “Like the blue fire in the eyes of minor undead.”

  “Most probably,” said Third. Her frown deepened. “I think that Castra Chaeldon is under siege.”

  “We had better investigate,” said Ridmark. He took a step to the east and frowned.

  Someone was approaching on the road from the south. Men in bronze armor, by the look of it, and…

  “Sir Tamlin and Sir Aegeus,” said Third. She hesitated. “Also Kyralion.”

  “They must have been on patrol in this direction,” said Ridmark. “Let’s join them. All three of them carry weapons that can wound creatures of dark magic. If there are undead, I want to be ready for them.”

  “Would not the power of the Shield Knight be sufficient to face undead?” said Third.

  Ridmark snorted. “The Shield Knight hasn’t lived this long by underestimating his enemies.”

  “Sound counsel,” said Third, and they headed back down the hill for the road.

  ###

  “And then,” said Aegeus, grinning, “the barmaid tells the innkeeper that if he wants to milk the heifer, he’ll have to buy the entire herd!”

  Tamlin laughed despite himself. The joke was both crude and in poor taste, and probably beneath the dignity of an Arcanius Knight and Companion of the King of Aenesium. Still, it was funny. And Aegeus had both a vast stock of crude jokes and a remarkable flair for telling them.

  Tamlin laughed, but Kyralion did not.

&
nbsp; “I do not understand,” said the gray elf.

  Aegeus sighed. “I was sure you would find that one funny, Kyralion.”

  “I am uncertain of the connection of the barmaids and the lecherous innkeeper to cattle,” said Kyralion. “If the barmaids were prostitutes, presumably they could demand to be paid in livestock.”

  “The point of the joke was that all the barmaids were sisters,” said Tamlin.

  “Ah.” Kyralion nodded. “Then the purpose of the joke was to highlight the moral depravity of the innkeeper.”

  “Something like that,” said Tamlin.

  “I suppose human jokes do not make sense to the gray elves,” said Aegeus.

  “I suspect most of the Unity would understand the joke,” said Kyralion. “I fear I am often the butt of jokes since I am not part of the Unity.”

  Tamlin frowned. Kyralion had said that he was an outcast from the Unity of the gray elves. Had he been ostracized for some reason?

  “Bah!” said Aegeus. “A pox on that. If I had a hundred archers with your skill and nerve, we’d turn King Justin into a pincushion, and the battle would be over. If your kindred cannot appreciate your skill, then that explains how they went from ruling the continent to hiding inside the Illicaeryn Jungles.”

  Tamlin wondered if Kyralion would take offense at that, but the gray elf only nodded. “I have wondered along those lines myself, Sir Aegeus, if not in quite those terms. I wonder if the Unity has crippled my kindred, made them insular and unwilling to leave the jungles. I suspect I am the first of my kindred to travel so far in centuries, save for those who marched alongside High King Kothlaric to Urd Maelwyn.” He shrugged. “When I was young, I was bitter that I was not part of the Unity. Now I consider it a blessing. Though that is not an opinion I generally share with those who are part of the Unity.”

  “We’ll find a way to make you laugh yet, my friend,” said Aegeus. He clapped Kyralion on the shoulder, and the gray elf only flinched a little this time. He was getting used to it. “Let’s try this one. A knight, a hoplite, and a priest all walk into a tavern at the same time…”