The High Warlock began casting a new spell, more crimson fire dancing around his staff.
Frantic, Kalussa looked around for aid, but there was no one left. Ridmark and Third were pinned in place by the ursaars, and by the time they cut their way free, Kalussa would be dead. Tamlin, Aegeus, and Kyralion were battling the urvaalgs, and Kalussa didn’t think they would be able to help her.
She looked to the side just as Calem cut down another urvaalg.
“Sir Calem!” said Kalussa. His green eyes fixed on her. “Kill the High Warlock! If we can kill him, we…”
The High Warlock finished his spell and thrust his staff at her, and another bolt of screaming red fire howled towards Kalussa. She focused and shaped another crystalline shield, and the High Warlock’s spell struck it.
Once again, her crystalline wall stopped the spell. This time, the wall exploded with enough force to knock Kalussa back, and she stumbled and fell to one knee, leaning on the Staff to keep her balance. A blazing bolt of pain drilled through her head from the effort of commanding the Staff, and had an urvaalg tried to attack her, she would have had no energy left to defend herself.
No. She was Kalussa Pendragon, and the blood of kings flowed in her veins. She would not die upon her knees. She would not!
Kalussa grimaced and heaved herself back to her feet, sending her magic into the Staff as the High Warlock prepared a killing spell. He leveled his staff at her, the crimson flames brightening.
Right about then, Calem reached the High Warlock.
He leaped into the air, the Sword of Air lending his jump power, and soared forward. At the last moment, the High Warlock whirled to face him, and the Sword of Air came howling down.
There was a flash of red fire and shadow from the High Warlock, and the hunched sorcerer vanished.
In his place, nine duplicates of the High Warlock appeared scattered around the earthwork wall and the battlefield. Confusion gripped Kalussa, and then she had understood. Tamlin had told her about the battle with the High Warlock below the gates of Castra Chaeldon, how the orcish sorcerer created illusionary duplicates of himself.
Three of the images began casting spells at Kalussa, while six whirled to face Calem, all of them working magic.
Kalussa waved the Staff before her, calling another shield of crystal into existence. Three of the illusionary High Warlocks flung their magic at her, and the lances of crimson flame hammered into the crystalline shield. Kalussa braced herself, but the images did not hit as hard as the real High Warlock. The shield held under the first two strikes but shattered beneath the third.
But none of the dark magic touched her.
When her vision cleared from the flash, she saw Calem slash through another of the High Warlock’s illusions. The illusionary duplicate shattered in a burst of glowing shards and shadows. Only five of the duplicates were left, and Calem destroyed another one. All four of the remaining High Warlocks cast a spell, and they shivered and vanished, replaced with seven duplicates.
How could they defeat such a foe? If Calliande had been here, her Sight could have pierced the illusion. If Ridmark had been able to act, he and Calem could have finished off the High Warlock’s illusionary duplicates in short order, but the ursaars would tear the Shield Knight apart if he turned his attention from them. If the High Warlock could control so many illusionary duplicates at once and use all of them to attack…
Kalussa blinked, her eyes burning from the sweat dripping down her face.
Khurazalin had been able to control the disks he had unleashed from the Staff of Blades, causing them to bounce and ricochet off the walls of the Palace’s great hall. Could Kalussa do the same? Her control was nowhere near good enough to unleash those spinning razor-edged disks that had killed so many valiant fighting men, but maybe something smaller would work.
She thrust the Staff and sent her magic into it, every scrap of willpower she could muster straining to control the mighty weapon.
The sphere that spat from the end of the Staff was small, no larger than her thumb, yet she felt it with her mind, could direct it as she could with her spheres of magical fire. Kalussa sent it screaming forward, and the sphere shot through two of the illusionary images of the High Warlock. It struck the ground, and rebounded, returning to her control. Kalussa drove the sphere through two more of the images, and Calem cut down another.
Only one High Warlock remained standing atop the earthwork wall. That had to be the real one. The ancient sorcerer’s face twisted with rage behind the ragged beard and iron tusks. Kalussa started to draw together her will to strike through the Staff again, but the High Warlock hurled another lance of dark magic at her. She had no choice but to call another crystal shield.
The shield shattered, and Kalussa felt her strength drain away. She stumbled to one knee again and tried to rise, but the effort of forcing so much magic through the Staff had exhausted her stamina. If she could just have a moment to recover…
The High Warlock pointed his burning staff at her, readying the killing spell.
A white blur landed atop the earthwork wall. The High Warlock whirled and released the deadly spell at Calem. It should have hit him, but somehow Calem twisted around it, and the Sword of Air flashed with silver light in his hands.
He sliced the High Warlock in half.
Silence fell over the battle as the two halves of the High Warlock fell to either side of the earthwork wall in a spray of green, one into the ditch and one into the camp. Kalussa could see that the High Warlock’s skeleton had indeed been transmuted into iron, but that hadn’t saved him from the Sword of Air.
Without a second glance, Calem jumped off the wall, ignored the orcish warriors and jotunmiri staring at him in astonishment, and walked towards Kalussa. She heaved herself to her feet and looked around just in time to see Ridmark and Third finish off the last of the ursaars, saw Tamlin and Aegeus and Kyralion step free of the dead urvaalgs.
“Lady Kalussa,” said Calem. “Are you all right?”
She blinked at him. “You just killed the High Warlock of Vhalorast!”
Calem frowned. “What?” He glanced back at what remained of the orcish sorcerer. “Yes, I suppose you are correct. But are you all right?”
“Why do you care?” said Kalussa, bewildered.
“Because your father asked if I would look after you,” said Calem. He shrugged. “Only your father and the Keeper have ever asked me to do things. Everyone else always commanded.”
“I…” Kalussa swallowed, some strange emotion surging through her. Exhaustion, that had to be it. “I am well, Sir Calem. Exhausted, but well.”
“God and the saints, man!” said Aegeus, who had joined them with Kyralion and Tamlin. “That was well-fought.”
Calem shrugged again. “As you say, Sir Aegeus.”
“Aye, if you hadn’t already sworn to Lord Ridmark and Lady Calliande, King Hektor would make you one of his Companion knights,” said Tamlin.
“I do not understand,” said Calem. “Did I do ill in slaying the High Warlock?”
“Hardly,” said Tamlin. “For twenty-five years the High Warlock has been a foe of Owyllain, and you sliced him in half like a roast. Sir Calem, I think you’ll find…”
“Whitecloak!”
The orcish voice boomed over the camp.
Kalussa saw that the orcs of Mholorast had begun to shout, that the jotunmiri were taking up the chant as well.
“Whitecloak! Whitecloak! Whitecloak!”
“Why are they doing that?” said Calem. He looked confused, maybe even unsettled. “I did nothing I have not done a thousand times before.”
“Because you rid them of a terrible and cruel foe,” said Ridmark, who had joined them with Third.
“And you kept your promise to my father,” said Kalussa.
Calem stared at her in confusion, and then something surprising happened.
He started to smile. It wasn’t a big smile, and he didn’t seem quite sure of it, but he did smile. He tur
ned and lifted an awkward hand, and the orcish soldiers and jotunmiri warriors cheered.
“I think Earl Vimroghast might compose a saga poem in your honor, Sir Calem Whitecloak,” said Tamlin.
“Come,” said Ridmark. “Sir Calem might have rid us of the High Warlock, but Justin might have more foes to throw at us before the day is done.”
“Yes, of course,” said Kalussa.
She followed Ridmark as they headed towards the earthwork wall, Warlord Khazamek and Earl Vimroghast shouting orders to their men. Kalussa was exhausted, and the battle had left her shaken. The urvaalgs and the ursaars and the High Warlock’s dark magic had killed too many men.
Yet…they had won, hadn’t they? She took a grim satisfaction in that.
And for some reason, the memory of Calem’s tentative, uncertain smile lingered in her mind.
Chapter 12: An Invitation
After the High Warlock’s failed attack, Tamlin spent the rest of the day waiting for another assault from the army of Justin Cyros.
But nothing happened.
The High Warlock’s attack had failed, and Justin must have decided not to reinforce the failure. Fifty urvaalgs, a half-dozen ursaars, and the most powerful wielder of dark magic in Vhalorast had been a formidable force. Against normal hoplites or orcish warriors, the High Warlock’s creatures would have been viciously effective. Even the gathered Arcanius Knights would have had a hard time against so many creatures of dark magic. If the High Warlock’s attack had opened a breach the line, and if Justin had capitalized upon the opening, that might have decided the battle then and there.
It seemed that once again Ridmark had averted disaster. If he and Lady Third had not realized the danger, then Tamlin and the others would not have been at the right place to fight off the High Warlock’s attack. And even then, it had been a close-fought thing, with nearly ninety orcish warriors and three jotunmiri slain in the fighting.
Lady Third was an unsettling woman, and Tamlin wasn’t sure that Calem was entirely sane, but he was certainly glad that they were on King Hektor’s side. For that matter, he was glad that Kalussa had the Staff of Blades. Without that weapon, they might not have been able to defeat the High Warlock.
Hektor's men remained on guard for the rest of the day, glaring at King Justin’s army over the miles that separated them. Yet Justin’s forces made no move to respond and devoted themselves to preparing their camp. Tamlin wondered if King Hektor would try to launch an attack, but the army remained behind its earthwork wall. The defender had an advantage in battle, and it was clear that Hektor intended to force Justin to come to him. Justin knew that just as well as Hektor, and so no doubt intended something clever to give him the advantage.
The High Warlock’s failed attack had been the first such stratagem. More would be coming.
Tamlin remained tense as he walked through the army with Aegeus, expecting an attack at any moment. Hektor had called together all his allies and lords and knights for a council of war, and Ridmark and Third had gone to attend it. He hoped they came up with a good plan.
As the sun started to dip beneath the western horizon, Tamlin saw Kalussa, Sir Calem, and Kyralion standing atop the earthwork wall, watching Justin Cyros’s army. He climbed up to join them, Aegeus following him with a grunt. Kyralion offered one of his stiff bows, and Kalussa and Calem looked at him.
“Sir Tamlin,” said Kalussa, her voice quiet.
“Lady Kalussa,” said Tamlin. He was struck by how different she seemed. Physically, she looked little different, though her blue eyes were bloodshot, and there were the beginnings of dark circles beneath them. But there was a hardness to her expression that had not been there before. The Keeper’s training, perhaps? The burden of carrying the Staff of Blades?
He had started to think of her as a friend, which was odd. Two months ago, the thought that he would like the arrogant, abrasive Kalussa Pendragon would have seemed inconceivable.
But a lot had happened in the last two months, and somehow, they had survived all of it.
“Has the Keeper returned?” said Kalussa.
“Not yet,” said Tamlin. “Lord Ridmark didn’t think she would be back until tomorrow. I wouldn’t worry about her, though.”
Aegeus snorted. “Truth be told, she’s probably safer right now than we are.”
“No argument there,” said Kalussa.
“I hope she approves that I killed the High Warlock of Vhalorast,” said Calem.
Tamlin laughed. “I somehow doubt that she will be upset, Sir Calem.”
“Aye,” said Aegeus. “Now if you could run out and kill the rest of them for us, that would be helpful.”
Calem smiled a little, briefly. “I would find that a challenge, Sir Aegeus.”
“Why do they not attack?” said Kyralion.
“I don’t know,” said Tamlin. “King Justin knows he is at a disadvantage. Perhaps he’s getting ready to try something clever.”
“His army marched part of the day,” said Aegeus. “He likely wants his men rested before they start fighting. Marching all day in armor in the sun is damned tiring work.”
“He might also want to parley with my father before the battle begins,” said Kalussa. The crystal at the end of the Staff of Blades shivered a little. “Such things are traditional. Perhaps he thinks to persuade my father to change his mind.”
“Doubtful,” said Tamlin. “Knowing King Justin, he will try to murder King Hektor at a parley. The man is a murderous, lying scoundrel.”
Kalussa’s blue eyes settled on him, her expression thoughtful. Suddenly she reminded him a little of Calliande.
“Did you ever meet him?” said Kalussa.
“I only met my father once,” said Tamlin. “The day he murdered my mother.”
Calem blinked in surprise. “Justin Cyros is your father?”
“Yes,” said Tamlin again. “Much to my regret, I assure you.” He let out a long breath. He did not want to talk about this…but he had gone into battle alongside Kalussa and Aegeus and Kyralion and Calem. If that did not forge a bond, then nothing did. “My mother was Cathala, one of the Sisters of the Arcanii during the last war against the Sovereign. She was Justin Cyros’s mistress, and I was the result. After Master Talitha and the Guardian Rhodruthain betrayed Kothlaric, my mother fled with me to the Monastery of St. James. I suppose she realized that Justin would try to turn all his Swordborn children into Ironcoats, and she wanted to spare me that fate. I thought I would become a monk.”
“A monk?” said Kyralion, startled. “Are not monks sworn to celibacy?”
Kalussa started to smile and made herself stop.
“They are,” said Tamlin.
“Perhaps it is well that you did not become a monk, Sir Tamlin,” said Kyralion. “You seem too fond of female companionship for a life of celibacy to be tolerable.”
Aegeus snickered, and Tamlin took a long breath.
“It seems that God intended me to be a warrior, not a monk,” said Tamlin.
Calem frowned. “But I fought you as a gladiator in Urd Maelwyn. I presume King Justin murdered your mother and sold you into slavery?”
“Yes,” said Tamlin, remembering that dark day. “I was nine or ten years old. Justin attacked the monastery with dvargir mercenaries. All the monks were slain or sold into slavery. He used the Sword of Earth to turn my mother to stone. The dvargir slavers took me to Urd Maelwyn…and, well, you probably can figure out the rest.”
“I can,” said Calem. “It is a tragic tale. I am sorry. The Confessor slew my own parents in front of me.”
Tamlin nodded.
“But the story does not make sense,” said Calem.
Tamlin frowned. “Are you calling me a liar, sir?”
“Certainly not,” said Calem. “But the Monastery of St. James…it was hundreds of miles from Cytheria, was it not?”
“It was,” said Tamlin.
“Then to reach the monastery,” said Calem, “King Justin had to cross lands ruled by many ho
stile powers.”
“Aye,” said Kalussa, frowning at him. “My father’s lands, the Confessor’s territory, the steppes ruled by the Takai nomads, the swamps of the xiatami…”
“Snaky bastards,” muttered Aegeus.
“What are you saying?” said Tamlin.
“I think that Sir Calem is saying,” said Kalussa, looking back and forth between them, “that King Justin took an enormous risk simply to take vengeance upon your mother.”
Tamlin shrugged. “It is well known that Justin Cyros is a vengeful man.”
“But not a stupid one,” said Kalussa, fingers tapping against the Staff. “Why would he take such a risk?”
“Perhaps he had once been close with Cathala,” suggested Kyralion, “and her departure wounded him, and he desired revenge.”
“Men do get crazy over women,” said Aegeus.
“You would know,” said Kalussa, but the barb was half-hearted. “Or maybe there was something he wanted at the monastery. It couldn’t have been Sir Tamlin because then Justin wouldn’t have let Tamlin be sold to the dvargir.”
“Perhaps Cathala knew something,” said Calem.
Tamlin wanted to shout in anger. That had been one of the worst days in his life, and they had no right to discuss it.
Or maybe they did.
Because Tamlin’s father, the man who had murdered his mother and sold him into slavery, was coming to kill them with thousands of soldiers. His friends were trying to understand their enemy because a warrior had to know his enemy to defeat him. Tamlin had started such discussions himself in the past. But this time their enemy had murdered Tamlin’s mother and had set him on the path for of years misery and torment.
Justin had inflicted misery on Tysia, too. Tysia had been a child at the monastery with Tamlin, and she had been sold into slavery as well. If Justin had not attacked the Monastery of St. James, then perhaps Tysia would still be alive.
“Find me again,” said Tysia in his memory for the millionth time. “The New God is coming.”
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