Sevenfold Sword_Warlord

by Jonathan Moeller

  But he had never seen a battle like this.

  God and the saints, did the numbers of the enemy ever end?

  “Come and get it!” roared Aegeus in orcish, shaking green blood from his axe as he called another icy shield to his arm. “Come on, you craven bastards! You are feeble as your aged grandmothers!”

  His orcish grammar was terrible, his accent appalling. Nevertheless, his message got through. The orcs howled in fury, bellowing challenges of their own, and converged on Aegeus.

  That gave Tamlin the time he needed to call together magic for a spell.

  He flung out his left hand, and slender arcs of blue-white lightning leaped from his fingers and wrapped around the attacking orcs. Tamlin hadn’t put much force into the spell, partly from lack of time, partly from his growing exhaustion. But it was enough to stun the orcs, and the Vhalorasti warriors stumbled, roaring in rage as the lightning coiled around their armor and stabbed into their bodies.

  Tamlin and Aegeus charged before the orcs could recover. Tamlin’s sword stabbed out and opened a throat. Aegeus chopped with his axe, sinking the blade of dwarven steel halfway into a warrior’s chest. Michael and Ridmark would have approved at Aegeus’s tightly controlled swing. Before Aegeus could get his axe loose, an orcish warrior drove a sword at his face. Aegeus raised his icy shield and caught the sword against it. The top third of his frozen shield shattered from the blow. Aegeus swung his left arm, smashing the remnants of his shield against his enemy’s head. Before the orcish warrior could recover, Tamlin stabbed, his blade sinking deep into the warrior’s armpit.

  He just had time to free his blade when an orcish warrior slashed a bronze sword at him. Tamlin had no time to dodge, so he stepped into the blow, hoping his armor would hold against the sword’s edge. It did, but the power of the impact knocked Tamlin back, the breath exploding from his lungs. It hurt, but the pain didn’t matter, and Tamlin forced his arms up, parrying the orcish warrior’s second strike, and then three more. At last the warrior’s momentum played out, and Tamlin struck back. His sword punched through the weaker metal of the orc’s bronze ring mail and found the heart. The orc shuddered, and Tamlin wrenched his blade free as his foe collapsed.

  He whirled as Aegeus dueled another orcish warrior. This warrior had a bronze-headed mace, and Aegeus’s shield shattered beneath the blow, the shards of ice falling to the ground. Aegeus stumbled and barely got his axe up in time to deflect another swing of the mace. The orc bellowed in a mixture of rage and bloodlust and raised the mace for a killing strike, and Tamlin attacked. His sword plunged into the orc’s right shoulder, and the warrior bellowed. Tamlin drew back his sword to strike again, but before he could, Aegeus flung out his free hand.

  A shard of glittering ice stabbed into the warrior’s throat, and the orc collapsed.

  “You know,” said Aegeus, breathing hard as he called another shield of ice over his left arm once more, “even I sometimes think there’s such a thing as too much fighting.”

  “The enemy doesn’t,” said Tamlin, looking around. He and Aegeus had killed the entire group of orcs, leaving them in a clear space in the melee. That seemed odd, come to think of it. For that matter, he didn’t see any Vhalorasti orcs nearby. At least, he saw no living Vhalorasti orcs, though countless dead warriors lay upon the ground, the red of their spiraling tattoos hidden beneath green blood. Tamlin also saw hundreds of Mholorasti warriors charging forward, swords in hand, bloodlust in their eyes, and…

  Tamlin blinked in surprise.

  “Wait,” said Aegeus. “Are we winning?”

  The Vhalorasti orcs had begun to fall back to the north, leaving hundreds of dead in their wake. The reason for their retreat was clear. Tamlin saw the flash of white flame and blue fire as Ridmark and Third carved their way through the Vhalorasti warriors. Third was untouched, though Ridmark had taken some minor hits, yet the power of his soulblade made him faster and stronger than he ought to have been. Calem was just as formidable of a foe. His face remained expressionless as he killed and killed, dancing around the blows of his enemies and slaying with the Sword of Air’s invincible edge.

  “I think we are winning,” said Tamlin, stunned.

  “Then by God, what are we waiting for?” said Aegeus, hefting his axe. “Let’s chase these bastards all the way back to Vhalorast!”

  Tamlin nodded, and together they ran to join the fray.

  ###

  The Vhalorasti warriors began falling back, and Ridmark could start to think beyond the dangers of the immediate situation.

  His shoulders and knees ached damnably, and he felt the burn of the cuts on his arms and one on of his left leg just above the knee. All of them were shallow, and he drew on Oathshield’s power, using the sword’s magic to augment his stamina. It could also heal his wounds, but far more slowly and less effectively than Calliande’s magic.

  But his aches and pains didn’t matter. He was still alive, and he wasn’t seriously wounded, and the Mholorasti orcs and Warlord Obhalzak were winning the fight.

  And that could lead to either victory or disaster.

  The Vhalorasti orcs fell back in haste, the momentum of their charge collapsed. Ridmark could not tell if their retreat was feigned or genuine. If it was a ruse, they might try to lure the Mholorasti orcs into a trap, or Justin might order his hoplites to wheel and attack from the flanks as the Mholorasti warriors pursued their foes.

  But if their retreat was genuine…they might have a chance to win the battle here and now. If Obhalzak’s warriors turned right, they would take Justin’s hoplites in the flank. The entire formation of human soldiers might collapse, and Justin’s whole host might retreat. If that happened, Hektor could sweep his enemy from the field. They might be able to kill or capture Justin before he fled for the safety of Cytheria’s walls.

  Ridmark had to talk to Warlord Obhalzak right now. If the Warlord acted immediately, if he held his warriors together and attacked Justin’s hoplites in the flank, that could decide the battle. Especially since it didn’t look like Hektor’s hoplites were faring well. In the chaos, Ridmark could not see what was happening, but Hektor’s soldiers were further south than they should have been.

  “Third!” called Ridmark.

  “I am here,” said Third. He turned in time to see her tug her swords free from a dead Vhalorasti orc, her dark armor spattered with orcish blood.

  “Can you take a message for me?” said Ridmark, and Third nodded. “Find Warlord Obhalzak. He needs to reform his men and get them ready to attack Justin’s hoplites in the flank.”

  “He may not break off his pursuit,” said Third. “For that matter, reforming to attack the hoplites might leave us vulnerable to a counterattack from the Vhalorasti warriors.”

  “I know,” said Ridmark, “but that is a risk we have to take.”

  “As you say,” said Third, and she vanished in a pulse of blue fire.

  Ridmark started running to the north, drawing on Oathshield for speed. Most of the fighting had moved that way, the Vhalorasti orcs splintering and fleeing beneath the fury of their Mholorasti enemies. Perhaps the Vhalorasti orcs had been beaten. The High Warlock was slain, and Ridmark had seen no sign of the Warlord of Vhalorast. Perhaps he had been killed in the fighting, or maybe he was with Justin. Either way, the remaining warlocks were busy elsewhere, and with their leaders gone, perhaps the Vhalorasti orcs had decided to abandon the field rather than die.

  He kept running. Perhaps he could find the Warlord before Third, and persuade him to attack Justin’s hoplites.

  “Shield Knight!”

  The voice boomed from the east, louder than it should have been. It must have been augmented with a magical spell.

  Ridmark whirled, Oathshield coming up in guard, and saw his enemy sprinting towards him.

  It was Prince Krastikon Cyros, clad from head to foot in ornate bronze plate armor, that huge hammer in his right hand and a round shield of wood and bronze on his left arm. Two figures flanked the Ironcoat, and Ridma
rk recognized them as Dark Arcanii.

  At least, they had once been Dark Arcanii, but the power of dark magic had changed them irrevocably. Now they were gray-skinned, their limbs twisted, blue fire burning in their eyes and shining from their mouths. Great black wings rose from their backs like cloaks, and more blue fire danced around their fingers.

  “I told you we were not finished, old man,” said Krastikon, smirking behind his helm. “I promised I would break you at Castra Chaeldon, and Krastikon Cyros keeps his…”

  “I don’t have time for the speech,” said Ridmark, and he charged, drawing on Oathshield for speed.

  Krastikon reacted at once, raising his shield. The winged creatures were slower to respond, and Ridmark took off the head of the creature on Krastikon’s left with a two-handed blow of Oathshield. Black slime bubbled from the Dark Arcanius’s neck rather than blood, and the headless creature slumped to the grass. Krastikon responded with greater speed than Ridmark anticipated, his hammer blurring for Ridmark’s head.

  Ridmark ducked and stepped back, and Krastikon came at him, the surviving Dark Arcanius casting a spell.

  ###

  Tamlin hurled another lightning bolt with all his strength and will behind it.

  The bolt forked and caught two of the charging Vhalorasti orcs. One of the warriors fell dead, the impact of the lightning carving a smoking crater into his chest. The second staggered and shook off the spell, but it slowed him long enough for Aegeus to attack with his axe.

  The orcish warrior fell dying, his blood spilling upon the trampled grass.

  Two more Vhalorasti warriors came at Tamlin, howling as they raised their swords. Tamlin took his sword hilt in both hands and parried three times in rapid succession, bronze blades ringing against dark elven steel. At last, the orc on his left overextended, and Tamlin sidestepped and slashed, his blade biting through flesh. The orc stumbled, and Tamlin killed him with a blow to the chest.

  The second orcish warrior attacked before Tamlin could get his balance back. The bronze sword struck his armor with enough force that Tamlin lost his balance and landed hard on his back. The orc raised his sword for the kill, and Tamlin thrust his hand and threw together as much magic as his tired mind could gather. An arc of lightning leaped from his fingers and struck the Vhalorasti warrior, knocking him back.

  The orc snarled and raised his sword again, and Aegeus killed him with a blow to the back of the head. Orcish bone was stronger than human bone, but dwarven steel was stronger yet.

  “Thanks,” croaked Tamlin, getting back to his feet.

  Aegeus tried to smile, but he looked too tired to manage it. “That’s…what, the third time I’ve saved you today? You can buy the wine when we get back to Aenesium.”

  Tamlin shook his head, looking for more foes. The Vhalorasti orcs were falling back, trying to reform their lines as they retreated. Just how far north had they gone? Tamlin realized that he didn’t know. The howling fury of the battle had felt like hours, but no more than a few moments had passed.

  An idea came to him.

  “We’ve got to find Warlord Obhalzak,” said Tamlin.

  “Why?” said Aegeus. “He can take care of himself.”

  “No, no,” said Tamlin. “Not to help defend him, but to help win the battle. Look at how far north we’ve gone! If we can get the Warlord to turn his men and attack Justin’s hoplites in the flank…”

  “God and the saints!” said Aegeus, looking to the east. “We could win the battle for King Hektor!”

  “Come on,” said Tamlin.

  He ran to the west, looking for any sign of Warlord Obhalzak and his headmen. The Mholorasti orcs were reforming their lines, such as they were, and preparing to charge at the retreating Vhalorasti orcs again. Tamlin spotted a large group of armored orcs standing together, and Warlord Obhalzak was in their midst, green blood dripping from the blades of his massive axe. He spoke to a smaller figure in dark armor, and Tamlin recognized Third.

  “The Shield Knight asks that you reform and attack to the east,” said Third as Tamlin drew nearer. “Justin’s hoplites are prevailing against King Hektor’s men, and they have no defense against the fury of the Vhalorasti warlocks.”

  Obhalzak growled. “What of the Keeper and the Arcanii? Where are their spells?”

  “I do not know,” said Third. “The Dark Arcanii transformed into those winged creatures. I suspect they went to challenge the Keeper and the Arcanius Knights.”

  Obhalzak growled again, and then his red-glazed eyes fell on Tamlin and Aegeus.

  “Thunderbolt,” said Obhalzak. “What say you?”

  “My lord,” said Tamlin, pointing to the east. “We have to strike now. If we hit King Justin’s hoplites on their right flank, we might break them. That could decide the battle.”

  Obhalzak frowned. “Where is the Shield Knight?”

  “I don’t know,” said Tamlin, looking around. “I think…”

  A flash of white flame and purple light caught his eye.

  ###

  Ridmark retreated before Krastikon’s furious assault.

  He had dispatched the second Dark Arcanius easily enough. The dark magic that had corrupted the Arcanius, giving him speed and strength and wings, had also made him vulnerable to the wrath of a soulblade. A single blow from Oathshield had killed the winged creature, the sword’s white fire burning through its veins, and the Dark Arcanius had fallen dead to the ground.

  Krastikon had hardly needed its aid.

  He attacked Ridmark with all the vigor and strength of youth coupled to the magical power of elemental earth. His hammer rose and fell with the speed of a man wielding a dagger, and it was all Ridmark could do to keep ahead of those attacks. He knew that one blow from the hammer would kill or cripple him.

  Krastikon was smiling behind his helmet, his shield raised as he attacked. Elemental magic covered his shield with a sheen of purple light, and that spell had deflected both the attacks and the elemental spells of Tamlin and Aegeus during the battle below the gates of Castra Chaeldon.

  What Krastikon didn’t know was that the shield was much less effective against Oathshield.

  Ridmark had hit the shield a score of times, and every single time Oathshield had bit deep into the bronze, the soulblade’s fire chewing into the metal. Every strike from Oathshield disrupted the protective spell, draining away its strength.

  “Pathetic,” said Krastikon with a sneer. “Is this the best that Andomhaim can offer? Perhaps your homeland was really destroyed by the urdmordar. I will look forward to…”

  Ridmark swung Oathshield again, and Krastikon laughed and raised his shield.

  But this time, Oathshield tore through the bronze and shattered the shield. The soulblade raked across Krastikon’s left arm, biting into the flesh, and the Ironcoat stumbled with a bellow of enraged pain.

  He started to recover his balance, bringing his wounded arm around to grasp his hammer into a two-handed blow, but it was too late.

  Now the momentum belonged to Ridmark.

  He went on the attack, landing hit after hit on Krastikon’s cuirass. The Ironcoat’s sneer faded into a mask of frantic concentration as he tried to recover, but Ridmark kept hammering him. Every time Oathshield connected, the soulblade tore through his defensive ward. At last Krastikon stumbled back, and Ridmark stepped into the younger man’s guard, raised Oathshield high, and brought the soulblade hammering down.

  The pommel struck Krastikon’s bronze helmet with enough force to leave a dent, and the Ironcoat collapsed to the ground, the hammer bouncing away from his limp hand. Had Ridmark hit him hard enough to crack his skull? There was blood leaking from his nostrils.

  “Lord Ridmark!”

  He turned, blinking the sweat from his eyes. A group of orcs hurried towards him, and Ridmark spotted Warlord Obhalzak in their midst. Tamlin, Aegeus, Sir Calem, and Third were with him.

  “Is that Prince Krastikon?” said Tamlin, blinking in surprise.

  “Yes,” said Ridma
rk. “If he’s still alive, someone should tie him up.” Two of the Mholorasti orcs went to obey, and the others murmured with approval. Apparently, Krastikon Cyros had a reputation.

  “Do you suggest we attack the hoplites?” said Obhalzak.

  “Aye,” said Ridmark again. “We ought…”

  He turned to look to the east, and a mixture of alarm and excitement went through him.

  Alarm, because Justin’s hoplites were decisively winning. As the warlocks rained death upon Hektor’s hoplites, Justin’s soldiers attacked with vigor, driving back their enemies step by step. The guard of Arcanius Knights and Companions around King Hektor had fallen into disarray as they battled the winged Dark Arcanii, and Ridmark felt a surge of relief when he saw a shaft of white fire kill one of the winged creatures.

  That meant Calliande was still alive.

  But Earl Vimroghast’s jotunmiri had not fared well, and Justin’s pagan allies drove them back. With Hektor’s hoplites and jotunmiri falling back but the Mholorasti orcs advancing, the entire battle was about to rotate on its axis like a wheel. And if that happened, Justin would be victorious, and the Mholorasti orcs would be isolated and forced to retreat for Castra Chaeldon.

  But for the moment, the Mholorasti orcs had a clear path to King Justin’s banner.

  It had happened by accident. As Justin’s hoplites advanced and the black-robed warlocks hurled their sorcerous attacks into the melee, the battle had drawn away from Justin’s banner.

  Which meant Justin himself was surrounded only by his Ironcoats and the Vhalorasti warlocks. If the Mholorasti orcs could get to Justin and kill him or forced him to yield, it didn’t matter if his hoplites were winning and that his warlocks were raining destruction down upon the battlefield. If Justin was overcome or slain, the battle was over.

  “Warlord,” said Ridmark, pointing. “Look. Look! The way to Justin is clear.”

  “What?” said Obhalzak, and then a pleased growl came from him.