Sevenfold Sword: Unity

by Jonathan Moeller

  Upon the terraces rose the city.

  It had once been huge, larger than Tarlion, larger than Aenesium, perhaps larger than both cities put together. Walls of white stone, each thirty feet high and ten thick, ringed each of the terraces, and domes and towers and spires rose within the walls. At the top of the hill stood a mighty citadel, bastions and towers rising high against the blue sky.

  The city was beautiful, beautiful as the ruins of Cathair Selenias had been…and like the Tower of Nightmares, the city was a ruin.

  Huge breaches had been blasted in the walls, and heaps of white rubble lay scattered in the plains around it. The gates had been smashed, and all the towers were crumbling, empty shells. The city still had grandeur to it, but it was the solemn grandeur of a tomb.

  Ridmark knew that many, many gray elves had died here.

  “I had no idea this place existed,” said Tamara.

  “Magatai has told you of the Blood Quest of Cathair Avamyr many times,” said Magatai.

  “Aye,” said Tamara, “but hearing of a place and seeing it with your own eyes are two different things. Very different things. I never thought a city could be so large.”

  “Cathair Avamyr,” said Kyralion, gazing at the ruins of his long-dead ancestors. “This was once the final refuge and fortress of my people. All the rest of our cities on this continent had fallen to the Sovereign and his hosts. We retreated here to build Cathair Avamyr as our last stronghold, and fortified the Pass of Ruins with towers and magic to keep the Sovereign’s hordes at bay.” His voice grew melancholy. “You all have seen the fate of the Pass of Ruins with your own eyes. The survivors fell back to Cathair Avamyr. The siege of the city lasted for decades. Tens of thousands of our enemies died, but in the end, we were overwhelmed. The survivors fled to the Illicaeryn Jungle and founded the Unity, and the remnant of my people has dwelled there ever since.”

  “Magatai spoke of guardians,” said Ridmark, staring at the white ruins. Nothing seemed to be moving within the walls.

  “When we fled, our wizards and nobles activated the remaining magical defenses,” said Kyralion. “Likely the guardians are magical constructs similar to the ones we faced in Cathair Selenias.”

  “They were,” said Magatai. “Suits of golden armor, animated by magic. Magatai challenged them and defeated them, and then they rewarded Magatai with a boon.” He hesitated. “Some say there are great treasures within the ruins, but Magatai decided to exercise prudence and withdraw.”

  “Probably wise,” said Ridmark. “We’ll head through the northern gate and stay in the lowest tier of the city. We’ll camp in one of the ruined towers, one high enough to look over the outer wall. From there we’ll have a good view of the plains, and we’ll be able to see any approaching foes. Once the muridach hosts pass, we’ll continue to the east.” He looked at Calliande. “Does the Sight show anything?”

  “A lot,” said Calliande, her voice faint, her eyes unfocused as she gazed at the ruined city. “There are many, many powerful warding spells in the ruins, Ridmark. All of them are damaged in some way. And the echoes…there were indeed terrible battles here, clashes between mighty wizards.” She shivered, and her eyes came back into focus as she dismissed the Sight. “Cathair Avamyr will be a very dangerous place.”

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. “Let us hope that the muridachs find it so as well.”

  Because they had no other option. They couldn’t outrun the muridach hordes. If they stood and fought, they would raise a ring of slain foes around them, but they would still be killed. Their only remaining option was to withdraw into the ruins of Cathair Avamyr and hope that the muridachs bypassed the dangerous location.

  Or that the ancient traps and wards in the city did not kill them.

  “Come,” said Ridmark. “Let’s get inside the walls before dark.”

  He led the way toward the city’s northern gate. Oathshield rested in its scabbard, but he kept his hand near the sword’s hilt. The ruined city drew nearer, and at last, they approached the northern gate of Cathair Avamyr.

  At least, what remained of the gate.

  Once it had been a tall arch with doors fashioned from the golden metal the gray elves used for their armor and weapons. But the arch had been smashed into heaps of broken rubble, and the doors lay in twisted ruin upon the ground. Beyond the broken gate, Ridmark saw a broad square dotted with rubble and statues on their pedestals. Ruined houses of white stone ringed the square.

  “Are there any wards upon the gate?” said Ridmark.

  Calliande shook her head. “No. Old, broken ones, almost faded. They were probably ruined when the Sovereign broke the doors.”

  Ridmark nodded and led the way through the ruined gate, clambering over a pile of broken white stone and into the square. Utter silence reigned over the city, and Ridmark stopped just beyond the gate. The houses lining the square were empty stone shells, the roofs fallen in long ago. Here and there weeds and small trees poked up from the flagstones, their roots tangled and gnarled. Statues of gray elves in armor and robes stood on pedestals, and a large statue rose in the center of the square, showing a dozen armored elven warriors.

  He turned, looking for danger, and blinked in astonishment.

  “What is it?” said Calliande, and she turned and saw what had caught his attention.

  Reliefs covered the inside of the city’s wall, hundreds of colossal reliefs.

  The reliefs reminded Ridmark of the scenes that he had seen on the walls of Cathair Valwyn below the city of Aenesium. Yet those reliefs had seemed full of hope, and had shown the gray elves coming to Owyllain and building their new civilization.

  These reliefs were far grimmer.

  They displayed the gray elves preparing for their last stand. One scene showed the gray elves battling against orcish hordes led by a dark elven lord in a winged helmet, who was almost certainly the Sovereign. Another relief showed the gray elves building fortresses in a mountain pass, likely the Pass of Ruins. Still another displayed Cathair Avamyr itself, strong and stalwart, with gray elven warriors standing resolute upon the outer wall. It looked like a strong fortress, unconquerable and invincible.

  It was a far cry from the shattered, half-crumbling ruin that surrounded them now like a forest of bones.

  “There are many such reliefs in this place,” said Magatai. “They are everywhere. Your kindred, friend Kyralion, did like to make sculptures.”

  “They did,” said Kyralion. He gazed at the images. “It is the story of the founding of Cathair Animus. The reliefs say that this city would be the final home of our people and that it would forever stand strong against the might of the Sovereign.” He sighed. “But as with so many things, the Liberated were wrong.”

  “That is the Sovereign, I assume,” said Kalussa, pointing at the dark elven lord. The image in the stone held a staff, and Ridmark realized that it was the Staff of Blades.

  “It is,” said Kyralion.

  “The smaller dark elf next to him,” said Calliande. “Is that the Confessor?”

  “He is,” said Kyralion. “He was the Sovereign’s lieutenant and remained at the Sovereign’s right hand for all his wars. Now he thinks to take the Sovereign’s place and rebuild his empire.”

  “While the history is fascinating,” said Krastikon, “I suggest we do not linger here. We will be plainly visible through the gate to anyone passing nearby, and our scent trails will lead right here.”

  “Agreed,” said Ridmark. He looked around and then pointed. “That tower looks promising.” It rose nearly two hundred feet into the air, its crown shattered, but it still looked sound.

  “We might get caught and encircled there,” said Tamara.

  “Some of the windows open onto the nearby rooftops,” said Ridmark. “If any attackers enter the tower, we can escape that way over the roofs.”

  “That tower would have belonged to one of the wizards,” said Kyralion. “The purpose of the tower was to provide a clear place to observe the position and config
uration of the thirteen moons.”

  “Are there any wards in the tower?” said Ridmark.

  “There are some spells upon it,” said Calliande, “yet nothing dangerous. I think it will be a good place to shelter for the night.”

  “Then let’s make camp,” said Ridmark.

  He led the way down the street to the base of the tower. There was a long hall at the foot of the structure, and the tower itself was about two hundred feet tall and fifty across. The hall had no trace of life, and statues of gray elven warriors and wizards stood in niches along the walls. A flight of spiral stairs led to a round chamber that held stone shelves containing scrolls and books.

  “A preservation spell,” said Calliande, looking at the bookcases. “It’s let these books and scrolls pass the centuries intact. A pity Antenora isn’t here. She would insist we take all these back to the Tower of the Keeper in Tarlion.”

  “We’ll make camp in here,” said Ridmark, watching as Krastikon urged the scutians up the stairs. “If we get surrounded, we can escape through the windows between those bookcases.” The roofs of the surrounding buildings were intact. “Third, Kyralion, let’s check the upper floors.”

  Kyralion and Third followed him up the spiral stairs as Calliande and the others set up camp in the library. They passed through four empty rooms, and then came to the top of the tower. The rooftop had been torn away, and chunks of broken stone lay scattered around the floor. An enormous, intricate machine of golden metal sat in the center of the damaged room. It looked like a navigational instrument of some kind, with a dozen rings encircling a spherical core.

  “Is that a magical device?” said Ridmark.

  “It is not,” said Kyralion. “It is a device used to calculate and predict the positions of the thirteen moons. It relies on metalworking and gears and mathematics, not magic.”

  “How does it work?” said Third.

  “I confess I have no idea,” said Kyralion. He shrugged. “I never bothered to learn. Most of the Liberated can use magic, though only some of us devote all their time to its study. Because I cannot join the Unity and am resistant to magic, there never seemed any point to learning.”

  Third hesitated, and then stepped closer. “Your kindred…they have not treated you well?”

  “I would not say that,” said Kyralion. “Rather, they find it difficult to understand me, as I find it difficult to understand them.” He shook his head. “And if Lord Amruthyr was right, and they have lied to me…I have much to think on.”

  He shook his head once more and fell silent. Ridmark knew him well enough by now to realize he would say no more on the topic.

  “We’ll set a watch up here,” Ridmark said, “and another at the foot of the stairs to guard the street.”

  “This plan seems sound to me,” said Third.

  “Aye,” said Ridmark. “And we’ll need to watch for these guardians Magatai mentioned.”

  “I suspect,” said Kyralion, “they will only come out at night.”

  Ridmark did not like the sound of that.

  ###

  That night Calliande stood atop the ruined tower, gazing over the broken wall at the city and the surrounding plains.

  The others slept in the library chamber, though Third kept watch on the tower’s great hall and the entrance to the street. Only four of the thirteen moons were out tonight, painting the plains surrounding the ruined city in an ethereal silver glow.

  That meant Calliande had no trouble seeing the lights flickering and dancing in the higher levels of Cathair Avamyr.

  Blue and white and golden lights pulsed throughout the city’s tiers, throwing eerie shadows in the gloom. Calliande kept the Sight in a loose grip, ready to warn her if any danger approached, and she saw the powerful wards gathered around the ruined fortress at the heart of the fallen city.

  No sign of dark magic, though.

  But the Sight showed her the power of the Staff of Blades ascending the stairs of the tower.

  Calliande turned her head just as Kalussa climbed up to join her, the dark metal of the Staff rasping against the floor.

  “Lady Calliande?” said Kalussa.

  “I’m here,” said Calliande, and Kalussa stepped to join her, the wind rustling past them. “Couldn’t sleep?”

  “No,” said Kalussa, both hands wrapped around the dark length of the Staff of Blades. The wind tugged at her hair, and the sleeves of her crimson tunic rippled beneath her golden armor. “It’s this place.”

  “Eerie, isn’t it?” said Calliande.

  “Aye,” said Kalussa. “This must have been the largest city in the world once. Tens of thousands of gray elves must have lived here.”

  “Maybe even a quarter of a million,” said Calliande. The thought of such numbers boggled the mind. Antenora had told her that on Old Earth there were cities where tens of millions of people lived, and Calliande could scarce imagine that. But she could imagine Cathair Avamyr as it had been in the days of its glory, tall and strong and proud, a shining bastion for the gray elves as they fled from the armies of the Sovereign.

  “And now it is a tomb,” said Kalussa.

  “Yes,” said Calliande. “It’s like spending the night in a graveyard.”

  Though most graveyards were not dotted with ancient, lethal warding spells.

  “It makes me think of Aenesium,” said Kalussa in a soft voice. “Of what might happen to the city if we fail. Aenesium would have been destroyed if you and Lord Ridmark hadn’t stopped Rypheus. Or if Justin had marched through the gates.” She shivered. “It might still happen if we cannot stop the New God and the Maledicti.”

  “Perhaps,” said Calliande. “But we are doing what we can. Which is why we’re here, after all. Though I didn’t expect we would have to take shelter in the ruins of the gray elves.”

  “No,” said Kalussa. “I hope Tamlin’s mother knows the answer.”

  “As do I,” said Calliande.

  “The things that Lord Ridmark told us, the things that the Maledictus of Air said to him.” Kalussa shivered again. “How the Masked One has been using the Maledicti to orchestrate the War of the Seven Swords…”

  “We’ve suspected as much since at least Trojas,” said Calliande. “Maybe even before. It seemed odd that the Maledicti all claim to serve the coming of the New God, yet they somehow wound up assisting different sides of the war. No. What Mhazhama said to Ridmark only confirmed what we already suspected.”

  “Do you think the muridachs are another trap for us?” said Kalussa.

  “I doubt it,” said Calliande. “I think we’ve just walked into the war between the muridachs or the gray elves. Though I don’t doubt that the Maledicti are behind this ‘prophet’ of the Lord of Carrion. The presence of the Scythe proves that.”

  “Kalimnos didn’t look like a trap either,” said Kalussa, “yet it was. The Maledicti went to great lengths to kill us. And it would have worked, too, if not for Lord Ridmark. We didn’t have any defense against it. We…”

  She fell silent, shaking her head as she stared at the ghostly ruins.

  “Kalussa,” said Calliande. “I don’t think you want to talk about Cathair Avamyr.”

  Kalussa closed her eyes, swallowed, and nodded. The turmoil was obvious upon her face.

  “Can I ask you something?” said Kalussa. “It…it might not be appropriate, but…”

  “Go ahead,” said Calliande. “I can guess what you want to ask.”

  Kalussa took a deep breath. “Were you…were you ever with a man? Before Lord Ridmark, I mean.”

  “No,” said Calliande, watching the younger woman. “There was never time. My mother and father died when I was young, and if they had lived, they probably would have found a husband for me. But they died, and my magic manifested, so I was taken into the Order of the Magistri. Then I became the Keeper’s apprentice, and then the Keeper in turn…there was always another battle to fight. Another wounded soldier to heal. I never even thought about a husband or even a casual lov
er…and then I met Ridmark.”

  Kalussa hesitated. “Did you…did you ever lie together before you were wed?”

  “No,” said Calliande. “I could claim heroic self-control, but that would be a lie. The truth is that we would have, but we kept getting interrupted.”

  Kalussa smiled a little. “Another battle to fight?”

  “Something like that,” said Calliande. “If you must know, the first time was about five minutes after we were married.”

  Kalussa turned a little red. “I am sorry to ask, but…but…”

  “There’s no one else to talk to about this, is there?” said Calliande, suspecting that Kalussa was at last ready to discuss what really bothered her.

  “No,” said Kalussa. “I wouldn’t wish to speak to a man about it. There is Lady Third, and while she is valiant, I am frankly terrified of her. I would rather discuss such things with Tamlin than with her. I don’t know Tamara very well.” She blinked a few times. “And she wasn’t affected by the dream spell. Which means…which means she probably saw…”

  “You and Calem,” said Calliande.

  “Yes,” whispered Kalussa, her anguish plain. “What am I going to do, my lady?”

  “About Calem?” said Calliande.

  “I was such a fool,” said Kalussa. “I should have been stronger. I should have been able to resist the dream spell. I…”

  “Kalussa,” said Calliande. “I am far stronger than you with magic, and I still couldn’t resist the dream spell. Ridmark likes to say that no matter how strong and how skilled a swordsman is, there is still always someone who is stronger and better. That is true for swordplay, and it is also true for magic.”

  “I should have had better self-control,” said Kalussa. “Instead I threw myself at Calem like a drunken trollop, and…”

  “Do you never want to see Calem again?” said Calliande.

  Kalussa gave her a stricken look.

  “I can’t stop thinking about him,” she whispered. “About him, and about what we did. I never knew anything could feel so wonderful. But I have the Staff of Blades. I have elemental magic, and I have the magic of the Well of Tarlion. I must exercise better self-control. I…”