Sevenfold Sword: Unity

by Jonathan Moeller

  “That is simply a reasonable assessment,” said Third, “and the most probable outcome. But he does not…wallow in despair the way the other gray elves do, probably because he is not linked to the Unity and so is not forced to join its consensus. When the Augurs had their vision of me, did they go to find me? No. Kyralion crossed half a continent to find you and Ridmark, and he has remained at your side ever since. Is that the act of a man who is given to despair?”

  “It is not,” said Calliande.

  “And that is why Arliach and Nilarion and the others all heed Kyralion Firebow,” said Third. “He acts. He leads. The others feel despair, but he does not. Perhaps he thinks his kindred are doomed, but he will not surrender.”

  “An admirable outlook,” said Calliande.

  “Yes.” Third took a long breath. “He is.” She shook her head. “But perhaps we can get far enough ahead of the muridach host that we can continue to the Monastery of St. James.”

  “I think it might be too late for that,” said Calliande. “The muridach armies are too close. We might have become entangled in this war, no matter we do next.”

  Third said nothing for a long moment.

  “I fear you are correct,” she said at last.

  ###

  That night, they stopped for a rest long after sundown.

  Tomorrow morning, Arliach thought, they would reach the Illicaeryn Jungle.

  Had she been alone, Third would have pressed on, hoping to reach the cover of the trees. But the gray elves were exhausted on their feet, their pallor increasing, the veins beneath their skin darkening. For that matter, her friends were tired as well.

  And if Third was honest with herself, she felt exhaustion sinking into her bones. She required little rest, but even she had limits, and she would not object to sleep.

  She lay down on the ground and fell asleep at once.

  And in her sleep, she dreamed.

  Third’s dreams almost always recalled her centuries as an urdhracos, a long dark scream of blood and despair and death. She had been free for nine years, though that was a tiny span of time compared to the centuries she had been bound in the Traveler’s service. She sometimes dreamed of his face, cruel and malignant and sneering, the eyes filled with shadow. Or she dreamed of killing, of the many foes she had slain during her enslavement.

  But tonight, she dreamed of a place she had never seen before.

  Third stood in a barren forest, the trees choked with mist. Far in the distance rose a range of dark mountains, stark against the gray sky. Eerie cries rang through the forest, and from time to time she glimpsed burning eyes in the mist. Her hands wanted to grasp her sword hilts, though she had the sense that nothing could harm her here.

  A foolish sensation. No one was invincible. Her father had thought himself invincible and look what had happened to him.

  Before Third rose one of the familiar rings of dark elven menhirs that her father and so many other dark elven nobles had created. Third had seen hundreds of them scattered across Andomhaim, so she recognized the familiar scenes of torture and murder carved into the black stones.

  A woman stood just within the circle, watching her.

  She was human and looked to be somewhere in her early twenties. She had black eyes and black hair bound in a braid, her face pale and sharp. The woman wore wool and leather and a peculiar cloak of tattered brown and green and gray strips that likely aided with concealment in a forest. A carved wooden staff rested in her right hand, the sigils sometimes flashing with white light. When they did, her eyes flashed with the same glow.

  Third stopped at the edge of the circle and stared at the woman, her mind sorting through memories.

  The woman stared back, head tilted to the side as she regarded Third.

  “You do not know who I am,” said the woman, “but…”

  “No, I have deduced your identity,” said Third.

  The woman raised a black eyebrow. “Do elaborate.”

  “Before the end of the war with the Frostborn,” said Third, “Ridmark was frequently visited by the spirit of his dead lover Morigna in his dreams. She tried to prepare him to wield the sword of the Dragon Knight. Before we left Aenesium, Tamlin Thunderbolt told Ridmark and Calliande of the ‘Dark Lady’ who appeared in his dreams and warned him of danger, and Kalussa mentioned that the same Dark Lady had appeared in her dreams before the battle at Trojas. Ridmark assumed that Morigna’s spirit passed to its fate after the Frostborn, but I suspect that she instead has been offering guidance to Tamlin and Kalussa and possibly others.”

  The woman’s thin mouth curled in a smile.

  “My sister Mara described Morigna to me many times, for they were good friends. Based on your appearance, I suspect that you are the spirit of Morigna,” said Third.

  Morigna’s smile widened. “A pity we never met in the flesh. You are very clever.”

  Third shrugged. “What I am is very, very old, and there are few things I have not seen before.” She paused. “This is new, though.”

  “Nevertheless, your logic is entirely correct,” said Morigna. “After the defeat of the Frostborn, the archmage Ardrhythain offered me a choice. I could continue to what awaits beyond the mortal world and trust to the mercy and forgiveness of God, or I could take up a mantle of duty here.”

  “And what mantle is that?” said Third.

  “The Guardian of humanity,” said Morigna. “For there are more dark powers in the world than the shadow of Incariel, as you well know, and more dangers than the dark elves. I cannot intervene directly, save for rare circumstances, but I can advise and warn.”

  “As you have been doing all of Tamlin’s life,” said Third.

  “Half of Tamlin’s life, anyway,” said Morigna.

  Third nodded, drew one of her short swords, and slashed it through the empty space between the menhirs. Or she tried to, anyway. The blade rebounded from the empty air with a flash of blue fire as if she had struck a stone wall.

  “If you are the Guardian of humanity,” said Third, sheathing her sword, “how did you end up trapped in this circle? Because I am reasonably sure that you are trapped.”

  Morigna grimaced. “I came to Tamlin’s dreams to warn him of the trap that awaited you in Kalimnos. Unfortunately, five of the Maledicti and the Masked One himself projected themselves into the dream, and I was overpowered and imprisoned here. They erased Tamlin’s memory of that dream.”

  “Which is why he woke up screaming that night, but could not recall why,” said Third.

  “Yes,” said Morigna. “I have since tried to contact Tamlin or anyone else in their dreams, but I was unable to reach a human mind. However, I discovered that I was able to reach the mind of a hybrid.”

  “A hybrid,” said Third. “The Scythe. Yes. That was why the Scythe told Ridmark to go south. You were speaking through her.”

  “Correct,” said Morigna. “That was an experiment. Speaking with you is a more successful attempt. So here we are.”

  Third frowned. “Just where are we, anyway?”

  “The Durance of the Sovereign,” said Morigna. “A domain caught halfway between the material world and the threshold, anchored to a vessel in Urd Maelwyn. The Sovereign used this place to torment prisoners he did not yet wish to kill…or for prisoners like me, who are spirits and therefore cannot be slain.”

  Third let out a long breath. “It is a Tyrathstone, is it not?”

  Morigna blinked. “It is. How did you know?”

  “My father spent a great deal of time and effort trying to find one,” said Third. “He thought that if he could retreat into the domain within a Tyrathstone, he could be safe against all his enemies. He never did find one and concluded that they had all been destroyed thousands of years ago.”

  “As it happens, he was wrong,” said Morigna. “The Sovereign took one with him to Owyllain. There is one on the isle of Kordain, defended by another Guardian. I believe there is another within Urd Morlemoch. Fortunately, the Sovereign never found a u
se for his beyond employing it as a prison. Which, of course, is why we are here.”

  “Yes,” said Third. “Though that does not explain why you have brought me here. I assume it is to give me a warning?”

  “Again, you are correct,” said Morigna. “Understand that I cannot tell you everything. You are not yet in the proper junction in time. Additionally, the nature of the Durance imposes limitations upon me…”

  “And I will not remember most of this when I wake up?” said Third.

  “No,” said Morigna. “But some of it will linger in the depths of your mind. Perhaps it will aid you when the moment of crisis comes.”

  “Crisis,” said Third.

  “You are about to undergo a terrible challenge,” said Morigna. “Ask me what you will, and I will answer what I can.”

  “Very well,” said Third. She was unsurprised to hear that a deadly challenge awaited her. “A first question, then. I assume the Maledicti are behind the muridachs’ attack on the gray elves?”

  “You assume correctly,” said Morigna. “Qazaldhar leveled the plague curse upon the Liberated, and now the Maledicti wish to finish off the gray elves. The gray elves have known of the coming of the Kratomachar, the New God, for some time, and the Maledicti feared that the Liberated might try to prevent its advent. So Qazaldhar created the plague curse to cripple them, and now the muridachs march to exterminate them utterly.”

  “The Augurs think that I can save or destroy them,” said Third. “Why?”

  “Because you can,” said Morigna.

  Third sighed. “If that is the quality of answers you gave to Tamlin Thunderbolt, I can see why he seems so exasperated.”

  “A better answer, then,” said Morigna. “You can save or destroy the gray elves because you are like Tamlin and Kalussa and Krastikon.”

  Third frowned. “I am not Swordborn.”

  “No,” said Morigna, “but you are an anomaly.”

  “Because of what I am,” said Third. “A hybrid.”

  “Yes,” said Morigna. “You were not supposed to exist, Third. Your father sired you to become his slave, his assassin and warrior, and you were an urdhracos for centuries. You were never to have been freed. Yet you were…and think of what you have done since. You saved the lives of both the Shield Knight and the Keeper, and if you had not, the shadow of Incariel would have devoured this world. Your father intended you only for evil, yet you have done great good, good that he never imagined. So is it with Tamlin and Kalussa and Krastikon and the other Swordborn. They were not included in the design of the New God and the Maledicti. The master of the Seven Swords never dreamed that any of the bearers of the Swords would have children because he does not understand love, only power and control. You and Mara were never supposed to exist, and yet you ripped a line of fire through the plans of the Warden and the Frostborn and the shadow of Incariel. And now you stand in the heart of the plans of the Maledicti, and you have the power to save the gray elves or to destroy them for their crimes and folly.”

  “I do not want to decide the fate of nations,” said Third. “I want to fulfill my task from Queen Mara and High King Arandar, and bring the Shield Knight and the Keeper and their children back home to Andomhaim.” She considered that. “If I save the gray elves, will that help the Shield Knight and his family? Or will it harm them?”

  “The fate of the gray elves,” said Morigna, “will decide the fate of the Shield Knight and his family. You shall stand at the eye of the storm, and you will choose in which direction it shall break.”

  Third shrugged. “Then I will choose as I think best at the time. My main objective is to return the Shield Knight and his family to their home.”

  Morigna smiled. “You never had a brother, Third, but if you did, I think you would love him as you love Ridmark.”

  Third shrugged again. “What of that? Perhaps I am too old for strong emotion.”

  “No,” said Morigna. “The young have strong emotions. Yours are as deep as mountains.”

  “If you say so,” said Third.

  “What about Kyralion?” said Morigna.

  Third opened her mouth, closed it. For the first time since this strange conversation had begun, she found herself at a loss for words.

  “Perhaps I can guess,” said Morigna. “You desire him, the first time you have ever desired anyone in all your long life. You admire his bravery, his devotion to his people despite his place outside their Unity. But you know that he loves his people and that you do not. You know that he would not return to Nightmane Forest with you, no more than you would stay in the Illicaeryn Jungle for him. A casual liaison is not part of your nature, nor is it of his. Yet you wonder what it would feel like nonetheless.”

  Third closed her eyes, opened them again.

  “I can see why,” she said, “Ridmark was so affected by your death.”

  Morigna inclined her head to acknowledge the compliment. “You know Kyralion is in love with someone else.”

  “Yes,” said Third. “A gray elven woman. Likely one who has spurned him because he is not part of their precious Unity.”

  “You do not think highly of the Unity,” said Morigna.

  “I do not,” said Third. “I do not yet know enough to make a final judgment. But what I have seen does not impress me. It makes a formidable weapon in battle, yes. But it also seems an instrument for enforcing consensus. A community can be a good thing, but it can also be a vile tyranny.”

  “You value freedom,” said Morigna.

  “I was a slave for fifty times longer than your mortal span,” said Third. “Not even the Guardian of humanity can value freedom as I do.”

  “You are wise,” said Morigna, “and there is one more piece of wisdom you will need to learn if you are to decide the fate of the gray elves, if you are to save the lives of the Shield Knight and the Keeper.”

  “What is that?” said Third.

  “You must learn to forgive.”

  Third shrugged once more. “To forgive what? The gray elves have done nothing to me.”

  “Forgiveness is one part of empathy.”

  Third felt herself frown. “Empathy? Empathy for what?”

  “Pain.”

  Third laughed in surprise. “Pain? No one understands pain better than I do, Guardian. No one.”

  “You have survived pain beyond the capacity of most humans to imagine,” said Morigna, “and it has made you strong. Your entire mind was in pain for so long that you have forgotten what it was like not to feel pain.”

  Third shrugged. “Pain is to be endured. Anything else is a waste of time.”

  “Remember to have mercy on the pain of those weaker than yourself,” said Morigna.

  “Why?”

  “Because you will choose whether or not the gray elves live or die,” said Morigna, “but mercy is the only way you will survive that choice. Remember this.”

  The dream dissolved into nothingness.

  Third’s eyes blinked open, and she stared at the star-strewn sky overhead. Only two of the thirteen moons were out, which meant she could see countless thousands of stars. The elves, whether high, dark, or gray, had been born on this world, but Third knew that mankind came from another world, as had the orcs and the halflings and the muridachs. Third wondered if she was looking up at the light of humanity’s ancient homeworld.

  She wondered why she wondered that. Such philosophical musings did not come to her often.

  Dreaming, she must have been dreaming. Odd that she could not remember the dream. When Third slept, she either had vivid nightmares or dreamed nothing at all. She frowned at that thought. Ridmark had sometimes suffered prophetic dreams, she knew, during the war with the Frostborn, and it seemed that Tamlin had been visited by a spirit called the Dark Lady in his dreams.

  Had Third experienced a similar dream?

  She searched her memory, trying to snatch any details from the mist of sleep.

  Nothing came.

  Well, if she couldn’t remember the
dream, then there was nothing to be done about it.

  Third went back to sleep.

  ###

  The next day they came to the northern edge of the Illicaeryn Jungle.

  “Dear God,” said Tamlin, wiping the sweat from his forehead. It had grown hotter with every step they took to the south, and now the air was so humid that Third felt like she was walking through a wet mist. “I’ve read about the Illicaeryn Jungle when I was a child, but to see it with my own eyes…”

  Tamara came to a stop next to Tamlin. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much green in my life.”

  The plains continued to the south, and then all at once, they just stopped. A huge wall of massive green trees rose before them, stretching to the east and to the west as far as Third could see. The trees were enormous, rising two hundred or three hundred feet tall, their massive branches spreading overhead like the ceiling of a cathedral. The branches threw the interior of the jungle into dim green shadow, and thousands of brilliant flowers of red and gold and blue covered the ground. Third saw dozens of birds fluttering overhead, their feathers of bright gold and blue and red, their harsh cawing echoing through the air.

  “The Illicaeryn Jungle,” said Arliach. “Our final refuge is two days to the south.”

  “A dangerous place,” said Magatai, squinting into the jungle. Northwind squawked once, and then snatched an insect out of midair and swallowed it. “Good country for ambushes. It is not surprising that the gray elves have held out here for so long. You can hit your foes and then slip away into the trees.”

  “It is what we have done many, many times before,” said Arliach. He smiled a little. “Surely you do not fear to enter the jungle, Takai?”

  “Bah!” said Magatai. “Magatai fears nothing. And God, the ancestors, and random chance favor the bold. Better to act boldly than to fail timidly.” He waved a hand in Kyralion’s direction. “Look at friend Kyralion! He went in search of the woman of blue flames, and now he returns with mighty allies to aid you, Magatai himself not least among them. No, better to be bold.”

  With that, Magatai tapped his knees against Northwind, and the struthian squawked and ambled towards the waiting wall of the jungle.