“Clearly,” said Ridmark. “Before we discuss anything else, I need to ask a question. Have you seen a woman and two children today? The woman would be about your height and size, with blond hair, and the children would have been two boys, eight years old and three years old.”
“I have not,” said Kalussa, adjusting her undergarments. She then donned a long crimson tunic that hung to her knees, a pair of trousers, and heavy boots. Over the tunic, she pulled on a gambeson and a leather cuirass covered in overlapping scales of bronze. It fit her well enough that Ridmark could tell it had been forged for her specifically. “You are looking for them, I expect?”
“Yes,” said Ridmark.
“I see,” said Kalussa. She pulled on a belt with sword and dagger, and then picked up a quiver of arrows and a short bow. “Very well. You tell me your tale of woe, Shield Knight of Andomhaim, and I shall tell you mine. I suspect that something strange is afoot.”
“It is,” said Ridmark. “This morning my wife, my sons, and I were at the court of the High King in Tarlion.” A flicker went through Kalussa’s eyes at the mention of the name of Tarlion. “An elven wizard calling himself Rhodruthain the Guardian of Cathair Animus appeared asking for the Shield Knight and the Keeper of Andomhaim…”
“Wait,” said Kalussa. “Your wife is the Keeper of Andomhaim?”
“The entire time that I’ve known her,” said Ridmark. Technically, Calliande had been the Keeper of Andomhaim since before Ridmark had been born, but he suspected Kalussa would have a hard enough time believing him as it was.
“And this elven wizard?” said Kalussa. “He called himself Rhodruthain? What did he look like?”
“Old and weary and weathered,” said Ridmark. “Golden eyes, graying hair. He carried a staff of red gold with a dragon’s head on the end.”
“That would be him,” said Kalussa. “Please continue.”
“He cast a spell,” said Ridmark, “and it transported me here. I suspect that my wife and children were brought here as well, and I am trying to find them. Instead, I seem to have walked into the middle of a war.”
“And that sword,” said Kalussa, looking at the soulblade. “Oathshield. That is yours?”
“It is,” said Ridmark.
“It is not one of the Seven, plainly,” said Kalussa. “What manner of blade is it?”
“A soulblade,” said Ridmark.
“Then there those are elven soulstones!” said Kalussa. “I thought they might be. Where did you get such a weapon?”
“The high elven archmage Ardrhythain gave it to me,” said Ridmark. “He forged the soulblades for Andomhaim to use against the urdmordar.”
Kalussa said nothing, her fingers tapping against the horn and wood of her bow.
“I suppose it is a difficult story to believe,” said Ridmark.
“Maybe not,” said Kalussa. “Your realm of Andomhaim still stands? The urdmordar did not destroy it?”
“No,” said Ridmark. “They came close, and we faced other enemies since, but Andomhaim still stands.”
Kalussa gave a slow nod. “Then it seems we may be distant cousins, Ridmark Arban.”
“What do you mean?”
Kalussa took a deep breath. “Do you know the name Connmar Pendragon?”
“No. Should I? Wait.” A distant lesson from his childhood flickered through Ridmark’s mind, a memory of listening to his tutor drone on about the history of the realm. “It was something from ancient history…yes, I remember. Connmar Pendragon. He was the High King’s younger brother during the war with the urdmordar. He despaired of victory and believed that the only way to save humanity was to flee to a new land. He had many followers, and he built a great fleet of ships and set sail to the south, and he was never seen again…”
“Until now,” said Kalussa in a quiet voice.
The answer clicked in Ridmark’s mind.
“But Connmar’s fleet wasn’t lost, was it?” said Ridmark. “It came here. And you are one of his descendants.”
“Connmar’s fleet sailed across three thousand miles of ocean,” said Kalussa, eyes distant as she recited a lesson from memory, “and they despaired of ever finding land again. But then they made landfall here in the new land of Owyllain. At his landing site, Connmar gave thanks to God and the Dominus Christus and the whole assembly of the saints, and founded the city of Aenesium and became its first King and High King over Owyllain.”
“Three thousand miles?” said Ridmark, aghast. He was three thousand miles from Tarlion?
That meant he might be three thousand miles from Calliande and the children.
Then another thought occurred to him.
“Why did he name the city Aenesium?” said Ridmark.
“In honor of Aeneas,” said Kalussa.
“Who was Aeneas?” said Ridmark.
“Someone from the history of Old Earth,” said Kalussa. “Do you know the poem? The Aeneid?”
Ridmark had never been that interested in the history of Old Earth, but all nobles learned of it. “Yes, I think so. Aeneas was a nobleman of the city of Troy on Old Earth. When the Greeks took the city and burned it, Aeneas fled Troy with his followers. He sailed until he came to Italia, and there he founded the city of Rome, from whose Empire the High King Arthur Pendragon one day rose.”
Kalussa nodded. “High King Connmar saw himself as a new Aeneas. Just as Aeneas fled the destruction of Troy at the hands of the Greeks to found the city of Rome, so did Connmar flee the destruction of Tarlion at the hands of the urdmordar to found the city of Aenesium and the realm of the Nine Cities of Owyllain.” She hesitated. “Though since I am talking to you, it seems our history is incorrect.” Her mouth twisted. “I suppose Connmar is remembered as a traitor and a coward in your histories.”
“I don’t think he’s remembered much at all,” said Ridmark. Calliande might know more, but from what Ridmark could recall, Connmar was not remembered as a fool. The defeat of Andomhaim at the hands of the urdmordar had seemed inevitable at the time. If anything, Connmar was remembered as a cautionary tale against trying to sail across the southern seas.
“It is ancient history by now, I deem,” said Kalussa. “Five centuries have passed since Owyllain was founded. Did the Guardian Rhodruthain say why he brought you here?”
“He said that something called the New God was rising,” said Ridmark, “and that it needed to be stopped.”
“The New God?” said Kalussa, taken aback. “There is only one God and his Son the Dominus Christus. All other gods are either delusions or demons.”
“I agree,” said Ridmark. “I only report what Rhodruthain told me. What of you, Lady Kalussa? How did you come to your…previous peril?”
“Naked and tied up, you mean?” she said brightly.
“Yes.” He kept himself from grimacing. She seemed less discomforted by that than he did.
Kalussa sighed. “It is a long story, so I shall condense it as best as I can. Suffice it to say, humans were not the first to rule this land. Dark elves had come here first, seeking to flee the urdmordar. One of them was called the Sovereign, brother of another dark elven lord called the Warden…”
A jolt of alarm went through Ridmark. “Wait. The Warden had a brother?”
“Apparently.” Kalussa blinked at him. “You know the name of the Warden?”
“Worse than that,” said Ridmark. “I met him. Twice.”
“Truly?” said Kalussa, astonished. “I would think that a boast, but there is horror upon your face, not gloating.”
“Where do you think I found this armor? Neither meeting was a pleasant experience,” said Ridmark. “But please, continue.”
“It was said that while the Warden was the greatest wizard of the dark elves,” said Kalussa, “the Sovereign was the greatest warrior and captain of the dark elves, and the Warden’s equal in brilliance and cunning.” Ridmark did not like the sound of that at all. “By the time my ancestors arrived here, the Sovereign ruled an empire that covered most of the
continent. All kindreds were either his subjects or vassals, save for the gray elves in the Illicaeryn Jungles to the south.”
“Gray elves?” said Ridmark.
“So we call them,” said Kalussa, “for they wear cloaks much like yours. Anyway, at first Connmar and his heirs did not come to the notice of the Sovereign. We warred against the Warlords of the orcish cities to the east, and those Warlords were only distant vassals of the Sovereign. But in time, the Sovereign turned against us, and led great hosts against Owyllain.” She scowled. “That was when Rhodruthain first came among us. It was he who taught us how to use the magic of the four elements. There was resistance among us, for we thought that all magic was the province of the demons of the Adversary, but Rhodruthain proved that elemental magic was a force like gravity or the waves of the sea, neither good nor evil, and so the Order of the Arcanii was founded.”
“Of whom you are one,” said Ridmark.
Kalussa’s lip twisted. She did not seem pleased by that fact. “Yes.”
“Please, continue,” said Ridmark.
“It was my uncle who defeated the Sovereign,” said Kalussa. “High King Kothlaric Pendragon, the greatest High King in the history of the Nine Cities. He gathered a great alliance of orcs, xiatami, gray elves, and halflings with the aid of Talitha, Master of the Order, and together they seized Urd Maelwyn and slew the Sovereign. But within Urd Maelwyn they found seven swords of great magic and power, ancient relics of the dark elves.”
“The Seven Swords I’ve heard so much about, I take it,” said Ridmark.
“Yes,” said Kalussa. “In his wisdom, High King Kothlaric decided that the Seven had to be destroyed, and so he took them to Cathair Animus to seek the Guardian’s counsel, for he still thought that Rhodruthain was an ally. But both Rhodruthain and the Lady Talitha betrayed him. They murdered Kothlaric by turning him to stone, and the allies of Kothlaric turned on each other. The Seven Swords fell into the hands of seven different bearers, and now each of the Seven contest for the mastery of Owyllain.”
“Rhodruthain has one of the Swords, doesn’t he?” said Ridmark. “He bore a golden sword with a strange symbol upon the pommel.”
“We do not know for certain,” said Kalussa, “but we think he has the Sword of Life.” She drew herself up. “My father King Hektor has the Sword of Fire, and he seeks to use it to reunify Owyllain under the one true High King.”
“And this King Justin has another?” said Ridmark.
“He is the King of Cytheria, one of the Nine Cities,” said Kalussa. “He has the Sword of Earth.”
Ridmark frowned. “Then he is a usurper to the title of High King?”
“No, he is the King of Cytheria,” said Kalussa, and then she blinked. “Oh! I see the misunderstanding. Owyllain is a realm of Nine Cities. Each city has its own King, but all the Kings bow before the High King of Aenesium. Just as Arthur Pendragon was High King of Britannia in ancient days, with lesser kings ruling their kingdoms in his name.”
“And this Confessor has another of the Seven Swords?” said Ridmark.
“You see keenly, Lord Ridmark,” said Kalussa. “The Confessor bears the Sword of Water. He is a dark elven lord, and he was once the Sovereign’s vassal and lieutenant. Now he thinks to rebuild his master’s realm under his control, though he lacks the Sovereign’s brilliance and subtlety.”
“Those orcs.” Ridmark nodded at Vhandak’s dead warriors. “With the blue sword tattoos upon their faces. They are the Confessor’s soldiers?”
Kalussa smiled in surprise. “How did you know…oh, of course. The blue swords, obviously. You are a clever man. Yes, they are the Confessor’s soldiers.”
“And I think you are ready,” said Ridmark, “to tell me how you ended up captured here.”
“King Justin is preparing a great force against my father,” said Kalussa. “My father seeks to restore the true rule of the Pendragons and just government to the realm. King Justin thinks nothing of consorting with necromancers and warlocks, and he has instituted slavery in the lands he holds. He is a cruel and merciless tyrant. The main route from Cytheria to Aenesium passes by the sea, through a narrow pass guarded by the fortress of Castra Chaeldon. To prepare for the invasion, my father entrusted the castra to an Arcanius Knight named Archaelon, and bid him to hold the castra until the full power of Aenesium and the Order could march forth.”
“I assume Sir Archaelon has turned traitor, then,” said Ridmark.
“Yes,” said Kalussa, her voice full of loathing. “He has betrayed his oaths to King Hektor and our Order and allied himself with the Confessor. My father sent a small force of hoplites and Arcanius Knights north to bring supplies to the castra. We were surrounded by the Confessor’s orcs and overwhelmed.” She shook her head. “I fear for the others. Sir Tyromon Amphilus was in command, and I thought I saw him rallying beneath the banner…”
“I’m afraid he’s dead,” said Ridmark. He gestured at the bronze sword sheathed at his belt.
“That’s…that’s Sir Tyromon’s sword,” said Kalussa. “Where did you…”
“About two miles south of here,” said Ridmark. “I found him dying beneath the banner. He told me some of what happened, and asked me to return his sword to King Hektor and warn him that Archaelon had become a traitor.”
“Oh,” said Kalussa.
Suddenly she looked very young.
“You knew him well?” said Ridmark.
“All…all my life,” said Kalussa. She took a deep breath. “He is one of my father’s most trusted men. His younger brother Nicion, as well, though I liked Sir Tyromon better.” She took another deep breath, pulling herself together. “Perhaps it is just as well. Sir Tyromon might have avoided whatever fate Archaelon has in mind for his prisoners.”
“Prisoners?” said Ridmark, thinking of his family.
Kalussa nodded. “Archaelon’s orcs took many prisoners and herded them back to Castra Chaeldon. I fear he has violated the laws of our Order and turned to necromancy, and plans to use the captives to fuel some spell. If you are looking for your family, Lord Ridmark…it is possible the orcs took them captive, and they are in Castra Chaeldon.”
Ridmark said nothing, trying to think through what she had told him and what he knew. Calliande would not have been easy to overpower. The orcish warriors alone could not have done it. Yet if Archaelon had necromantic magic, he might have been able to catch her off guard.
And Calliande was not well. He feared she was still physically exhausted from the ordeal of the last year, and he knew that grief still clouded her mind. Ridmark knew, better than anyone, how grief could twist one’s thinking. The thought of Calliande lost and alone in a strange land made him almost sick with fear for her.
For that matter, if the children had been transported as well, there was no guarantee they had arrived near her. Gareth and Joachim might have landed miles away. The thought of Calliande wandering alone in these rocky hills was bad enough. At least she was accustomed to danger, and knew how to take care of herself. His sons might wander until they died of thirst, or fell victim to a hidden pit or a poisonous snake, or run into the Confessor’s orcs.
That thought was even worse.
“So, Lord Ridmark,” said Kalussa. “What shall you do?”
“My wife has magic,” said Ridmark. “It is possible she knows where I am and is heading this way, that she has already found our sons. But if she has not, if she is wounded or sick from the journey…she and the children might have been taken captive in Castra Chaeldon. It seems my best choice is to head for Castra Chaeldon.”
“Mine as well,” said Kalussa. “I think some of our men might have escaped the trap. I need to find them and discover their fate. And if not…if not, then someone must return to Aenesium to warn my father of what happened here, that Archaelon has sided with the Confessor or King Justin or has some mad plan to strike out on his own.” She hesitated. “I suggest we accompany each other. Our goals overlap, and even with the power of your soulblade, y
ou will have a better chance with my help.”
She was right. He had seen what she had done to Vhandak, and that kind of fire magic would be useful in any fights. And Ridmark needed a local guide, someone familiar with the area. He had to find Calliande and his sons, and he would not turn away any help.
“Very well,” said Ridmark. “I have one question, though.”
“Ask, then.”
“That scar on your left shoulder,” said Ridmark. “What was it? I’ve never seen anything like it.”
She raised her eyebrows and smiled a little. “Were you taking a long look, then?”
Irritation rolled through him, irritation made all the stronger by the fact that he did find her attractive. “It was a serious question, Lady Kalussa.”
“A serious answer, then,” said Kalussa. “If you must know, that means I am one of the Swordborn.”
“Swordborn?” said Ridmark, and then he understood. “Your father bears one of the Seven Swords.”
“Yes,” said Kalussa. “Apparently, the child of someone who carries one of the Seven receives a measure of the Sword's power. King Hektor bears the Sword of Fire,” she gestured, and flames danced over her palm, “and so I have some affinity for the magic of elemental flame. I am also told I will be immune to the powers of the other Swords, though I have yet to test this, and frankly have no wish to do so.”
“Thank you,” said Ridmark. “Then let’s be on our way. We should have some daylight left, so best to put it to use.”
“A sensible attitude,” said Kalussa. “I suggest we follow the road for five miles and then head into the hills. If Archaelon is wise enough to post patrols around the castra, we shall have a better chance of eluding them.”
Ridmark nodded, and they headed north along the road.
Chapter 7: Thunderbolt
As many enemies of Andomhaim had discovered, often the hard way, it was difficult to kill the Keeper of Andomhaim.
The mantle of the Keeper bestowed many powers upon its bearer. One of them was the Sight, the ability to see the forces of magic, to view far-off places, to sometimes glimpse past and present and the future. A second power was raw magical strength. The mantle could empower spells, infusing them with potency that no magic of this world could resist.
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