Sevenfold Sword: Champion

by Jonathan Moeller

  It was the sound of a battle.

  “Fighting,” said Tamlin, and his face grew grim as he donned his helm. “Some of our men must have survived the ambush and evaded capture. We must help them.”

  “Yes,” said Calliande at once.

  If her sons were in Castra Chaeldon, she might need an army to get them back.

  “Let us hasten,” said Tamlin, and she followed him as he hurried up the ridge, her staff in her right hand. She kept the Sight held close as she followed the young warrior, and again she saw the flickers of elemental magic before her. Perhaps a dozen wizards of about Tamlin’s power or weaker were present in the battle, but she saw no sign of necromancy or dark magic yet.

  Well, if any necromancers showed themselves, Calliande would make them regret it.

  They reached the top of the ridge and looked into a broad valley that sloped towards the sea.

  And a battle did indeed rage in the valley.

  Calliande saw nearly two hundred and fifty human hoplites drawn up in a ring formation. Like the dead men she had seen on the road, the hoplites wore cuirasses, bracers, greaves, and helmets of bronze, many of them holding either round bronze shields or shields of wood and leather. She also saw a dozen men wearing the finer, better fitting armor and plumed helms like Tamlin’s. These had to be the Arcanii Knights. Even as she watched, she saw one of the men cast a spell, flinging an icicle like a ballista bolt into his foes.

  Nearly three hundred orcish warriors surrounded the ring of bronze-armored warriors, howling and jeering and shouting threats. Some of the orcs had javelins, which they flung into the ring. None of them had bows, thankfully, but Calliande saw that the men of Owyllain were not in a good position. They looked tired, while the Confessor’s soldiers seemed fresh. If the orcs attacked at once, they would surround and overwhelm the bronze-armored hoplites.

  “God and the saints,” muttered Tamlin. “They’ll be crushed.”

  A plan came together in Calliande’s mind.

  “Maybe not,” she said.

  ###

  The sounds of shouting grew louder as Ridmark hastened west, Kalussa hurrying after him.

  “I knew some men must have escaped!” said Kalussa. “The Confessor’s soldiers could not have taken them all. The men of Owyllain would not be so easily overcome.”

  “Let us hope not,” said Ridmark. He had not yet seen a man of Owyllain in battle, so he did not know how well they would fight. Still, if their realm had survived against the Sovereign for so many centuries, they must have some skill at fighting.

  “But they will need our help,” said Kalussa. “My magic will be useful in the battle, and the power of the Shield Knight would be welcome.”

  Ridmark nodded but said nothing, and together they jogged up the last hill.

  He found himself overlooking a broad, sandy valley that sloped towards the sea. In the center of the valley stood a ring of bronze-armored human hoplites, drawn together into a defensive formation. Around them stood nearly three hundred orcish warriors, shouting threats and brandishing weapons. There were some corpses on the ground, but not many.

  “It doesn’t look as if the battle has started properly yet,” said Ridmark, thinking hard.

  Could he even do anything to aid the men of Owyllain? Even with Oathshield, Ridmark was only one man. Perhaps it would be best to continue to Castra Chaeldon, but Ridmark did not like the thought of leaving these men to their fate. Matters of conscience aside, if Archaelon and the Maledictus had fortified themselves within Castra Chaeldon, Ridmark might find the help of the bronze-armored hoplites quite useful.

  “What should we do?” said Kalussa, drawing herself up.

  Ridmark drew Oathshield, feeling the sword’s strength and power flow through him. “The battle hasn’t started properly yet. So, we’ll start it on our terms.”

  ###

  Tamlin looked dubious. “Is that going to work?”

  “It should,” said Calliande, listening to him with half an ear.

  The rest of her attention went to gathering power for the spell.

  She summoned earth magic, and drew it through the mantle of the Keeper, augmenting it and strengthening it. Calliande lacked the raw power of mighty sorcerers like the Warden and the Artificer and the Sculptor. But she could build upon her spells, layering them on each other like a builder laying rows of bricks.

  Right now, she was doing that in a hurry.

  “Then you’ll knock them over?” said Tamlin, his grip shifting on the hilt of his dark elven sword.

  “That’s the plan,” said Calliande. She almost sounded like Ridmark as she said it. Maybe she had picked up some of his way of thinking during eight years of marriage. “You can use the magic of elemental air, yes? Do you know a spell to make your voice louder?”

  “I do, as it happens,” said Tamlin. “It is most useful on the battlefield.”

  Calliande nodded, pulling together more power for the spell. “Good. When I cast the spell, use your own magic. Tell them to strike. That will be their best chance for breaking out of their encirclement. If they hit hard enough and fast enough, maybe they can put the orcs to flight.” She concentrated, starting to shape the gathered power into a spell. “Can you make sure they all hear you at once?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Tamlin. “Have no fears on that account.”

  Calliande nodded. “You’ll know when.”

  More power surged through her, and she wove it into her spell.

  ###

  Ridmark strode down the hill, Oathshield in his right hand and his staff in his left hand. Kalussa followed him, fire crackling around her fingers as she called magic. Her face was tight and frightened, but she followed him without hesitation.

  “Stay behind me,” said Ridmark. “Try not to set me on fire.”

  Kalussa sniffed. “My magic goes where I wish it to go, Lord Ridmark.”

  “Good,” said Ridmark.

  The orcs hadn’t seen them yet, their full attention on the bronze-armored soldiers, but Ridmark knew that would not last. Sooner or later one of the orcs would notice them, but Ridmark hoped to use that to their advantage. The orcs had encircled the human hoplites, but that had spread them into a thin ring. If Ridmark attacked the orcs, relying on Oathshield to augment his strength and speed, he could break through the ring and start the battle.

  They were only a few hundred yards from the orcs now.

  At one hundred yards, some of the blue-tattooed orcs started to turn, noticing the newcomers.

  “Kalussa,” said Ridmark. “Now.”

  She gestured and cast a spell. Her bolt of fire struck one of the orcish warriors and burned into his chest. The orc fell dead to the sandy ground, smoke rising from the crater where his heart had been. A cry of alarm went through the orcs, and a dozen of them whirled and charged towards Ridmark and Kalussa, bronze swords raised.

  Ridmark set himself and lifted Oathshield.

  ###

  “Something’s happening,” said Tamlin.

  Calliande nodded, focusing on her spell. Most of her attention had gone to holding together the magical power she had summoned, but she could still see the disruption on the far side of the orcish soldiers. There was a flash and a flicker of flame, and a roar of outrage rose from the nearby orcs. Calliande saw the confusion starting to spread through the orcish warriors, the sudden alarm from the unexpected attack.

  “Another of the Arcanius Knights must have escaped!” said Tamlin. “They’re launching an attack from the other side. My lady, now is the time to strike!”

  He was right. Calliande had hoped to gather more power for her spell, but this was the best opportunity they were likely to get. As she had learned again and again, in warfare timing was often the most important factor of all.

  “Yes,” said Calliande, and she raised her staff and struck the end against the ground.

  The power roared out of her in a rush.

  “Dear God,” said Tamlin, his astonishment plain.

&n
bsp; The spell flowed down the hillside, making it ripple like the sea in a storm. The ripple rushed into the soldiers gathered below. It flowed and parted, avoiding the human hoplites, but it slammed into the orcish warriors. The ground beneath their boots shuddered and rippled, and the spell flung the orcs from their feet.

  Calliande turned to Tamlin, but he had already cast his own spell.

  “Men of Owyllain!” His voice boomed over the valley, so loud that it made Calliande’s ears hurt. “Now is the hour! Strike! Strike and be victorious!”

  Calliande started drawing power for another spell, and Tamlin cast another of his own. He flung a lightning bolt into the mass of the orcish soldiers, and Calliande saw two of them thrown to the ground as they tried to rise. The men of Owyllain shouted and flung themselves upon the prone orcs, swords and spears rising and falling.

  Tamlin hurried forward, and Calliande followed him towards the sudden melee.

  ###

  Ridmark prepared to attack, and then several things happened at once.

  A voice boomed over the valley, commanding the men of Owyllain to attack. At the same instant, one slope of the shallow valley started to ripple and fold, looking almost like a banner caught in a strong wind.

  “What the devil?” said Kalussa. “Is that an earthquake? An avalanche?”

  Ridmark felt himself smile.

  “No,” he said. “Something better.”

  The ripple swept into the massed soldiers. It parted and flowed around the human hoplites, leaving them untouched, but the orcish warriors were thrown from their feet.

  “Now!” said Ridmark.

  Kalussa nodded and started casting a spell as she ran after Ridmark.

  He drew on all the strength and speed he could summon from Oathshield and attacked. A burst of speed took him to the orcish warriors, and he struck, killing three of them before they could recover their feet. Another orcish warrior hauled himself up, the blue sword tattoo on the left side of his face distorted with a roar of rage. Before Ridmark could move, one of Kalussa’s bolts of fire struck the orc on the chest and flung him to the ground.

  The men of Owyllain shouted and charged, throwing themselves at the stunned orcs, and Ridmark joined the melee.

  ###

  Calliande followed Tamlin into the battle, her magic held ready

  By the time they reached the fighting the formations had dissolved into chaos. The men of Owyllain had broken out of their encirclement, hammering at the Confessor’s soldiers. The bronze-armored warriors had charged at the commands of the Arcanius Knights, driving at the orcs with sword and spear. Yet the orcs themselves fought back with savage ferocity. In the end, discipline would tell, and the humans seemed to have better discipline than their orcish enemies.

  But until then, there was fighting to be done.

  Tamlin flung himself into the battle, his blue sword a blur. He had cut down two orcs in as many heartbeats, and he turned to face a third. Calliande cast a spell, and the ground folded and heaved again, knocking more orcs from their feet. Tamlin struck down the warriors before they could recover, and as he did, one of the formations of hoplites burst free, cutting their way through the orcs.

  “Thunderbolt!” called a young warrior in bronze armor. Or maybe Calliande was old enough that most soldiers looked young to her. Tamlin was tall and lean, but this man was short and stocky, with arms like a blacksmith.

  “Sir Aegeus!” said Tamlin, drops of green orcish blood sliding from his blade. “Glad to see you’re still alive.”

  “Ha!” said Aegeus. “It will take more than the rabble of the Confessor’s orcs to take me down!” He peered at Calliande, and she saw the blue eyes blinking behind his bronze helmet. The Sight also revealed the aura of elemental power around him. She suspected that he was the once who had been throwing spears of ice. “And it seems you have found new friends.”

  “Yes,” said Tamlin. “But we can discuss that later. Right now, there’s a battle to be won.”

  But they were already winning it. The Confessor’s orcs had been certain of victory, but the battle had turned against them. Already Calliande saw their morale collapsing, saw them fleeing northwest to Castra Chaeldon. She wanted to urge the hoplites to pursue. Every orc who escaped would be another orc they had to fight atop the walls of the castra. But the human soldiers were exhausted, and the orcs might have enough wit left to organize an ambush in the hills.

  No, better to let them go for now.

  Calliande turned as a flash of fire caught her eye. Someone was throwing bolts of elemental fire into the orcs. To her surprise, it was a young woman in bronze armor like that worn by Tamlin and Aegeus, though crafted to fit her smaller frame, fire dancing around her fingers as she called magic. It seemed the Order of the Arcanii enrolled women, just as the Magistri did in Andomhaim.

  Fire flashed again, and Calliande saw a dark-haired man in blue armor, a gray cloak streaming from his shoulders, a blue sword in his right hand and a staff of odd ridged wood in his left hand. Twin soulstones burned in the sword, and she saw the bonds of power that let the soulblade make its bearer faster and stronger.

  Relief, overwhelming relief, surged through Calliande, and she started to run to him.

  “Ridmark!”

  ###

  Ridmark heard his name and turned.

  A woman in a dusty, tattered green dress ran towards him, a wooden staff in her left hand. Her blond hair was tied back in a ragged tail, and her lovely face had a drawn look to it, as if she had just suffered a grave illness. Her blue eyes were bloodshot and tired, with dark rings under them, but her face lit up as she saw him, and…

  It was Calliande.

  Ridmark hurried towards her as the orcs fled the valley, and she slammed into him with enough force that he almost fell over, her arms curling tight around his back.

  “Oh, God,” said Calliande. “Oh, God, Ridmark. I was so frightened that I would never see you again.”

  He nodded, too overcome to speak, and for a moment everything was all right.

  Then he saw the dried blood on her left shoulder.

  “Are the children with you?” said Ridmark.

  Calliande closed her eyes, an echo of the grief that had tormented her over the last several months going over her face. “They’re alive. But the orcs took them. They’re in Castra Chaeldon, Ridmark.”

  She looked at him with apprehension, perhaps fearing that he would explode in anger or grief.

  But he did neither. Not often in life did a man have absolute certainty about the proper course of action, but Ridmark did now.

  “Then we’re going to get them back,” said Ridmark.

  Chapter 13: Reunion

  Tamlin wasn’t sure what to do next.

  Sir Tyromon Amphilus had commanded the relief column, and Sir Tyromon had been an experienced knight and Companion of the King, respected by his men for his judgment and bravery. Unfortunately, Lord Ridmark said that Tyromon had been slain in the ambush, and his second in command had died as well.

  That meant no one was left in command of the survivors.

  At first, that hadn’t been a problem. Lady Calliande had taken charge, demanding to be taken to the wounded. The hoplites had reacted with bemusement, but bemusement had quickly turned to amazement as Calliande healed a soldier who otherwise would have died of his wounds. After that, both the hoplites and the Arcanius Knights had been eager to obey her, and Calliande saved a score of men who might otherwise have succumbed to their wounds. Lord Ridmark’s sword also seemed to grant him some limited healing abilities, though not as powerful as Calliande’s, and he helped her with the wounded.

  Tamlin felt a flicker of unease as he thought of Ridmark Arban.

  He had almost made a very serious mistake. Even without magic, Ridmark would have been a formidable warrior, old enough that he had a great deal of experience, but not yet old enough that his strength had deserted him. For that matter, he clearly was an expert swordsman, and while Tamlin did not lack fo
r self-confidence, he wasn’t sure if he could take Ridmark in a straight fight.

  But with that blue sword, the weapon he called Oathshield…

  That sword was powerful. Perhaps even as strong as one of the Seven themselves. Tamlin sensed the power of the thing whenever he drew near. The sword was somehow alive, and he suspected it would react with fury whenever it encountered dark magic. It granted enhanced strength and speed to Ridmark, and it transformed the Shield Knight into a terror on the battlefield. He had cut his way through the orcs, and none of them had been able to touch them.

  And Tamlin had attempted to seduce this man’s wife?

  God and the saints!

  He said a silent prayer of thanks that Calliande was a woman of strong probity. Sir Aegeus and Michael had always warned Tamlin that his womanizing would get him in trouble someday, and it very nearly had.

  He put aside the thought. Right now, they had more urgent problems.

  Specifically, what they would do next.

  Sir Tyromon and his officers were dead, and there was no one left to command the survivors. Calliande and Ridmark had gone off together a short distance away and were speaking in quiet, urgent voices. Probably they were discussing what to do about their kidnapped children.

  “Perhaps we should withdraw back to Aenesium,” said Sir Aegeus.

  Tamlin shook off his thoughts and forced himself to pay attention.

  He stood with three others. Sir Aegeus, his closest friend in the Order of the Arcanii, stood on his left. Aegeus had pulled of his helm, his red hair jagged with sweat, his broad face ruddy with exertion and heat. Next to him stood Sir Parmenio, the most senior of the other Arcanius Knights among the survivors, a thin man with a tired, worn face. By right, he should have taken command, but he had refused. He was a brave fighter but preferred to have someone tell him what to do.