Sevenfold Sword: Champion

by Jonathan Moeller

Kalussa blinked again. “Why?”

  “Because,” said Tamlin in a quiet voice, “if Archaelon realizes that he holds the children of the Shield Knight and the Keeper, he will use them as leverage.”

  “Oh,” said Kalussa. “I hadn’t realized that.”

  “The gamemasters of the dark elves in Urd Maelwyn were fond of such tactics,” said Tamlin.

  “I can imagine,” said Ridmark. “But to be blunt, Oathshield and Lady Calliande’s magic are the biggest advantages we have. Archaelon was one of you. He knows your tactics and abilities, and the Maledictus with him will be familiar with the men of Owyllain. Neither one of them will know of the Shield Knight or the Keeper, and it is much harder to prepare a defense against a foe you do not understand. The less Archaelon and the Maledictus know about us, the better. Are we agreed?”

  The others agreed. What Ridmark left unsaid, Calliande knew, was the possibility of a spy or a traitor among the hoplites and other knights. Or even the risk of Archaelon taking a prisoner and learning the truth of his new enemies.

  “My second condition,” said Ridmark. “If I am to be in command…then I will be in command. You will obey me. If I want something done, you will do it. I will listen to your counsel and any thoughts you might have. But in the end, you will do as I say. Is that understood?”

  Tamlin and Aegeus frowned but nodded. Kalussa looked at Ridmark with warm approval. With more warmth than Calliande would have liked, to be honest.

  “An army must have only one captain,” said Parmenio. “These conditions seem reasonable to me.”

  “Then you all consent?” said Ridmark.

  Kalussa and the other Arcanii agreed.

  “Very well,” said Ridmark. “Then come. We have a lot of work to do.”

  Chapter 14: Battle Plan

  Ridmark Arban, Tamlin realized, was not a man to waste time.

  He strode towards the hoplites, shouting for them to gather together. Calliande followed him, and Tamlin, Aegeus, Kalussa, and Parmenio followed her. The hoplites gathered together, their decurions in front.

  “Listen to me!” called Ridmark. He did have a commander’s voice, loud enough to reach the ears of his soldiers. “My name is Ridmark Arban, the Shield Knight of Andomhaim.” A murmur went up from the men, and Ridmark kept speaking. “I regret to say that your commander Sir Tyromon Amphilus is dead. I found him upon the road beneath the banner, mortally wounded.” He lifted a sheathed bronze sword. “Sir Tyromon asked me to take this sword back to King Hektor, and to warn him of Archaelon’s treachery.”

  Silence fell over the hoplites.

  “But I think it would be better,” said Ridmark, “if we brought Sir Tyromon’s sword back along with the head of Archaelon and control of Castra Chaeldon. I mean to kill Archaelon, take back the fortress, and free the captives he has taken.”

  Silence answered him. Then one of the decurions, a grizzled veteran named Rallios, stepped forward. Tamlin knew the man. He had been a hoplite of Aenesium for nearly fifteen years and had risen to the highest rank that a commoner could achieve.

  “Then you mean to take command of the men, Lord Ridmark?” said Rallios.

  “I do,” said Ridmark. “What is your name?”

  Rallios shifted, as if bracing himself for an attack. Perhaps he thought Ridmark would try to make an example of him. “Rallios, my lord. Decurion of the Third Phalanx of Aenesium.”

  “I am a foreigner, a stranger to your realm,” said Ridmark, “so you are probably wondering why should listen to a damned thing I have to say.”

  Some of the hoplites chuckled.

  “Begging your pardon, lord,” said Rallios, “but I was wondering just that.”

  “He is in command because we say he is in command,” said Kalussa. Her royal imperiousness was on full display. “Sir Tyromon is dead, and someone must lead us.”

  “I will only say this,” said Ridmark. “I am the Shield Knight of Andomhaim, and Lady Calliande is the Keeper of Andomhaim. We are both sworn to defend our realm against dark magic. Well, the trickster Rhodruthain of Cathair Animus evidently thought to use us as weapons against dark magic, for he took both Lady Calliande and me from Andomhaim and brought us here against our will.” Ridmark drew his soulblade, the soulstones flashing, and turned his hard blue gaze over the men. “But our oaths still hold, even if we are in a distant land. We might be foreigners here, but you are still our sundered cousins. This sword was forged to destroy creatures of dark magic, and I intend to use it against Archaelon and his servants.”

  “It has the power to do so,” said Kalussa. “We were attacked by urvaalgs on our way here. Six of the beasts, no doubt drawn by Archaelon’s necromancy. We should have been slain, but Lord Ridmark slew the beasts.”

  “You helped,” said Ridmark. Tamlin wondered why he had said that, and then he realized the cleverness of it. Kalussa Pendragon had a reputation for both fearlessness and speaking her mind, and had never been known to dissemble on any topic. If she was willing to speak in favor of Ridmark…

  “But not, I fear, by very much,” said Kalussa. “All I did was distract some of the urvaalgs, but Lord Ridmark was able to kill them with single blows from his sword. It usually takes a team of Arcanius Knights to overcome a pack of urvaalgs. If his sword could do that against something as powerful as an urvaalg, imagine what it could do to Archaelon’s undead or even his Champion.”

  Tamlin decided to strengthen her argument. “And you saw the power of Lady Calliande’s magic as well.” Kalussa started to glare at him, and then her face returned to calm once she realized that Tamlin agreed with her. “Not just the healing magic, without which many men would now be dead, myself among them. One spell from her knocked over the Confessor’s orcs like toy soldiers.”

  Calliande said nothing, simply watching the hoplites, the worn wooden staff in her left hand. Despite her dust-stained clothes, she looked regal, almost queenly. Perhaps the Keeper of Andomhaim found herself leading men into battle on a regular basis.

  “Well, then,” said Rallios. He pulled off his helmet and raked a hand through sweaty gray hair. “If you’re going to lead us…what do you command?”

  “Before we do anything,” said Ridmark, “I want you to tell me what happened at the ambush.”

  Rallios blinked. “Surely you’ve heard it from the Knights.”

  “Aye, but I want to hear it from you,” said Ridmark. “You likely have more experience than most of the men here, and you cannot defeat an enemy unless you first understand him.”

  “That’s so,” said Rallios. He thought for a moment. “God and the saints, it feels like an eternity, but it’s only been since yesterday morning.” He shook his head and started speaking. “We were marching up the road to Castra Chaeldon, escorting the scutians and the wagons. Sir Tyromon thought we would have been to the castra by yesterday afternoon. Then we saw Sir Archaelon. He was standing on a hill overlooking the road, and he called out for us to surrender in the name of the Confessor. Said that Castra Chaeldon was his now and that if we were wise, we would submit to him. Sir Tyromon refused, and then the Confessor’s orcs attacked from the gullies on either side of the road. It was hard fighting, but we would have held them off…”

  He trailed off at the grim memory.

  “If not for what?” said Ridmark.

  “That monster of his, the thing he calls the Champion,” said Rallios. “I’ve been fighting in the War of the Seven since I was a lad, and I’ve fought foes and monsters of every sort, but I’ve never seen a thing like this, sir. It stood twelve feet tall, and it looked as if it had been stitched together out of rotting corpses. Don’t get me wrong, sir, the Confessor’s fond of his undead, and I’ve fought against the Necromancer of Trojas’s raiders, but neither one of them ever created a monster like this.”

  “It was a formidable foe,” said Ridmark.

  “It was covered in bronze,” said Rallios. “Raw plates of unfinished bronze just grafted to the creature. Heavier than any living creature coul
d bear, I think. We could not penetrate its armor, and even when we landed blows into the armor’s gaps, it did nothing to the creature. How can one kill something that is already dead?” He shook his head. “That was the turning point of the battle. We could not stand against the Champion’s attacks, and the Confessor’s orcs poured through the breaks in our lines. We were driven back into the hills, forced to abandon the supply wagons. The other decurions and I managed to rally some of the men. Thought we had no choice but to retreat to Aenesium and tell the King what had happened. But the orcs wouldn’t let us go, and we found ourselves forced to a battle here.” Rallios shrugged. “Then you and Sir Tamlin and Lady Calliande and Lady Kalussa arrived. You know the rest, I think.”

  “I do,” said Ridmark.

  “So, then,” said Rallios. “What will you command us to do next?”

  Ridmark said nothing, his face distant, his fingers tapping against the bamboo staff in his left hand. Tamlin wondered why he carried such a useless thing. As a walking stick, maybe? Surely, he wouldn’t use the staff as a weapon. There was no way a man with a staff could ever defeat a skilled swordsman.

  “The first thing,” said Ridmark, “is to make sure the orcs don’t take us unawares. At least half of them escaped the fighting here, and they’ll run right back to Castra Chaeldon. Likely they’re already telling Archaelon what happened. By the time Archaelon decides to strike back, we need to be gone from here. Is there another defensible location nearby? Someplace we can reach quickly?”

  “A hilltop about two miles east of here, Lord Ridmark,” said Parmenio. “The sides are steep, but the hilltop is large enough that our men can rest there quite comfortably.”

  “Good,” said Ridmark. “We’ll start heading in that direction. We’ll also need some scouts, men familiar with the local countryside. If you’ve been fighting your enemies in these hills for centuries, someone here must be familiar with them.”

  “I am,” said Parmenio. “I hunted these hills as a boy before my magic manifested and I joined the Order.”

  Ridmark nodded. “Decurion Rallios, do you have any good hunters among your men?”

  “About a dozen, I think,” said Rallios. “Probably close to fifteen once I speak with the other decurions.”

  “Good.” Ridmark pointed at Parmenio. “You’re now in charge of the scouts. Get them patrolling the terrain north of here. If Archaelon’s forces come for us again, I want to be ready.”

  “It will be done,” said Parmenio.

  “Sir Tamlin,” said Ridmark. Tamlin blinked, surprised. “I want you to take fifty men and head down the road to the south. Not all the carts were looted and burned, and even the muridach scavengers couldn’t have taken everything. We’ll need every bit of food and water for the days ahead. Archaelon is planning something in seven days, and we will stop him by then.”

  No one said anything for a few moments.

  “Any suggestions?” said Ridmark.

  “You heard the Lord Ridmark,” snapped Rallios to his men. “We’ve got work to do.”

  ###

  Kalussa Pendragon was not quite sure what to make of Calliande Arban.

  She stayed near the Keeper of Andomhaim as the bulk of the hoplite force climbed out of the valley, crossed the road, and headed east. Ridmark had increased the number of men with Tamlin Thunderbolt from fifty to one hundred, telling them to take as many supplies as they could carry and to hurry. Kalussa knew the hill that Parmenio had chosen, and she thought it a good choice. It was large enough to hold the surviving hoplites, steep enough that an enemy force would have a hard climb, and high enough that they would have a wide view of the surrounding countryside.

  In fact, they might be able to see all the way to Castra Chaeldon itself.

  They crossed the road and headed east. Ridmark was deep in conversation with Sir Aegeus and Rallios. Kalussa did not much care for Aegeus. He was too blustery, and much like Sir Tamlin was entirely too fond of the sound of his own voice. Rallios, though, was a steady man. He had been a hoplite of Aenesium for years, had fought in every single one of her father’s campaigns against the other bearers of the Seven Swords, to say nothing of opportunistic dvargir and kobold and muridach raiders. Frankly, her father ought to have made Rallios a knight and a Companion years ago.

  But she feared her father did not often listen to her.

  For now, Kalussa’s attention was on Calliande.

  She was an attractive woman, Kalussa decided, but the marks of her recent strain were obvious. The Keeper kept a mask of aloof serenity in place, but from time to time a faint wince went over her face as they climbed the hills. She was tired, that was plain, but she refused to show it. Kalussa found that admirable.

  She decided not to speak of her conversation with Ridmark to Calliande. Lord Ridmark had told Kalussa about his grief, and she would honor his trust. Ridmark had refused her, of course…but just because he had refused once did not mean that he would not change his mind in the future.

  Still. Ridmark obviously adored his wife. She had given him two sons, after all. And the relief on Ridmark’s face when he had found her had made him look much less harsh. Best to stay on good terms with Calliande, then. Alienating Ridmark’s wife would just as quickly alienate him.

  That and Kalussa was certain that in terms of magical strength, Calliande could crush her like an insect if she happened to feel like it.

  “Is something amiss?” said Calliande.

  Kalussa realized that she had been staring for too long and rebuked herself.

  “Actually, I have a question,” said Kalussa.

  “Certainly,” said Calliande. “Ask.”

  How are you married with two sons?

  A wave of fierce envy rolled through Kalussa, so strong that it surprised her. Maybe it shouldn’t have. Ever since she had been a child, Kalussa had been certain of what she wanted. She wanted to marry and have sons and daughters of her own, to be the mistress of her own household. Perhaps she would wed one of the Companions of the King, a bold knight, or maybe a wealthy merchant or one of the Arcanius Knights.

  Instead, her power had manifested, and she had been enrolled as one of the Sisters of the Order. Kalussa had realized that her father had sired her not out of love or even simple desire for her mother, but out of necessity to father more children with the power of the Swordborn. Kalussa understood the demands of war, understood that her powers were needed, that her father had a reason for discouraging suitors from seeking her out.

  But, God and the saints, she hated it.

  “What kind of magic allows you to heal like that?” said Kalussa instead. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “The power is drawn from the Well of Tarlion,” said Calliande. “I would teach you the healing spell, you and the other Arcanii, but it requires a link to the Well to summon the necessary magic.”

  “I do not recall hearing about the Well of Tarlion in the old histories,” said Kalussa. She had always thought that Tarlion had been destroyed long ago, that it was a thing of ancient history. It was strange to realize that it still existed on the far side of the ocean.

  “Likely because none of our mutual ancestors knew it existed,” said Calliande. “My predecessors in the office of the Keeper knew that the Well was in the center of the Tower of the Moon, and they knew that it had great magical power, but they had no idea how to access it. When the Keeper went to Cathair Solas to appeal to Ardrhythain, he unlocked the Well and founded the Magistri.”

  “Magistri?” said Kalussa, searching her memory for the word. Sometimes the differences in the Latin that she spoke and the Latin that Calliande and Ridmark spoke were subtle, no doubt due to five centuries of separation. But she thought the word “Magistrius” meant teacher or instructor.

  “The Order of the Magistri,” said Calliande. “Human wizards who can draw on the magic of the Well. They use the power of the Well to heal, to ward, to learn, and to attack creatures of dark magic, but the magic of the Well will not harm a
living mortal.”

  “Really?” said Kalussa. “Then what use are they in war? No, that was a foolish question. If they can heal and protect against creatures of dark magic, then they would be of immense use. Perhaps if we had the aid of the Magistri, we might not have spent centuries warring against the Sovereign and his creatures.”

  “Perhaps not,” said Calliande. “With the aid of the Swordbearers and the Magistri Andomhaim defeated the urdmordar, dark elven princes, orcish hordes, and the Frostborn twice.” She shook her head. “But it has also given us a temptation to seek forbidden power. That almost destroyed the realm.”

  Kalussa pondered that. “Perhaps Archaelon fell prey to the same temptation.”

  “Most likely,” said Calliande. “I fear a lust for power beats in every human heart, man and woman alike. To give into that temptation invites destruction.”

  “Though given our war against the Sovereign,” said Kalussa, “it is a pity that Owyllain does not have a Well of its own.”

  Calliande gave her a sharp look. “What did you say?”

  Kalussa felt discomfort under that keen blue stare. Ridmark’s eyes were cold and hard, but Calliande’s gaze reminded her of a sharp-eyed hunting hawk. “I just wondered why Owyllain doesn’t have its own Well.”

  “Maybe it does,” said Calliande. “Ardrhythain mentioned other Wells once.” She thought for a moment, and then that sharp stare turned back to Kalussa. “Lady Kalussa. Can I ask you something?”

  Kalussa felt a twinge of fear. Suddenly she was certain, absolutely certain, that Calliande would ask her if she had kissed Ridmark. It wouldn’t matter that Ridmark had all but shoved Kalussa to the ground to stop her. Calliande would explode with fury, directing all that magical wrath towards Kalussa, and…

  “Have you ever heard anyone use the phrase ‘the New God?’” said Calliande.

  Kalussa blinked, taken off-guard. “I’m sorry?”

  “The New God is coming,” said Calliande. “Or that the New God is rising?”

  Kalussa shook her head. “I haven’t. There is only one God. The Warlords of the orcish cities each worship one of the old blood gods. The muridachs have their Lord of Carrion, and the kobolds and the xiatami have their own gods as well. The Sovereign had his armies worship him as a god, and the Maledicti were his priests. But I’ve never heard anyone talk about a New God.”