Sword's Call

by C. A. Szarek

  The deep red of North Ascova was woven in with the navy blue of South Ascova and present in Paxton’s breeches and tunic, as well as his double-colored gauntlets. His naturally golden skin and dark eyes were typical of Ascovans, though he was a bit pale, owing both to age and their present circumstances.

  By donning both colors, the duke represented a unified front of his once-shattered Province. Paxton, oldest of the three men, but also a man Nathal had long considered a good friend, also had his eyes glued on Tarvis below them.

  “Do you think my Tristan was able to accomplish his goals, my liege?” Dugald asked, taking Nathal from thoughts of his companions and their vast histories together.

  “Let us hope so.” Nathal nodded for effect. He hadn’t received any word from the lad in more than a sevenday.

  Dugald was worried about his youngest son, and admittedly, so was Nathal.

  “Yes, or our children shall never see their wedding,” Lord Gallard said.

  His youngest daughter, Aimil, had been betrothed to Tristan Dagget from the cradle.

  Nathal could remember signing the agreement as though it was only yesterday. Both third born.

  “My Aimil has had her heart set on him for quite some time,” Paxton said with a small smile the king was able to mirror.

  Arranged marriages were quite common, but it was much better when some love went along with the bond. King Nathal himself was not embarrassed to be widely known to adore his queen. “I hope we can get Tristan out of this alive so he will not disappoint his young bride.”

  Young Lady Gallard was one of his Riders. Ranked Senior, like Cera, and one of his best archers, as well.

  “I have faith in my son,” Dugald said.

  “Aye, Dugald, as do I—else I never would’ve allowed his undertaking of this task, no matter how close he was to Falor.” Nathal tried to smile at him.

  Something flickered in Dugald’s hazel eyes, but was soon gone. The tall duke was once again battle-ready, looking down at Tarvis along with his companions. He was a good man, adored by all five of his children.

  Not as close to either Paxton or Dugald as Nathal had been to Falor and was to Everett, he could still rely on both dukes. Neither had hesitated when he’d called upon them. Both meant more to Nathal than merely their positions as leaders of two of his Provinces. They were good men, who loved their families and never failed to do what was right. And putting Varthan down was more than right.

  Hoof beats pounded toward them.

  Nathal turned Destroyer, hand on the hilt of his sword, his two companions following suit. He didn’t relax until he recognized the buckskin mare heading toward them at a speed that made his mount shift nervously. Patting Destroyer’s neck, he felt powerful muscles ripple under his fingertips.

  Another pang hit. Murdoch should have been riding toward them on a huge black stallion, long red hair flying.

  “Your Majesty, my lords,” Sir Leargan Tegran said, inclining his head when his mare had reached them.

  One of Nathal’s personal guard, Leargan was an adequate fill-in for his longtime friend. He was very fond of the dark-haired young man, who’d been raised in his castle’s household as a ward, brought up destined for a knighthood—which the lad had achieved two turns ago.

  Nathal had kept Leargan close to his side since they’d left Terraquist.

  Rather un-king like, but Nathal had ranted about Murdoch’s absence the day they had prepared to leave. His captain had been gone for most of the sevenday.

  Even if Nathal had sent his fastest messenger to retrieve him, Murdoch and his men couldn’t have gotten back in time.

  He’d had to leave without him.

  Murdoch would hate missing this mission. He’d never been fond of Varthan, even before he’d betrayed Nathal.

  “Leargan. What news have you?” Nathal asked.

  “Myself and two others have checked the Province. It’s as Lord Lenore’s messenger reported. They’ve successfully evacuated the entire Province.”

  “Were you intercepted?” Paxton asked.

  “No, milord.” Leargan inclined his head to the Duke of Ascova.

  “What did you see?” Dugald asked.

  Leargan looked to the king for permission, and Nathal nodded.

  “We didn’t travel beyond the gates of Castle Lenore, but from what we were able to see of the courtyard, Lord Lenore’s guard did not survive.” Leargan’s dark eyes widened, his young face flushed and he squared his mail-covered shoulders. Emotions flickered across his face. The seal of Terraquist—a fierce lion surrounded by a bright blue shield painted on the knight’s chest plate—caught Nathal’s eye. If the lion could have roared in agony, he would have.

  Pure anguish threatened to overtake Nathal. His stomach roiled, he sucked in air. He’d known each and every one of Everett’s men. He’d trained them, shaped them, and even appointed at least two of the knights to Everett’s personal guard. Like all his knights, he viewed them as his children.

  Their murders made Varthan’s betrayal hurt all the more.

  “Bring my mages,” Nathal ordered, his tone rough.

  Leargan nodded curtly as their gazes locked. “Right away, your Highness.”

  Paxton let out a litany of curses. “What of Everett himself?”

  “We’ll find out, Paxton, but instinct tells me if Varthan has Falor’s daughter, Everett and Emeralda are alive.” Nathal made eye contact with his friend.

  The lord’s dark eyes went black, his naturally golden skin paling. “Let us hope Lady Ryhan is also alive.”

  “Oh, of that, I have no doubt.” Nathal gave a small smile.

  Even as a small child, Ceralda Ryhan had been a spitfire. Nathal was proud to have her as a member of his Riders. She had a wide variety of skills to her credit.

  “There are no guarantees,” Dugald said. “We never thought he’d go after Falor and his family.”

  Nathal nodded reluctantly. “Aye, but I can guarantee that Varthan will not live to see the gallows. He will be a casualty of this battle.” Both his companions nodded, and Nathal’s grip on Destroyer’s reins tightened. Although he could not see them, his knuckles were white inside his Terraquist-blue gauntlets. He forced himself to relax his grip and turned, once again, at the sound of approaching hoof beats.

  Leargan led two other riders.

  Nathal was quick to recognize two of the four mages with them. Rory Leodin, most powerful of the four, sat on a black stallion and inclined his head to the king and two lords.

  His strawberry blond hair shifted in the light breeze, his light green eyes keen with interest. Both the colors were a contrast to those of Terraquist blue that covered him from head to foot.

  Between him and Leargan sat Edana, Rory’s twin sister, and the only female mage in Nathal’s entourage. She was a dainty little thing with bright red-orange hair and big, dark green eyes. She looked even smaller astride her huge red roan stallion, but Nathal had no concerns about her abilities as either a horse master or as a mage. The cape around her thin shoulders was also the bright blue of Terraquist, but her tunic and breeches were black, the color Nathal had most often seen her in.

  The siblings were half-elfin and had come to Nathal seeking protection from some rustics, most likely outlaws, trying to kill them just because of their heritage. That had been ten long turns ago, when they were small children. The king had been happy to shelter them, and ended up keeping them in his service when their talents had been discovered. Fortunately, they’d agreed to stay in Terraquist. They were both valuable members of his army.

  Edana had keen senses, even sharper than her brother’s.

  Nathal turned to her first to gauge her reaction of the scene below them. He made eye contact with her as she smiled, sitting taller in her saddle and tucking an errant strand of bright hair behind her long, tapered ear.

  “I sense very little magic at work right now, my liege. However, there are very powerful magical beings
inside the castle . . . not all bad.”

  “Tristan is there,” Nathal said.

  “No . . . it’s not only Lord Dagget,” Edana said, her face contorting. She glanced at her brother.

  “I sense him, too,” Rory said, and Edana’s shoulders eased.

  “Who?” Nathal asked, forcing his impatience away.

  “An elf . . .” the siblings said at the same time.

  Nathal exchanged glances with the two lords and met Edana’s unusual emerald eyes, “Evil?”

  “No.” The word was rushed. “More . . . one like us.” Edana looked at her brother, eyes wide. “Also a source of good magic . . .”

  “And I sense an empath . . .” Rory added, cocking his head, confusion written in his expression. “He is not elfin.”

  Edana nodded. “Both very powerful.” She exchanged another look with her brother.

  “Allies?” Dugald asked.

  “They are not evil.” Edana nodded.

  “What of Lady Ryhan?” Paxton asked.

  “I sense her, which means she’s alive,” Edana said. “I cannot tell you more than that. The Lenores are alive, including the heir. I see his magic as well.”

  “Shades?” Nathal asked.

  “There are three . . . but . . .” Edana made a face. She closed her eyes, small chest riding and falling as she relaxed.

  Her brother grasped her arm and shook her in her saddle.

  “Edana, no. He’ll see you,” Rory said.

  She blinked large green eyes and stared. “But that’s the thing,” she whispered, as if she was speaking to herself. “He’s not what he appears to be . . .”

  “Tristan?” Nathal asked.

  “No. Not the healer. The shade,” Edana said, her tone sounding like she didn’t comprehend her own words.

  Nathal sighed, but knew from experience she needed to work it out in her mind before she could present it to him.

  “I’m not afraid he will sense me, brother. He’s not evil.”

  “A shade who is not evil?” Paxton sputtered, disbelief in his tone as he looked over the young half-elf.

  “Yes. Rory?” Edana reached for her brother’s hand.

  Rory smiled and intertwined his fingers with hers.

  Nathal had seen it dozens of times. They were going to probe. The young half-elfin mages had better not get caught.

  He had total confidence in their skill, but Varthan had the best of his collection with him. If a shade with sensitivity to equal Edana’s was inside, she’d better be damned sure he was not evil. Nathal scratched his head. Paxton was right, a non-evil shade was laughable.

  Watching them, Nathal was glad Leargan had brought the twins, instead of Afton and Dagon. Though his other two mages were very skilled, Edana and Rory worked better cohesively.

  Two sets of wide green eyes opened and refocused on their companions.

  Although it was only minutes, Nathal released a sigh and sat taller in his saddle.

  “We remain undetected,” Rory said, expelling his breath. “I don’t think he sensed us, but I agree with my sister: the shade is not evil.”

  “Did you gather any more information?”

  “Yes, Majesty.” Edana looked at her brother so he would continue.

  “Lady Lenore is in her rooms. There’s a spell suppressing her magic and locking her inside. I can break through it easily, even from here, but not without notice. She’s not alone in the room, though I cannot be sure how many are with her. No magic is there. The rest of the magic is in the great hall, including the good magic,” Rory said, each word steadier as he recovered from the probing.

  “That’s all we can sense from here,” Edana finished, wiping sweat from her brow.

  “The good magic is in the great hall?” Nathal asked. “Are they battling?”

  “No. There’s not much magical activity at the moment. The more the magic, the more of a beacon for me to see. That isn’t the case now. I see magical auras, both good and evil. I sense no spells other than the one containing Lady Lenore and, as I’d mentioned, it is not very strong,” Rory said.

  “What of the sword?” Lord Gallard asked.

  “It’s not in the great hall.”

  “I see it elsewhere. I believe it is safe for now,” Edana said.

  Her brother shot her a sharp look.

  Nathal shifted in his saddle. If Rory hadn’t sensed something his sister had, it could be bad news. Especially regarding Falor’s magic sword. “Do you know where it is?”

  “Inside the castle.” Edana’s voice was emphatic.

  “Nothing more specific?” Dugald asked.

  “It’s safe for now,” Edana reiterated, saying nothing more.

  Rory gave her a long look, and then smiled. “Then it is safe.” He looked first at Nathal and then at the two dukes. “Trust my sister, my lords.”

  “You know I do. I trust you both. Implicitly. Thank you.” Nathal inclined his head to his mages.

  The twins nodded understanding at their dismissal. They headed back to the army camp, hidden in a clearing and surrounded by woods.

  “What now, your Highness?” Leargan asked.

  “We attack. I want to look that bastard in the eyes when I run him through,” Nathal growled.

  Leargan gave a brusque nod.

  Nathal had forty-odd men with him, not including the men Dugald and Paxton had brought. Not even that number should be necessary to bring down Varthan and three, no two shades, if the twins’ assessments were correct.

  He’d learned the hard way never to underestimate magic, so he could only pray his men and his four mages were enough. If he had his way, everyone save Varthan and his shades would make it back to their homes alive.

  Nathal couldn’t blindly count on the other sources of good magic his half-elfin mages had sensed in the castle. Perhaps they had unknown allies, but he had to focus on solid facts.

  When word of Falor’s death had reached him, he’d named Lady Ceralda Ryhan the sole heir to Greenwald.

  Immediately.

  Publicly.

  He would not have any of the other lords squabbling for the territory, particularly taking the horror of Ascova from nearly twenty turns ago into consideration. Civil war had split the Province into two, North and South Ascova, though the Gallard family ruled over it all peaceably now. Nathal’s first battle as the king of the continent, he’d barely been out of boyhood.

  Like Ascova had with the Gallards, Greenwald would remain in the Ryhan family, whether Cera decided to marry or not.

  It was Nathal’s rightful place to find a match for her as her king— especially now, since she had no living male blood relative—but he wouldn’t push her into anything she didn’t want, after all she’d been through. If Cera wanted to remain a Senior Rider, Nathal would send someone to hold Greenwald until she felt otherwise. Dugald’s younger brother, Roald, would suffice.

  As the second son, Roald Gallard held a castle in South Ascova, but it wouldn’t take much convincing to move his large family to Greenwald. He could even raise his horses there. The duke’s brother was widely known for his skills as a breeder. Destroyer came from fine Ascovan stock.

  Nathal had contemplated appointing Everett as Cera’s guardian, but she needed no guardian. One and twenty was an acceptable age for an unmarried lady still to have a guardian, but Nathal knew Cera.

  She was strong and independent, and she could run Greenwald on her own if she wished. Nathal would place someone to advise her at Greenwald and make sure Castle Ryhan was fully staffed. He wouldn’t pressure her into much else.

  No forcing her to court or parading suitors in front of her. Nathal owed Falor that much, at least. Perhaps he’d even lend her Leargan to lead her men-at-arms or personal guard. The young knight was more than capable, though he’d miss having him at his side.

  Varthan’s betrayal still stung every time he thought about it, but he’d never be a victim again. All the turns he�
�d disputed—quite publicly—the rumors floating around about brutalities, rapes, kidnappings, and murders at the hands of Varthan disgusted him.

  Nathal had been a fool.

  He’d never forgive himself; wouldn’t blame Cera if she held him responsible for the death of her family . . . Falor . . . beautiful Evie and their younger daughter.

  Falor had worked to convince him of Varthan’s black heart.

  Nathal regretted not heeding his friend. His heart ached. He should’ve listened the first time the Duke of Greenwald had begged Nathal to look more closely at Varthan’s doings.

  If he had, maybe Falor wouldn’t have taken it all on himself, ultimately causing the bastard to target his family.

  When he’d been exposed and punished, Varthan had taken being stripped of his lands and title as a personal affront at Falor’s hands. If Nathal had listened just three months prior to what Falor had been trying to convince him of, the duke and his family might still be alive.

  Heart heavy, Nathal sighed. It was too late now. Falor was gone and all the regret in the world wouldn’t change it.

  So he had to take the next step to be rid of the problem. It was the only way he could make things up to Cera. And to the rest of her family, Blessed Spirit rest their souls.

  “I’m sorry I believed you too late, my friend,” Nathal whispered.

  Perhaps Falor would hear and forgive him, wherever the afterlife had taken him.

  “Did you say something, Majesty?” Leargan asked.

  Nathal met his dark brown eyes, smiling when he saw the concern there. “Just feeling sorry for myself, lad.”

  One corner of Leargan’s mouth lifted. “It won’t be much longer now, Highness.”

  “Aye, I know it.”

  When they rejoined the small army, Nathal sent Leargan to ready the men so he could address them. Efforts would be specifically coordinated.

  He’d split them into four groups; each guarded by a mage upon their approach, so they’d be protected by magic and take the castle by surprise.

  Nathal didn’t expect real resistance until they made it inside.

  A magical assault worried him more than swordplay.