“Let us drink,” said Tamlin, “to Aegeus, and Tirdua, and Tysia. And…”
“To those we have lost,” said Ridmark.
“Yes,” said Tamlin. “That will do.”
They tapped the cups together and drank.
“You’re drunk,” said Ridmark.
“Yes,” said Tamlin. “Yes, I most certainly am drunk.”
“Are you all right?” said Ridmark.
“No, I am not,” said Tamlin. “I saw my best friend die, and my wife die again, and I just found out my mother might have been alive for the last ten years.” He hesitated. “But…the drinking won’t be a problem, Lord Ridmark. Not once we leave. Not another drop. If…I can find Tysia again, or Tirdua again, I need to be sharp. I need to be at my best.”
“Not hungover,” said Ridmark.
“No.” Tamlin took another drink and refilled his cup. “I’ve fought while hungover before, but God I didn’t enjoy it. Aegeus did, though. Nothing bothered Aegeus. I…”
He trailed off.
“God damn Khurazalin to hell,” said Tamlin. “He killed my wife twice, and he killed Aegeus.”
“We’ll find him again,” said Ridmark. “The next time he comes for us, we’ll deal with him.”
“And then he’ll just thrust his rotting soul into another body and live again,” said Tamlin.
“Maybe,” said Ridmark. “Then we’ll kill him again. And perhaps your mother will have the knowledge of how to kill the Maledicti so they stay dead, or perhaps the seventh shard will know.”
“Tysia,” said Tamlin. “Or Tirdua. Or whatever her name will be now.” He rubbed his face. “I failed her twice, Ridmark. I can’t fail her again. I can’t.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” said Ridmark.
Tamlin snorted. “Wasn’t it?”
“You couldn’t have saved Tysia at Urd Maelwyn,” said Ridmark. “And you couldn’t have saved Tirdua at the Blue Castra. She knew the risks of facing Taerdyn, just as Theseus did. Just as we all did. And believe me, Tamlin. I know all about blaming myself for a death I couldn’t have prevented. It is not a path upon which you want to walk.”
“Maybe you’re right,” said Tamlin.
“No,” said Ridmark. “I am right. And consider this. Tysia’s story has been going on since long before you met your wife.”
Tamlin frowned. “What do you mean?”
“If she’s lived seven lives, you’ve only seen two of them,” said Ridmark. “Something happened to split her into those seven lives, something that happened before you were even born, I would wager. Your mother must have known the secret. Else why would she have taken Tysia to the monastery with you? No. This has been going on for a long time. If Tysia or Tirdua has died six times already, you weren’t even there for four of those deaths. If you want to help the seventh shard, you need to be ready.”
“Yes,” said Tamlin. “Yes, by God, you’re right!” He stood, tossed back his head, drank the rest of the wine, and threw aside the cup. “We’re going to find her again. We’re going to keep her safe, defeat the New God, and…”
He staggered to the left, doubled over, and vomited up all the wine he had just drunk.
Ridmark got to his feet and caught Tamlin before he fell over.
“I think, Sir Tamlin,” said Ridmark, “we can do all that tomorrow after you’ve slept it off.”
“That is sound counsel, sir,” croaked Tamlin, wiping his mouth. “And no wine once we’re on the road.
“No more wine starting right now,” said Ridmark.
Tamlin blinked, dry-heaved for a moment, and then nodded. “That is also sound counsel.”
Chapter 5: Sorcery of the Dark Elves
Calliande sat cross-legged on the bed she shared with Ridmark, her muscles relaxed, her breathing slow and steady.
Her attention, both that of her mind and her magic, rested upon the bracelet adorning her left wrist.
Calliande never wore much jewelry, save for formal occasions that required it. She spent so much time healing wounds, and healing wounds was often a messy, bloody business. Cleaning jewelry would have been a waste of time. For that matter, she had spent most of her life traveling, and jewelry was just one more thing to collect dust and sweat.
But she had worn the bracelet ever since Third had brought it to her.
The bracelet had been wrought of steel but was nonetheless delicate and slender. It was adorned with pale crystals, and Calliande felt the potent magic flowing through it. Her apprentice Antenora had wrought it, and between her knowledge of metallurgy and her gifts with fire magic, Antenora had fashioned a magical item of surpassing power.
Calliande sent her Sight into the bracelet, focusing upon the spells bound within it.
And those spells took her Sight and sent it hurtling northward.
Oceans and mountains and deserts and forests blurred before her Sight, and then she saw the city of Tarlion sitting by the mouth of the River Moradel, the Citadel rising on its crag, the ancient walls ringing the city fortified with potent warding spells. The Sight hurtled towards the spire of the Tower of the Keeper and then dipped towards the woods that surrounded the base of the Tower.
Antenora walked there, clad in a blue gown with rich black scrollwork on the sleeves and bodice. Her hair, long and black and curly, hung loosely down her shoulders and back, and her blue eyes were distant with thought. In her right hand, she carried a long black staff carved with sigils, and from time to time one of the sigils gave off a flickering yellow-orange glow.
She wore a bracelet identical to Calliande’s upon her left wrist.
“Antenora?” said Calliande.
Or, rather, she thought it, and the power of the bracelet and the Sight conveyed her words across the miles. It was a strange sensation.
“Keeper?” said Antenora, lifting her face to look at the sky. Her voice was soft and throaty and strong.
“Yes,” said Calliande. “It is good to see you. Is there any news from Andomhaim?”
“Nothing of note, I am pleased to say,” said Antenora. “The realm is still at peace. The khaldjari in the Northerland have launched raids, as have the medvarth tribes near Nightmane Forest, but they did little enough harm.” She smiled. “Gavin has been teaching Philip to use a wooden sword.”
“I imagine he has taken to it with enthusiasm,” said Calliande. She missed Tarlion, and Antenora, and Gavin, and their children, and the friends she had made throughout the city.
“He has,” said Antenora. “Rather enthusiastically.” Her smile faded. “I have not yet received word back from Khald Tormen on my inquiries about Khald Meraxur and its master smiths. One of the stonescribes remembered a young master smith who had a great deal of interest in the forging techniques of Khald Meraxur and thought he might know more.”
“Anything you can find would be most helpful, Antenora,” said Calliande. “The mystery around the Seven Swords seems to only deepen the more we study it. Anything you can learn will be valuable.”
“I will do what I can,” said Antenora. “If there is any lore of these Seven Swords in Andomhaim or its neighbors, I shall find it.” She hesitated. “I did hear one tale from a stonescribe, though I am uncertain of its value.”
“I would like to hear it,” said Calliande. “With a mystery like this, it is hard to tell what might be of value.”
“From what the stonescribe told me,” said Antenora, shifting her staff to her other hand, “the master smiths of Khald Meraxur could produce the finest adamant steel of any of the ancient nine kingdoms of the dwarves. Consequently, the blades they produced for the royal house of Khald Meraxur were among the best swords ever forged by the dwarves.”
“Yes,” said Calliande. Antenora had mentioned that the last time they had spoken. The Seven Swords were identical to the royal blades once carried by the ancient kings of Khald Meraxur. “The Sovereign must have taken the knowledge of their forging from Khald Meraxur, or captured some of the city’s master smiths and forced them to sh
are their secrets.”
“The dwarves believed that,” said Antenora. “According to the tale, several of the master smiths of Khald Tormen organized an expedition to Khald Meraxur, believing that the secrets of forging those swords lay within the ruins. Should they fail to find any records, that would be proof that the Sovereign had taken the knowledge for himself, and the expedition resolved to find him.”
“A foolish course,” said Calliande. “If they found the Sovereign, they would regret it. I assume the expedition’s members were all killed?”
“No one knows,” said Antenora. “They left Khald Tormen three centuries ago and never returned. Most probably they perished within Khald Meraxur.”
“That would not surprise me,” agreed Calliande. “Ridmark passed the gate of Khald Meraxur a few years before we met. He said a pair of wyverns had nested just within the gate to the city. A nest of wyverns would make short work of even a large group of dwarves. And if they somehow got past the wyverns, whatever awaited within the ruins of the city might have killed them.”
“Agreed,” said Antenora. “The next time I speak with the stonescribes, perhaps I will be able to learn more. How has Kalussa taken to the magic of the Well?”
“Better than I expected,” said Calliande. “One of our companions, Sir Tamlin, was mortally wounded and infected with a necromantic curse. Kalussa managed to heal him before the curse or the wounds killed him. She just about wrecked her voice during the process, but otherwise, she is well. Her skill with healing spells and wards is growing a great deal.”
“I am pleased,” said Antenora. “Given the amount of strain healing spells place upon you, it is good there is someone else to share the load. Though I suspect you have a more urgent question to ask me.”
“Yes,” said Calliande. “It is an important question, and I need you to answer honestly.”
Antenora looked puzzled, but she nodded. “As you will, Keeper.”
“What do you think of the Masked One of Xenorium?” said Calliande.
Antenora blinked. “The bearer of the Sword of Shadows?”
“Yes,” said Calliande. “Specifically, do you think he is a threat?”
“A threat?” The question seemed to puzzle Antenora. “Certainly, he is a threat. Based on what you have told me of the powers of the Seven Swords, anyone carrying one is a powerful foe. Even a Swordborn is a deadly threat while wielding one of the Seven Swords, due to their irresistible cutting edges.”
Calliande let out a relieved sigh. “Good.”
Antenora raised an eyebrow. “A deadly threat is a good thing?”
“No, it isn’t,” said Calliande. “But we’ve defeated two of the bearers of the Seven Swords, and there are still three left to face – the Confessor, the Guardian Rhodruthain, and the Masked One of Xenorium. Of the three of them, the Confessor is obviously the most dangerous. He has the largest army and all the magical skill of a dark elven noble. Rhodruthain doesn’t have an army and is widely hated in Owyllain for his betrayal of the High King. But the Masked One…every time I try to talk to anyone about the Masked One, every single time, they say the exact same thing.”
“What do they say?” said Antenora.
“The Masked One of Xenorium is no threat to anyone.”
Antenora’s frown deepened. “They all say that? The exact same thing?”
“Those precise words.”
“That,” said Antenora, “is very peculiar.”
“I agree,” said Calliande. “Peculiar, and disturbing. If the Masked One possesses magic that convinced all his enemies that he is no threat to any of them…well, that is dangerous.”
“A man cannot fight an enemy that he doesn’t know exists,” said Antenora. “Or an enemy he believes to be harmless.” Her fingers tapped against the black staff. “Do you know anything about the nature of the magic possessed by the Sword of Shadows? The Swords of Fire, Earth, Air, and Water obviously control elemental magic. The Sword of Death was a font of necromantic power, and I would presume that the Sword of Life has powers of healing. But the Sword of Shadows?”
“I don’t know,” said Calliande. “I assumed it had something to do with the shadow of Incariel. The Sovereign was a dark elven lord, joined to the shadow of Incariel, so perhaps he forged it to channel that shadow. Yet the Sword of Shadows…maybe it refers to a different kind of shadow.”
“Like illusion magic,” said Antenora.
“Or the magic of the mind,” said Calliande. “When I was…ill after Joanna’s death…”
“In mourning,” said Antenora, her voice quiet.
“In mourning,” said Calliande, “it felt like the grief was a shadow upon my mind. Like the sun had been blotted out. Maybe that is the kind of shadow the Masked One’s Sword controls. Not the shadow of Incariel, but shadows that fall upon the mind.”
“Or a mist to cloud the mind,” said Antenora.
“Perhaps,” said Calliande.
“I wonder,” said Antenora. “I have picked up a little of the tongue of the dark elves over the last eight years. And one of their words for ‘shadow’ is the same as one of their words for mist.”
“Truly?” said Calliande. “I didn’t know that.”
“It may be supposition on my part,” said Antenora, “but the word in question referred to a blinding, disorienting mist, or a shadow that blocked the light and made it difficult to see. And in terms of magic, the dark elves used that word most commonly to describe spells of oneiromantic magic.”
“Oneiromancy,” said Calliande. “The magic of manipulating dreams.”
“Yes,” said Antenora. “I recall the story you told me of how the Warden trapped Lord Ridmark and the others within a dream.”
“Yes,” said Calliande. “It was a common torment used by the dark elves.”
“Indeed,” said Antenora. “In the library of the Tower of the Keeper, there is a short book written by one of the former Keepers. It describes the oneiromantic magic the dark elven lords used and discussed methods for defending against it. Perhaps it is possible that the Sword of Shadows was forged to control dreams.”
“That would make sense,” said Calliande. “Maybe the Masked One can use the Sword to implant a...a suggestion, perhaps, while people sleep. Just a whisper. Nothing so obvious as a mind-controlling spell. Instead, a hint that he is no threat to anyone…”
“Leaving the Masked One free to do as he wishes without hindrance,” said Antenora.
“Antenora, could you read that book again?” said Calliande. “I remember reading it during the first war with the Frostborn when I was the Keeper’s apprentice, but that was two and a half centuries ago. I barely remember anything about it.”
“Given that I can barely remember some books I read fifteen centuries ago,” said Antenora in a dry voice, “I quite understand. I will read the book tomorrow and see what can be learned from it.”
“Thank you, Antenora,” said Calliande. “Your aid has already been invaluable. Without that bracer you made for Ridmark, I don’t think we would have been able to overcome Justin Cyros or the Necromancer.”
“I am glad that I was of assistance,” said Antenora. “Though I suspect the real credit lies with Lady Third. I forged the bracer and the bracelet, but Third got them to you.”
Calliande laughed. “We wouldn’t have been able to overcome Justin Cyros or the Necromancer without Third, either.”
“What are your next steps?” said Antenora.
“We’re going to find the seventh shard,” said Calliande, “and then we will free Tamlin’s mother and speak with her. Between the two of them, I hope we can find the keys to unlocking the mystery of the New God.”
Antenora hesitated. “If I may, Keeper, I would like to counsel caution.”
“That seems only sensible,” said Calliande. “Given all the dangers we face, caution is only prudent.”
“I refer rather to Cathala,” said Antenora. “If you do find her and free her, I would advise you to be cautious of her.
”
“Why?” said Calliande.
“Based on what you have told me of her,” said Antenora, “she reminds me of myself as a younger woman.”
Calliande blinked. “As you were upon Old Earth?”
“Yes,” said Antenora. “Young and arrogant and convinced that I knew best. That was why I used the dark magic that Mordred Pendragon offered me, and why I was cursed.”
“I don’t think Cathala ever used dark magic,” said Calliande. “As far as anyone knows, anyway.”
“Perhaps not,” said Antenora. “But I allowed myself to be seduced by Mordred Pendragon…and she allowed herself to be seduced by Justin Cyros. How does the old proverb go? One drunkard can recognize another on sight?”
“Something like that,” said Calliande. Tamlin had always described his mother in glowing terms…but she wondered how much of that was colored by his childhood recollections, and by the contrast to the torments he had endured in Urd Maelwyn. “Once we find her, we’ll be careful. Of course, we actually have to find her first.”
“Indeed,” said Antenora. “God go with you, Keeper. Should I discover anything of use, I will contact you at once.”
“Thank you, Antenora,” said Calliande, and she released her magic’s grip on the bracelet.
The world spun around her, and Calliande’s awareness snapped back to her physical body. A wave of vertigo rolled through her, and she closed her eyes and rubbed her temples until it passed. It was an unpleasant sensation, but given that she had been speaking with a woman three and a half thousand miles away, Calliande was grateful that the physical aftereffects were no worse.
Her muscles were stiff and cramped from sitting, and she rose and stretched, and then walked in circles as the circulation came back to her legs. Tomorrow, she thought, she would spend as much of the day with Gareth and Joachim as she could. God only knew when she would be able to see them again.
Maybe she would never see them again if she died on the road…
No. She could not think that way. Ridmark never gave up, and neither could Calliande. Not when her children needed their mother to return to them once more.
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