Sevenfold Sword: Shadow

by Jonathan Moeller

  After they had finished, Kalussa kissed him, and Calem drew her close, blinking the sweat from his eyes. She smiled at him and kissed him again.

  It was like a dream. Kalussa was brave and beautiful, and she was Calem’s wife. For an instant, something wavered on the edge of Calem’s thoughts, a memory of the years of blood and death he had suffered in Urd Maelwyn, of bronze chains piercing his flesh, of a voice of dark magic thundering in his skull…

  No. That was just a dream. This was real. The woman in his arms was real.

  The things he remembered had been nightmares and nothing more.

  A short time later he felt his desire stir once more, and Kalussa welcomed him.

  ###

  The Maledictus of Shadows glided through the agora of Kalimnos, contemplating his work.

  The twisted power of the Tower of Nightmares howled through him in a torrent, but he had sufficient mental discipline and magical skill to direct that mighty force. In truth, he had far more skill than the foolish gray elven wizards who had created that power all those centuries ago. Old Amruthyr had thought to create a mighty ward that would destroy the Sovereign’s armies as they marched through the Pass of Ruins, imprisoning them within their own minds. The spell had worked…just not the way that Amruthyr had intended.

  Well, the fool had paid for it.

  Was still paying for it.

  And as dangerous as the oneiromantic power that surrounded the Tower of Nightmares was, it was still as nothing to the Maledictus of Shadows. He drew on the power of the Sword of Shadows, and he had been granted his magic by the herald of the New God itself. The magic of the long-dead gray elves, no matter how potent, was no threat to him.

  Still, other things might threaten him, and the Maledictus of Shadows contemplated his next steps.

  The spell had worked flawlessly. Most of the population of Kalimnos had fallen into deep sleep, trapped within dreams of their deepest desires. Those who had the strength of will to stay awake were nonetheless locked within a waking dream, unable to distinguish fantasy from reality. The three Swordborn, as expected, had resisted falling asleep, but had instead been bound in the waking dream. They would be no threat whatsoever, and would eventually die of thirst, forgetting to eat and drink in the rapture of the dream. Those whose waking dreams led them to carnal pursuits would most likely die of exertion beforehand.

  Both the sleepers and the sleepwalkers were no threat to the Maledictus of Shadows.

  But for those who remained awake…

  That could pose a problem.

  The Maledictus had expected that the Shield Knight would resist the spell. He did not understand how the Swordbearers’ bonds to their soulblades worked, but it granted at least a measure of resistance to hostile magic. For that matter, several of the Shield Knight’s allies had resisted the spell, either due to their natures or some sort of past magical injury.

  Still, that was all right. Such a possibility had been included in the plan.

  The Maledictus of Shadows disliked direct confrontation and battle. So many things could go wrong. He had forgotten his name and his past, but he thought that he had once been a living orcish man who had relished battle as most orcish men did. Now he knew better. Why bother to fight an enemy’s body when the magic of the Sword of Shadows could twist their minds?

  Of course, when the enemy could resist the mind-twisting magic, that could cause complications.

  Fortunately, they had prepared for that. The Maledictus of Shadows did not like to fight…but the Maledictus of Air did, and they had readied deadly dangers for the Shield Knight.

  Kalimnos would be the tomb of the Keeper of Andomhaim.

  The Shield Knight’s bones would rest in the Tower of Nightmares.

  The Maledictus of Shadows headed towards the Tower to await the arrival of the Shield Knight.

  Chapter 13: Sleepwalkers

  “I suggest we start by taking that valley to the east,” said Third. “That should keep us a good distance from both the mountains and the steppes, and the terrain should not hinder the scutians.”

  “Agreed,” said Ridmark, looking over the hills. The foothills of the Gray Mountains were less harsh and barren than the hill country around Castra Chaeldon. Magatai and Tamara had both mentioned that fierce storms swept in off the steppes, and Melex and his sons were busy repairing wind damage to the Javelin Inn. Still, the storms rewarded the hills with far more fertility than Ridmark had seen in the dusty hills around Castra Chaeldon. “I think we’ve gone far enough for now. Let’s head back. We can have some breakfast, and then set out with the others.”

  “Very well,” said Third.

  They walked in silence for a mile or so, threading their way around the base of the hills. Ridmark supposed that his legs and knees would ache by the time they stopped for the night, but right now it felt good to walk. He just wished he could find a decent quarterstaff. Besides serving as an excellent weapon, a quarterstaff would also make a good walking stick, especially in these hills.

  “I wonder if Kyralion will leave us before we cross the River Morwynial,” said Third.

  “Why do you say that?” said Ridmark.

  “He is troubled by the news of the muridachs attacking the Illicaeryn Jungle,” said Third. “I think his conscience wants him to return there and fight alongside his kindred.”

  “Perhaps he will,” said Ridmark. “He said that his mission from the Augurs was to find the woman of the blue fire, which apparently is you.”

  “I wonder if he will ask me to accompany him to the Illicaeryn Jungle,” said Third.

  They walked in silence for a while.

  “Will you?” said Ridmark.

  “No,” said Third. “My duty is to my sister and to High King Arandar, and they told me to find you and bring you home. That is what I will do.” A frown went over her pale, sharp features. “But what does that mean? Why do the Augurs think that I will either destroy or save the gray elves? I do not have that kind of power. If I accompanied Kyralion to the Illicaeryn Jungle, I would forsake my duty to my sister, and I would accomplish little but to waste time. I cannot defeat an army of muridachs by myself.”

  “Perhaps you ought to wait until he asks before you worry about it,” said Ridmark.

  “Perhaps,” agreed Third.

  They crested another hill and started down the far side, picking their way through the terraced slopes towards Kalimnos itself. Ridmark had to admit that the town looked pleasant in the rays of the rising sun, though the pale shadow of the Tower of Nightmares rising in the distance dampened the effect.

  “I can see why it troubled you so much,” said Third.

  Ridmark blinked. “Why did what trouble me?”

  “When you met Calliande again in Nightmane Forest during the war with the Frostborn,” said Third. “You did not know how to proceed then, either. It is a troubling feeling.”

  Ridmark snorted. “Which I resolved by marrying her and having children with her.”

  Third smiled a little. “I suspect that is not an option for me. We…”

  She fell silent, the smile turning into a frown.

  At the same instant, Ridmark felt Oathshield jolt in its scabbard. He drew the soulblade a foot from its scabbard and saw pale white flames dancing around the weapon. The sword was reacting to the presence of dark magic nearby.

  “Look,” said Third.

  Something gray swirled inside the walls of Kalimnos. Ridmark’s first thought was that something was burning. Had the muridachs attacked again and fired one of the houses?

  Then a column of mist erupted from the center of the town, and exploded outward in a towering wave, rushing forward with incredible speed. Ridmark and Third took a step back, but it was futile. The mist rushed across the hill, surged up the slope, and slammed into Ridmark.

  And nothing happened.

  He blinked as the gray blankness rushed past him. He felt nothing against his skin, but there was a pressure in his mind, almost as if someone wa
s squeezing his skull. Oathshield burned hotter in his grasp, and then the pressure vanished.

  The mist winked out of existence.

  Ridmark looked around, but as far as he could tell, the mist hadn’t done anything. Both the town and the terraced hills looked unchanged. Third took a few steps back, blinking, and reached up to massage her temples as if she had a headache.

  “Are you all right?” said Ridmark.

  “I…believe so,” said Third. She blinked a few more times, grimaced, and lowered her hands. “For a moment, I experienced extreme fatigue, and then I thought I saw my mother. But my mother has been dead for nearly a thousand years, and I cannot remember her clearly. The fatigue passed, and so did the vision.”

  “All I had was a headache for a moment,” said Ridmark.

  “Clearly the mist was magical in nature,” said Third.

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. “We had better get back to the town right now.”

  Third nodded, and Ridmark broke into a jog. They hurried down the path through the cultivated terraces and up the hill to the town’s gate.

  And right away Ridmark saw that something was wrong.

  Two of the town militiamen stayed on watch at the gate at all times. When Ridmark and Third had left the gate an hour ago, two men had been standing guard there, bronze tipped-spears in hand and bronze shields upon their arms. Now they lay sprawled on the ground, eyes closed.

  Ridmark hurried closer, fearing that the men were dead, but he saw their chests rising and falling with the draw of their breath.

  “They are only unconscious,” said Third.

  Ridmark went to one knee next to the nearest man. “I wonder if that mist was a spell of earth magic.” The unconscious militiaman looked otherwise unharmed. Ridmark reached down and pinched his nose shut, but the man did not respond.

  “I do not think we will be able to wake them,” said Third.

  “No,” said Ridmark, getting back to his feet. “We had better talk to Calliande as soon as possible.” Or had the mist put her to sleep as well? Surely, she would have been able to shield herself from it.

  “Look at their eyes,” said Third.

  Ridmark frowned and saw that the eyes of the sleeping men were darting back and forth behind their closed lids.

  “They are having vivid dreams,” said Third.

  “Dreams,” echoed Ridmark, a chill going through him. He remembered what Calliande had told him about the oneiromancy the dark elves had used on their victims. “We had best hurry.”

  Third nodded, and they strode through the gate and into the main street leading to Kalimnos’s agora. Ridmark’s mind raced as he scanned the houses lining the street for any sign of danger. What manner of magic had done this? Would Calliande be able to counter it?

  A flicker of motion caught his eye, and Ridmark whirled, Third’s swords coming up in guard.

  But it was only Telemachus. The old hoplite strolled out of his house, a wide smile on his face. It looked out of place on those weathered, lined features. He stopped in the middle of the street and smiled at Ridmark.

  “Lord Shield Knight, Lady Third,” he said. “Welcome to Kalimnos.”

  “Thank you,” said Ridmark. “That mist. Did you see it? We…”

  He trailed off. Telemachus was holding his right arm away from his body, the hand curved. Like he was holding his arm around the shoulders of somebody else.

  But no one stood there.

  “I would like to introduce my son, my lord,” said Telemachus. “This is Simon, my firstborn.”

  Ridmark shared a look with Third.

  “There’s no one there,” said Ridmark. “It’s just the three of us.”

  “He has become a brave man,” said Telemachus. “I thought…I thought that he had been killed fighting a dvargir raiding party.” For an instant, a flicker of confusion went through Telemachus’s face, but then the placid smile returned. “But I was wrong. Thank God, I was wrong. It was just a horrible nightmare.”

  Third stepped closer to him. Telemachus kept talking about his son’s bravery.

  “What are you doing?” said Ridmark.

  “Look,” said Third.

  She sheathed one of her short swords and waved her hand in front of Telemachus’s face. The old hoplite gave no response. He blinked a few times, but his eyes did not even track the movement of her hand. She reached up and tapped his cheek with her forefinger, but still Telemachus did not respond.

  “He doesn’t even know you’re there,” said Ridmark.

  “Not entirely,” said Third, stepping back. “It is as if he is sleepwalking. Or caught in a waking dream.” She looked at Ridmark. “The mist must have done it.”

  “And the mist covered the entire town,” said Ridmark.

  He took several quick steps towards the house that Telemachus had exited, pushed open the door, and looked inside. There was an entry hall and beyond that a small interior courtyard. A woman of about Telemachus’s age, and two men and two women about Tamlin’s age lay upon the courtyard floor. All five looked as if they had fallen asleep where they were standing, and no matter what Ridmark could do, he could not wake them.

  He stepped back into the street. Telemachus still stood there, praising his son’s valor to Third.

  “His family?” said Third.

  “All asleep,” said Ridmark.

  “The spell must have put some to sleep, and trapped others in a waking dream,” said Third.

  “Almost certainly,” said Ridmark. “Let’s head for the inn. But we’ll check a few houses on the way. Keep your eyes open. This spell must be an attack of some kind. We might run into whoever cast it.”

  They hurried down the street, pausing to check a few houses. In every house, they found the same thing. People lying unconscious on the floor, dropped by the mist as it had passed them. Those few who remained conscious were like Telemachus, unaware of their surroundings and talking to people who weren’t there. Some of the sleepwalkers noticed Ridmark and Third, and others did not.

  No matter what Ridmark and Third tried, they could not awake anyone, or snap the sleepwalkers out of their waking dreams.

  They came to the agora, and the silence disturbed Ridmark. By this time of the morning, the town ought to have been alive with the sounds of people going about their tasks. For that matter, Kalimnos’s few merchants and shops should have been conducting business, and the church should have been open for morning masses.

  Instead, silence hung over the agora. Like the whole town was asleep.

  “The inn,” said Ridmark. “We need to find Calliande at once.”

  She was the only one who might know what was happening…but what if she was asleep or trapped in one of those strange waking dreams?

  He took a step forward, and then a voice rang out.

  “Lord Ridmark!”

  Tamara Earthcaller ran from one of the other streets, her staff in hand.

  ###

  Tamara had not slept well, but that was all right.

  She was too excited to care. Frightened, yes, but also excited. For the first time in her life, she was leaving Kalimnos.

  Perhaps she would finally find out who she really was.

  And she would get to spend more time with Tamlin.

  Tamara admitted that she liked that thought. She had only met him yesterday, but it felt as if she had known him for years. Known him, and cared a great deal about him.

  If one of her other selves had been married to him, did that mean Tamara was his wife?

  The thought did not displease her. Tamara would have thought that the idea of being married to a stranger would have horrified her. But was Tamlin really a stranger? If she and Tysia had somehow been the same woman, and Tysia had been married to Tamlin…

  Tamara needed to think on that further.

  But, in a way, she had already made up her mind, hadn’t she?

  Tamara had awakened early and gone about her usual chores with a mixture of anticipation and sadness, knowing that th
is was the last time she would do them for months, perhaps years. After she had finished, Primus had asked if she could stop by the smith and pick up some more nails he had ordered. Tamara had agreed and had walked to the smith’s shop, which was just off the agora.

  And then the gray mist had swept through the town.

  It had given Tamara a brief, crushing headache. For a dizzying instant she had seemed to see people she did not recognize – a kingly man with wise eyes in bronze armor, a worn-looking elf with golden eyes and a dragon-headed staff of red gold, a cruel dark elven lord in blue armor, a winged helm concealing his features – and then the headache, the visions, and the mist vanished.

  Tamara felt fine.

  But the town was not.

  The smith and his apprentices had fallen asleep, and Tamara had been unable to wake them, no matter what she tried. She quenched their fire lest it burn down their shop, and then went outside to find that the townsmen were all asleep, or wandering around oblivious to their surroundings, trapped in what seemed to be some sort of waking dream.

  Tamara had no idea what to do next.

  Then she saw Ridmark and Third heading for the inn.

  “Lord Ridmark!” she called, running towards him. She prayed desperately that he would be awake and in control of his mind. Based on some of the stories that Tamlin had told her, if anyone knew what to do, it would be the Shield Knight, the man who had killed King Justin and fought the Necromancer.

  Ridmark and Third stopped and looked at her.

  “Tamara,” said Ridmark. His voice was hard, his eyes like steel. “Did you see the mist?”

  “Yes,” said Tamara. “I was in the smith’s picking up some nails, and then the mist swept through the town. When it passed, everyone was either asleep or…or like they’re sleepwalking.”

  “What did the mist do to you?” said Ridmark.

  “Not…much, I think,” said Tamara. “I had a headache, and I saw some things I didn’t understand, and then it passed.”

  “Come,” said Ridmark. “We had best speak to my wife as soon as possible. If anyone can understand what has happened, it will be the Keeper of Andomhaim.”