In fact, Tamlin felt one of those spells wrap around him, and he decided to put it to good use. He leaped around the stab of a jastaani warrior armed with a spear and slashed, and the Sword of Earth sliced diagonally through the jastaani’s torso. The creature fell in pieces to the ground, and Tamlin stepped over the bloody corpse and killed another.
The jastaani could not stand long against that kind of onslaught, and Tamlin and the others had killed nearly half of the enemy warriors when the rest turned and ran, fleeing down the causeway. Tamlin feared they would try to fire their blowguns over their shoulders as they fled, but instead the jastaani sheathed their swords and dropped to all fours, running faster than a human could manage. As they did, they unfurled their strange cloaks, and they became nothing more than distortions against the landscape.
And then they vanished entirely.
“Is anyone wounded?” said Calliande, looking around.
“I do not think so,” said Krastikon. “It seems the enemy underestimated us severely.”
“Ha!” said Magatai. “These jastaani are no match for our righteous fury.”
“They won’t make that mistake again,” said Ridmark, cleaning the crimson jastaani blood from Oathshield’s blue blade. “Calliande, are their cloaks enspelled?”
Calliande shook her head. “No. The cloaks have no magical aura. The jastaani must make them through some natural craft or science.”
“Useful damned things,” said Ridmark. “We’ll have to be on our guard. They might come back for revenge.”
“I wonder why they attacked us in the first place,” said Tamlin.
Krastikon shrugged. “Because they could? Perhaps they thought to steal our weapons and armor. Or maybe they were hungry, and we looked toothsome.”
Tamlin snorted. “I’ve been called many things but never that.”
“Janaab Kal,” said Ridmark. “I wonder what the devil that was.”
Krastikon shrugged again. “Perhaps it was simply the command to attack in their language.”
“Maybe,” said Calliande, “but it was more than that. It was a battle cry. Like they were shouting the name of their king or god.”
“There’s a disturbing thought,” said Ridmark. “An army of those creatures heading through the swamp. I would not want to fight them. We…”
He fell silent and glared to the southeast.
“What is it?” said Calliande, and then Tamlin heard it.
The distant ring of sword on sword echoed through the swamp.
Someone else was fighting nearby.
Chapter 6: Mercenaries
“Third,” said Ridmark.
Third nodded, drawing on the burning power that filled her blood. “I shall investigate and return shortly.”
She sent a mental command to her swords, quenching the magical lightning and fire. Those were useful in a fight, but the additional light drew the eye to her location, and she didn’t want that. Though the downside of her power to travel had always been the flash of blue fire it generated, which an attentive sentry could not fail to miss.
Third reached for the fire in her blood and traveled.
She reappeared a hundred yards further down the causeway. Ahead she saw the distortion as the jastaani fled, but perhaps another two hundred yards past that, she saw dozens of milling figures moving around the road. It looked like a battle.
A shorter jump this time, and Third stopped a hundred and fifty yards from the battle, assessing it with a cool, experienced eye.
Something like two hundred to two hundred and fifty jastaani warriors swarmed around the causeway ahead, attacking a column of scutian-pulled carts. The carts were defended by a motley-looking group of men – mostly orcish and human, but to Third’s surprise, she saw several jotunmiri, a few kobolds, and even a dvargir. Their leader seemed to be a huge orc in burnished bronze scale armor, twin white bull’s horns jutting from the side of his helmet. A billowing cloak of crimson silk hung from his shoulders, and the orc fought with a giant double-bladed axe of dark elven steel, hewing down jastaani warriors with every step.
A lance with two banners had been attached to one of the wagons. The first was emerald green and adorned with a black sigil that looked like the head of a cobra. The second was crimson and marked with a blue sigil that resembled the double-bladed blue axe in the orcish warrior’s hands.
Then Third spotted the xiatami warriors.
She saw a dozen of them fighting halfway down the line of carts. They were man-shaped, but bronze-gold scales sheathed their bodies, and they had the heads of giant serpents, complete with fangs. Thick tails rose behind them, topped with a bony rattle that gave off a clicking, rasping sound that set Third’s teeth on edge. The xiatami warriors wore bronze ring mail and bronze helmets and carried shields and spears.
Behind them stood another xiatami, but this creature looked different. Its scales were a deep green marked with black streaks, and the creature wore a robe of emerald and black. Its head was that of a cobra, the hood flared wide. The hooded xiatami gestured, and unseen force seized three of the jastaani and flung them to the ground with bone-crushing force. The xiatami warriors darted forward, stabbing with their spears to finish off the prone jastaani.
The hooded xiatami in the robe was a wizard of some kind.
Third took a step back, and she heard the rasp of claws on the ground behind her as a jastaani prowled closer. She considered traveling away, then realized she would likely have to fight a great many more jastaani yet today, so she might as well kill this one and get it over with. Third whirled as the jastaani sprang, fanged jaws opening wide to close around her head. That had been a stupid mistake – likely the creature’s predatory instincts had overruled its better judgment, so instead of efficiently stabbing her in the back, it had instead decided to bite her in the neck and crush her spine.
She sidestepped, and the jastaani missed her and struck the ground. The creature landed with fluid grace and started to rise, but before it could, Third planted her left-hand sword in the gap between its cuirass and the bottom of its helmet. The jastaani shuddered and went limp, and Third stabbed it once more to be thorough and then drew on her power to travel away.
A few jumps later, and she returned to Ridmark and the others.
“Blood on your sword,” said Ridmark. “The jastaani?”
“Aye,” said Third, cleaning the blade. “There is a battle underway about a half of a mile further down the causeway. It looks like a warband of jastaani are attacking a xiatami caravan defended by mercenaries. The caravan is flying two banners. One, a black cobra head upon a field of green…”
“The banner of the xiatami of Najaris,” said Tamlin.
“Two, a blue double-bladed axe upon a field of red,” said Third.
“I don’t know that one,” said Tamlin.
“But Magatai might,” said Magatai. “A blue double-bladed axe, you say? A red banner?” Third nodded. “Ah! Magatai knows this banner. It is the sigil of Khulmak.”
“Who is Khulmak?” said Ridmark.
“A captain of mercenaries,” said Magatai. “Khulmak was an orc of Mholorast who left the city after he had one too many quarrels with the headmen of Warlord Obhalzak. He gathered a following of rogues around him, and now fights for pay for the other orcish city-states and sometimes for the xiatami nobles. It is common for the lords of Najaris to hire mercenaries.”
“It looks as if a hooded xiatami in a green robe leads the xiatami soldiers,” said Third. “And the mercenaries consist of many different kindreds.”
“A green robe, friend Third?” said Magatai. “Probably that is an Intercessor, one of the xiatami priests. Very dangerous, and they can wield mighty magic. But they generally do not attack unless provoked.”
“This Khulmak,” said Ridmark. “Is he trustworthy?”
Magatai barked a laugh. “He is not, friend Ridmark. He is a mercenary! He fights for money. Though unless he is hired to kill us, he will leave us alone.”
; “Then we have a choice,” said Ridmark. “We either go around the fight ahead, or we attack the jastaani and hope that the xiatami and the mercenaries do not decide to attack us after.”
“The jastaani already attacked us,” said Krastikon.
“For that matter, it might be better to make allies of this xiatami priest and his mercenaries,” said Tamlin. “There is something strange going on in the Serpent Marshes, that is plain. The jastaani had no reason to attack us, but they did. If they are attacking travelers at random, then allies might be helpful.”
Ridmark looked at Third, and she shrugged.
“In my opinion, we should assist the xiatami and mercenaries,” she said. “Sir Tamlin’s logic is sound. For that matter, if the xiatami and the mercenaries decide to reward our aid with treachery, we will just have to kill them as well. For if they attack the Shield Knight, the Keeper, and the bearers of three of the Seven Swords, the defeat of the xiatami is the most probable outcome.”
Magatai laughed. “Magatai likes this thought, friend Third.”
“You’ve been a very good friend,” murmured Tamara, “but sometimes I think you’re the most frightening woman I’ve ever met.”
Third smiled at her. “You are very observant, Tamara Earthcaller.” Third did like Tamara, truth be told. Not everyone would have had the nerve to walk into the Tower of Nightmares, or to stand on fight on the walls of Cathair Caedyn as the muridach horde closed around them.
“Very well, then,” said Ridmark, lifting Oathshield. “Let’s go rescue some mercenaries.”
###
Ridmark strode towards the battle, Tamlin and Krastikon on his left, Calem and Third on his right. Magatai came after on Northwind, and Calliande, Tamara, and Kalussa brought up the back. White fire glowed on Calliande’s staff, while Tamara’s golden staff crackled with lightning and the crystal at the end of the Staff of Blades shifted and shivered.
He wondered if the survivors of their skirmish with the jastaani had returned to warn their comrades of the danger approaching from the northwest. Or maybe there hadn’t been time to warn the jastaani fighting the caravan of new foes. The battle looked like it was tottering on the point of the sword, ready to fall in either direction.
Ridmark decided that it was time to give it a shove.
Some of the jastaani turned to look at the newcomers, their shifting cloaks swirling around them.
“Calliande, Tamara,” said Ridmark, pointing Oathshield. “Now!”
Calliande and Tamara cast their spells at once, and a ripple shot through the earth of the causeway. Both women wielded the spell with enough skill to avoid their allies and the mercenaries. The jastaani were not so lucky, and the pulse of earth magic threw them from their feet. The mercenaries defending the scutian-drawn wagons looked up in surprise. They were a motley-looking bunch, a mixture of orcs and humans and jotunmiri and even a few dvargir and kobolds. The mercenaries wore a variety of armor and carried an array of weapons, but Ridmark could not deny their effectiveness. A ring of dead jastaani lay on the ground around them, and there were far more slain jastaani than there were slain mercenaries.
Ridmark caught a glimpse of the xiatami in the green robe, felt the weight of the creature’s yellow eyes.
Then he charged into the fray, the others following him. Third struck first, using her power to jump the distance and kill three jastaani before the cat-like creatures could recover. Ridmark crashed into them next, slashing with Oathshield as fast as he could. He cut three throats before the jastaani could recover, and then the creatures bounded up with furious howls of rage.
Tamlin, Calem, and Krastikon attacked. Calem leaped through the air, white wraithcloak billowing around him, the power of the Sword of Air augmenting his jump. He landed amidst the jastaani and started killing with every blow, the silvery sword leaving the jastaani in pieces. Tamlin stunned two jastaani with a brilliant flash of lightning and struck, leaving them dead. Krastikon waded into the battle, making no effort to defend himself, trusting in his armor and his magic to protect him from blows. Magatai’s arrows hurtled past, punching into jastaani eyes and throats.
The mercenaries rallied and charged into their dismayed enemies, striking right and left. A towering jotunmir warrior, his skin scarred with tattoos, roared and swung a tree-sized club. The blow caught a jastaani with enough force to send the cat-like creature tumbling through the air, its limp body spinning end over end. An orcish warrior led the charge, a huge man with a horned helmet, a brilliant crimson cloak, and a double-bladed battle axe of blue dark elven steel that rose and fell and dealt death with every blow. A double-bladed axe like that was an unwieldy weapon and dangerous to a novice fighter, but the orc in the horned helmet used the weapon like a master, employing the axe as both a cutting implement and a quarterstaff.
Ridmark caught the stab of a bronze spear on his staff, swept it aside, and stabbed with Oathshield. The soulblade sank into the chest of a jastaani warrior, and Ridmark ripped the weapon free, deflecting another slash of a sword with his staff as he did so. Back in Andomhaim, other knights had looked askance at his preference of fighting with both staff and sword at the same time, claiming that he would tangle the two long weapons up in each other. That was a danger, but Ridmark had enough experience that using both weapons at the same time gave him options that he would not have otherwise.
Such as reversing the staff, driving its butt into the stomach of a jastaani warrior, and taking off his foe’s head as the jastaani doubled over.
A strange dry rattling came to Ridmark’s ears, and he looked to see the xiatami warriors attack. They looked like men with the heads of snakes, their bodies covered in strange bronze-colored scales. Bronze helmets and ring mail protected their bodies, and the rattling noise came from peculiar bony cones at the ends of their tails. They carried spears and round shields, and the xiatami spearmen kept their formation as they attacked, guarding each other with their shields and thrusting and stabbing with their spears.
Calliande and Tamara cast the earth-folding spell again, knocking the jastaani off their feet as Kalussa loosed a volley of crystalline spheres. Ridmark cut down another jastaani, and then another, and a third. He stepped back, searching for a fourth, but the jastaani had lost their taste for the fight. The warriors were fleeing to the north, racing back into the swamps. Magatai twisted in his saddle, sending arrows into the backs of the fleeing jastaani. One of the orcish mercenaries cast a javelin that landed between a jastaani’s shoulders, and others raised swords and axes and prepared to pursue.
“Hold, damn you!” roared the orc in the horned helmet, brandishing his huge axe. “You damned fools, hold! Chase those damned cats into the swamp, and they’ll circle around us and cut us to pieces. Hold!”
The mercenaries obeyed, and came to a halt, forming up around the wagons, their wary eyes on Ridmark and the others. The orc in the horned helmet took a few steps forward, the axe held low and loose at his side. It was meant as a non-threatening gesture, but Ridmark had seen just how fast the huge orc could wield that weapon.
“Welcome, strangers,” said the orc. “Your intervention was most timely. Though it seems we have some business to settle.”
“Oh?” said Ridmark. “And just what business is that?”
“You helped us kill those jastaani,” said the orc, “so we can both loot the corpses. All that bronze armor will fetch a fair pile of coins back in Najaris. How do you want to divide the spoils? My men will take seventy percent, and you can have thirty.”
“You can have it all,” said Ridmark. “We have no interest in the spoils.”
The orc blinked beneath his helmet. “Indeed?”
“Indeed,” repeated Ridmark.
“Then you and I, sir knight, are going to be the best of friends.” The orc reached up and drew off his horned helmet. Like most of the orcs of Mholorast, he had grown a long black mustache, the ends bound in bronze rings. Unlike most of the orcs of Mholorast, he had grown his hair into a shaggy black mane,
stark against his green skin and tusks. “I am Khulmak, mercenary, adventurer, swordsman, and captain of this band of rogues and dogs. Who might you be?”
“I am Ridmark Arban, the Shield Knight of Andomhaim,” said Ridmark. There was no reason to lie to Khulmak and his mercenaries. “This is my wife Calliande, the Keeper of Andomhaim. Lady Third of Nightmane Forest. Our vassal knight Sir Calem. Sir Tamlin and Lady Kalussa of Aenesium. Prince Krastikon of Trojas. Lady Tamara Earthcaller of Kalimnos, and Magatai of the Takai.”
“Quite the find band of rogues you have gathered, Lord Ridmark,” said Khulmak. The name of Andomhaim meant nothing to him. Or, more likely, he assumed that Ridmark was lying about their names and titles. “Might I ask your business?”
“We are traveling to the Tower Mountains on a pilgrimage to the ruined monastery there,” said Ridmark, which was mostly true. “We thought the causeway would be the safest route. Seems we were wrong.”
Khulmak boomed out a laugh and gestured to one of the jotunmiri. The giant bellowed orders, and the mercenaries scrambled forward to start looting the dead. The xiatami warriors watched, impassive. “As it happens, you are correct. The causeway is dangerous, but it is still safer than these swamps. Especially since the damnable jastaani have begun sending raiders and warbands over the mountains.”
“Perhaps we can exchange news,” said Ridmark. “Until this day, I had never seen nor even heard of the jastaani, and now I have fought them twice. We…”
“Captain Khulmak.”
The voice was cold, flat, dead. It spoke the orcish tongue with eerie precision and a complete lack of accent. Khulmak turned his head, and Ridmark saw the xiatami in the green robe approaching, his clawed hands tucked into his sleeves. Two of the xiatami spearmen fell in around him. Unlike the other xiatami, the robed creature’s scales were a pattern of black and green, and it had a hood like that of a cobra on the back of its head. The hood had folded back now that the battle was over.
Sevenfold Sword: Sorceress Page 8