Suddenly he found himself thinking of a barren, mist-choked forest. That was very odd. Why think about a forest? He had never seen a forest like that before.
“Tamlin?” said Tamara again.
Tamlin blinked at her and realized that he had come to a stop once more. A wave of embarrassment and annoyance went through him. For God’s sake, he had to pay better attention! They were in dangerous country, and inattention could be fatal. For that matter, he had no right to brood, not when so many more important things were happening.
“Find me again,” Tysia had told him. “The New God is coming.”
And he had found Tysia again, hadn’t he? Tysia and Tamara had been shards of the same woman. Tamlin had to keep her safe, no matter what the cost to himself. And he certainly could not keep her safe if he kept letting memories overwhelm him.
“Quite a few bad memories, come to think of it,” said Tamlin. “But that was years ago. Do you have any memories of this place? You…Tysia would have come here with the dvargir slavers, though I didn’t know it at the time.”
Tamara shook her head. “None. Given what happened to you here…perhaps that is for the best. I already remember Tysia’s death. I don’t want to remember any more of her suffering than necessary.” She gave him a shy smile. “Though not all of her memories were bad ones.”
Tamlin smiled back. “No, they were not.” His smile faded.
“What is it?” said Tamara.
“It just occurred to me that if everything goes well that in a day or two I’m going to see my mother for the first time in years,” said Tamlin.
“It must be a strange thought,” said Tamara.
“It is,” said Tamlin. “I…never knew her as a grown man. Only as a child. I made my peace with her death. Or at least I thought I did. Then my father threw it in my face before the Battle of the Plains, and Taerdyn claimed that the touch of the Sword of Earth would turn her back to flesh, that she hadn’t really died at all…”
“A shock,” said Tamara.
“Yes,” said Tamlin.
He found himself wondering what his mother would think of the man that her son had become, what she would think of the Arcanius Knight and Companion of King Hektor. Would she be proud of him? He thought of his drunkenness and the many lovers he had taken in Aenesium and felt a flicker of shame.
Tamlin was not blind. He had heard the rumors about his mother, how she had been beautiful and intelligent, but cold, calculating, and arrogant, how she had seduced Justin Cyros to gain the power and influence of a crown prince’s mistress. Certainly, she had annoyed Justin enough that he had gone out of his way to find and kill her, though now that Tamlin thought about the matter, it seemed likely that Justin had gone to the Monastery of St. James to kill Tysia as one of the seven shards. But if Justin had gone there to kill her, why had he allowed Tysia to be sold into slavery? Perhaps Justin had lost control of his dvargir allies, or they had lied to him.
Yet even if Justin had gone to the monastery with a definite mission in mind, it was also clear that he had derived great satisfaction from killing Cathala. Tamlin’s mother had apparently been a woman to inspire intense dislike, even hatred.
But that didn’t match with his memories of her. She had been nothing but kindly and supportive, encouraging him in his studies in the library, urging him to become a monk and take the vows of a novice as soon as he came of age. Though Tamlin was old enough to realize that he had been looking with Cathala through the eyes of a son gazing at his mother. The eyes of love sometimes deceived. King Hektor had loved his eldest son Rypheus, and Rypheus had turned to the New God and almost killed his father.
“I hope she knows who I am,” said Tamara, voice quiet. “She was there when Rhodruthain split me into seven shards. She knows who I really am and why I did what I did.”
“That’s right,” said Tamlin. “Forgive me.”
Tamara blinked her mismatched eyes in bewilderment. “For what?”
“For forgetting you,” said Tamlin. “I am brooding about my own problems, and I forget that meeting Cathala will be even more harrowing for you.”
“Tamlin,” said Tamara. “No, it won’t. She’s not my mother. And…I’m not sure, but I think she was subordinate to me somehow. Like a vassal or a sworn liegewoman.”
“Well,” said Tamlin. “She had better be glad to see you again, then.”
“I hope so,” said Tamara. “In all my lives, I don’t think I’ve ever met my husband’s mother before.”
“She will approve,” said Tamlin. “She had damn well better…”
“What?”
Tamlin blinked and saw Calliande looking back at him in surprise. He had forgotten that she and Kalussa were within earshot. Calem and Krastikon were bringing up the back and could not overhear the conversation, and Ridmark, Magatai, and Third were all scouting the path ahead.
Calliande grinned at him, her delight evident. “Then you’ve decided that you two are married?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” said Tamara, and she took Tamlin’s arm. “You saw the same vision that I did, Keeper. Rhodruthain took the Sword of Life and split me into seven shards. One of those shards married Tamlin, and all those shards were the same woman. I am the wife of Tamlin Thunderbolt.”
“And I am the husband of Tamara Earthcaller,” said Tamlin.
“Then I congratulate you both,” said Calliande. Tamlin was touched by how happy Calliande looked for him. “I suppose you fulfilled Tysia’s final wish, Tamlin. You did find her again.”
Tamara squeezed his arm. “Yes, he did.”
“When we get back to Aenesium we shall have a proper banquet,” said Calliande. “Isn’t it customary for the King to have a banquet for when one of his Companion knights weds?”
“It is,” said Kalussa with a smile, “and my father shall be pleased that Sir Tamlin is wed at last. Or again. And I am pleased that they are at last admitting it.”
Calliande frowned. “Admitting it? Did you know already?”
Kalussa opened her mouth, closed it, and turned bright red.
###
That night they camped in a shallow valley in the foothills, sheltering near a pile of fallen boulders.
Third stood at the edge of the circle of light created by their campfire, gazing into the darkness.
Something troubled her.
Four of the thirteen moons were out tonight, throwing a pale silvery light over the foothills. It was a dim light, but enough to throw tangled black shadows from the boulders littering the valley. On the plus side, the silver light made it easy to see anyone moving through the valley. On the downside, the tangled shadows gave ample concealment to anyone who wanted to remain unseen. Third could have moved through the valley like a ghost, hidden in the shadows of the boulders.
She thought about her sister and wondered how matters fared in Andomhaim and Nightmane Forest. She thought about King Kyralion and Queen Rilmeira, though with a tinge of sadness. Sadness, but not regret. Perhaps if Third had been someone other than who she was, things might have turned out differently for her and Kyralion. But it had ended well, and she hoped Kyralion and his Queen thrived. God knew Kyralion would need all the help he could get ruling the gray elves and their Unity.
For some reason the image of a leafless, mist-choked forest flickered through her mind. Odd, that. There were no such forests in Owyllain. No doubt she had traveled through a forest like that at some point during her centuries as an urdhracos.
Third pushed the strange memory from her thoughts and turned to a more immediate concern.
Specifically, she thought they were being followed.
She glanced back at the camp. Kalussa had conjured one of her globes of fire, and it floated a foot off the ground, rotating slowly. Since it was chilly in the foothills and there was nothing to burn, it made for a sufficient campfire. The others lay wrapped in their cloaks around the sphere. Even Northwind had lain down to sleep. Third was amused to discover that struthians curled up like cats
or dogs when they slept.
Ridmark stepped towards her, his gray cloak rippling in the cool wind coming down from the mountains, one hand on his staff.
They stood in silence for a while, watching the valley.
“A question,” said Third.
Ridmark nodded.
“Do you think we are walking into a trap?” said Third.
Ridmark let out a long breath.
“Almost certainly,” he said at last. “The Maledicti were waiting for us at Kalimnos. They knew we were going to the Monastery of St. James, and they knew we would pass through Kalimnos on the way. They’re not the sort to be daunted by failure, and they’ll have had ample time to prepare a trap for us at the monastery.”
“More trickery from the Maledictus of Shadows?” said Third.
“Maybe,” said Ridmark. “But they won’t try the same thing twice. Besides, I doubt there is an ancient gray elven ruin near the monastery they can use to empower another dream spell. We’ll have to be on our guard.” He snorted. “Though they’ll know that we’re on our guard and will adjust their tactics accordingly. We’ll both prepare, and then when the battle comes, we roll the dice and see what happens.”
“I wonder,” said Third.
Ridmark waited, letting her work through her thoughts.
“I wonder if they want us to go to the monastery,” said Third.
Ridmark frowned. “To herd us into a trap?”
“Perhaps,” said Third. “But I wonder if they have really tried to stop us.”
Ridmark snorted. “You were at the Tower of Nightmares and Cathair Caedyn. If that is only a half-hearted effort from the Maledicti, then by God I would hate to fight them when they were trying.”
“No, they held nothing back at the Tower of Nightmares,” said Third. “We nearly died there. And Cathair Caedyn was not about us. We were merely in the wrong place at the wrong time…or at the right place and the right time to save the gray elves. But it is only a feeling…”
“I would not disregard your intuitions,” said Ridmark. “You have more battle experience than anyone else here.”
“I cannot articulate it,” said Third, “yet I have the suspicion the Maledicti want us to go to the Monastery of St. James for reasons of their own. The Scythe sent those jastaani to attack us, yes. I suspect she or one of the Maledicti induced that hydra to attack. Yet they could have easily hit us with much more force.”
“Perhaps they are busy elsewhere,” said Ridmark. “The Maledicti have many plots and schemes underway.”
“That could be it,” said Third. “Or they want to draw us in. Perhaps they think to free Qazaldhar’s spirit.”
She glanced back where Krastikon lay sleeping, the Sword of Death resting in its scabbard at his side.
“Calliande says his spirit is trapped within the Sword,” said Ridmark.
“And if the Maledicti take the Sword, no doubt they will free him at once,” said Third. “We already fought him at Trojas and again at Cathair Caedyn. I have no wish to do so a third time.”
“And Calliande and I fought him beneath Aenesium,” said Ridmark. “I definitely have no wish to do so a fourth time.” He shook his head. “We can’t turn back. After Tamara’s vision, it seems that Cathala possesses information that we must have. We…”
His voice trailed off.
“Or maybe,” said Ridmark, “the Maledicti want us to free Cathala because she has information that they need.”
“Surely it would be simpler for them to kill us and take the Sword of Earth,” said Third.
“Would it?” said Ridmark. “They tried at Kalimnos and again at Cathair Caedyn. Perhaps they want us to free Cathala so they can use her knowledge themselves.”
“If so,” said Third, “we shall have to be cautious.”
“We need to do that anyway,” said Ridmark. He blinked several times, his grip on his staff shifting. “But right now, we have more immediate problems.”
Third nodded. “Such as those kobolds creeping up on us?”
“Yes,” said Ridmark. “Three of them, I think.”
“All of them have bows,” said Third. “Do you want to wake the others while I deal with the kobolds?”
“If you don’t mind,” said Ridmark.
Third smiled. “Why would I mind? I will even ask them to surrender first if they are not looking for trouble.”
“Very gracious of you,” said Ridmark in a dry voice, and he hurried towards the camp.
Third stepped forward, reaching for the hilts of her swords over her shoulders, and drew on the fiery song in her blood.
She traveled and reappeared behind the group of three kobolds. They were short, lizard-like creatures, their bodies and spindly limbs covered in gray scales, their tails waving back and forth behind them. Yellow eyes glittered in their long skulls, and claws tipped their fingers and fangs jutted from their mouths. Each kobold wore a leather harness that held a sheathed short sword, and the creatures carried weighted nets in their clawed hands.
Nets, not bows or javelins.
The blue light from her appearance gave her away, and the kobolds whirled. They had elaborate crests of scales on top of their heads and necks, and the crests flared as they saw her.
“Greetings,” said Third in the orcish tongue. “I wish to discuss…”
The kobolds snarled and charged her. Two of them drew swords, and the third threw a weighted net at her.
Well, she had tried to talk.
Third leaped to the side, the net missing her by an inch. She hit the ground, rolled, and came up, and a mental command to her blades activated their magic. Lightning snarled around her left-hand sword, and fire blazed to life around the sword in her right. She clipped the nearest kobold with her left sword, and the creature thrashed as the lightning sank into its flesh. Third slashed its throat with a cut from her right-hand sword, and the other two kobolds attacked in a rush.
She parried their attacks and struck back, leaving them dead upon the rocky ground.
Third stepped back and raised her weapons in guard, but no other kobolds moved in the shadows of the night. She used her burning sword like a torch and illuminated the body of the nearest slain kobold, examining its corpse. The creature’s leather armor and weapons were of poor workmanship, but no one had ever claimed that the kobolds were good smiths. A glyph had been burned into the kobold’s chest, the scales blackened and twisted, and…
Third blinked and moved her burning sword closer, wondering if she had made a mistake.
She had not. Third knew that glyph and had dealt with that glyph’s owners before.
At her mental command, the fire and lightning surrounding her swords winked out, and Third returned her weapons to their scabbards. A deep breath to clear her mind, and she reached down, seized the dead kobold’s tail, called on the power in her blood, and traveled in a pulse of blue fire.
###
Calliande awoke at once when Ridmark shook her, her mind snapping from sleep to wakefulness in an instant. It was something she had learned during long years of campaigning against the Frostborn. She would pay for it in increased fatigue tomorrow, but right now, she was awake.
“What is it?” said Calliande.
“Kobolds,” said Ridmark. “They’re looking for trouble, I think.”
Calliande nodded and got to her feet, picking up her staff.
The others awoke in short order, grabbing their weapons, and Third reappeared a short distance from Kalussa’s ball of flame. She didn’t come alone. A dead kobold flopped on the ground next to her, slain by a wound through the chest. To judge from the charring around the wound, Third had killed the creature with a thrust from her burning sword.
“There were three of them,” said Third. “Armed with swords and weighted nets.”
Krastikon snorted. “And you just took them by yourself?”
“They were unprepared to deal with someone like me,” said Third. “However, I fear they may have many friends nearby. Look at th
is.”
She pointed at the dead kobold’s bony chest. A branded glyph had been burned there, a blocky, angular-looking symbol. A surge of unease went through Calliande at the sight.
“I don’t recognize that symbol,” said Tamara.
“I do,” said Calliande, voice grim.
“As do I,” said Tamlin. “It’s the symbol of the Great House Tzanar of Khaldurmar.”
Krastikon nodded. “The dvargir slavers. My father had many dealings with the scum.”
“Great House?” said Tamara.
“The dvargir city of Khaldurmar isn’t ruled by a High King or even a king the way that Owyllain and Andomhaim are,” said Calliande. “It’s an oligarchy. The dvargir Great Houses dominate the city, and the Rzarns – ah, the chief noblemen of the Great Houses – govern the city as a council. They backstab and scheme against each other constantly, but Great House Tzanar controls the slave trade Khaldurmar carries on with other kindreds.” She pointed at the dead kobold. “That brand means that the kobold was the property of Great House Tzanar.”
Tamara blinked. “The kobold slaves help their masters capture other slaves?”
“Yes,” said Ridmark. “The dvargir control many tribes of kobolds. They regularly use kobolds as scouts and fodder.”
“The Rzarn of Great House Tzanar helped Tarrabus at the siege of Tarlion,” said Third. “He brought many kobolds to aid in the siege.”
“Aye,” said Ridmark, “and the Rzarn fled back to the Deeps when the battle turned against Tarrabus.”
“In that, he showed more wisdom than Tarrabus,” said Calliande. She looked at Ridmark. “Perhaps we should move from here. If those kobolds were following us, more might be coming.”
“Maybe,” said Ridmark, his eyes distant. “Or the kobolds were a distraction…”
His eyes went wide, and he stepped back and drew Oathshield.
“What is it?” said Calliande.
“Your spell to sense the presence of weight against the ground,” said Ridmark. “Cast it now.”
With a surge of alarm, Calliande understood. Long ago, when she had met Morigna for the first time, the sorceress had used a spell of earth magic designed to sense weight pressing against the ground. It had obvious utility for a scout and a huntress. It also had the useful ability of sensing invisible creatures. Creatures like urvaalgs could camouflage themselves so well that they were effectively invisible, but they could not conceal the pressure of their weight against the ground.
Sevenfold Sword: Sorceress Page 14