Sevenfold Sword: Sorceress

by Jonathan Moeller

  “We will,” said Ridmark. “We’ll take her with us when we return to Aenesium. No doubt King Hektor will need her for the campaign against the Confessor.”

  “At least she’s on our side,” said Krastikon.

  Calliande frowned.

  She suspected that Cathala wasn’t on anyone’s side but Cathala’s. She claimed to be devoted to Talitha, but Calliande remembered Ridmark’s story of the kindly lord and the corrupt servant.

  Calliande had the uneasy feeling that story applied to Cathala very well.

  Chapter 17: Seen It Before

  That evening, as the sun disappeared behind the marshes to the west, Ridmark made arrangements for the camp.

  “We’ll want two people on watch all night,” said Ridmark, “and we’ll have them keep watch from the southern wall.”

  Magatai nodded. “Any attackers will come from that direction. Should any foes be spotted, one of the sentries can run back to the camp to rouse us to the dangers. This is a sensible arrangement.”

  “Wander around the monastery as you wish,” said Ridmark. No doubt Tamara and Tamlin would want some time alone. Or maybe Calem and Kalussa, given that they were speaking to each other again. “But don’t leave the monastery for any reason. Walking around the hills at night is a superb way to get a broken neck, and God only knows what is lurking outside.”

  “I will take the first watch,” said Calem.

  “As shall I,” said Tamlin. “After today, I’m not going to get any sleep.”

  “Nor will I,” said Tamara.

  “You should try to get some sleep anyway,” said Calliande. “It’s a long way back to Aenesium, and we’ll need our strength.”

  “You and I will take the second watch,” said Ridmark, “and Magatai and Krastikon the third.” He grimaced. “Someone should find Cathala and tell her.”

  “I will do it,” said Third. “I can find her quickly enough.”

  “No need,” said Calliande. “She’s coming this way.”

  Ridmark looked to the south and saw Cathala’s green-clad form approaching. He sighed and braced himself, wondering what Cathala intended. Calliande hadn’t told Tamlin all the details of her discussion with Cathala, but she had told them to Ridmark. Cathala struck Ridmark as an extremely ruthless and intelligent woman…but he wasn’t sure she could back up that ruthless ambition.

  That was a dangerous combination. Tarrabus Carhaine had thought himself ruthless enough and strong enough to seize the throne of Andomhaim and convert the realm to the worship of the shadow of Incariel. Instead, he had been utterly crushed, his cult and his rebellion destroyed, and he had ended his days blaming everyone else but himself for his defeat.

  Was Cathala cut from the same cloth?

  Cathala stopped a few paces away, looked over them all, and then to Ridmark’s surprise, she smiled.

  “That fire,” she said, pointing at the sphere of flame Kalussa had conjured to keep them warm in the chilly night, “is that yours, Lady Kalussa?”

  “It is,” said Kalussa, giving Cathala a wary look. Kalussa had decided that she didn’t like Cathala, and likely nothing would change her mind.

  “That’s very clever,” said Cathala. “Warmth and light without needing any fuel save your will.” She took a deep breath. “I wish to offer an apology.”

  Ridmark blinked. He hadn’t expected that.

  “An apology,” said Tamlin, his voice flat.

  She offered a rueful smile. “I’m afraid I have something of a harsh nature, Tamlin. And when I realized that fourteen years had passed for me in the blink of an eye…I fear I reacted rather badly. I hope you will excuse my earlier behavior.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Tamlin. There was hope in his voice, but Ridmark was pleased that his expression remained guarded.

  “Master Talitha,” started Cathala.

  “Please,” said Tamara, grimacing a little. “Call me Tamara.”

  Cathala hesitated and then nodded. “As you will, then.” She looked back and forth between them. “I cannot say I approve of this marriage. You have a heavy duty before you, Tamara. And Tamlin…I would have wished you to become a monk. The world already has too many warriors.”

  Tamlin offered her a ghost of his old charming smile. “I like women too much to be a monk, Mother.”

  Cathala’s lips thinned, for just a moment, but the distaste disappeared. Ridmark glanced at Calliande. His wife’s face had become a cold mask. Calliande had told Ridmark of how Cathala had tried to empty her womb of her son, and after that story, Ridmark knew Calliande would never trust Cathala. Calliande had struggled and suffered to bear all three of their children and had tried so hard to save Joanna that she had broken herself in the process.

  If Cathala had wanted to deliberately alienate Calliande, she could not have done a better job of it.

  “Yes, well,” said Cathala. “Given that I missed most of your childhood, and that you are a grown man and a grown woman…well, I hardly have the right to command either of you, do I? I have seen very many unhappy marriages in my life, and only a few happy ones. Hopefully, yours will be one of the latter and not one of the former.”

  “A rousing wedding toast indeed,” said Krastikon. Both Magatai and Selene laughed at that. Third stood at Selene’s side, her black eyes unblinking as she watched Cathala.

  “But you have heavy burdens before you, Tamara,” said Cathala. She took a deep breath. “I ask only that you let me help you. That is what I have spent my life doing. Helping you to first defeat the Sovereign and then to stop the rise of the New God. Let me help you and guide you. You must have many questions, yes? Many things you must want to know about your first life when you were still Master Talitha? I can help you answer them.”

  Tamara said nothing for a long moment, the shadows in the courtyard lengthening, and then nodded.

  “Very well,” said Tamara. “I will accept your help.” Cathala started to smile, and Tamara lifted a finger. “But on two conditions.”

  “Of course,” said Cathala.

  “One, I don’t want to hear another ill word about Tamlin,” said Tamara. “No calling him an oaf, no insulting him. Understood?”

  “Yes,” said Cathala. “If we have to work together to defeat the New God, there’s no reason not to be civil.”

  “I am glad you agree,” said Tamara. “Second, I don’t want you to insult my friends. And if the Shield Knight and the Keeper tell you to do something, do it at once.”

  “Someone must lead,” said Cathala. “It seems that the Shield Knight is a capable warrior, so why not him?” She turned to look at Ridmark. “I assume we are leaving tomorrow morning?”

  “Yes, as soon as the sun comes up and we can get underway,” said Ridmark.

  Cathala smiled at him. She had a lovely smile, but something about it rubbed him the wrong way. The cold condescension she had directed at him earlier had felt more like her real face. It was as if her current pleasant manner was a mask she had chosen to wear.

  “Very sensible,” said Cathala. “If you do not object, I am going to take a walk around the courtyard one last time. I spent years here, and I suppose I will never see this place again.”

  “As you will,” said Ridmark. “I suggest you stay within the walls. We were attacked multiple times on the way here. Given that the Maledicti did not want us to speak with you, I can only assume they will try to kill you now that you are flesh and blood once more.”

  Cathala shrugged. “Why bother? I have already told you everything I know, and I am no one of importance. I will be back shortly, and then I will go to sleep.” She yawned. “I suppose I haven’t slept properly for fourteen years, so I am due.”

  With that, she turned and walked to the north, gazing at the ruined keep with a wistful expression.

  “Well,” said Krastikon at last. “Something improved her mood.”

  Magatai shrugged and turned his attention to Northwind. “Perhaps the words of the Keeper inspired her to wisdom.”

>   “I doubt that,” said Calliande. “More likely she’s decided to accommodate herself to reality. The woman is a survivor if nothing else. If King Hektor defeats the Confessor and destroys the Seven Swords, she’ll want a position of authority in his court. Or if Hektor frees Kothlaric to become High King once more, she’ll resume her place as his advisor.” A rare cynical note entered her voice. “And what better way to gain the favor of Hektor and his brother than by helping to destroy the Seven Swords?”

  “Shield Knight,” said Selene, stepping forward.

  “Aye?” said Ridmark.

  “I need to speak with you alone,” said Selene. Her usual mocking grin had vanished, and she looked solemn. “It is urgent. No, cousin Third should accompany me. She is sometimes better at articulating my thoughts than I am.”

  “Is anything wrong?” said Ridmark.

  “I do not know,” said Selene. “That is what I wish to find out.”

  “Of course,” said Ridmark. “This way.” He looked at Calliande. “We’ll be right back.”

  Ridmark headed towards one of the ruined outbuildings, Selene and Third following him. Both women moved in uncanny silence without even trying very hard. Once they were out of earshot of the others, Ridmark turned to face Third and Selene.

  “What’s wrong?” said Ridmark.

  “I do not like the way Cathala smells,” said Selene.

  Ridmark thought that over.

  “I think you’ll need to explain further,” he said.

  “Ah. Yes. Of course,” said Selene. She scowled. “My memories of my time as an urdhracos are all jumbled up, and it’s hard to sort them out in the proper order. But…yes, let me explain. A long time ago, when the Sovereign still lived, and there were hundreds of Maledicti priests instead of just the last seven, the Sovereign had me hunt for traitors.”

  “Traitors?” said Ridmark.

  “Aye, traitors,” said Selene. “You know what powerful sorcerers are like. They fight like a herd of cats tied in a canvas sack. The Sovereign was their god, of course, but they all wanted more power and magic and sometimes just more money. So, a few of the priests would make deals with the Sovereign’s enemies, and the high Maledicti sent me to find them. I would sniff them out. I was pretty good at it.” She grinned, eyes glittering. “People find it hard to lie to an urdhracos. We’re quite unsettling.”

  “I can imagine,” said Ridmark.

  “What does this have to do with Cathala?” said Third.

  “What? Oh, yes. I was digressing again,” said Selene. “I could always tell when one of the priests or the orcish headmen had betrayed the Sovereign. Traitors all smelled a certain way. You know how the sweat of honest labor smells differently than the sweat of terror?” Ridmark didn’t, but he nodded anyway. “Traitors all smell the same. And Cathala smells like a traitor.”

  Ridmark frowned. “You think she’s going to betray us?” Selene shrugged. “She’s a harsh woman, aye, but she’s devoted to Tamara. It seems unlikely she would betray her.”

  “I don’t know,” said Selene. “That’s why I am talking to you now. I cannot explain it. But all my instincts scream that Cathala is a traitor and that she’ll stab us in the back as soon as convenient.”

  “I agree with Selene,” said Third. “Her mood changed far too swiftly. Perhaps it is as Lady Calliande said and she has made her peace with the changes. It is also possible that she is hoping to win our trust…”

  “And to put us off our guard,” said Ridmark.

  “Yes,” said Third.

  “To what end, though?” said Ridmark. “She might have alienated Tamara, but she still wants to stop the New God and destroy the Seven Swords.”

  “Perhaps she will try to coerce Tamara somehow,” said Third.

  “I cannot see how,” said Ridmark. “Calliande says that Tamara is at least as powerful as Cathala, and might even be a little stronger.”

  Selene shrugged. “If she desires to coerce Tamara, the most logical path for Cathala is to threaten injury to Tamlin.”

  Ridmark blinked. On the face of it, that seemed ridiculous. Surely Cathala would not threaten her own son to get Tamara to cooperate. And yet…Ridmark remembered what Calliande had said, how Cathala had tried to induce a miscarriage to rid herself of Tamlin. Would she try to dispose of her adult son to gain an advantage?

  “I do not trust her,” said Third.

  Ridmark made up his mind.

  “I don’t trust her, either,” said Ridmark. “Not yet.”

  “I would suggest we kill her immediately,” said Selene. Ridmark and Third looked at her. “But, I am no longer an urdhracos, and I should probably try to avoid killing people in cold blood. God frowns on that.”

  “He does,” said Ridmark. “Would you be able to follow Cathala at a discreet distance?”

  “I can,” said Selene.

  Third frowned. “You can remain unseen?”

  Selene grinned. “I followed you for days while remaining unseen, and that was when I had a thirty-foot wingspan. Lady Cathala will not see me if I wish to remain unseen.”

  “Very well,” said Ridmark. “Keep an eye on Cathala. If she does anything remotely suspicious, tell me at once.”

  “I shall,” said Selene.

  She walked away, moving in the direction that Cathala had gone, and vanished into one of the ruined outbuildings.

  Ridmark stared after her for a moment, and then looked at Third.

  “Am I jumping at shadows?” he said.

  “No,” said Third. “I do not trust Lady Cathala, though I am unable to articulate why.” She shrugged. “It could just be my dislike for her manner and her obvious disdain for Sir Tamlin, but…I think Selene is right. I think we should keep a close eye on Cathala. Though I cannot see how she could do us serious harm. A lone wielder of elemental magic would be hard-pressed to overcome the Keeper of Andomhaim or a Swordbearer.”

  “Aye,” said Ridmark. “A lone wielder…”

  Something scratched at the back of his mind, some half-formed idea.

  “If she is alone,” said Ridmark.

  Third looked around. “You think she has allies nearby?”

  “I don’t know,” said Ridmark. “But I think you and Selene are right. We will have to watch Cathala very carefully.”

  Chapter 18: I Will Save The World

  Cathala walked alone through the western side of the courtyard, making sure to keep her face serene and thoughtful in case the Shield Knight or the Keeper had sent one of their friends to watch her.

  Her face was calm, but inwardly she raged.

  How had so many things gone so wrong?

  She had been so careful. There had been no way for Justin to find her, no trail that led to the Monastery of St. James. Yet Justin had found her, slaughtered all the monks, and turned Cathala to stone. Even worse, Cathala had lost fourteen years while she had been trapped as a statue. Fourteen years wasted, years that Cathala could have spent training and preparing Tysia to assume her mantle of destiny. Had things continued interrupted as Cathala had intended, Tysia would have been ready to go to Urd Maelwyn and free Irizidur years ago.

  Instead, that time had been wasted, and Tysia was dead.

  That was an inconvenience, of course, though not one that Cathala mourned overmuch. She had always known that six of the seven shards of Talitha’s life would die, that only one would survive to fulfill her destiny. The advantage of raising Tysia from an infant had been to train meekness and obedience into her. That would correct the one flaw that Master Talitha, otherwise a great and noble woman, had exhibited.

  She hadn’t listened to Cathala’s counsel nearly as often as she should have.

  The new Talitha, the one Cathala raised from childhood, would have been perfectly obedient, and instead, she had gotten killed in Urd Maelwyn. So now Cathala had to use Tamara, who had grown up in Kalimnos, raised by some idiot innkeeper and his witless sow of a wife. That was bad enough – Tamara now had all the stiff-necked pride of the freeho
lders of Owyllain, whom Cathala had always thought carried themselves with too much pride and insufficient respect for their noble-born betters. She even spoke with the disgraceful accent of a peasant girl.

  All of that, however annoying, was a minor concern. Cathala had dealt with worse obstacles, and she would overcome these.

  But Tamara had married Tamlin or convinced herself that she had married Tamlin, and that was intolerable.

  For one thing, it was infuriating that Tamlin had grown up to become yet another swaggering oaf of a warrior. Cathala hated soldiers, whether noble-born knights or the common-born hoplites. She recognized the necessity of soldiers, of course, realized that she would need them to carry out her plans and save Owyllain. But she hated them, hated their pride, hated their swagger, hated their hungry eyes. They were tools and nothing more, weapons that served at the will of their betters.

  Cathala had vowed to make sure that her son would be obedient, that he would become an extension of her will. Turning him into a monk seemed the perfect way to make him meek and docile. Once she installed him as abbot of the monastery, she would have control over the Monastery of St. James, and she would use it as a refuge.

  Instead, the monastery was destroyed, and Tamlin had become a proud knight. Useless!

  Master Talitha had spoken wistfully about how she wished there had been time to marry and have children, but her duties in the war against the Sovereign had made that impossible. Cathala had always thought that utter folly. Freedom from a husband and children had given Talitha the time to hone her skill, to become ever more powerful, to guide Owyllain on its proper course. And if Tamara had married Tamlin (and, worse, she seemed besotted with the oaf like any other peasant girl in heat), that was a distraction from letting Tamara and Cathala fulfill their destiny.

  Cathala had to do something about it.

  But what?

  She brooded on the matter as she climbed to the curtain wall, gazing up at the Tower Mountains. She could not fail. The matter was too important. Tamara had to meet her destiny and save Owyllain from the Seven Swords, and Cathala was the only one wise enough and strong enough to guide Tamara to it.