Sevenfold Sword: Sorceress

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Lady Cathala,” he murmured.

  “Lord Ridmark,” she whispered back. She smiled at him. “The others sleep?”

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. Her eyes flicked over the others as if marking their positions. “It was a long journey here.”

  “Aye, it was,” said Cathala. “I ought to know, I did it while pregnant with Tamlin.” She took a deep breath, doubt going over her face. “Do you know where he is?”

  “He and Calem keep watch on the southern wall, lest anyone sneak into the monastery and take us off guard,” said Ridmark.

  Cathala sighed and took a deep breath. “I would like to speak with Tamlin. I fear…you have children, Lord Ridmark, do you not?” He inclined his head. “I think you and the Keeper are better suited for it than I am.”

  “Tamlin’s a man, grown and wedded,” said Ridmark. “He doesn’t require a mother any longer. He hasn’t required one for some time.” And he had done without one for most of his life.

  Her condescending smile returned. “A boy always needs his mother, Lord Ridmark. The young always need the guidance of the wise.” The smile faded. “But I spoke roughly and churlishly towards him earlier, and I wish to apologize.”

  That caught Ridmark off guard. Cathala had struck him as the sort of woman who never apologized for anything.

  “Do you?” he said.

  “He is my only child,” said Cathala, “and he is married to the woman I have promised to help. For all those reasons, I should apologize to him. I will do so now.”

  “As you will, then,” said Ridmark. He was tempted to go with her, but Tamlin and Calem could handle her if she tried anything. Tamlin might not be able to think clearly about his mother, but Calem regarded her with suspicion.

  Cathala started to go and then hesitated. “Are Lady Third and Lady Selene patrolling the courtyard? I wouldn’t want them to accidentally knife me in the dark.”

  “They’re watching the western wall,” said Ridmark. “Making sure no one sneaks up that side of the hill towards us.”

  “A sound precaution,” said Cathala, and with that she glided off into the gloom to the east, her pale light vanishing from sight.

  Ridmark stared after her. Maybe she really wished to reconcile with Tamlin. Perhaps she recognized that she had treated him badly, that her own mistakes had led him to spend years enslaved as a gladiator in Urd Maelwyn.

  Somehow, Ridmark could not quite make himself believe that.

  Another flicker of motion caught his eye, and Third and Selene appeared out of the shadows. Ridmark headed towards them, and they stood at the edge of the light from Kalussa’s sphere.

  “We observed Cathala doing something suspicious,” said Third.

  “What was it?” said Ridmark, his uneasy feeling growing stronger.

  “She went into the ruined church,” said Third.

  Ridmark shrugged. “Perhaps she wished to pray.”

  “Perhaps,” said Third, “but she went into the crypt, stayed there for a few moments, and then returned carrying something under her skirt. We were unable to see what it was.” She scowled. “For that matter, we were unable to follow her into the crypt. There was too much debris, and the stairwell would have been too narrow. She would have seen us.”

  “I wonder what she wanted from the crypt,” said Ridmark.

  That seemed a peculiar coincidence. Cathala had gone to the crypt, and then she wanted to speak with Tamlin?

  “Perhaps she wished to pay respects to a slain friend,” said Selene. “Perhaps she wished to pray for guidance for the trials ahead. Or perhaps she needed a moment to compose herself. However, she smells of the sweat of a traitor, so I doubt all of that.”

  “Where did she go after she spoke with you?” said Third.

  “She said she was going to the southern wall to speak with Tamlin,” said Ridmark. “To apologize to him.”

  Selene smirked. “I doubt that very much. She has never apologized for anything in her life.”

  “Yes,” said Ridmark.

  His first impulse was to follow Cathala. But why had she gone into the crypt? Given her obvious contempt for the monks, Ridmark doubted she had gone to pay her respects to their memory. Tamlin and Calem could look after themselves if Cathala intended treachery. For that matter, Ridmark didn’t want to leave the others unguarded.

  “Selene, stay here and keep watch,” said Ridmark. “Third, come with me. Let’s find out what Cathala wanted in the crypt.”

  “Very well,” said Selene.

  She went as motionless as a statue.

  Ridmark turned and beckoned to Third, and together they jogged for the ruins of the monastery’s church in the western courtyard. It occurred to him that Selene had been an urdhracos until recently, that she had tried to kill him several times, and that he still trusted her more than Cathala.

  He suspected that he was about to find the reason why.

  ###

  Tamlin stood on the monastery’s southern wall, gazing into the gloom of the foothills.

  Not that he could see much. Only two of the thirteen moons were out tonight, and their combined silvery-blue glow produced just enough light to outline the shapes of the hills. Countless thousands of stars blazed overhead, and the dark shape of the Tower Mountains blocked out some of them. Calem stood a few yards away, a pale shadow in his wraithcloak and dark elven armor.

  Tamlin forced himself to pay attention to the foothills, to make sure that no enemies were creeping up the ancient road to the monastery. His mind kept turning back to Cathala, to the things his mother had said. Tamlin supposed he should have felt rejected, but instead he felt…disappointed. His mother had been an idealized memory in his mind for a long time. Tamlin knew that time erased the hard edges of a dead loved one’s memory, but he was shocked at the difference between what he remembered of his mother and what she was really like.

  But it made sense in hindsight, didn’t it? Tamlin had thought Cathala had fled to the Monastery of St. James to keep him safe and to hide from Justin Cyros. Her main purpose had been to raise and train Tysia in safety. He thought she had wanted him to become educated and had handed him to the monks for that reason. Instead, she had wanted him out of the way so she could focus on Tysia.

  Maybe he should have been furious or hurt. Instead, he felt only disappointment.

  Well, what he felt about his mother and what she thought of him didn’t matter. She had known who Tamara had been in her first life, and she had shown them the way to destroy the Seven Swords and stop the rise of the New God.

  “You are brooding,” said Calem, his voice quiet.

  “No,” said Tamlin, glancing at the other knight. “Perhaps a little.”

  “I am sorry your mother was not glad to see you,” said Calem.

  Tamlin shrugged. “I’ll live.” It had been a disappointment, to be sure, but one that was already fading. “I find it changes many of my memories of this place.”

  “Indeed,” said Calem. “I remember only a little of my childhood. The Confessor took me when I was young, and I only remember a little of my parents. I remember the training I endured in Urd Maelwyn far more clearly.”

  “As do I,” said Tamlin. He sighed. “I suppose I thought my mother was better than she was.”

  “At least she’s on our side,” said Calem. “Rather, she’s on your wife’s side.” He glanced at Tamlin. “Now that you have decided that you are, in fact, husband and wife.”

  “Yes,” said Tamlin.

  Calem snorted. “As if it were not immediately obvious to anyone who happens to look at you.”

  Tamlin said nothing, considering that. Perhaps Tamara was the reason Cathala’s indifference did not trouble him very much. Tamara meant far more to Tamlin that his mother did. She had been with him during the battle at Cathair Caedyn, and he had seen firsthand her bravery. He had loved and married Tysia in Urd Maelwyn, and Tamara and Tysia were the same woman. Or the shards of the original woman.

  “I suppose not, no,”
said Tamlin. “Out of curiosity, you and Kalussa seem to have reconciled.”

  Calem remained silent for a while.

  “When we return to Aenesium,” said Calem at last, “I am going to ask her to marry me.”

  “Are you, now?” said Tamlin.

  “I am,” said Calem. “But I suppose I will have to ask King Hektor for permission.”

  “You should probably mention that to Kalussa first,” said Tamlin.

  “I shall,” said Calem.

  “But I don’t think King Hektor will offer any opposition,” said Tamlin. “Likely he will make you one of his Companion knights.”

  “Rank and titles do not matter to me, though I recognize that they are necessary,” said Calem. “But I find that Kalussa matters to me more than anyone else I have ever met.” He took a deep breath. “I know we are going to Urd Maelwyn after Aenesium. I know we may not survive that. I wish to marry Kalussa before we set out for Urd Maelwyn so that if I fall in battle, it will be as her husband. I…”

  He broke off, frowning, and looked to the side.

  A flicker of green in the gloom caught his eye, and Tamlin saw Cathala climbing up to join them. His mother’s face was a calm mask, her green eyes glinting in the moonlight, and he saw no hint of her real thoughts in her expression.

  “Mother,” said Tamlin, watching her.

  “Lady Cathala,” said Calem, turning his attention back to the foothills.

  “Tamlin,” said Cathala, hesitating. “May…I have a moment to speak with you?”

  “I should stay on watch,” said Tamlin. Suddenly he did not want to talk to her. “We can speak more in the morning.”

  “Please,” said Cathala, a hint of sorrow going over her features. “It’s important.”

  She took a step towards him.

  “All right,” said Tamlin. “What did you want to talk about?”

  “I want to ask your forgiveness,” said Cathala.

  “For what?” said Tamlin, but even as he spoke, he felt a searing wave of resentment wash through him, so strong that it surprised him. She had made mistakes. Perhaps they had been innocent mistakes. Perhaps they had been well-intentioned mistakes, but he had paid for them. He had paid for her mistakes for years and for years.

  “I did not…I did not handle our meeting today very well,” said Cathala. “I was startled and alarmed and…well, I was very frightened. Please forgive me.”

  “Perhaps in your surprise, there was honesty,” said Tamlin.

  To his surprise, she let out a rueful laugh.

  “Perhaps there was,” said Cathala. “Tamlin, I must confess something. I was singularly ill-suited for motherhood, and I’m afraid I’ve made a terrible hash of it. That was why I brought you here. I knew I would not do well raising you, and I certainly couldn’t leave you with your father. You saw what he did to his other Swordborn children.”

  “The Ironcoats,” said Tamlin.

  “Exactly,” said Cathala. “I didn’t want you…brutalized like that. I wanted a peaceful life for you, Tamlin, a quiet life of prayer and contemplation. Away from the carnage of the War of the Seven Swords.” She sighed and shrugged. “It seems my plans failed in that, as well.”

  “They did,” said Tamlin. “You might not have intended for me to become a warrior, Mother, but I would have been ill-suited as a monk.”

  Cathala’s mouth twisted. “You like women a little too much, that is plain.” She shook her head and raised her hand. “No, no, that was harsh of me.”

  “Yes,” said Tamlin, “but harshness seems to be your nature. And if I had not become first a gladiator and then an Arcanius Knight, then disaster would have befallen many times.”

  “Plainly, based on the tales I have heard from your friends,” said Cathala. “I do not think we have much in common, but I would hope we could at least have peace between us. We both want is best for Tamara.” To his surprise, she took his hand. “Please? Would you not forgive me?”

  Despite himself, Tamlin was touched. “Very well. I do forgive you. I hope we can at least start anew.”

  Cathala beamed and stepped closer. “Thank you, Tamlin.”

  Suddenly he noticed the object in her other hand.

  It was a flat cloth pad, just large enough to fill her palm, and it seemed to be wet. Before Tamlin could process the thought, she slapped the pad against his mouth and nostrils. A harsh chemical stench flooded his nose, and suddenly a wave of dizziness went through Tamlin.

  The next thing he knew he was lying on his side, the Sword of Earth in its scabbard pinned beneath him, his head spinning.

  Then blackness followed him.

  ###

  Cathala pulled the cloth pad from Tamlin’s face, and her son collapsed to the rampart with a rattle of that strange golden armor he wore. He might wake up in an hour or so, or his heart might stop. The drug sometimes caused different reactions in people, depending on their overall state of health. Cathala didn’t particularly care which.

  She had no intention of ever seeing Tamlin again.

  Calem’s head snapped around, his eyes narrowing.

  “Oh my God!” said Cathala, letting panic fill her features. “I think someone shot him! There’s an archer outside the wall!”

  Calem looked over the battlements, dropping to a half-crouch to take shelter, and Cathala stared casting a spell of water magic. It would let her reach into Calem’s flesh, to trigger the spells of dark magic that bound him.

  “Lady Cathala,” said Calem. “Go to the others. Warn them at once. We…”

  His voice trailed off, and then his eyes went wide with alarm.

  “No!” he said. “Stop!”

  He yanked the Sword of Air from its scabbard and charged towards her as Cathala finished her spell. She flinched, raising her hands in fear, and knew that it was useless. Calem could use the Sword of Air to slice her in half with the slightest effort.

  But Calem went motionless, and Cathala lowered her hands.

  The young knight stood before her. All emotion had drained from his face, and his expression had become peculiarly blank. Cathala had seen many strange and horrifying things in her life, had survived terrible battles, and she knew she had a stronger will than most people. Yet even she found that cold blank stare unsettling. A few moments ago, Calem had been a reserved, quiet young knight who had looked at Kalussa Pendragon with adoring eyes. With the spells of enslavement active, Cathala was looking into the face of a remorseless, relentless killer.

  No matter. She would use every tool at hand to save Owyllain.

  “Will you obey me?” said Cathala.

  “I shall,” said Calem, his voice flat, empty. “What is your command?”

  “Follow me,” said Cathala, drawing the dvargir collar from beneath her skirt. “We have work to do.”

  ###

  Third followed Ridmark through the empty stone shell of the church and to the crypt stairs.

  “She went down there?” said Ridmark. “We’ll need a light. I should have thought to bring one.”

  “No need,” said Third, drawing one of her swords. She sent a mental command to the sword, and the dwarven glyphs scribed into the blade pulsed and then burned with yellow-orange flames.

  “Handy,” said Ridmark. He hesitated and drew Oathshield in his right hand, his staff still in his left, and descended into the gloom.

  Third followed him into the crypt and lifted her burning sword, using it as a torch. The flickering light threw back the shadows, revealing rows of urns lining stone shelves.

  “There,” said Ridmark. “She left a trail through the dust.”

  Third nodded and angled her sword towards the boot prints in the dust. Ridmark walked deeper into the crypt. Rectangular stone boxes rested at regular intervals, their lids smashed open.

  “Sarcophagi,” said Third.

  “Tamlin said the monks originally founded the monastery because they thought it was blasphemous to burn their dead,” said Ridmark.

  “I imagine an e
ncounter with one of the Sovereign’s necromancers changed their minds,” said Third.

  “Or the Maledictus of Life,” said Ridmark. “Her tracks lead here.”

  Third squatted and waved her burning sword back and forth. The tracks in the dust did indeed lead to one of the sarcophagi, a massive block of stone carved with scenes of the Dominus Christus and the twelve apostles. The monks must have been superb stonemasons. To judge from the markings in the dust, Cathala had squatted here and then…

  “A secret compartment,” said Third. She shifted her sword to her left hand and felt along the base of the sarcophagus. “I think…yes, here.”

  She tugged on the hidden latch, and a small panel swung open, revealing a concealed compartment. Inside rested an array of crystalline bottles holding powders and liquids.

  “Medicines?” said Ridmark.

  “No,” said Third, her voice growing grim as she recognized some of the substances. “Poisons.”

  “Poisons,” repeated Ridmark, his hard tone matching her own. “Cathala had a secret supply of poisons hidden in the crypt.”

  “And she took at least some of them with her,” said Third.

  “Damn it,” said Ridmark. “I knew that woman wasn’t to be trusted. Come on. We’ve got to warn the others right away.”

  ###

  Cathala walked towards the glowing sphere of fire, Calem following her in perfect silence.

  Her eyes flicked over the sleeping forms lying near the heat of the magical fire. Cathala spotted the Keeper, Kalussa, and Krastikon. Tamara lay sleeping a small distance from the others, no doubt waiting for Tamlin to come and indulge his base lusts with her. That barbarous Takai halfling lay in slumber a short distance from his overgrown lizard. Cathala spotted Selene keeping watch a short distance away, and there was no sign of the Shield Knight and Lady Third. Well, the Shield Knight seemed to have a close friendship with the unnatural freak. Perhaps he was rutting with her behind the Keeper’s back. That was exactly the sort of thing an oafish warrior would do.