Sevenfold Sword: Sorceress

by Jonathan Moeller

  Chapter 24: Pursuit

  Calliande Arban drifted through an endless fog.

  She felt…she felt…

  Nothing at all, come to think of it.

  Maybe she was dead. Was this hell? She had believed in the Dominus Christus and his forgiveness, but perhaps her failures had been too great even for God’s mercy. On the other hand, if this was hell, it was a fairly timid one. Maybe it was purgatory instead.

  Or maybe she wasn’t dead, and something had happened to her.

  Memories started to flash through her mind.

  Ridmark, on the day she had first kissed him, on the day he had brought her a handful of berries as they traveled through the Wilderland of Andomhaim.

  Gareth, telling her everything he had done during the day, his expression sober but his eyes bright as he looked at her.

  Joachim, laughing as she picked him up.

  Joanna, dying in her arms.

  An echo of the old grief passed through her mind, but it did not paralyze her. It was part of her now, and she had things to do. Her husband and sons needed her. Something terrible was coming, something that used the symbol of a double ring pierced by seven spikes.

  Seven Swords. Seven pieces of something mighty and evil.

  And those pieces were ready to draw together.

  “I am sorry,” said a familiar, hated voice, raspy and weary.

  Calliande whirled and found herself facing Rhodruthain, the Guardian of Cathair Animus.

  He looked exactly as he had on the day this had all begun, the day he had brought her and her family to Owyllain. His golden eyes were brilliant in his weathered, sun-bronzed face. The golden shape of the Sword of Life hung at his belt. His clothes were worn and dusty, and he carried a staff of red gold in his right hand, its top shaped into a roaring dragon’s head. Except he was not so much carrying the staff as he was leaning on it, and there were dark patches on his clothing that looked like blood.

  “You,” said Calliande, her hands balling into fists.

  “Yes,” said Rhodruthain. He coughed into his hand, and droplets of blood spattered across his fingers.

  “You brought me here,” said Calliande. “You put my children in danger.”

  “I did,” said Rhodruthain. He blinked, swayed, and leaned heavily on the staff. “I am not thinking very clearly. I have not been thinking very clearly for a long time. Twenty-five years. The Maledictus of Shadows tries to fill my mind with his mist to twist my thinking and fill my vision with illusions. I regret that I brought you here, that I put your sons in danger. But I would do it again.”

  “Would you?” said Calliande, her voice cold.

  “I would,” croaked Rhodruthain. “Because I am very nearly at the end of my strength. If I had not brought you here, the Masked One would have already been victorious. The New God would have risen. If I had…if I had not brought you here, your children…your children would be in more danger than you can comprehend…”

  He groaned and fell to one knee, and despite Calliande’s hatred of him, her instincts as a healer were too strong to ignore. She hurried to his side and knelt next to him, frowning as she cast a spell to plumb the extent of his injuries. He had indeed been hurt, very badly, and as far as she could tell, he was totally exhausted.

  “I cannot…I cannot keep going much longer,” whispered Rhodruthain. “It will be up to you to stop the Masked One, Keeper, you and the Shield Knight.” The golden eyes, ancient and exhausted, looked at her. “If you want to save your children, then stop him. I…”

  The dream dissolved into nothingness.

  Bit by bit Calliande became aware that she didn’t feel all that well.

  She was lying on the hard ground, her head pillowed on a rolled-up cloak. Her stomach roiled with nausea and her head…God, her head. It felt like someone had driven a spike through her right temple. More memories flickered through her mind, and she remembered the Monastery of St. James, remembered Cathala, remembered Calem hammering the pommel of the Sword of Air against her head…

  Cathala!

  Calliande’s eyes popped open, and she tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forced her back down.

  “Calliande?” said Ridmark, his voice thick with fatigue.

  Her eyes swam back into focus, and she looked around.

  She was lying in the courtyard of the Monastery of St. James, exactly where she had fallen. Ridmark knelt next to her, and he looked as terrible as she felt, his face haggard and covered in sweat, deep circles beneath his eyes. He held Oathshield’s hilt in his right hand, and his left hand was marked with dried blood.

  Her blood, come to think of it.

  “Ridmark?” she said.

  He sagged with relief, some of the tension draining from his face. “Thank God. How do you feel?”

  “Terrible,” said Calliande. She swallowed, trying to work moisture into her throat. “But I suppose I should be grateful to feel anything at all.”

  She sat up and managed to stay up this time. Ridmark passed her a waterskin, and she drank about half of it in three gulps. Her mind was clearer now, and she was beginning to realize what had happened. Ridmark must have used Oathshield to heal her.

  “How long was I out?” she said.

  “All of the night,” said Ridmark. He turned a bleary-eyed glance towards the sky and grimaced. “It’s…just past noon now, I think. Calem hit you hard.” He let out a ragged breath. “If not for Oathshield’s magic…I don’t think you would have survived.”

  “Ridmark.” She squeezed his hand, touched by the relief in his eyes. “Thank you.”

  He nodded.

  Calliande took another long breath. “How bad is it?”

  “Bad enough,” said Ridmark. “Cathala got a dvargir collar on Tamara and took control of Calem’s enslavement spells. Cathala fled with them both, and she stole the Sword of Death in the process. Krastikon and Kalussa ran after Cathala before I could stop them, and Tamlin joined them when he woke up. Cathala had drugged him when she took control of Calem.” Ridmark shook his head. “And then all of them ran into the dvargir slavers who have been following us.”

  “What happened then?” said Calliande, fresh fear fluttering through her heart.

  “I sent Third after them,” said Ridmark. “She managed to get Tamlin and Tamara away, and they returned here. But there were nearly one hundred and fifty kobolds and fifty dvargir. They took Cathala, Calem, Kalussa, and Krastikon captive, and they have the Sword of Death and the Staff of Blades as well.”

  “Oh, God,” said Calliande. Her hand flew to her mouth for a moment, and then it balled into a fist. “That stupid, horrible woman! I knew I should have kept a closer watch on her. God, I knew she was ruthless, but this…”

  “I realized she was doing something,” said Ridmark. “I told Third and Selene to watch her, and they saw her go into the crypt. She had a cache of poisons down there, and that was probably where she hid that damned collar as well. We ran up to warn Tamara, but by then it was too late.” He let out a breath. “Too damned late.”

  They sat in silence for a moment.

  “Where are the others?” said Calliande at last.

  “Tamlin, Selene, and Tamara are keeping watch on the wall,” said Ridmark. “Third and Magatai went out to track the path of the slavers. The dvargir are probably going to Najaris, but we need to make sure.” He rubbed his jaw, the stubble rasping under his fingers. “Magatai was furious. He didn’t wake up until dawn. Cathala’s sleeping mist affected him harder than the others. I was afraid he might not wake up at all.”

  Calliande said nothing, despair threatening to claw at her. She knew what the dvargir slavers were like, and the thought of Kalussa, Calem, and Krastikon in their clutches filled her with a sickening dread, to say nothing of what would happen when the Sword of Death inevitably fell into the wrong hands.

  “Ridmark,” she whispered. “What are we going to do?”

  “What are we going to do?” he repeated.

  She look
ed into his hard blue eyes, and some of her fear thinned. She saw no hint of despair there. She saw the man who had gone into Urd Morlemoch twice and escaped both times, the warrior who had gone with her to Dragonfall, the knight who had slain Tymandain Shadowbearer, the father who had slain Archaelon to rescue his sons from Castra Chaeldon.

  Ridmark Arban would never, ever give up, and neither would she.

  “We are going,” said Ridmark, “to get them back.”

  ###

  Later that afternoon, Third and Magatai returned.

  Ridmark was exhausted. He had not slept at all last night, and he had been too old to do that ten years ago, let alone now. That was piled on top of weeks of hard traveling and fighting before that. His heart screamed for him to set out in pursuit of the dvargir at once, but his mind knew that was folly. He couldn’t help anyone if he collapsed, and the others were just as tired. They needed a night of rest before they did anything.

  “Keeper!” said Magatai, dropping from Northwind’s saddle. “Magatai is very pleased to see that you are well.”

  Calliande smiled back. “And the Keeper is pleased that you are awake again, Magatai.”

  They gathered in the southern courtyard before the shattered gate. Tamlin, Kalussa, and Selene stood together. As soon as she had been strong enough, Calliande had healed wounds, though Tamara still rubbed her throat from time to time.

  “This is Magatai’s failure,” said Magatai. “I should have been more suspicious of the treacherous harlot.”

  Selene shook her head. “She took me unawares. I should have realized that she might overpower me.”

  “If I had been stronger, if I had broken free of that collar sooner,” said Tamara, “then none of this might have happened.”

  “None of you have any cause to rebuke yourselves,” said Tamlin. “The fault is mine. I should have realized Cathala for the serpent that she was…”

  “No one is to blame,” said Ridmark, cutting off the conversation before it could continue, “except for Cathala herself. Her son and his friends traveled through great danger to free her, and she repaid that with treachery. Well, I expect she regrets that now. But we are going to free our friends.” He looked at Third and Magatai. “What did you find?”

  “The dvargir are heading for the causeway,” said Third. “Almost certainly they are making for Najaris, and they will try to sell their prizes in the slave market there.”

  “Magatai would favor a daring raid to rescue our captured comrades,” said Magatai. “Unfortunately, more reinforcements have joined the dvargir, to judge from the tracks. Magatai thinks that several raiding parties were moving through the foothills, and they have reunited for the journey to Najaris.”

  Calliande frowned. “Then they aren’t coming here?”

  “Why bother?” said Third. “The Swords of Death and Air will fetch a fortune. The Swords and the Staff of Blades combined will sell for a mountain of gold. The dvargir are not fools. Their spoils will allow each of them to return to Khaldurmar as wealthy men. Why risk certain gain against the nebulous hope of more?”

  “But there are at least two hundred dvargir and three hundred kobolds,” said Magatai. “Magatai is unsure how we can free them.”

  “Maybe we can sneak into their camp and get our friends out,” said Tamara.

  “Or perhaps we can steal them once they get to Najaris,” said Tamlin. “It might be easier there.”

  Calliande nodded. “Or we could speak with Angashalis. He ought to have returned to Najaris by now. The xiatami are a cold kindred, but Angashalis seems wise enough to recognize the danger of having the Swords of Air and Death in Najaris.”

  “We’ll set out tomorrow before dawn,” said Ridmark. Tamlin started to protest, but Ridmark kept talking. “We’re all exhausted, and we need rest. But come tomorrow, we’ll pursue Kalussa, Calem, and Krastikon, and we are going to rescue them.”

  “How?” said Tamlin.

  “We shall either find a way,” said Ridmark, “or make one.”

  Epilogue

  The woman who had been the Scythe of the Maledicti but was now Selene listened to the discussion, sorting through her unfamiliar emotions as she did.

  She was new to the experience of having friends, but she was pleased that the Shield Knight and the Keeper had reacted as she wanted. Specifically, by rescuing their friends, followed by merciless retribution upon their enemies.

  Though Selene thought they were more interested in the rescue than the merciless retribution.

  But that was probably for the best. Having a conscience was a also new experience for Selene, and it told her that rescuing her friends was the priority.

  The odds were against them, but they had one point in their favor.

  The plan of the Maledicti had failed. The entire point of the trap had been to kill the Shield Knight and the Keeper, but they were both alive and able to fight. Their survival had caused the Maledicti all kinds of problems in the past, and Selene had no doubt it was about to do so again.

  She was looking forward to it.

  Selene turned her head and froze in astonishment.

  A woman she had never seen before stood a few paces away. She was translucent, and Selene could see the curtain wall through the hazy form of her body. The woman wore wool and leather and a tattered cloak of blue and green strips, and in her hand, she carried a carved staff of dark wood. Her eyes were black, and they stared at Selene without blinking.

  “Selene,” said the woman, “my name is Morigna, and I am the Guardian of mankind. I have come to offer you counsel. You must be ready, for if you are not, your task is doomed to failure, and the New God will rise in power.”

  Selene stared at the curious apparition for a moment.

  “Well,” she said at last. “This is unexpected.”

  THE END

  Thank you for reading SEVENFOLD SWORD: SORCERESS!

  But there are more adventures to come for Ridmark and Calliande in SEVENFOLD SWORD: SERPENT, the next book in the series coming in autumn 2018.

  If you liked the book, please consider leaving a review at your ebook site of choice. To receive immediate notification of new releases, sign up for my newsletter, or watch for news on my Facebook page.

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