But he could hold the power for a short time, and he could only call upon it once a day. His experiences in Owyllain had altered his link with Oathshield, and now he could also use the soulblade’s power to open a magical gate once a day. He avoided doing so unless there was any other choice because the gates did not last long and had unpleasant side effects.
But right now, he needed only the armor of the Shield Knight.
Ridmark sprinted into the dome of shadows.
At once, he felt the cold, malignant power, felt the weight of them press against his armor. The Signifier was indeed a wizard of significant might. Without the power of the Shield Knight, Ridmark could have moved into the dome, but it would have taken all Oathshield’s strength. The armor let him continue moving forward, Oathshield burning like a white torch in his fist.
He spotted Tyrcamber. He was still in his golden dragon form, and he lay prone upon his back, twitching and jerking. A tall figure in blue armor and a winged helm strode towards him, a massive two-bladed axe of dark elven steel in both hands. The Signifier raised the weapon high, preparing to plunge it into Tyrcamber’s neck for the killing stroke.
Ridmark raced forward and leaped, and he drove Oathshield at the Signifier’s face. At the last moment, the Signifier’s gaze snapped up to meet him, and the dark elven lord snarled and jumped back, the huge axe snapping up to deflect Ridmark’s strike. Oathshield rang against dark elven steel, and the Signifier swept the axe down. It hit Ridmark in the stomach with terrific force, and the power of the impact threw him backward. He landed with a ringing clang of his armor, and the Signifier sprang after him with feline speed and serpentine grace, the huge axe coming up for another blow. Ridmark rolled to the side, and the axe’s blade buried itself in the ground.
He surged back to his feet, drawing Oathshield back, and the Signifier bellowed, released one hand from the axe, and cast a spell. One of those deadly bursts of shadow and blue flame stabbed from the Signifier’s hand and struck Ridmark in the chest. The impact threw him back several steps, though he kept his feet, and the armor prevented any harm from reaching him.
Ridmark did, however, feel his grip on the power of the Shield Knight starting to slip. Using this power was exhausting, and Ridmark could only hold it for so long. If that happened while the dome of shadows was still up, he was dead. Oathshield could protect him from dark magic, but the sword would not have any power to spare to make him stronger and faster, and the Signifier would make short work of him.
Hee charged, leading with Aegisikon, Oathshield drawn back to strike.
The Signifier howled something in the dark elven tongue and met his attack. Ridmark caught the descending sweep of the huge axe on Aegisikon. The magical wood of his shield held against the blow, though it took the full strength of his armor to withstand it. Ridmark slashed Oathshield, and the tip of the soulblade scraped against the Signifier’s armored chest. The dark elven lord flinched from the soulblade’s fire, and he whipped the axe around, the blades deflecting Ridmark’s next thrust.
A double-bladed axe was a massive, unwieldy weapon. When Ridmark saw it in the hands of a foe, he knew that his opponent was either a proud fool or a master of the weapon. The Signifier might have been proud, but he wielded his axe with superb skill, using it as both weapon, shield, and sometimes even as a quarterstaff. Even with the power of the Shield Knight driving him, the Signifier was a match, his skill with his weapon canceling out the advantages of Ridmark’s greater strength and speed.
Yet Ridmark started to wear him down. He scored a half-dozen minor hits with Oathshield, and white fire poured from the soulblade to sink into the Signifier’s flesh. The dark elf rocked back in pain every single time, which allowed Ridmark to land another blow. He drove the dark elf away from Tyrcamber, and Ridmark felt his opponent slowing. If he could just push a little harder, he could take the Signifier before the power of the Shield Knight left him.
White fire flashed behind Ridmark, and a dome of white light spread past him, driving back the shadows. He risked a quick look over his shoulder and saw Calliande riding towards him, her staff raised overhead, the end blazing like a star. Her spell pushed back the dome of shadows, and wherever it did, men shook off the spell and got to their feet, preparing to charge the enemy.
The Signifier snarled and started to cast a spell, intending to strike down this new threat.
Ridmark seized his foe’s moment of distraction and swung Aegisikon with all the Shield Knight’s strength behind it. The shield hit the Signifier in the side of the head with a ringing clang. The dark elf’s helmet tumbled away, and Ridmark saw the Signifier’s gaunt, alien face with pointed elven ears beneath a shock of brilliant silver hair.
Before the Signifier could recover, Ridmark swung Oathshield.
The soulblade sheared through the dark elf’s neck with little resistance, and the Signifier’s head rolled away across the battlefield. No blood came from the ragged stump of his neck as the white fire cauterized the wound, and the armored body fell to the ground with a clang.
The dome of shadows shivered and unraveled into nothingness, and the sudden brightness of the afternoon sunlight seemed almost shocking by comparison.
Ridmark let out a breath and released the power of the Shield Knight.
The armor dissolved into white fire and flowed back into his sword, and a wave of crushing fatigue rolled through him. It was not quite as bad as it could have been, though. On his right forearm was an enspelled bracer that Antenora had forged for him, and it absorbed a great deal of the fatigue. Otherwise, Ridmark would have been unconscious for days until he recovered.
He took deep breaths, clearing his head, and Calliande ran to his side.
“Ridmark,” she said, her voice full of concern. “Are you hurt?”
“No, just weary,” said Ridmark, looking around. There were quite a few goblins and ogres nearby, and with their master slain and the dome of shadows broken, they were regaining their feet. “We’re going to have to fight.”
“Tyrcamber?” said Calliande.
“I don’t know,” said Ridmark. “He…”
There was a golden blur, a roar, and Tyrcamber soared into the air. Fire erupted from his jaws and engulfed the nearby goblins.
With that, the enemy army broke.
The goblins turned and fled to the north, and the ogres followed suit. A few stood and fought here and there, but were quickly overwhelmed.
“He seems to be unharmed,” said Calliande.
“Yes,” said Ridmark. He took one more deep breath and wiped the sweat from his face, and then looked at Calliande as the men of the Empire, the gnolls, and the men-at-arms charged into the fray. “Come. The battle isn’t over yet.”
###
That night, Accolon walked through the cathedral of Castarium, Niall and Caius still trailing after him.
The cathedral had been transformed into a hospital for wounded men, with blankets and cots lined in rows on the floor. While there had not been as many wounded as Accolon had feared, there were several hundred, their wounds ranging from mild to mortal. Calliande and Antenora focused on the most severely wounded, the ones that their magic had a chance to save. But Ridmark worked with the wounded as well, tired as he plainly was. His soulblade gave him a limited ability to use its healing magic on another, and he employed that to heal men who might otherwise have been maimed or crippled or would have faced long weeks or months of recovery.
And since Accolon was a Swordbearer, he took part in the work.
He moved from wounded man to wounded man, doing what he could. Niall followed him, though Caius had gone to help give last rites to the men who could not be healed. Accolon had asked why Niall was still following him around, and Niall had answered with perfect honesty that Lord Ridmark hadn’t told him to do anything else yet.
Accolon straightened up with a grunt, his back aching. He had used Hopesinger to heal a man who had a nasty gash across his left arm where his shield had shattered, and the sp
linters had driven into his flesh. The shards had missed the blood vessels, which was why the man hadn’t bled to death, but he might have lost the arm or the use of his hand. The healing had left the wounded soldier with nasty scars on his forearm, but he would keep his arm and hand.
“Thank you, my lord,” said the soldier, a militiaman from Castarium. “It feels much better.”
Accolon nodded, too tired to say something else, and moved on to the next cot. He glanced back and saw Niall yawn, raising one hand to cover his mouth.
“Niall?” said Accolon.
“Lord Prince?” said Niall.
“Why don’t you go get us some food?” said Accolon. “The storehouses at the castra have been opened, and they’re handing out food to feed the soldiers.”
Niall hesitated. “Lord Ridmark said I wasn’t to leave your side.”
Accolon smiled. “He did. But he said you were to be my squire, and a squire is to take commands from his knight. And it’s a short walk to the castra. You’ll be gone all of ten minutes.”
Niall hesitated a little bit longer and then nodded. “Of course, my lord. Be right back.”
He turned and jogged for the cathedral doors, vanishing into the forum. Through the opened doors, Accolon saw the glowing white stone that had caused all this trouble. Once the healing work was done, Antenora and Calliande would turn their attention back to the menhir, the stone that Tyrcamber said the Signifier called a Dwyrstone. Accolon did not envy them the work.
Until then, there were still wounded that he could help.
Accolon turned towards the next row of cots, and he saw Prior Simon hurrying towards him.
A wave of irritation went through Accolon, which surprised him. Abbot Caldorman and Prior Simon had taken him in, had shown him how to combat his grief through prayer and fasting. Except Accolon had come to suspect they had only shown him kindness to gain favor in the future, that they viewed his stated intent to become a monk in atonement with amused condescension.
When he had come to Castarium, Accolon had been certain that he would become a monk in atonement for Caitrin’s death. But now, after the battle against the Signifier’s forces, Accolon was not so sure. Ridmark had been right. Accolon could not hide from the world when danger rose…and there were dangers everywhere.
But he schooled his face to calm.
“Prior,” said Accolon.
“Prince Accolon,” said Simon. He had called him ‘prince,’ not novice. “I have some urgent news. You must come with me at once.”
“I am needed here,” said Accolon. He tapped the hilt of Hopesinger. “There are wounded men the soulblade gives me the power to heal. Can it not wait until tomorrow?”
Simon took a deep breath, looked around, and lowered his voice.
“It is about Caitrin Rhosmor,” he murmured.
Accolon felt something freeze inside him. “What?”
“Her sister Julia has come to the monastery,” said Simon.
“What?” said Accolon again. “How? The Signifier’s forces scoured the countryside. There are still goblins fleeing in all directions.” No doubt they would cause problems for months, though most of the survivors had fled into the remaining rifts before Ridmark closed them with Oathshield. “How did she even survive?”
“She told us a harrowing tale,” said Simon. “Her escorts were attacked and killed, and she barely escaped. She was out of her wits with terror when she came to the monastery gates, poor girl, and was so frightened that she didn’t even think to come to the gates of the town. It seems she heard of her sister’s…tragedy, and Julia wanted to go to Tarlion to find what had happened and return her sister’s body to Cintarra.” He hesitated and gripped Accolon’s shoulder. “The abbot thinks that you should be the one to tell Julia what had happened.”
Accolon hesitated. “I don’t…I don’t…”
“I believe we both know God has not called you to become a monk,” said Simon. “Else God would not have put you in a position where you could take up a soulblade. But the abbot thinks that this can be your penance…if you face Julia and tell her what happened. It will be difficult, I know. But if you want to full show contrition and penance for your sin, this is the way to do it.”
“You’re right,” said Accolon, voice quiet. “I don’t want to do it…which means you’re probably right.” He looked around. “I must do it now. If I don’t, I shall lose my courage. Please, lead the way.”
“She awaits us at the doorkeeper’s lodge,” said Simon. “And fear not, Prince Arandar. The abbot and I shall be with you. Come, let us hasten.”
Accolon nodded and followed the prior, his heart thudding against his ribs, his weariness forgotten in his sudden fear. He didn’t want to face Julia, didn’t want to confess his sins to a strange woman. But the abbot was right. This was the way to show his penitence. And Accolon would do all that he could for Julia, would see to her comfort and health.
He hadn’t even known that Caitrin’s bastard sister was named Julia. Caitrin had mentioned that she had a bastard half-sister, had said that they had been friendly but distant with each other. Accolon had gathered that the bastard half-sister had something embarrassing in her past, probably something to do with her mother.
Well, it didn’t matter. She was still Caitrin’s sister, and Accolon would do whatever he could do to help her.
He followed Simon into the streets of Castarium, the sun slipping away beneath the houses to the west.
###
Niall jogged back towards the cathedral, two small loaves of hard bread and a waterskin of wine in a satchel slung across his chest. He had been somewhat surprised that his aunt Rhiain had wound up in charge of distributing the supplies from the castra’s storehouse, working alongside a woman named Miriam who was both the owner of the Salty Fish Inn and the sister of the praefectus Flavius and the decurion Vegetius. Flavius was short on trustworthy people, and so he had put Miriam and Rhiain in charge. Which made sense. Rhiain was the most honest woman he knew, incapable of saying anything but the truth in the bluntest way possible.
Sometimes, he thought, to her detriment.
But not that he would ever tell her that. Discretion wasn’t the same thing as lying, and therefore not a sin.
He turned towards the cathedral and paused in surprise.
Prince Accolon left the cathedral, walking quickly, accompanied by a lordly-looking man in a monk’s robe. Niall remembered him very well. It was Prior Simon, who had presented the monks’ case to Lord Ridmark. Prior Simon, who had demanded that Niall be put to death for stealing the animals. A flicker of resentment went through Niall. He had stolen from the monastery, true, but where had the monks been during the fighting? Niall knew that monks were not supposed to raise the sword, but there were many other things they could do to help, and only Bishop Belasco’s generosity had shamed them into acting.
For that matter, why was Prince Accolon leaving alone with Prior Simon?
Niall still didn’t know the precise details of why Accolon had been at the monastery, and he hadn’t dug deeper. Rhiain had told him the rumors, Ridmark had told him the facts, Accolon had mentioned Caitrin Rhosmor, and Niall got the gist. There had been a woman, she had died, and the prince had come to the monastery to mourn. Niall supposed that all made sense.
What didn’t make sense was why Accolon was going off with Prior Simon alone. The prince had been determined to keep using his soulblade’s power to heal. Did the prior need help with something? For that matter, why were they walking the streets alone? Most of the enemy army had been destroyed, and the rest had fled through the remaining rifts before Ridmark closed them, leaving only the rift north of the town so the men of the Empire could return to their homeland. But that rift was still open, and more goblins or worse things might come through it.
Or, for that matter, another rift might open inside the town. All it would take was one goblin in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Andomhaim would no longer have an heir.
Somethi
ng about this situation just seemed wrong, made Niall’s instincts shout a warning.
Well, Lord Ridmark had told him to keep watch over the prince, hadn’t he? Niall just had to keep doing what he was told.
He followed at a distance, keeping to the growing shadows. Neither the prince nor the prior noticed him. Niall could move very, very quietly when he found it necessary. Back home in Ebor, they hadn’t been permitted to take deer from the lord’s woods, but sometimes deer and rabbits strayed into the fields…and the meat was welcome. You had to be careful hunting deer and rabbits. The slightest noise, the smallest hint that something was wrong, and they would flee.
By comparison, following humans was easy. In fact, if Niall had really wanted to do it, he could have stolen those two sheep and that pig, and no one would ever have known. It would have been a simple matter to bury the bones and the offal, or to dump them in the sea, and the monks never would have known what had happened to their animals. Maybe, a voice in Niall’s head whispered, it would have been better to do it that way.
No. It was better to be honest.
Was remaining out of sight of the prince and the prior dishonest?
No, Niall decided. It was just…discretion.
###
Accolon walked into the monastery’s courtyard and took a quick glance around.
The sun had disappeared over the walls to the west, and the last bit of twilight faded as five of the thirteen moons became visible. Their mixed light was an unpleasant red shade that put him in mind of blood, and it was hard to see by their illumination. Nevertheless, he saw that the goblin corpses had already been removed from the courtyard, likely by teams of toiling novices. The door to the doorkeeper’s lodge was open, and firelight spilled into the courtyard.
“There, lord prince,” said Simon, pointing at the door. “Lady Julia awaits you in there.”
Dragontiarna: Knights Page 29