Sevenfold Sword: Sorceress Read online

  SEVENFOLD SWORD: SORCERESS

  Jonathan Moeller

  Table of Contents

  Description

  A brief author’s note

  Chapter 1: Swamps

  Chapter 2: Lost Lore

  Chapter 3: Five Heads Are Better Than One

  Chapter 4: The Sword of Life

  Chapter 5: Jastaani

  Chapter 6: Mercenaries

  Chapter 7: Reconnect

  Chapter 8: Nine Heads Are Even Better Than One

  Chapter 9: Harsh Business

  Chapter 10: The Immortal One

  Chapter 11: A Last Chance

  Chapter 12: Something New

  Chapter 13: Regeneration

  Chapter 14: Statue

  Chapter 15: Mother

  Chapter 16: Children

  Chapter 17: Seen It Before

  Chapter 18: I Will Save The World

  Chapter 19: Better Uses

  Chapter 20: The Assassin

  Chapter 21: Wounds

  Chapter 22: This Is For Your Own Good

  Chapter 23: A Slight Miscalculation

  Chapter 24: Pursuit

  Epilogue

  Other books by the author

  About the Author

  Glossary of Characters

  Glossary of Locations

  Chart of Kings, Cities, the Maledicti & the Seven Swords

  Description

  The quest of the Seven Swords will unmask treachery.

  Ridmark Arban is the Shield Knight, questing to stop the rise of the evil New God. The sorceress Cathala, imprisoned within magical stone, holds the lore of the creator of the Seven Swords.

  But dark powers are stirring in the Serpent Marshes, and Cathala has secrets of her own.

  Secrets that might kill Ridmark and his friends...

  Sevenfold Sword: Sorceress

  Copyright 2018 by Jonathan Moeller.

  Published by Azure Flame Media, LLC.

  Cover design by Clarissa Yeo.

  Ebook edition published July 2018.

  All Rights Reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.

  A brief author’s note

  At the end of this book, you will find a Glossary of Characters and a Glossary of Locations listing all the major characters and locations in this book, along with a chart listing the nine cities & Kings of the realm of Owyllain, the bearers of the Seven Swords, and the seven high priests of the Maledicti.

  A map of the realm of Owyllain is available on the author's website at this link.

  A map of the realm of Andomhaim is available on the author’s website at this link.

  Chapter 1: Swamps

  One hundred and three days after the quest of the Seven Swords began, one hundred and three days after the day in the Year of Our Lord 1488 when the cloaked stranger came to the High King of Andomhaim’s court, Ridmark Arban walked across the grassy island, looking at the landscape around him.

  It was not an inspiring sight.

  In all directions stretched the swamps that the men of Owyllain called the Serpent Marshes. Dozens of grassy islands dotted the landscape, rising from the brackish waters like cairns on a battlefield. Huge thick trees loomed from the water, ropes of grayish-green moss hanging from their limbs like curtains. There were so many trees that they often blocked out the sun, throwing the marshes into shadow. After the days spent crossing the Takai Steppes under the blazing sun, the shade was welcome.

  But the shade, Ridmark reflected, was about the only pleasant thing about the Serpent Marshes.

  It was damnably hot and so humid that Ridmark had started sweating when they had entered the marshes, and he had not stopped since. The combination of the heat, the stagnant water, and the masses of dead vegetation meant that the swamps stank of decay, the odor sometimes so powerful that the stench made his eyes water. For that matter, many of the brilliant flowers that grew on the islands were poisonous, and drawing too close to their blossoms could cause dizziness or even unconsciousness. And as unpleasant as the terrain, the weather, and the smell were, the insects were far worse. Hordes of mosquitoes buzzed through the swamps, and sometimes they were so thick they looked like clouds of black smoke rising from the grass.

  Thankfully, Magatai was familiar with the Serpent Marshes, and the Takai halfling had pointed out a common purple fruit the exact color of a bruise. When squeezed, the fruit’s juice repelled mosquitoes. The fruit smelled like a combination of vinegar and a rotting apple, but Ridmark would take the stench over getting bitten by a hundred mosquitoes every hour.

  Besides, the stink of the fruit helped drown out both the stench of the swamp and the reek of the sweat-sodden clothing beneath his armor. He did not have a weak stomach, but by God and the saints, he needed a bath.

  The monks of the Monastery of St. James, Tamlin had told Ridmark, had built their monastery in the foothills of the Tower Mountains so they could pursue the work of God in solitude, far from the temptations and seductions of human society. Given that the most direct route to the monastery passed through the wretched swamps, Ridmark supposed the monks had succeeded in finding the most isolated place in Owyllain to build their monastery.

  Then again, that hadn’t saved them from Justin Cyros.

  Ridmark climbed up the side of another grassy island, grateful that he had good boots that kept the water from his feet. He was also grateful for the staff in his left hand, a gift from the gray elves and the ancient Sylmarus in the heart of Cathair Caedyn. The staff looked rough and even a little twisted, like a thick branch tugged from the earth. Despite that, it was perfectly balanced in his hand, better balanced than even the staff of Ardrhythain that he had carried during the quest to find the secret of the Frostborn. It adhered perfectly to his grip, and if Ridmark dropped it, he need only concentrate, and the staff would leap back to his hand. For that matter, the staff could also harm creatures of dark magic. Calliande said that the staff was alive in the same way that his soulblade Oathshield was alive.

  Given the challenges they faced, Ridmark welcomed every weapon he could find.

  That, and the staff was useful for keeping his balance as he moved from grassy island to grassy island.

  Ridmark clambered to the top of another island, stopped, and wiped the sweat from his forehead, which was useless since more appeared at once to take its place. He reached for the waterskin at his belt and took a long drink of water, the liquid cool and pleasant against his parched throat. The brackish waters of the marsh were no doubt poisonous to drink, but water, at least, was not a worry. Calliande could call as much ice as she wished with her elemental magic, and that melted into safe drinking water.

  Still, the sooner they were out of this damnable swamp, the better.

  Ridmark capped his waterskin and lowered it to his belt. Another mile or so, he decided. He had hoped to find a path to speed their passage through the marshes. The xiatami, Tamlin and Magatai had both said, had dwelled in the Serpent Marshes since before humans or perhaps even the gray elves came to Owyllain. Surely, they must have built roads or perhaps causeways at some point. Yet the xiatami kept to themselves in their city of Najaris, and rarely came forth to deal with other kindreds. Perhaps they had never bothered to build causeways through the marsh.

  No, it seemed the only option was to slog their way through the marsh mile by m
ile. That would take far longer than Ridmark wished, but he didn’t see a way around it. A wave of irritation rolled through him, and Ridmark fought it down. Ridmark had not seen his sons for over a month, and that absence gnawed at him.

  He let out a long breath and shook his head. The foul weather and terrain were making him irritable. And, truth be told, he had much for which to be grateful. Thanks to the Sight, Calliande at least knew that Gareth and Joachim were alive and well and safe within the walls of Aenesium. Ridmark and the others ought to have died with the gray elves at Cathair Caedyn, but thanks to Third, the gray elves had won a stunning victory and crushed the muridachs utterly.

  And, Ridmark reflected, he had good boots that kept the swamp water off his feet.

  Another mile and he would turn back and rejoin the others. Third ought to have found him by then. Ridmark supposed he might stumble on a better path through the marsh, but he doubted it.

  He took another step, and something white caught his eye.

  Ridmark froze for a moment, his staff coming up in guard, and then took three steps forward. He pushed aside the grass and examined the bones lying on the ground.

  It was a skeleton, but one unlike one he had ever seen before.

  The shape of the skeleton was mostly human, but there were differences. For one, the toes and fingers were tipped with sharp claws. For another, the skeleton had a tail. The vertebrae of the spine extended past the pelvis and ended in a conical structure of bone that looked like a sort of rattle as long as Ridmark’s hand.

  And the skull was that of a serpent.

  Ridmark tapped the skull with the end of his staff. It was longer than a human skull, with enormous eye sockets and an oddly hinged jaw. Fangs as long as Ridmark’s middle finger jutted from the jawbone, and no doubt they had contained a deadly poison in life. Tatters of bronze-colored snakeskin hung from some of the bones, and the remnants of crumbling leather armor surrounded the skeleton.

  Blue fire flashed in the corner of his vision, and Ridmark whirled, half-expecting to see undead snake-headed creatures rising from the waters of the swamp.

  Instead, he saw a tall woman in close-fitting dark armor with black hair bound back in a tight braid, her pale features gaunt and her ears rising in points, the blue fire fading from her black eyes. She wore a gray cloak similar to Ridmark’s own, and the twin hilts of longswords rose over her shoulders.

  She caught her balance, nodded to herself, and climbed up the side of the island to join Ridmark.

  “I have located a causeway,” said Third.

  “Have you?” said Ridmark. “That’s good news.”

  “About seven miles north of here,” said Third. “I almost missed it, but I did one more jump and found it. Magatai said that the xiatami trade with the tribes of nomadic orcs that live on the eastern side of the Tower Mountains, so it was a logical assumption that the xiatami would have built a causeway. I suspect it moves in a straight line southeast from Najaris to the gap between the Tower Mountains and the Illicaeryn Jungles.”

  “We’ll have to change direction, then,” said Ridmark.

  Third nodded. “It appears the causeway is heavily traveled. If we take that route, we may encounter enemies.”

  “That’s as much of a risk as traveling through this damnable marsh,” said Ridmark. He slapped at a mosquito that had landed on his hand. “Sooner or later we’re bound to encounter a fever that Calliande and Kalussa can’t cure or some sort of dangerous creature that lives in the swamp. No, better to risk the causeway.”

  “Agreed,” said Third. She inclined her head to look at the skeleton. “You found something?”

  “Not as useful as a causeway,” said Ridmark, “but I think this was a xiatami.”

  Third tapped one of the bones with the toe of her boot. “The snakemen that we have heard about.”

  “Aye, so it would seem,” said Ridmark. “Hopefully, they are less truculent than the ratmen.”

  Third blinked, snorted, and smiled a little. “That would not be difficult.”

  She had changed since Cathair Caedyn. Third had always been calm in most situations, but it was calmness with a hard edge, like the silence of a mountain pass in the last second before the avalanche fell. Now while she was no less watchful, she seemed more relaxed, as if she had released a long-held burden. Ridmark was not entirely sure what had happened to her within the heart of the Sylmarus, but it seemed to have made her stronger.

  The sword of blue fire she could now summon proved that.

  “I wonder how this one died,” said Third.

  “If I had to guess, I’d say something bit it to death,” said Ridmark. “Look at the back of the skull. You can see the tooth marks there, and the bone is crushed.”

  “And more claw and tooth marks on the ribs,” said Third.

  “Something jumped on its back, killed it with a bite to the back of the head, and then ate its fill,” said Ridmark.

  He and Third shared a look.

  “Perhaps we should rejoin the others,” said Third.

  “Aye,” said Ridmark. “I wonder if an urvaalg did this.”

  Third shook her head. “If an urvaalg killed this xiatami, the bones would have been scattered everywhere. The same would be true of an ursaar. An urshane or an urhaalgar would have left a mostly intact corpse, but they kill with poison rather than brute force.”

  “Well, that xiatami has been dead for a while,” said Ridmark as they headed south. “Whatever killed it might have moved on long ago. And I am looking forward to this causeway. It will be pleasant to have a rest from picking our way over these damned islands.”

  “Agreed,” said Third.

  Ridmark tested the ground with the end of his staff, found it acceptably firm, and moved forward. “Though I suppose you could just use your power to jump from island to island.”

  “Mmm. I was an urdhracos for a thousand years,” said Third. “I suppose it is about time I had some benefit from it.”

  Ridmark blinked and then smiled. She never used to make jokes.

  Then he heard the splashing, and he came to a sudden halt.

  Third likewise stopped, one hand straying to her sword hilts while her eyes swept the swamp around them. After several days of traveling through the marshes, Ridmark had become accustomed to the noises. The Serpent Marshes were rarely silent. The buzz of insects was a constant, as was the rustling of the moss-laden trees and the splashing of the water. Fish swam through the marsh, hunted by both birds and scampering lizards the size of Ridmark’s forearm.

  But he had heard nothing make a splashing sound like this before.

  Something big was moving through the water.

  He turned, staff in hand, just as the grayish-green shape heaved itself out of the marsh and lumbered towards them.

  ###

  Third was a thousand years old, and she had seen (and often killed) numerous different kindreds and varieties of creatures.

  And in all that time, she had never seen a creature like the one that climbed out of the water and crouched a few yards away.

  It was enormous and had it stood at its full height, it would have risen at least seven or eight feet tall. Its body was human-shaped but covered in grayish-green warty skin, like the skin of a toad. It had hands and feet like those of a human (albeit tipped with hooked black claws), but thick greenish webbing filled the space between its fingers and toes, no doubt letting it move through the water with greater ease. Its head looked like that of a toad, with a wide, lipless mouth and bulging black eyes with vivid orange irises.

  The creature stared at them in silence, a sac beneath its jaw bulging and shrinking at it drew breath.

  “Have you ever seen anything like this before?” said Third in Latin. If the creature was a thinking being, she doubted it spoke Latin.

  “No,” said Ridmark. “Never. But Magatai said…”

  The creature said something in a rumbling, croaking voice. It was unquestionably speech, but Third did not recognize the langua
ge.

  “Greetings,” said Ridmark, switching to the orcish tongue. “We are simply passing through this land.”

  “Human!” barked the toad-creature.

  “Yes, that’s right,” said Ridmark. Well, in Third’s case, half-right.

  “Humans not come to swamp!” said the toad-thing. “That very sad!”

  “Is it, now?” said Ridmark, holding his staff before him.

  Something in the creature’s posture made Third reach for the hilts of her swords.

  “Yes, very sad,” said the toad-creature. “Do you know why?”

  “Why is that?” said Ridmark.

  “Humans taste good!” said the toad-creature, and it moved in a blur.

  Third expected the creature to throw itself upon Ridmark, and she yanked her twin longswords from their scabbards, the golden blades flashing in the gloomy light of the marsh. Ridmark must have expected the same because he stepped back, his staff held horizontally before him to ward off any blows.

  But instead of leaping upon him, the creature’s mouth opened wide. Third started to dodge, expecting the toad-creature to spit venom.

  Its tongue, as wide as Third’s palm and an inch thick, snapped from its mouth with the speed of a crossbow bolt, wrapped around the staff, and ripped the weapon from Ridmark’s hands.

  Third blinked, momentarily stunned. In a thousand years, she had never seen anyone do that.

  The toad-creature let out a rumbling laugh which lasted until Ridmark held out his hand. The laugh turned to a yelp of pain as the staff answered Ridmark’s call, ripped its way free from the toad-thing’s tongue in a spray of black blood, and slapped back into Ridmark’s hand. The toad-creature howled in rage and charged, but Ridmark was already moving. He cast aside the staff, dodged, and yanked Oathshield from its scabbard all in one smooth motion. The soulstones worked into the pommel and the tang of the blue sword flashed, though no white fire danced along the blade. Whatever the toad-creature was, it wasn’t a thing of dark magic. Ridmark swept Oathshield before him, and one of the creature’s hands fell to the ground. The toad-thing screamed as black slime spurted from the stump of its right wrist.