Sevenfold Sword_Necromancer Page 2

  On the other hand, maybe harsh teaching was necessary. Magic was a heavy responsibility.

  And the crystal-stopped staff of dark metal that Kalussa carried made that responsibility all the graver.

  Kalussa took another deep breath and lifted her left hand, her eyes narrowing with concentration. A sphere of elemental flame about an inch across appeared above her palm and started to orbit around her in a slow arc. She called a second sphere into existence, her face tightening with concentration.

  Her frown sharpened, her eyes narrowing to blue slits, and a third sphere shimmered above her hand.

  “Now see how long you can hold them in place,” said Calliande, starting a count in her head.

  “Fine,” said Kalussa, voice tight with strain.

  She managed to hold them for sixty-eight seconds before she let out a shuddering breath, the spheres fading into nothingness.

  “Very well done,” said Calliande. “That’s the longest you’ve managed to hold two spheres, and you just did it with three.”

  “Splitting my concentration like that,” said Kalussa. She shook her head. “It’s…it is a challenge.”

  “Yes,” said Calliande. “But it is often necessary when wielding magical force. And the stronger your mental discipline, the better control you will have over the Staff of Blades.”

  “The Keeper speaks wisdom, Lady Kalussa,” said Calem. His expression was solemn, but his green eyes did not blink as he looked at Kalussa. “Discipline is vital under all circumstances. And self-control is the key to victory for a warrior.”

  “Or a Sister of the Arcanii,” said Kalussa. She winced and patted the top of her head. “Else I’ll accidentally set my own hair on fire.”

  “That only happened once,” said Calliande, “and I put out the fire before it could hurt you.” It hadn’t smelled good, though.

  “Also,” said Calem, “you dismissed the magic smoothly. If you had not, you might have set the grass on fire, and then Lord Ridmark would have lectured us on the dangers of smoke drawing enemies.”

  Kalussa blinked and then burst out laughing. “He would have. Did you just make a joke, Sir Calem?”

  “I did, it would seem,” said Calem. His grave expression cracked into a smile. “I wasn’t certain I was capable of it.”

  “Well, I wonder just what else you’re capable of,” said Kalussa, and then a furious blush went over her face as she realized what she had just implied. Perhaps fortunately, the inadvertent innuendo went right over Calem’s head.

  “Swordplay, mostly,” said Calem.

  Calliande heard Aegeus laugh.

  “Your magical strength has increased a great deal, Kalussa,” said Calliande before the conversation could degenerate further. “I think it was your efforts at the battle that did it.”

  “Why would that make a difference, my lady?” said Kalussa, the blush fading as her attention turned back to the matter at hand.

  “Magical strength can sometimes increase in sudden leaps and bounds,” said Calliande, “and sometimes after an ordeal. The battle was one such ordeal for you, I think.”

  “I had never cast so many spells at once in my life,” said Kalussa. “I didn’t feel stronger. I just felt exhausted.”

  “But you are stronger now,” said Calliande.

  “If you will forgive the interruption,” said Tamlin in a quiet voice, “Lady Calliande is right.” He didn’t smile as he talked. Much of his charming, easy manner had been gone since the battle against Justin. “I saw you cast spells at Castra Chaeldon and against Prince Rypheus. You are stronger now than you were then. I suspect you have a talent for magic that neither Sir Aegeus or I share.”

  He didn’t mention Krastikon.

  Kalussa looked discomforted. “It’s…not something the Staff did to me, is it?”

  “No,” said Calliande. “To be blunt, the training methods of the Arcanius Knights are crude. You learned how to wield elemental magic to destroy, and some basic defensive measures, and not very efficiently. The Magistri of my homeland are far better trained, and while they cannot use magic to kill or harm a mortal, they could defend themselves against the Arcanii indefinitely. You have a degree of magical talent that the training of the Arcanii simply could not harness.”

  Calliande’s right hand held her worn wooden staff, but her left hand reached to brush the steel bracelet around her right wrist. Despite having been wrought of steel, it was slender, almost delicate, forged with a skill that few smiths of Andomhaim could have matched. Several pale crystals had been set into the bracelet, and whenever Calliande touched it, she felt the waiting magic within the bracelet.

  Would it work? The idea had been whispering in her mind ever since Justin’s defeat, ever since Calliande had seen how well Kalussa had handled herself. And did Calliande have the right to do it? If it worked, she would change Kalussa forever.

  It might change Owyllain forever.

  But Owyllain was in desperate straits, and King Hektor needed aid. And Calliande and Ridmark had already changed Owyllain. If they had not been at Castra Chaeldon and Aenesium, Hektor Pendragon would now be dead, and Rypheus would rule Aenesium in the name of the New God, or Justin Cyros or the Confessor might have conquered Owyllain by now.

  “Keeper,” said Kyralion, cutting into her thoughts. “Lord Ridmark returns.” He hesitated. “And Lady Third, as well.”

  Calliande shook off her musings and looked north. She spotted two figures heading towards them, one in dark armor, the second wearing blue armor and a gray cloak, a sword at his hip and a bamboo staff in his hand. Calliande smiled at the sight, a little flicker of relief going through her. She had known that Ridmark would most probably be safe as he and Third scouted, that between the two of them they could defeat almost any foe that appeared.

  Nevertheless, she was always glad to see him return safely to her.

  Ridmark walked to join them, Third following. In a way, Calliande thought, Ridmark looked suited to these grim plains. His blue eyes were stark in his hard face, and he needed a shave. Calliande had always thought he would look good with a beard, but she had never been able to persuade him of that.

  “You’re back,” she said with a smile, and she gave him a quick kiss. Likely that was indecorous, but Calliande didn’t care, and she doubted that Ridmark did.

  “What did you find, sir?” said Krastikon. All trace of the arrogant bombast he had shown at King Justin’s parley with King Hektor had vanished. Now he sounded as quiet as a monk. His father’s defeat and death had been a terrible shock. Again, Calliande wondered why Krastikon had shown no desire to avenge his father. He had been devoted to the man.

  But perhaps Krastikon had hated and feared his father even as he loved him. That had been common among those who had followed Justin Cyros.

  “Another one of those opened burial mounds,” said Ridmark.

  “More undead?” said Calliande.

  “Yes,” said Ridmark, “but they had all been burned.”

  “Burned?” said Tamlin, frowning.

  “Unless I miss my guess,” said Ridmark, “I think a pack of fire drakes burned them and then ate some of the dead flesh.”

  “Are there fire drakes in Owyllain?” said Calliande. “We haven’t seen any yet.”

  “There are swamp drakes in the marshes of the xiatami near Najaris,” said Kyralion. He was looking at Third, who was staring into the distance.

  “And there are nests of fire drakes in the Cloak Mountains,” said Tamlin. “We’re not that far from the foothills. With all the undead the Necromancer has summoned to his side…perhaps the drakes have smelled the carrion and came to feed.”

  “Sometimes the dvargir gamemasters would capture fire drakes and use them in the Ring of Blood,” said Calem. He shook his head. “It was a horrible thing to see a man burned to death. One of the worst ways to die, I think.”

  “Aye,” said Tamlin. “I was almost one of them. I killed a few fire drakes in the Ring of Blood. It was a close thing.” r />
  “Then you know how to fight them already,” said Ridmark. “Let’s keep moving. If we reach Argin by nightfall, we can warn the villagers and the monks against the drakes. Hopefully, the drakes will content themselves with undead carrion rather than attempting to hunt living men.”

  “And if they do,” said Aegeus, patting the haft of his axe, “we’ll just have to show them the error of their ways.”

  ###

  Tamlin Thunderbolt brooded as they traveled west towards the village of Argin.

  He had killed his father.

  Well, Ridmark had killed Justin Cyros, but Tamlin had helped, and without that help, Justin might have killed them all. Ridmark’s hand had dealt the fatal blow, but Tamlin bore just as much responsibility for that death.

  Did he regret that he had killed his father?

  No. Justin Cyros had been a brutal, bloody-handed tyrant. He had murdered Tamlin’s mother and many thousands more over the last twenty-five years. He had sold his own subjects into slavery, he had allied himself with the warlocks of Vhalorast and the pagan jotunmiri, and he had helped thrust Owyllain into a quarter of a century of civil war with his arrogance and ambition. Justin had brutalized his own children, turning them into the merciless Ironcoats and executing any who defied him.

  Even if Justin had not murdered his mother, even if Justin had not been his father, Tamlin still would have killed him without hesitation. Tamlin was an Arcanius Knight and a Companion knight of King Hektor, a man who had done more for him than his own father had ever done, and Hektor’s enemies were Tamlin’s enemies.

  No, Tamlin did not regret killing Justin Cyros.

  But he did regret…

  He regretted that things had not been different.

  That his father hadn’t been a man like King Hektor. Or Ridmark Arban. And Tamlin regretted that he had not had a chance to speak with Justin. Not that he desired any sort of amity or friendship with his late father. He had wanted to know more about his mother.

  And he had the uneasy feeling that his father had died with more secrets locked in his skull.

  Justin had claimed that bringing the Seven Swords to Cathair Animus would unleash the New God, that Rhodruthain guarded something called the Well of Storms within the gray elven ruin. How many other secrets had Justin known?

  Secrets that might prove dangerous?

  Tamlin shook his head and kept walking, his left hand coming to rest on his sword hilt.

  It wasn’t his sword hilt. His sword had broken during the fight with Justin.

  This was the Sword of Earth.

  Almost involuntarily, he found his eyes resting on the green sword, its pommel carved with that strange closed eye sigil. He didn’t want to carry the thing. It was one of the Seven Swords that had torn Owyllain apart, weapons forged by the Sovereign in Urd Maelwyn.

  It was the sword that had killed his mother.

  He wanted to throw it as far from him as he could.

  But Tamlin had his duty. Ridmark, Calliande, and King Hektor had all realized that giving the Sword to anyone but a Swordborn might cause a new civil war. Tamlin could use the Sword of Earth as a weapon, but he could not use the Sword’s powerful magic. If someone like King Aristotle or King Kyrian tried to claim the sword, it might cause disaster. Owyllain was now closer to reunification than it had been since Kothlaric Pendragon had been slain, but it was a fragile alliance.

  It was the same reason that Hektor had allowed Sir Calem to keep the Sword of Air. It was safer with Calem than with anyone else.

  So Tamlin carried the weapon that had killed his mother.

  His eyes fell on Krastikon. Tamlin didn’t want to talk to the man. Truth be told, he didn’t even want Krastikon to be here. Tamlin didn’t like or trust the former Ironcoat. They needed Krastikon’s help to enter Trojas and the Blue Castra to kill the Necromancer. Yet Tamlin wondered if Krastikon intended treachery, if he wanted to avenge Justin Cyros. Krastikon had been Justin’s loyal dog, and the fact that Krastikon had been devoted to such an evil man made Tamlin loathe him.

  Even if they were half-brothers.

  Now there was an odd thought. Tamlin wondered if Justin had murdered Krastikon’s mother, too.

  “We need to find you a woman.”

  Tamlin blinked, surprised out of his reverie, and saw Aegeus looking at him.

  “What?” he said.

  “We need to find you a woman,” said Aegeus. “After getting you drunk. See, ever since the battle, you’ve been brooding. There’s only one cure for that. A few gallons of wine, and a willing woman.”

  Tamlin snorted, amused despite himself. “That’s your answer for everything.”

  “Well, that solves everything,” said Aegeus. “That’s all a man really needs out of life. A good fight, a good drink, and a good woman. Or three good women. No reason to discriminate.”

  Tamlin smiled. “Do you really think we’re going to find willing women in Trojas? The Necromancer does not seem like a kindly ruler.”

  “Ah, but that’s the key!” said Aegeus. “We’ll kill the Necromancer, and then the people of Trojas will celebrate us as heroes. You’ll leave Trojas with a dozen concubines.”

  “That does seem very ambitious,” said Krastikon.

  Tamlin gave the Ironcoat a flat look. He and Aegeus brought up the back of the line, Aegeus handling the scutians. Ridmark and Calliande brought up the front, Calem and Kalussa trailing behind them. Third and Kyralion walked together, talking in low voices, though Tamlin wondered what they had to talk about. The vision of the Augurs that had sent Kyralion to Third, most likely. Krastikon had drifted away from the others, close enough to overhear Tamlin and Aegeus.

  “Well,” said Aegeus. “A man does need something to hope for, Prince Krastikon.”

  Krastikon grimaced. “Just Sir Krastikon, Sir Aegeus. I am not a Prince any longer. I suppose…I am not really anything. King Hektor confirmed me as an Arcanius Knight, but I doubt it will be a long time before Master Nicion or even anyone else accepts me in that office.” The sneering arrogance that Tamlin remembered from the fight below Castra Chaeldon and the parley before the battle had vanished. Now Krastikon seemed only…tired. Older, somehow.

  “You, too,” said Aegeus, “are a man who needs a woman.”

  Tamlin gave the Ironcoat a hard smile. “No doubt he and the other Ironcoats simply plucked any woman they wanted from the streets of Cytheria. And if the girl’s father or brothers objected, that bronze hammer came in handy for crushing their skulls.”

  “Some of the Ironcoats partook of such pleasures,” said Krastikon. His voice was quiet. “I did not.”

  Tamlin’s smile hardened. “As I recall, you threatened to break Lord Ridmark in half and claim Lady Calliande as a concubine.”

  “Since I had not yet met the Keeper or seen her magic, I had not realized what an empty threat that was,” said Krastikon. He almost sounded rueful. “And Lord Ridmark beat me, Sir Tamlin. I thought I would break him, but he beat me, and he slew our father.”

  “Is that why you’re here?” said Tamlin. He knew he ought not to challenge Krastikon since they were supposedly on the same side, but he was in too foul of a mood to care. “To take revenge for the death of your father?”

  “Our father, you mean?” said Krastikon.

  Tamlin’s hand curled into a fist. “You think to insult me, sir?”

  “With what?” said Krastikon. “The truth? He was your father, much as you dislike to admit it. But the truth is the truth, Sir Tamlin, whatever you or I might happen to think of it.”

  “Then what is the truth?” said Tamlin. “Why are you here?”

  Krastikon’s weary gray eyes met Tamlin’s. “I am here because I believed in my father’s mission. The New God must be stopped, whatever the cost, whatever the price. I believed in my father’s methods. We had to be ruthless to save Owyllain. We had to be strong…but the Shield Knight defeated me and slew King Justin.” He shook his head. “If Owyllain is to be saved from the New God,
the Shield Knight and the Keeper are our best hope of saving the realm.”

  “I’m not sure I believe you,” said Tamlin. He started to say more, but he felt the cold weight of Third’s gaze upon him. If he started a fight with Krastikon, he was going to get yet another lecture from Calliande. “And I don’t believe you have forgiven your father’s death.”

  “Our father’s death,” said Krastikon. Tamlin’s fist tightened. “But believe whatever you want, Tamlin Thunderbolt. King Hektor’s and the Shield Knight’s opinions are the only ones that matter. And I wonder whether you are more interested in stopping the New God and saving Owyllain,” his lip curled in disgust, “or in indulging the lusts of your flesh with the women of Trojas.”

  “Find me again,” said Tysia in Tamlin’s memory. “The New God is coming.”

  With that, Krastikon turned on his heel and walked faster, putting distance between them.

  “Now that,” said Aegeus, “is definitely a man who needs a woman.”

  What Tamlin thought Krastikon needed was a few sharp blows to the head. But without his help, they would have to fight their way into Trojas, and Tamlin doubted that even the Shield Knight and the Keeper could force their way through the city’s main gate.

  King Hektor might have defeated Justin and brought seven of the Nine Cities of Owyllain under his authority, but the Necromancer of Trojas had gathered a huge host of undead around him, far stronger than King Hektor could fight alone. If Tamlin and the others did not cut the head off the serpent, the undead horde would overrun Owyllain.

  Tamlin was a Companion knight of King Hektor, and he would do his duty.

  Even if it meant working with Krastikon and carrying the sword that had killed his mother.

  ###

  Kalussa Pendragon was tired.