Sevenfold Sword_Necromancer Read online

  But not, as it happened, as tired as she should have been.

  Calliande had taken the opportunity of their journey northwest to train her, and Kalussa had not objected. For one thing, as Calliande’s apprentice, Kalussa had sworn to obey the Keeper, so she had no grounds for objection. For another, Calliande had pointed out that they would face a powerful enemy in the Necromancer, and the stronger and more skilled Kalussa was, the more useful she would be in the coming fight.

  After the brutal fight against Rypheus and the massive battle against Justin Cyros, Kalussa agreed fervently. The battle against Justin and his allies had been the largest she had ever seen. Granted, Kalussa was only nineteen years old, so that didn’t count for much, but her father had said it had been the single largest battle of the War of the Seven Swords so far.

  And they had won.

  Kalussa used that thought to fuel her efforts as she practiced under Calliande’s watchful eye. Sweat dripped down Kalussa’s face, partly from the intensity of her effort, and partly from the heat of the magical flames she summoned. The dark metal of the Staff of Blades always felt cool beneath her fingers, and for once, she was grateful for that.

  “Krastikon!” called Calliande.

  The Ironcoat jogged over. Kalussa tried not to tense in his presence. Well, if he tried anything, Calem would cut him in half. “Yes, Lady Calliande?”

  “How much farther to Argin from here?” said Calliande.

  “Perhaps a mile and a half,” said Krastikon. His manner, as ever, was subdued.

  “I think that is enough for today,” said Calliande. “With luck, we can lodge with the monks tonight.”

  “They ought to allow it, my lady,” said Krastikon. “I stayed there several times when King Justin was negotiating with Princess Zenobia.”

  Ridmark grunted. “The monks didn’t object to that?”

  “These lands are under the control of the King of Talyrium,” said Krastikon, “and King Brasidas sided with my father. There are few enough monasteries in Owyllain, and it is well-known that God’s displeasure will fall on any who despoil them.” He frowned. “Though the Necromancer cares nothing for the laws of God or man.”

  Kalussa wanted to point out that Justin Cyros hadn’t respected the laws of God or man either, but she stopped herself. Krastikon looked like a beaten, resigned man. He had put his total faith in Justin Cyros, and Justin had failed. How would Kalussa feel if her father had fallen in the battle?

  “The abbot knows you, then?” said Ridmark. He looked at Krastikon, but not at Kalussa. He almost always ignored her, save in battle when he needed to tell her what to do. That suited Kalussa. She had tried to become Ridmark’s first concubine, assuming that Calliande would come to accept the arrangement once she saw the wisdom of it. Kalussa had not expected Ridmark to reject her, and she had not expected the depth of Calliande’s anger.

  The anger of a woman with the power of the Keeper was something to fear.

  But Calliande had forgiven her.

  At least, Kalussa was pretty sure that Calliande had forgiven her.

  Best not to tempt fate, though. So if Ridmark felt it best to ignore her, Kalussa would not challenge it.

  “Abbot Rhasibus does,” said Krastikon. “He is a wise man and sees the danger the Necromancer poses to Owyllain. I think we can rely on him for supplies and…”

  Ridmark came to a sudden halt. Next to her, Calem froze, and the Sword of Air appeared in his hand, the silvery blade glinting in the overcast afternoon light. It always startled Kalussa how quickly Calem could move, even without using the power of the Sword of Air.

  “What is it?” said Calliande.

  “Smoke,” said Ridmark, pointing.

  Kalussa saw the faint wisps of black rising against the gray sky. The others gathered around them, Sir Aegeus urging the scutians forward.

  “The drakes?” said Third.

  “Probably,” said Ridmark. “Or someone’s attacked the village of Argin.”

  “Shall I scout ahead, Lord Ridmark?” said Kyralion.

  “No,” said Ridmark. “If someone is attacking the village, we’ll have a better chance together. And if the drakes are burning the village, Calliande’s magic can turn aside their flame. Follow me.”

  He strode forward, shifting his staff to his left hand and drawing Oathshield with his right, the soulstones set into the tang and pommel of the blue sword flashing with white light. That meant Ridmark was alarmed. He only drew Oathshield when he thought a threat merited it, otherwise relying upon the bamboo staff he favored. Kalussa would have thought a knight arming himself with the weapon of a commoner would have been ridiculous, but she had seen orcish warriors think the same thing shortly before Ridmark killed them with that staff, so she knew better now.

  Calem walked next to her in silence, a white shadow in his cloak.

  A short time later they climbed a low hill, and the village of Argin and the Monastery of St. Paul came into sight.

  The village sat in the center of the valley, the fields around it cleared, terraces hewn from the slopes of nearby hills. It was hard to grow crops in this rocky soil, but it looked as if the men of Argin had managed it. A stout stone wall about twelve feet high encircled the village to ward off enemies. All the houses had been built of brick with roofs of fired clay tiles, and within Kalussa glimpsed the familiar cross-topped dome of a church.

  The Monastery of St. Paul rose on the other side of the valley, overlooking the village. It was a strong stone castra, with a curtain wall and a towering central keep. Likely the monks had slowly raised the fortress over generations of labor, and the villagers had settled here later to shelter in the shadow of the fortified walls. Kalussa supposed the construction gave the monks something to do, and this close to the Cloak Mountains, it was wise to dwell within a fortress.

  Though she did not understand monks. What sort of men chose to live without women? Weaklings, perhaps, or old men no longer able to perform with a woman. But why would a strong man want to become a monk? Kalussa knew that a life devoted to God and prayer was an admirable thing, but had not God also told Adam and Eve to be fruitful and multiply? Had Adam chosen to become a monk, humanity might never have existed, and the Dominus Christus would never have been born to redeem the world.

  Though Kalussa was just old enough to realize that her own yearning to have children might have colored her thinking on the matter.

  But right now, there were far more dire things to consider.

  The village of Argin was burning.

  Kalussa's first thought was that the entire village was on fire, but buildings of brick and fired clay did not easily burn. There were wooden buildings within the walls of Argin, barns to hold crops and fodder for the scutians, and they blazed like torches. Black plumes of smoke rose from the barns.

  A reddish-bronze shape flashed through the smoke.

  Then several more reddish-bronze shapes darted through the plumes of smoke. Kalussa caught a glimpse of gleaming metallic scales, of wide leathery wings, of glaring yellow eyes.

  “Fire drakes!” said Ridmark, raising Oathshield. “Defend yourselves!”

  Chapter 2: The Bronze Dead

  Ridmark had fought fire drakes several times in Andomhaim, and the fire drakes of Owyllain looked much the same, albeit with two significant differences.

  A dozen drakes flew towards them, wings flapping. The creatures looked vaguely serpentine, with long, slender bodies and tails, their tightly muscled limbs held close to their sides as they flew overhead. Gleaming coppery scales covered the creatures’ bodies, and their leathery, bat-like wings stretched out behind them. Their fangs and claws were a bright white, stark against their mouths and limbs. Unlike the drakes of Andomhaim, they had spiny, kobold-like crests on the back of their skulls, and more spines jutting from their backbones.

  That was one difference.

  The other difference was the size.

  The drakes of Andomhaim rarely grew larger than the size of a big dog, an
d their fire was still deadly enough to burn a man alive.

  These drakes were the size of horses, and the flap of their wings displaced enough air that Ridmark felt the hot wind of their approach.

  Tamlin, Aegeus, Calem, and Third scrambled for cover. Calliande, Kalussa, and Krastikon all began casting spells, Krastikon lifting his bronze shield as he did. Kyralion stood where he was, eyes narrowed, an arrow set to his bowstring.

  Then the drakes dove and Ridmark could spare no thought for anything but his own defense.

  He cast aside his staff, taking Oathshield in both hands, and called upon the soulblade’s power for protection. One of the drakes focused on him, its vicious yellow eyes unblinking, and breathed a roiling plume of flame that set the grass on fire and washed over Ridmark. Oathshield blazed with white fire in his hands, turning aside the flames that would have killed him in agony, though he still felt the heat of them against his face and hands.

  The fire winked out, and Ridmark saw that Calliande had conjured a ward of white light around herself, that Kalussa had raised a shield of glittering crystal to turn aside the flames, and Krastikon’s bronze shield flickered with a patina of purple light. The ground around the former Ironcoat was scorched and smoking from the flame, so his magic seemed to have been enough to block the fire.

  Ridmark started to draw breath to shout for the others to attack the drakes’ wings, but Kyralion was already moving. An arrow shot into the air, and it speared the left wing of the drake that had breathed fire at Ridmark. The creature let out a metallic scream of rage, its wing pinned half-closed, and crashed hard to the ground. The drake bounded to its feet in a fluid, snake-like motion, and its jaws spat more fire in Ridmark’s direction.

  He was already moving, calling on Oathshield for speed. Before the drake could adjust its aim and spray him with fire, Ridmark struck. His soulblade sheared through the drake’s neck. Its head bounced off the ground, and the long body jerked once and collapsed.

  “Take them down!” bellowed Ridmark. “Aim for the wings!”

  Calliande and Kalussa both began casting spells.

  ###

  Tamlin drew on his magical power, and cast a spell of his own. A lightning bolt shot from his left hand and struck the drake. The creature screamed, spraying fire into the air, fingers of lightning crawling up and down its coppery body.

  The spell did not, however, force the creature to land. Its black wings flapped as it hovered, and its malevolent yellow gaze turned towards Tamlin. The drake’s mouth opened wide to breathe more fire. Tamlin had no way to protect himself from that deadly breath, and he scrambled backward, hoping to get out of the way…

  A glittering crystalline sphere, perhaps the size of his thumb, shot through the air and punched through both of the drake’s wings at once. The drake screeched in surprise and pain as its wings collapsed, and the creature landed in a heap on the ground. Tamlin raced forward before the creature could recover, his sword drawn back to strike.

  However else he felt about the Sword of Earth, he had to admit one thing about the weapon.

  It was a superb sword.

  Truth be told, it was the best he had ever used in a lifetime of violence, its balance superb, its grip excellent.

  And it could cut through nearly anything.

  Tamlin swung one-handed at the drake as its head turned to track him. Only part of his strength and weight were behind the hasty blow. Nevertheless, the Sword of Earth sheared through the drake’s neck without slowing, and the blade sank a foot into the ground before Tamlin caught his balance and yanked it free.

  Accidentally cutting off one’s own foot was always a danger of inept swordplay, but the Sword of Earth made that danger especially acute.

  Tamlin whirled, seeking more enemies.

  ###

  “I will slow them, you knock them from the sky!” said Calliande.

  Kalussa nodded, the Staff of Blades grasped in both hands, her blue eyes narrowed. The blue crystal at the end of the Staff had begun to flicker with an inner yellow-orange glow when Kalussa drew upon her magic. Calliande’s Sight saw that Kalussa was making better use of her involuntary bond with the weapon, focusing and channeling her own magic through it.

  Her Sight also revealed something…wrong with the drakes. A faint aura of dark magic writhed and danced around them. It looked malefic, tainted. Almost as if the drakes had been corrupted somehow.

  Kyralion’s arrow shot another drake from the sky. The creature scrambled back to its feet, claws raking at the grass. Before it could attack again, Third moved, her blue dark elven short swords a blur. The drake’s head tumbled away, and Third dodged as another creature breathed a plume of fire at her. So close to the Sword of Air and the Sword of Earth, Third could not use her power to travel, but that hardly seemed to slow her.

  Kyralion could shoot down the drakes one by one, but if several of the drakes managed to breathe fire from above at the same time, that would mean their deaths.

  Calliande lifted her staff and cast a spell.

  She drew on the magic of elemental air and wind, empowering it further with the irresistible magic of the Keeper’s mantle. At her command, a gust of wind howled overhead and slammed into the airborne drakes. The creatures jerked back as if they had flown into a stone wall, their tails snapping, their wings flapping as they tried to keep themselves airborne.

  “Now, Kalussa!” said Calliande.

  Kalussa thrust the Staff of Blades, and the blue crystal at the end shivered. Calliande’s Sight saw the surge of power as the Staff spat a thumb-sized sphere of crystal. The Maledictus Khurazalin had been able to use the Staff to create spinning, razor-sharp disks that cut through everything in their path. Despite her recent growth, Kalussa had nowhere near that level of skill.

  But she could hurl those small globes faster than a crossbow bolt could fly.

  The spheres tore holes through the wings of the drakes, sending them crashing to the earth. Before the drakes recovered from Calliande’s gale, Kalussa had driven five of them to the ground. Calliande cast another spell, fusing the magic of elemental air with elemental water, and she called ice into existence around the wings of two more drakes. It did little harm to them and failed to penetrate their armored scales.

  But it stiffened their wings long enough for them to crash.

  “Again!” said Calliande, and both she and Kalussa began new spells.

  ###

  Ridmark and Third fought side-by-side, as they had done so often in so many battles over the years. Third distracted the grounded drakes, opening painful cuts through their armored scales. The drakes screamed in fury, turning to focus on her, and while she distracted them, Ridmark attacked, using Oathshield’s power to fuel his blows. The mighty soulblade hewed the drakes’ necks, and Ridmark left a trail of drake carcasses behind him.

  It was almost familiar. Ridmark and Third had done this often before.

  The difference was now that Krastikon kept pace alongside him.

  The Ironcoat turned Arcanius Knight fought with skill and vigor. His shield pulsed and flickered with purple light, and he used it to block the fiery breath of the drakes. The earth magic he had cast over his shield proved strong enough to keep the fire from touching his flesh. That meant Krastikon was able to stroll right up to the drakes and smash their skulls with that enormous hammer. Of course, the drake’s head was a relatively small target for a man with a hammer, so sometimes Krastikon abandoned finesse for haste and simply caved in their chests.

  That proved just as effective.

  Ridmark wondered why Krastikon stayed so close to him and Third. Perhaps Krastikon desired vengeance for Justin Cyros. In the heat of the battle, he could claim that his blow had gone awry, that he hadn’t meant to strike Ridmark from behind. Well, if he tried that, he would regret it. And Ridmark did not think that Krastikon meant him harm. He had feared and loved King Justin, and Ridmark had slain him. Perhaps that meant Ridmark was more frightening yet.

  Another drake fe
ll from the sky a few yards away, and there was no more time for dark musings. The drake regained its balance, and its head darted forward like that of a striking serpent. Ridmark raised Oathshield and drew on the sword’s protective power. The drake’s fire struck, the heat of it hammering at Ridmark with searing intensity, but the soulblade’s magic turned aside the fire.

  And while Ridmark held its attention, Third leaped forward and took off its head with a blow from the sword in her right hand.

  Ridmark caught his balance and saw Krastikon confronting another drake. The creature loosed a stream of fire at the younger man, fire that shattered as it sprayed against the bronze shield and its magic. Krastikon advanced grim step by grim step and Ridmark saw the purple glow around the shield sputter and falter. Krastikon’s skill with earth magic let him protect himself from all manner of attacks, but his strength had limits.

  Krastikon stumbled, and Ridmark charged. He raised Oathshield and brought the soulblade down in a two-handed blow, parting the drake’s head from its neck. There was a flash of fire, the drake’s head rolled away, and its neck snapped like the crack of a teamster’s whip.

  The scaly body collapsed dead at Ridmark’s feet.

  “Thank you, Lord Ridmark,” said Krastikon, breathing hard, sweat dripping down his face. “That one almost had me.”

  “Don’t thank me until this is finished,” said Ridmark, and he sought another foe.

  ###

  Tamlin struck, and the Sword of Earth slicked the drake’s neck from its shoulders. The blade’s magic bit through without slowing, and the drake fell in two pieces to the ground.

  He recovered his balance and whirled, bringing up the Sword of Earth in guard. His eyes flicked over the battlefield, taking it in at a glance. Ridmark and Third continued cutting down the drakes that Kyralion, Calliande, and Kalussa knocked from the sky. Calem moved in a white blur, the Sword of Air silvery death in his hand. Tamlin saw Aegeus kill a drake with a quick chop of his dwarven axe, a shield of magical ice glittering on his left arm. Kalussa thrust the Staff of Blades, another one of those deadly spheres hurtling into the sky. It punched through the wing of a drake, and the creature screamed, shooting a lance of fire into the air. Its smooth flight turned into a wild, drunken spiral…