Sevenfold Sword: Unity Read online

  “They are very dangerous to hunt, and they often attack our herds,” said Magatai. “Fortunately, the Takai are superb hunters.”

  “Like lions,” said Tamlin.

  “Yes, exactly like lions.”

  The flying shape came no closer and vanished to the north, and they pressed on to the south.

  They stopped for the night several hours after the sun had set, making a fireless camp. Eight of the thirteen moons were out, their mingled light turning a greenish-blue, which provided enough illumination to see. Tamlin feared that would make them more visible, but the muridachs and their pet kalocrypts hunted by scent as much as by sight.

  Calem volunteered to take the first watch, and the others wrapped themselves in cloaks or blankets and went to sleep. Tamlin sat down with a sigh, his shoulders and knees aching from the long march. The gray elven armor he had taken from the Tower of Nightmares was far lighter and stronger than bronze, but it still had a weight to it, and that weight still dragged at him at the end of a long day.

  He started to roll up his cloak to make a pillow, and Tamara sat next to him.

  She looked beautiful in the dim moonlight, even with the sickly green tinge that light gave to everything. Suddenly, a memory flashed through Tamlin’s mind of the first time he had taken Tysia in his arms, his body trembling with excitement and need.

  She was frowning.

  “What’s wrong?” said Tamlin.

  Tamara took a deep breath. “Can…I ask you a favor?”

  “Yes,” said Tamara. He hesitated, and then took her hand. “Anything.”

  Tamara took another deep breath and nodded. “Could you speak to Sir Calem?”

  “Calem?” Tamlin looked to where Calem stood at the edge of the camp, a white shadow in his wraithcloak. He didn’t think Calem had said more than two words over the last two days, and then Tamlin understood. “You want me to talk to him about Kalussa.”

  “Yes,” said Tamara. “I know it is none of my business, but I’m afraid he might kill himself.”

  Tamlin frowned. “I…don’t think he will. If fighting as a slave in Urd Maelwyn didn’t break his spirits, then nothing will.”

  “Yes,” said Tamara, “but losing…losing my other self, that almost broke you, didn’t it?”

  Tamlin said nothing, and she squeezed his hand.

  “What happened to you in Urd Maelwyn was horrible, but Calem had it worse,” said Tamara. “Calliande told me how someone wrote spells of dark magic upon him, used him as a mindless assassin.” She gestured at the camp. “I think these are the first friends he’s ever had. He might not know how to deal with a broken heart.”

  “Does anyone?” said Tamlin. “Perhaps you should speak to Lord Ridmark about this. Calem is more likely to listen to him than to me.”

  “I would,” said Tamara, “but…I may be mistaken, but it seems like Lord Ridmark doesn’t like Kalussa. He never talks to her, and she tries to avoid him.”

  “Ah,” said Tamlin. He wasn’t surprised Tamara had noticed that. “He doesn’t dislike her. Else he wouldn’t let her spend time near Calliande and his sons. No, it’s a bit more complicated than that. When Rhodruthain brought Ridmark here, he happened to save Kalussa’s life from the Confessor’s orcs. Kalussa decided she wanted to be Ridmark’s first concubine…”

  “And Lady Calliande did not care for the idea?” said Tamara.

  “She did not,” said Tamlin. “And Ridmark did not care for the idea, either.” He remembered Kalussa explaining her plan, how he had tried to warn her it was a bad idea. “Someone like Ridmark…his conscience is sterner than any king or magistrate. And the Shield Knight and the Keeper were both mourning their daughter. I think Ridmark did find Kalussa desirable, which probably didn’t help, and she kept trying to seduce him. I’m not sure exactly what happened, but he finally lost his temper at her, and she’s been frightened of him ever since.”

  “And then Sir Calem started courting her,” said Tamara.

  “Yes,” said Tamlin. “I imagine Lord Ridmark was relieved.”

  “Calem and Kalussa are in love,” said Tamara, “and what happened…I think it hurt both of them terribly. They both blame themselves.”

  “God,” said Tamlin. He rubbed his face. “I don’t understand it. They both obviously want each other. What’s the harm?”

  “I think they take a more rigid view of such things than you do, Sir Tamlin,” said Tamara. Tamlin gave her a sharp look, fearing that he had insulted her, but she was smiling. “I’m not blind. I, ah…can guess how you dealt with your grief once you came back to Aenesium.”

  “Oh,” said Tamlin.

  Tamara shrugged. “It’s not as if I can blame you. You did think your wife was dead.” To his surprise, she smiled again. “You could hardly have known that she had six other lives.”

  “Then you are my wife, then?” said Tamlin. His voice was softer than he expected, with a rasp to it.

  They stared at each other in silence.

  “I don’t know,” said Tamara, a strange emotion going over her face. “Maybe I am. It doesn’t make any sense. I’ve known you less than a week, but I know you better than I know anyone else. I’ve never done more than hold your hand, but I know exactly what it would feel like to kiss you.”

  “You make me wish,” said Tamlin, “that we were alone. That we were not surrounded by companions who would overhear everything.”

  She smiled a little. “They’re all asleep. Except for Calem.”

  “Third’s probably awake,” said Tamlin.

  “Third would be too polite to say anything,” said Tamara. She took a deep breath. “But do you remember the first time that you and Tysia…or you and me, maybe…slept together?”

  “Yes.”

  “How would you have felt if I had panicked after?” said Tamara. “If I had said it was a terrible mistake and that we shouldn’t ever see each other ever again?”

  “Ah.” Tamlin grimaced, looked at Kalussa’s sleeping form, and then back to Tamara. “I think I see your point. I’ll see if I can talk to him.”

  Tamara smiled and squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”

  “Though if I can ask…why do you care?” said Tamlin. “You’ve only just met Calem, and I don’t think he’s ever spoken to you.”

  Tamara sighed. “When the dream spell covered the town, we…er, walked in on him and Lady Kalussa. He looked at her…the way he looked at her was like the rest of the world had ceased to exist.” She hesitated. “You look at me that way sometimes.”

  They stared at each other. Tamlin felt the pulse throbbing in her wrist. Something seemed to burn in his chest.

  “Soon,” said Tamlin.

  “Yes,” whispered Tamara. “Yes.” She paused. “Just not in a field when we’re surrounded by our friends.”

  Tamlin just managed to stop himself from bursting out laughing. “A good point.” He released her hand and stood. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  “We’ll find out what else you have to hold against me,” said Tamara, smiling up at him.

  Tamlin’s mouth went dry. He could think of any number of responses to that, both verbal and otherwise, but all of them were things he wanted to say or do while they were alone. So instead he offered a bow, straightened up, and walked to where Calem stood staring to the north, his wraithcloak rippling around him in the cool wind. He stood motionless, the greenish-blue light of the moons making him seem ghostly.

  “Sir Tamlin,” said Calem.

  “Sir Calem,” said Tamlin. He paused. “How are you?”

  “All is well,” said Calem. “I have seen no sign of enemies. Nor of any flying creatures.”

  “Good,” said Tamlin. He hesitated, trying to decide what to say, and shrugged to himself. “But that’s not what I meant.”

  Calem did not look at him. “Then what did you mean?”

  “It was a hard business, what happened at Kalimnos,” said Tamlin. “I saw the phantasms of my dead wife and Sir Aegeus, and I thought they were
still alive.”

  “That was an ill thing,” said Calem, his voice quiet. “Sir Aegeus was a valiant man, and he died bravely.” He sighed. “I always wondered if he would ever make Lord Kyralion laugh.”

  “If anyone could have made Kyralion laugh, Sir Aegeus was the man,” said Tamlin. He felt a pang as he remembered his friend, his companion in so many battles and more than a few drunken revels. “It was an ill thing, and also that Lady Calliande thought that her daughter had returned from the grave.”

  The breath hissed through Calem’s teeth. “That was especially evil. Lady Calliande is a great and noble woman. For the Maledictus of Shadows to use her grief as a weapon against her was unforgivable. If I ever lay eyes upon that evil creature, its remaining life will be measured in heartbeats.”

  “It was an evil thing,” said Tamlin. “But we have gone into many battles together, so I should be blunt with you.” Calem nodded. “Lady Calliande seems to be recovering more swiftly from her experience in Kalimnos than you are.”

  “Ah.” Calem said nothing for a moment, his right hand flexing. “That is the difference, sir. The Maledictus’s spell blurred the line between phantasm and reality. The Keeper thought she held her daughter. In reality, she sat on her bed and did nothing. The Maledictus made me think that Lady Kalussa and I were wed. In reality, I forced myself upon a brave and noble woman…”

  “You didn’t force her,” said Tamlin.

  “I did,” said Calem. “Her judgment was impaired, and I took full advantage of…”

  “Her judgment wasn’t impaired, her inhibitions were,” said Tamlin. “So were yours. Calliande said the spell probably couldn’t force anyone to do something against their nature. The two of you had been spending a great deal of time together anyway, and if things had run their natural course, you probably would have asked for her hand in a year or so anyway.”

  “Nature,” said Calem. “Yes. That proves that I am a monster.”

  A monster? For lying with a willing woman? For God’s sake! Tamlin felt a wave of exasperation.

  He wondered if this was how Ridmark felt most of the time.

  “How does that prove you are a monster?” said Tamlin. “An unwed man taking an unwed woman to bed perhaps is not the most moral choice, but it happens quite often.” Tamlin had done that himself more than once. “And we’ve faced men like the Necromancer and Khurazalin and Qazaldhar. Compared to them, how are you a monster?”

  “I fear you do not understand,” said Calem, his voice tight with pain. “We are very similar in many ways, Sir Tamlin. We were both gladiators in Urd Maelwyn.” He took a deep breath. “But our paths diverged. You escaped and became an Arcanius Knight. My secret master took me and made me into an assassin. He made me into a monster.” Calem bowed his head. “I can only remember my crimes as dreams, as fragments. But I know I have killed both men and women who did not deserve it. I would have killed the Shield Knight and the Keeper at the bidding of my secret master, had they not been the stronger.”

  “You cannot blame yourself for that,” said Tamlin. “You were under the control of another.”

  “When Calliande suppressed the spell,” said Calem, “I thought I could become something else. Something other than a murderous assassin. I wanted to be a knight as you are, as Lord Ridmark is.”

  “You are,” said Tamlin. “You slew the High Warlock of Vhalorast. It would have taken a dozen Arcanius Knights to take him in a fight, and you killed him. We wouldn’t have beaten my father or the Necromancer without your help.”

  “I thought I could change,” said Calem. “Then we came to Kalimnos, and I understood the truth. I have always been a monster, Sir Tamlin, and I always will be. Else I would not have acted as I did.”

  “Tamara thinks you’re going to kill yourself,” said Tamlin.

  “No,” said Calem. “No, I will fulfill my oaths to Lady Calliande and Lord Ridmark as their vassal knight. But if I fall in battle, perhaps that would be for the best…”

  “For a smart man,” said Tamlin, “you’re acting like a damned fool.”

  Calem gave him a sharp look, his green eyes flashing in the light of the moons.

  “You’re not a monster,” said Tamlin. “If you had thrown Kalussa to the ground and ravaged her as she begged you to stop, that would be one thing, but that’s not what happened, and you bloody well know it. And maybe the Maledicti or whoever your secret master is forced you to kill people, but that wasn’t your fault. As well blame a man for walking behind you when you’ve got a chain around his neck. And you had better not get yourself killed.”

  “Would that not be better?” said Calem.

  “No,” said Tamlin. “If you’re killed, who’s going to carry the Sword of Air? And how do you think Kalussa will feel if you get killed?” Calem started to speak, but Tamlin talked right over him. “She blames herself, and if you go and get killed, she’ll blame herself for that, too. Do you really want to do that to her?”

  “No,” said Calem. “No, I don’t want to hurt her.”

  “Then listen to someone who knows what it feels like,” said Tamlin. “You don’t want to do that to her. I think you should just give her some time. Let her think about it. She wouldn’t be so upset if she didn’t care about you. She blames herself now, but eventually, she’ll figure out that there’s no one to blame, or if there’s anyone to blame, it’s the Maledictus of Shadows.”

  Calem sighed. “You speak sound counsel. I will think on what you have said.” He shook his head. “It is…difficult. All my life, I was trained to fight and kill. Learning how to do other things, how to have friends, is challenging.”

  “If Third can do it, you can too,” said Tamlin.

  Calem blinked. “Third?”

  “She was an urdhracos for a thousand years, and now she’s not,” said Tamlin. “You were an assassin for, what, ten years? If she can put a thousand years behind her, surely a veteran of the Ring of Blood can do the same with a mere ten.”

  Calem blinked a few times, and then let out a quiet laugh. “You are very persuasive, Sir Tamlin.”

  “One tries.”

  “All right,” said Calem. “I will think on what you have said. And I will try not to get myself killed.”

  “Good,” said Tamlin. “And even if you and Kalussa do not reconcile, consider Lady Calliande, and how disappointed she would be if you killed yourself.”

  “I do not wish to disappoint the Keeper,” said Calem. “She is the only reason I have any freedom at all. Lord Ridmark would have been within his rights to kill me that day in the forest. But she took a chance and spared my life. I hope…I hope I can repay that kindness.”

  “It will be difficult to do that if you’re dead,” said Tamlin.

  “That is so,” said Calem. He snorted.

  “What?” said Tamlin.

  “You can go tell Tamara that I am not going to kill myself,” said Calem.

  “She will be pleased to hear it,” said Tamlin.

  “Have you bedded her yet?” said Calem.

  Tamlin opened his mouth, closed it, settled on a response. “That’s not…”

  “Ah,” said Calem. “You can ask cutting questions, but I cannot?”

  “Well,” said Tamlin. “Fair is fair, I suppose. And…no. But not yet. For God’s sake, we’re in the middle of a field getting chased by muridachs. And…no, I am not discussing this.”

  Calem smiled. “Good night, Sir Tamlin.”

  “Good night, Sir Calem,” said Tamlin. “I am pleased that I helped you feel better.”

  “Albeit at your expense, of course,” said Calem.

  “If it helps,” said Tamlin, “we are likely not the first men in the history of mankind to discuss their troubles with women.”

  “No,” agreed Calem. “Though our troubles are likely stranger than most.”

  “That, sir, I cannot argue,” said Tamlin.

  He walked back to Tamara.

  “How did it go?” said Tamara.

  Taml
in sighed and sat down. “You were probably close enough to hear every word.”

  “Well, no,” said Tamara. “I did see Calem smile, so that was probably a start.”

  “Probably,” said Tamlin. He sighed and rubbed his face. “I don’t know how helpful I was. It wasn’t as if I could commiserate. My wife apparently lived seven different lives, and he blames himself for sleeping with Kalussa.”

  “It was good of you to try,” said Tamara, and she leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

  He stared at her, and he wanted to pull her close and kiss her harder, witnesses be damned.

  “Good night, Tamara,” said Tamlin.

  “Good night, Tamlin,” she whispered.

  She lay down in her cloak and went to sleep, and Tamlin lay down next to her. That felt so familiar, so comfortable, and he smiled at the thought.

  He drifted to sleep, and in his sleep, he dreamed.

  It was a strange dream, unlike anything he had dreamed before.

  He saw a mist-choked forest, fog rolling past the barren branches. He glimpsed white ruins and towers, creatures with eyes like burning coals prowling through the trees. There was a ring of dark elven standing stones, the surfaces of the menhirs carved with disturbing scenes of torture and pain, their glyphs glowing with blue fire.

  The Dark Lady swirled before his vision.

  He had dreamed of her many times before, and she had warned him of dangers. For some reason, he could not hear her. He could see her just fine, and she looked as she always did – clad in wool and leather, a carved staff in her hand and a tattered cloak of brown and green and gray hanging from her shoulders. Her mouth was moving, her black eyes sharp with urgency, but for some reason, Tamlin could not hear her words.

  “Tamlin?”

  Tamlin blinked awake as Tamara shook him.

  “Eh?” he said.

  “It’s time to go,” she said. It was still dark out, but there was the faintest hint of light in the eastern sky.

  “Aye,” he said, trying to clear the confusion from his mind.

  “Are you all right?” said Tamara, frowning. She, at least, seemed wide awake. Likely she was used to early mornings from her years working at her adoptive father’s inn.