Sevenfold sword necroman.., p.11
Sevenfold Sword_Necromancer, page 11
“There is one other consideration,” said Krastikon. “The secret entrance to the Blue Castra.”
“You know where it is, I hope?” said Ridmark.
“Of course,” said Krastikon. “However, it is usually closed from the inside, and only Princess Zenobia knows how to unlock it.”
“That might not be a problem,” said Kalussa. “Lady Calliande’s magic could tear open the door. Or the Swords could cut it open.”
“Undoubtedly,” said Krastikon. “But would they be able to do so quietly? I suspect using magic to force open the secret door would generate much noise, to say nothing of cutting a three ton block from the wall.”
“I fear I agree with Sir Krastikon,” said Tamlin, surprised to hear himself say it. Whatever else he might have been or done, his half-brother was a man of solid tactical sense. “Of all of us, only Krastikon has visited Trojas before. We need local allies and information. Theseus and the King’s Men are the best place to get both.”
“Agreed,” said Ridmark. “There is another consideration, too.”
“What’s that?” said Calliande.
“During our journey here,” said Ridmark, “how many wagons of food did you see coming into the city? How many farmers coming to sell their wares in the city’s forums?”
“None,” said Calliande, and then she frowned. “Does that…”
“I suspect that the Necromancer cares more about the dead than the living,” said Ridmark. “It doesn’t sound like he has allowed a famine to break out in Trojas, but most likely the people of the city have gotten by on very little food for a long time.”
“Lord Ridmark is right,” said Krastikon.
“My point is that we will obviously be outlanders,” said Ridmark. “Third and Kyralion, especially. We will stand out wherever we go, and as hated as the Necromancer is, there will still be those who hope to curry his favor by bringing his acolytes news. No. Better that we find shelter during the day and move during the night, and if Theseus hopes to free Trojas of the Necromancer, he is our best hope of finding shelter.”
“Then we will stay down here until sunset?” said Calliande.
“Yes,” said Ridmark. “Come dark, we’ll leave the church and find our way to the House of the Nine Barrels. You can find the way in the dark, Sir Krastikon?”
“I can, my lord,” said Krastikon. He hesitated. “I should warn you that the Necromancer has decreed a curfew. No one is to be on the streets after dark for any reason.”
“But going out during the day would be a greater risk yet,” said Tamlin. “As Lord Ridmark said, we would obviously be outlanders.”
“I do think caution is our best course for now,” said Calliande. “Better that than blundering into an unnecessary fight.”
“As shall do as you command,” said Calem. “Nevertheless, I advise that we at least have a look around the immediate area.”
“Agreed,” said Ridmark. “Third?”
###
Ridmark and Third headed up the stairs to scout.
The church above the crypt looked similar to the ones that Ridmark had seen in Aenesium. The men of Owyllain preferred domed churches with eight walls. Ridmark wondered how the custom had started, why they had not built basilica-style churches of the sort that were common in Andomhaim and decided he could think about it later. This church looked deserted – there was dust on the altar, and the candles had not been lit in a long time. Afternoon sunlight leaked through the windows in each of the walls, illuminating the dust motes that drifted in the air.
“I do not believe anyone has been in here for quite some time,” said Third.
“Agreed,” said Ridmark. He drew Oathshield a few inches from its scabbard. The blue blade flickered with constant white flame. The aura of dark magic around the Blue Castra was so powerful that the sword had been glowing continuously since they had come within five miles of Trojas. Ridmark wished that the drakes hadn’t burned his bamboo staff. The staff was a less powerful weapon than the soulblade, but it would have been much less conspicuous. “Let’s see if anyone is nearby.”
Third nodded, reached up, and unbound her hair, letting it fall to cover the dark elven points of her ears. With her dark armor, she would still stand out, but at least she would not be immediately identifiable as not wholly human.
Ridmark crossed to the church’s double doors and eased one of them open a few inches. Outside he saw a street paved in cobblestones. On the other side of the street was a house three stories tall, built of reddish-brown brick with clay tiles on the roof. Likely the first floor held shops and taverns, and the top two floors contained apartments. The building looked deserted. The doors and windows to the shops were all closed, and Ridmark saw no one moving in the upper windows. He looked up and down the street, but nothing moved.
“There appears to be no one nearby,” said Third.
“Aye,” said Ridmark. “I would wager the people of Trojas keep off the streets whenever possible. No one wants to draw the attention of the Necromancer.”
“A wise course,” said Third.
“Let’s take a quick look around,” said Ridmark. “I don’t think anyone will bother us if we don’t bother them.”
“Unless we run into the dvargir or the Necromancer’s acolytes,” said Third.
Ridmark shrugged. “If we do, we’ll make them regret it.”
He led the way, and they walked a few blocks from the crypt. The streets were deserted. From time to time Ridmark saw packs of stray dogs, gaunt and lean. Their eyes glittered with hunger, and they started forward, but something in Third’s scent frightened them off. Likely the dogs had never smelled a hybrid of human and dark elf before. In the distance, Ridmark glimpsed ragged shapes lurking in an alley, and he suspected they were orphaned children, but they vanished rather than coming out into the open, perhaps for fear of the dogs. Shadowed shapes moved in the windows, risking a quick glance through shutters opened a crack.
“Elderly women, I think,” murmured Third.
“This would not be a safe place for anyone unable to defend themselves,” said Ridmark, a flicker of anger going through him as he looked around. Justin had been a brutal man who had executed anyone who had ever crossed him or sold troublemakers into slavery to the dvargir, but at least he had attempted to defend his people from the Necromancer and the Confessor. Justin and Hektor both had refrained from using the full power of their Swords during their battle, for fear of ruling over a realm of corpses once the battle was done.
The Necromancer, quite literally, was ruling over a realm of animated corpses.
“I am far enough from the Swords to use my power,” said Third. “I would like to travel up to one of the rooftops and look around.”
Ridmark considered that, decided the risk was minimal, and nodded. “Go ahead.” He frowned. “Is it troubling?”
“At the moment, I find many things troubling,” said Third, peering up at the houses around the church. “You will need to be much more specific.”
“That you cannot use your power to travel when you are so close to the Swords,” said Ridmark.
Third shrugged. “I am nearly a thousand years old, and I have possessed the power for just over nine of those years. Truth be told, I am still getting used to it.”
“Ah,” said Ridmark. “A little perspective never hurts.”
She smiled a little. “Indeed. Let us see if I can find some more of it.”
Blue fire pulsed in her veins, and she vanished. Ridmark glanced around, but no one seemed to have noticed her departure. Though if the people of Trojas saw a woman disappear in the middle of the street, they would assume it was the work of the Necromancer and his acolytes and try to have nothing to do with it.
He waited a few minutes, and then Third reappeared in a swirl of blue flame.
“What did you see?” said Ridmark.
“The rest of the city looks much the same way,” said Third. “The houses are in poor repair, and there are not many people on the streets. And it is difficult to see in the sunlight, but portions of the Blue Castra are glowing.”
Ridmark felt his frown deepen. “Glowing?”
“Within the courtyard, and in some of the windows,” said Third. “A blue glow.”
“Like the light in the eyes of the Bronze Dead,” said Ridmark.
Third nodded. “Exactly.” She hesitated. “It is well, I think, that we decided to wait until nightfall. A large group of obvious outlanders, armed as we are, would almost certainly draw unwelcome attention.”
“And we don’t want attention,” said Ridmark. “Not until it is too late for the Necromancer to do anything about it.”
“Agreed,” said Third.
“Then let’s go wait in a crypt,” said Ridmark.
“We have waited in stranger places,” said Third.
“That is true,” said Ridmark.
“Kyralion would think…” said Third.
She trailed off, her face distant. That was unlike her. She either said things crisply and clearly, or she said nothing. For that matter, it was strange for doubt to penetrate her calm mask.
“What would Kyralion think?” said Ridmark as they headed back to the church.
“You and I have known each other a long time,” said Third.
“Yes,” said Ridmark, surprised. She rarely talked about herself, and never when the possibility of danger was nearby. “Nine years. Nearly a quarter of my life, come to think of it. And you’re right. We’ve gone to some strange and dangerous places together.”
“What do you think of Kyralion?” said Third.
“He’s a brave man,” said Ridmark. “He stood with us against Calem and Rypheus and Khurazalin and King Justin. He’s an outcast from the Unity of the gray elves, but whatever the reason, I don’t think it’s a good one. I think they have treated him unjustly.” He paused. “What might be more important is what you think of him.”
“I do not know,” said Third. “He is…he is quite unlike anyone I have ever met. His kindred have all but cast him out, but he sought me out at their bidding nonetheless. Why would he do that?” She shook her head, the dark hair sliding around her pale neck. “Why would their Augurs think that I am either the salvation or the destruction of their people? I do not understand.”
“Nor do I,” said Ridmark.
“I wish I understood,” said Third. “It troubles me greatly that I do not understand, nor that I understand what I feel about Kyralion. I…do not like being uncertain of myself.”
“Whatever is coming,” said Ridmark, “Calliande and I will help you with it. Whatever this vision or destiny is, we’ll stand with you against it.”
Third looked at him, blinked, and then she smiled. It was a wide smile, one of the few times he had ever seen her do that, and it made her face and black eyes look so much less harsh.
“I know,” she said. “You are good friends. The best I have ever had.”
“Which was why you crossed half the world to find us again, I would assume,” said Ridmark.
“And my sister and High King Arandar asked it of me,” said Third. They reached the doors to the church, and Third’s face returned to its usual cold mask, covering her doubts and worries. “But there are far more immediate problems.”
“Yes,” said Ridmark, glancing back at the Blue Castra. “There are.”
###
Kalussa sat in the gloom of the crypt, the cold metal of the Staff of Blades resting across her legs.
How odd that she felt so safe here.
It wasn’t safe, not really, she knew. If Taerdyn learned of their presence, nothing would stop the Necromancer from sending his minions into the crypt or even coming himself. But all the dead down here had been burned to ashes. There was no danger that they would rise and kill like the undead creatures the High Warlock had thrown at them before the battle with Justin Cyros.
Some of it was the Staff of Blades, she knew. As much as she disliked the weapon, it also meant that she could not be overcome without a ferocious fight.
And some of it was the man sitting next to her, as motionless as a statue and as watchful as a hawk.
Her father had asked Sir Calem to look after her, and the former assassin had taken that request to heart. The Sword of Air rested next to him, his hand waiting near its hilt. If any enemies came down the stairs from the church, Calem would fall upon them like a storm. The others waited near the entrance, either speaking in low voices or wrapped in their own thoughts as Kalussa was.
“You are troubled,” said Calem at last.
Kalussa looked at him and raised her eyebrows. “Did I say I was troubled?”
“You did not,” said Calem.
“Then how did you know I was troubled?” said Kalussa.
She was slightly annoyed, but mostly she was teasing him. Not that it ever seemed to work. Someday, she decided, she was going to successfully tease him and make that cool composure of his falter.
“I have observed you every day since Lady Calliande cleared the mist from my mind,” said Calem. “When agitated or distressed, you tend to tap the Staff of Blades with the first finger of your right hand. Additionally, you stare off into the distance and frown.”
Kalussa smiled. “So you have been observing me, Sir Calem?”
He frowned. “I believe I said that, yes.”
“Then you’ve been staring at me?”
“Yes,” said Calem.
“That could be misinterpreted,” said Kalussa.
He blinked, and a flicker of doubt went over his expression, much to her amusement.
“I did not mean…” he started. “Your father King Hektor asked me to look after you. Few people have ever asked anything of me, rather than simply commanding me, so I complied with his request. If I found it pleasant to observe you, that is neither…”
He blinked and looked away, and Kalussa felt a twinge of embarrassment. The poor man had suffered so much in his life. She ought not to…
Then he smiled. “Are you attempting to tease me?”
“I might be,” said Kalussa. “One must do something to pass the time, and I can only practice my spells so many times in a day.” She suspected Calliande would have been making her practice right now, had the Keeper’s full attention not been turned to watching for enemies with the Sight.
“Why?” said Calem.
“Because I would like to see you smile,” said Kalussa. “You’re a better man than what you have suffered, Sir Calem, I believe that.”
“Ah,” said Calem. “If you command it of me, I shall endeavor to attempt the feat.”
Kalussa laughed. “Now you are teasing me.”
“Perhaps.” He almost smiled, but it faded. “But something does trouble you, and not just the urgency of our task.”
“Yes,” said Kalussa. She might as well talk about it with him. Calliande tried, but she had carried heavy responsibilities for so long that Kalussa doubted the Keeper could even remember what it had been like not to bear those burdens. “The magic of the Well troubles me. The Staff troubles me.”
“Why is that?” said Calem.
“Because they bring so much power,” said Kalussa, “and I must use it wisely and responsibly. And I fear I am not equal to the task.” She tapped the Staff again. “This is not an evil thing by itself, but the Sovereign used it to wreak so much harm. And now I must carry it.”
“Then we share something of the same duty,” said Calem.
“What do you mean?” said Kalussa.
He grasped the Sword of Air’s hilt. “This. I do not remember who gave it to me. My secret master, I assume, and at his command I slew innocents. Even after Lady Calliande cleared the mist from my mind, I saw no purpose in my life. But I listened to what Lady Calliande and King Hektor said to the other lords and kings of Owyllain.”
“Oh?” said Kalussa.
“If the Sword of Air fell into their hands, it would cause dissension and civil war,” said Calem. “Whoever took up the Sword might try to make himself into another King Justin or another Necromancer. Myself, I have no such ambitions. But I am now the custodian of the Sword. I have no love for it, but it pleases me to know that by carrying it, I am protecting others from harm.”
“That is noble, sir,” said Kalussa.
“I hope so,” said Calem. “My life has been wasted, I fear, slaying at the commands of another. Whoever he is.”
“We shall find him,” said Kalussa, “and free you of his dark magic once and for all. No dark wizard can stand against the Shield Knight and the Keeper of Andomhaim.”
He tried to smile again. “Perhaps you are right.”
“I know am right,” she said, and she smiled back. “I am Kalussa Pendragon, daughter of King Hektor, Sister of the Arcanii, and initiate of the Magistri. That means I am right.”
This time Calem did laugh, loud enough that both Third and Ridmark turned a startled look in his direction.
“If you say so,” said Calem.
“I do say so,” said Kalussa. “And I also say that we shall defeat the Necromancer, destroy the Seven Swords, free you from your secret master, and my father shall reign in peace as the High King of a reunified Owyllain. And when it is all over…what do you want, Sir Calem?”
“What do I want?” He blinked. “Lady Calliande asked me that.”
“You’ve had some time to think about it,” said Kalussa.
“True.” He thought about it some more. “I think I would like to be Lord Ridmark.”
Kalussa blinked. “Ridmark?”
“I am a warrior,” said Calem. “I am good at it. Even if the Confessor had not enslaved me, I would have become one. So, I wish to be a warrior for a good cause. I saw how Ridmark battled King Justin. I wish to follow his example, and become a knight worthy of the title.”
“I see,” said Kalussa. “That is a noble goal, Sir Calem.”
“I hope so,” said Calem. “Since I have answered your question, it is only fair that you answer mine. What is it you want, Lady Kalussa?”
“To be worthy of my blood, my heritage,” said Kalussa at once. “To be worthy of my father.” She hesitated. “And…since you were honest with me, I shall be honest with you. What I really want is to marry. I want a husband. He doesn’t even have to be a strong warrior or a great lord, just a good man. And I want children.”
