Sevenfold sword necroman.., p.16
Sevenfold Sword_Necromancer, page 16
“The source of the Necromancer’s strength,” said Morigna. “He has defied all who sought to slay him. But if you find this, you can stop him.”
“Can you tell me more?” said Ridmark. “No. Foolish question. I’m not yet at the proper point in time, am I?” He frowned. “I didn’t remember the dream in Aenesium. Am I going to forget this as well?”
“I fear so,” said Morigna. “I would give you a more concrete warning if I could, but this is the limit of my power. This will remain in your memory, even if you cannot recall it. I hope it will urge you on the proper path when the hour of crisis comes.” Her dark eyes met his. “Save Tamlin. Find the heart. Do that, and you can defeat the Necromancer of Trojas…”
Her voice trailed off, and her eyes widened.
“What is it?” said Ridmark, drawing Oathshield from his belt.
“The enemy seeks for us,” said Morigna. “Come. I must show you.”
They walked to the doors and stopped at the edge of the courtyard.
“Behold,” said Morigna, pointing with her staff. “One of your chief foes.”
Ridmark raised Oathshield, his fingers tightening on the sword’s hilt.
A Maledictus glided on the far side of the courtyard.
At least, Ridmark thought it was a Maledictus. The hooded figure wore an elaborate robe of the same design that Ridmark had seen on the other Maledicti, and a Sign of the New God hung from its neck. Khurazalin’s robe had been red, Qazaldhar’s black, and Urzhalar’s green, but this Maledictus wore a robe of metallic gray. Strange wisps of gray mist coiled and writhed from the robe’s sleeves, and a similar curtain of mist hid the Maledictus’s features in the loose cowl.
“Who is that?” said Ridmark.
“That,” said Morigna, “is the Maledictus of Shadows. Beware him. For his master is the Masked One of Xenorium, and the Masked One and the Maledictus of Shadows are two of your most dangerous foes.”
Ridmark frowned. “Everyone says the Masked One of Xenorium is no threat to anyone.”
Which was rather odd, come to think of it.
“Ah. They would,” said Morigna. She looked at the mist-wreathed figure in the gray robe. “Who do you think convinced them of that?”
The dream dissolved into nothingness.
Ridmark blinked awake.
The room was dark, only a faint stream of moonlight leaking through the closed shutters. Calliande had rolled onto her back, snoring a little. Ridmark sat up and looked around the room, but there was no one else nearby. There was no sound of alarm, and he doubted that anyone would have been able to get into the inn without drawing the notice of Kyralion or Calem or Third.
Yet he still felt as if the presence of danger had caused him to wake.
A dream, that was it. He had dreamed. There had been…a heart, was that it?
Ridmark could not quite grasp the memory, and it faded away even as he did.
He lay back down, unsettled.
Dreams did not usually trouble his sleep. Or, if they did, he never remembered them. Yet that had not always been true. When the Sword of the Dragon Knight had chosen him all those years ago, it had spoken to him in dreams. Ridmark had remembered nothing of those dreams, save that he often awoke repeating the phrase “burn with me” over and over. That had been the sword’s invitation – and by the time he had realized the truth, it had nearly gotten him and Calliande killed.
He frowned, wondered if he ought to wake Calliande and have her use the Sight to check for the presence of magic around him. She had been able to use the Sight to detect the dreams before either of them had realized what was happening.
No, he was simply overreacting. They were in a dangerous situation, and he was jumping at shadows. Besides, Taerdyn did not seem the sort to attack an opponent with magic-induced dreams. If the Necromancer realized that Ridmark and the others were here, he would attack with overwhelming force and potent magic.
Ridmark let out a long breath and closed his eyes. Sleep, he needed some sleep, so his mind stopped chasing shadows. Though he did feel the need to keep an eye on Tamlin for some reason. Well, the reason for that was obvious. Tamlin had not been himself since the defeat of Justin Cyros. Likely Tamlin had been wearing the mask of a gallant, womanizing knight to hide his grief even from himself, and now the mask was cracking.
That was the sort of thing Calliande would have said. She was wearing off on him.
Ridmark found himself drifting back to sleep.
Though for some reason he found himself thinking of a heart again. Strange.
If he had any more dreams, Ridmark did not remember them.
Chapter 11: Patterns
The next morning Calliande stood on the roof of the House of the Nine Barrels and gazed at the Blue Castra, drawing on the Sight.
Kalussa waited behind her, grasping the Staff of Blades with both hands, her unease plain. Obviously she wanted to be back inside, where there was less chance of someone seeing them. Calliande understood Kalussa’s fear, but they were safe enough. Dvargir disliked sunlight and only went out in the day when necessary, and the mercenaries had withdrawn back to the Blue Castra until nightfall. No bands of roving Bronze Dead moved in the street, though the undead upon the battlements stood motionless, shining like ghostly candles to Calliande’s Sight. Only a few of the people of Trojas were on the street, hurrying with hoods drawn over their heads, but none of them ever looked up.
That might have led them to look at the Blue Castra, and they seemed to fear to look at it. As if doing so would draw the attention of the Necromancer.
Kyralion kept watch on the opposite corner of the inn’s roof, far enough away that Calliande would have to shout to get his attention.
Calliande drew on the Sight, sending it roving over the Blue Castra, using it to probe the dark magic that surrounded the fortress and its crag.
She did not like what the Sight showed her.
For one thing, the Blue Castra was mantled in potent wards. Taerdyn had advanced far beyond the skills of the Arcanii he had betrayed...or one of the Maledicti had indeed come to aid him. The wards surrounding the castra prevented Calliande’s Sight from seeing within the fortress, but that hardly mattered.
So much dark magic radiated from the castra that it seeped out from the wards, like the blood of a wound soaking through a bandage. The Sight showed her the power of the Sword of Death rising over Trojas like a plume of poisoned smoke. Tendrils of that power radiated out, drawing the Bronze Dead from their ancient burial mounds and summoning them to the Necromancer’s side.
That was bad enough, but the second spell concerned Calliande far more.
A vortex of dark magic swirled around the Blue Castra, stronger than it was yesterday. Calliande suspected it would be even stronger tomorrow. Taerdyn was casting a spell, a single spell of immense power, and he must have been casting it for months. She could not tell what the spell would do, but she knew it would work something evil…
“Keeper,” said Kalussa at last, as if she had just worked up the courage to speak.
“Mmm?” said Calliande, pulling back the Sight. A headache had started behind her eyes. A conversation with Kalussa would let her rest the Sight.
“Can I ask you a question?” said Kalussa.
“Since you are my apprentice and I am your teacher, that is a good idea,” said Calliande.
Kalussa took a deep breath. “A question about a personal matter. Lord Ridmark.”
Anger stirred within Calliande, and she pushed it down.
After everything that had happened, Kalussa would not ask if she did not have a good reason.
“What do you want to know?” said Calliande.
“Lord Ridmark and Lady Third,” said Kalussa, glancing at Kyralion as if she feared the gray elf would overhear.
“What about them?” said Calliande.
“They are very good friends,” said Kalussa.
Calliande nodded. “They are.”
“They went off to scout together,” said Kalussa.
Calliande nodded again. “They did. They’re the best suited for it. Ridmark has Oathshield, and I can keep watch over the House of the Nine Barrels while they’re gone.”
Kalussa turned a little red. “And that does not…trouble you, that Ridmark spends so much time alone with another…another woman?”
Calliande’s first impulse was to ask if Kalussa thought that Third would try to seduce Ridmark the way that Kalussa herself had attempted.
No, that would be uncharitable. So Calliande went with her second impulse.
She laughed.
“No, it doesn’t,” said Calliande. “They’re good friends. She’s one of Ridmark’s best friends, and they’ve gone into terrible danger together. She’s my friend, too. But I don’t worry about what you said. Third doesn’t like to be touched. She wouldn’t seduce anyone.”
“That must be a lonely way to live,” said Kalussa.
“Aye,” said Calliande, “but it is her nature. I don’t think she finds human men desirable, the same way that orcish men would not find you or me attractive. The differences between our kindreds are simply too great.”
Kalussa glanced at Kyralion. “But Lord Kyralion…”
“I don’t know,” said Calliande. She had seen the way that Kyralion looked at Third, and sometimes Third seemed to return those looks. “But it’s none of my business, which means it is definitely none of your business. There are more urgent things to consider, and we are gossiping like two women at the village well.” She frowned. “Why are we talking about this anyway?”
Kalussa hesitated. “May I tell you something?”
“If I said no, would that stop you?”
Kalussa blanched. “I…sorry, I…”
“No, no,” said Calliande. “I was teasing you, and I shouldn’t have. What did you want to tell me?”
“Before the battle,” said Kalussa. She took a deep breath. “When we stayed at Castra Chaeldon before the army marched to face King Justin. My father talked to me alone.”
“What did he say?” said Calliande.
“He said he had been wrong,” said Kalussa. “He had forbidden me to marry since he needed my help in the war. But he saw how Justin had twisted his children into Ironcoats…”
“Like Krastikon,” said Calliande, thinking of the sad young man trying to carry out his duty.
“Like Krastikon,” echoed Kalussa. “My father said he had thought he had made a mistake…and would offer no opposition if I wished to marry or be taken as a concubine.”
“It was Rypheus that changed his mind, wasn’t it?” said Calliande. She remembered the dashing, gallant prince that she had met her first day in Aenesium…and the seething, insane rage that had festered behind that charismatic mask.
“Yes,” said Kalussa.
“When we get back to Aenesium,” said Calliande, “would you like me to help you find a husband?”
Kalussa blinked. “You…know how to do that?”
“In Andomhaim, I helped arrange several marriages.” She smiled. “I believe all of them turned out successfully.”
“Is that part of the Keeper’s regular duties?” said Kalussa. “Defending Andomhaim from dark magic and then arranging marriages?”
“You wouldn’t think so,” said Calliande, “but the Keeper is to be neutral in all disputes between the lords and knights of Andomhaim. It doesn’t always work that way, of course, but that is the goal. And sometimes the best person to arrange a marriage is someone neutral. So as the Keeper, I have done it numerous times.”
“If…if you could,” said Kalussa. She let out a long breath. “It seems strange to talk about it now when we are surrounded by so much danger.”
Calliande shrugged. “If we prevail, you will have to think of the future. And there is more to life than battle and war and suffering. It seems hard to imagine now, but…”
“I know,” said Kalussa. “And I have other responsibilities. The Staff of Blades.” Her fingers tightened on the weapon. “And the magic of the Well…assuming I can ever learn to cast the healing spell without passing out. But…I want what you have.” Calliande raised her eyebrows, and Kalussa flushed. “I mean…not Lord Ridmark specifically. But a husband and children.”
“It’s not easy,” said Calliande. “Ridmark and I have been through so much together. I’ve been frightened for him so many times. It’s like having pieces of your heart outside of yourself, and you can sometimes do nothing to protect them.” She thought of Joanna. “And in Owyllain, your husband will almost certainly wish to take additional concubines. You may think yourself comfortable with that idea, but the reality of it could be worse than you think.”
“I know,” said Kalussa. Some of her old brash confidence returned. “But have you not told me yourself many times that anything worth doing is difficult?”
Calliande laughed. “Behold the dangers of teaching! Someday your student will quote your own sayings back to you.” Kalussa laughed at that. “But if that is what you want, Kalussa, I will help you with it when we return to Aenesium.” It did seem like a good idea. Some women, Calliande knew, had no need of a man in their lives, and she knew some married women who would have probably been better off if they had not married and had children.
Calliande was not such a woman, and she was certain that Kalussa was not, either.
“I would,” said Kalussa. “I…”
The trap door on the roof opened, and Ridmark climbed up.
“I will go keep watch with Kyralion,” said Kalussa.
“As you wish,” said Calliande.
“He is a strange man,” said Kalussa, but she smiled. “But after we’ve stood side by side against the Dark Arcanii and rode trisalians into Justin’s army…”
“Battle can forge bonds between those who might never have been friends otherwise,” said Calliande.
Kalussa walked to join Kyralion, and Ridmark came to Calliande’s side. He looked grim, as usual, but not alarmed.
“Any trouble?” said Calliande.
“Not yet,” said Ridmark. “Third and I went as far as the Middle Ring and came back. We kept to the alleyways, and no one took any notice of us. Trojas is the kind of place where it is best not to notice anything.”
“The dvargir mercenaries are bound to realize that some of their men have gone missing,” said Calliande. “Taerdyn might not care what happens to his acolytes, but the dvargir will not be so careless with their own men.”
“Aye,” said Ridmark. He shrugged. “Or they might conclude it was the patrol’s own fault for getting themselves killed. I gather Theseus and the King’s Men have made a few other patrols disappear. I don’t think Taerdyn has more than a few hundred dvargir, and they mostly keep within the Blue Castra unless he needs them to do something.” He shook his head. “The Necromancer is an incompetent ruler.”
“He is an incompetent ruler,” said Calliande, “because he doesn’t care about governing. I don’t think he even cares about conquering Owyllain. I wonder…”
Ridmark waited, letting her work through her thoughts.
“Everyone says that the Necromancer is insane,” said Calliande.
“There seems to be ample proof to support that,” said Ridmark.
“Yes,” said Calliande. “And he may well be. But…everyone says that he was brilliant as well. All the things that seem insane to us…what if he has a rational reason for them? Not a good reason, true, but a reason that will advantage him?”
“What do you mean?” said Ridmark. “The second spell?”
“I think Taerdyn is about to do something terrible,” said Calliande. “I think the Bronze Dead are just part of a larger plan. And I think that the sooner we kill the Necromancer, the better chance we have of stopping whatever it is he intends to unleash.”
“Should we move sooner than we planned?” said Ridmark.
“No,” said Calliande. “If we act rashly, we might get killed. We’ll wait to meet with Princess Zenobia and Tirdua tonight. Anything she can tell us about Taerdyn or the Blue Castra’s interior will be helpful.”
“But if the meeting doesn’t happen,” said Ridmark, meeting her eyes, “then you think we should strike at once.”
“Yes,” said Calliande. “Even if I have to work a spell to rip a breach in the Blue Castra’s curtain wall like I did at Castra Chaeldon. Whatever the Necromancer is doing…I fear that it will be worth the risk to stop him.”
“Do we have enough time to stop him?” said Ridmark. “Or should we act now?”
“He’s already gathered enough power,” said Calliande. “I suspect he is waiting for the next configuration of the moons that would augment necromantic magic. That would be in…” She did the calculation in her head. “Two and a half weeks, if I remember right.”
“Then we have that long,” said Ridmark.
They stood in silence, gazing at the Blue Castra.
“Another mystery,” said Ridmark at last. “How do you think Tirdua acquired her magic?”
“Theseus’s daughter?” said Calliande. “I don’t know. She might be a former Arcanius, but I don’t see how. Taerdyn would have killed any of Trojas’s Arcanius Knights he couldn’t subvert to his side, but I doubt an Arcanius would flee here.”
“A Dark Arcanius, then?” said Ridmark. “One of Justin’s?”
“Maybe,” said Calliande, “but why would a Dark Arcanius flee here? Justin might have been merciless, but he wasn’t capricious. The only reason a Dark Arcanius would flee here was to learn from Taerdyn, not to work with the King’s Men.” She shook her head. “And Theseus says that she’s his daughter. I suspected she was born with magical talent and it manifested. Either she’s worked out how to cast spells without accidentally killing herself, or she had at least a modicum of training from someone.”
“Maybe you’ll have a third apprentice when we leave Trojas,” said Ridmark.
If they were able to leave Trojas alive.
“Let us hope that we can,” said Calliande. She drew in a breath. “If we…”
The Sight stirred within her, and Calliande reached for it.
The necromantic currents over the city were shifting. Had Taerdyn started casting a spell? No, the shift was a small one, not large enough to alter the malignant aura over the entire city. Calliande sent her Sight sweeping towards the change, and alarm flooded through her.
“Can you tell me more?” said Ridmark. “No. Foolish question. I’m not yet at the proper point in time, am I?” He frowned. “I didn’t remember the dream in Aenesium. Am I going to forget this as well?”
“I fear so,” said Morigna. “I would give you a more concrete warning if I could, but this is the limit of my power. This will remain in your memory, even if you cannot recall it. I hope it will urge you on the proper path when the hour of crisis comes.” Her dark eyes met his. “Save Tamlin. Find the heart. Do that, and you can defeat the Necromancer of Trojas…”
Her voice trailed off, and her eyes widened.
“What is it?” said Ridmark, drawing Oathshield from his belt.
“The enemy seeks for us,” said Morigna. “Come. I must show you.”
They walked to the doors and stopped at the edge of the courtyard.
“Behold,” said Morigna, pointing with her staff. “One of your chief foes.”
Ridmark raised Oathshield, his fingers tightening on the sword’s hilt.
A Maledictus glided on the far side of the courtyard.
At least, Ridmark thought it was a Maledictus. The hooded figure wore an elaborate robe of the same design that Ridmark had seen on the other Maledicti, and a Sign of the New God hung from its neck. Khurazalin’s robe had been red, Qazaldhar’s black, and Urzhalar’s green, but this Maledictus wore a robe of metallic gray. Strange wisps of gray mist coiled and writhed from the robe’s sleeves, and a similar curtain of mist hid the Maledictus’s features in the loose cowl.
“Who is that?” said Ridmark.
“That,” said Morigna, “is the Maledictus of Shadows. Beware him. For his master is the Masked One of Xenorium, and the Masked One and the Maledictus of Shadows are two of your most dangerous foes.”
Ridmark frowned. “Everyone says the Masked One of Xenorium is no threat to anyone.”
Which was rather odd, come to think of it.
“Ah. They would,” said Morigna. She looked at the mist-wreathed figure in the gray robe. “Who do you think convinced them of that?”
The dream dissolved into nothingness.
Ridmark blinked awake.
The room was dark, only a faint stream of moonlight leaking through the closed shutters. Calliande had rolled onto her back, snoring a little. Ridmark sat up and looked around the room, but there was no one else nearby. There was no sound of alarm, and he doubted that anyone would have been able to get into the inn without drawing the notice of Kyralion or Calem or Third.
Yet he still felt as if the presence of danger had caused him to wake.
A dream, that was it. He had dreamed. There had been…a heart, was that it?
Ridmark could not quite grasp the memory, and it faded away even as he did.
He lay back down, unsettled.
Dreams did not usually trouble his sleep. Or, if they did, he never remembered them. Yet that had not always been true. When the Sword of the Dragon Knight had chosen him all those years ago, it had spoken to him in dreams. Ridmark had remembered nothing of those dreams, save that he often awoke repeating the phrase “burn with me” over and over. That had been the sword’s invitation – and by the time he had realized the truth, it had nearly gotten him and Calliande killed.
He frowned, wondered if he ought to wake Calliande and have her use the Sight to check for the presence of magic around him. She had been able to use the Sight to detect the dreams before either of them had realized what was happening.
No, he was simply overreacting. They were in a dangerous situation, and he was jumping at shadows. Besides, Taerdyn did not seem the sort to attack an opponent with magic-induced dreams. If the Necromancer realized that Ridmark and the others were here, he would attack with overwhelming force and potent magic.
Ridmark let out a long breath and closed his eyes. Sleep, he needed some sleep, so his mind stopped chasing shadows. Though he did feel the need to keep an eye on Tamlin for some reason. Well, the reason for that was obvious. Tamlin had not been himself since the defeat of Justin Cyros. Likely Tamlin had been wearing the mask of a gallant, womanizing knight to hide his grief even from himself, and now the mask was cracking.
That was the sort of thing Calliande would have said. She was wearing off on him.
Ridmark found himself drifting back to sleep.
Though for some reason he found himself thinking of a heart again. Strange.
If he had any more dreams, Ridmark did not remember them.
Chapter 11: Patterns
The next morning Calliande stood on the roof of the House of the Nine Barrels and gazed at the Blue Castra, drawing on the Sight.
Kalussa waited behind her, grasping the Staff of Blades with both hands, her unease plain. Obviously she wanted to be back inside, where there was less chance of someone seeing them. Calliande understood Kalussa’s fear, but they were safe enough. Dvargir disliked sunlight and only went out in the day when necessary, and the mercenaries had withdrawn back to the Blue Castra until nightfall. No bands of roving Bronze Dead moved in the street, though the undead upon the battlements stood motionless, shining like ghostly candles to Calliande’s Sight. Only a few of the people of Trojas were on the street, hurrying with hoods drawn over their heads, but none of them ever looked up.
That might have led them to look at the Blue Castra, and they seemed to fear to look at it. As if doing so would draw the attention of the Necromancer.
Kyralion kept watch on the opposite corner of the inn’s roof, far enough away that Calliande would have to shout to get his attention.
Calliande drew on the Sight, sending it roving over the Blue Castra, using it to probe the dark magic that surrounded the fortress and its crag.
She did not like what the Sight showed her.
For one thing, the Blue Castra was mantled in potent wards. Taerdyn had advanced far beyond the skills of the Arcanii he had betrayed...or one of the Maledicti had indeed come to aid him. The wards surrounding the castra prevented Calliande’s Sight from seeing within the fortress, but that hardly mattered.
So much dark magic radiated from the castra that it seeped out from the wards, like the blood of a wound soaking through a bandage. The Sight showed her the power of the Sword of Death rising over Trojas like a plume of poisoned smoke. Tendrils of that power radiated out, drawing the Bronze Dead from their ancient burial mounds and summoning them to the Necromancer’s side.
That was bad enough, but the second spell concerned Calliande far more.
A vortex of dark magic swirled around the Blue Castra, stronger than it was yesterday. Calliande suspected it would be even stronger tomorrow. Taerdyn was casting a spell, a single spell of immense power, and he must have been casting it for months. She could not tell what the spell would do, but she knew it would work something evil…
“Keeper,” said Kalussa at last, as if she had just worked up the courage to speak.
“Mmm?” said Calliande, pulling back the Sight. A headache had started behind her eyes. A conversation with Kalussa would let her rest the Sight.
“Can I ask you a question?” said Kalussa.
“Since you are my apprentice and I am your teacher, that is a good idea,” said Calliande.
Kalussa took a deep breath. “A question about a personal matter. Lord Ridmark.”
Anger stirred within Calliande, and she pushed it down.
After everything that had happened, Kalussa would not ask if she did not have a good reason.
“What do you want to know?” said Calliande.
“Lord Ridmark and Lady Third,” said Kalussa, glancing at Kyralion as if she feared the gray elf would overhear.
“What about them?” said Calliande.
“They are very good friends,” said Kalussa.
Calliande nodded. “They are.”
“They went off to scout together,” said Kalussa.
Calliande nodded again. “They did. They’re the best suited for it. Ridmark has Oathshield, and I can keep watch over the House of the Nine Barrels while they’re gone.”
Kalussa turned a little red. “And that does not…trouble you, that Ridmark spends so much time alone with another…another woman?”
Calliande’s first impulse was to ask if Kalussa thought that Third would try to seduce Ridmark the way that Kalussa herself had attempted.
No, that would be uncharitable. So Calliande went with her second impulse.
She laughed.
“No, it doesn’t,” said Calliande. “They’re good friends. She’s one of Ridmark’s best friends, and they’ve gone into terrible danger together. She’s my friend, too. But I don’t worry about what you said. Third doesn’t like to be touched. She wouldn’t seduce anyone.”
“That must be a lonely way to live,” said Kalussa.
“Aye,” said Calliande, “but it is her nature. I don’t think she finds human men desirable, the same way that orcish men would not find you or me attractive. The differences between our kindreds are simply too great.”
Kalussa glanced at Kyralion. “But Lord Kyralion…”
“I don’t know,” said Calliande. She had seen the way that Kyralion looked at Third, and sometimes Third seemed to return those looks. “But it’s none of my business, which means it is definitely none of your business. There are more urgent things to consider, and we are gossiping like two women at the village well.” She frowned. “Why are we talking about this anyway?”
Kalussa hesitated. “May I tell you something?”
“If I said no, would that stop you?”
Kalussa blanched. “I…sorry, I…”
“No, no,” said Calliande. “I was teasing you, and I shouldn’t have. What did you want to tell me?”
“Before the battle,” said Kalussa. She took a deep breath. “When we stayed at Castra Chaeldon before the army marched to face King Justin. My father talked to me alone.”
“What did he say?” said Calliande.
“He said he had been wrong,” said Kalussa. “He had forbidden me to marry since he needed my help in the war. But he saw how Justin had twisted his children into Ironcoats…”
“Like Krastikon,” said Calliande, thinking of the sad young man trying to carry out his duty.
“Like Krastikon,” echoed Kalussa. “My father said he had thought he had made a mistake…and would offer no opposition if I wished to marry or be taken as a concubine.”
“It was Rypheus that changed his mind, wasn’t it?” said Calliande. She remembered the dashing, gallant prince that she had met her first day in Aenesium…and the seething, insane rage that had festered behind that charismatic mask.
“Yes,” said Kalussa.
“When we get back to Aenesium,” said Calliande, “would you like me to help you find a husband?”
Kalussa blinked. “You…know how to do that?”
“In Andomhaim, I helped arrange several marriages.” She smiled. “I believe all of them turned out successfully.”
“Is that part of the Keeper’s regular duties?” said Kalussa. “Defending Andomhaim from dark magic and then arranging marriages?”
“You wouldn’t think so,” said Calliande, “but the Keeper is to be neutral in all disputes between the lords and knights of Andomhaim. It doesn’t always work that way, of course, but that is the goal. And sometimes the best person to arrange a marriage is someone neutral. So as the Keeper, I have done it numerous times.”
“If…if you could,” said Kalussa. She let out a long breath. “It seems strange to talk about it now when we are surrounded by so much danger.”
Calliande shrugged. “If we prevail, you will have to think of the future. And there is more to life than battle and war and suffering. It seems hard to imagine now, but…”
“I know,” said Kalussa. “And I have other responsibilities. The Staff of Blades.” Her fingers tightened on the weapon. “And the magic of the Well…assuming I can ever learn to cast the healing spell without passing out. But…I want what you have.” Calliande raised her eyebrows, and Kalussa flushed. “I mean…not Lord Ridmark specifically. But a husband and children.”
“It’s not easy,” said Calliande. “Ridmark and I have been through so much together. I’ve been frightened for him so many times. It’s like having pieces of your heart outside of yourself, and you can sometimes do nothing to protect them.” She thought of Joanna. “And in Owyllain, your husband will almost certainly wish to take additional concubines. You may think yourself comfortable with that idea, but the reality of it could be worse than you think.”
“I know,” said Kalussa. Some of her old brash confidence returned. “But have you not told me yourself many times that anything worth doing is difficult?”
Calliande laughed. “Behold the dangers of teaching! Someday your student will quote your own sayings back to you.” Kalussa laughed at that. “But if that is what you want, Kalussa, I will help you with it when we return to Aenesium.” It did seem like a good idea. Some women, Calliande knew, had no need of a man in their lives, and she knew some married women who would have probably been better off if they had not married and had children.
Calliande was not such a woman, and she was certain that Kalussa was not, either.
“I would,” said Kalussa. “I…”
The trap door on the roof opened, and Ridmark climbed up.
“I will go keep watch with Kyralion,” said Kalussa.
“As you wish,” said Calliande.
“He is a strange man,” said Kalussa, but she smiled. “But after we’ve stood side by side against the Dark Arcanii and rode trisalians into Justin’s army…”
“Battle can forge bonds between those who might never have been friends otherwise,” said Calliande.
Kalussa walked to join Kyralion, and Ridmark came to Calliande’s side. He looked grim, as usual, but not alarmed.
“Any trouble?” said Calliande.
“Not yet,” said Ridmark. “Third and I went as far as the Middle Ring and came back. We kept to the alleyways, and no one took any notice of us. Trojas is the kind of place where it is best not to notice anything.”
“The dvargir mercenaries are bound to realize that some of their men have gone missing,” said Calliande. “Taerdyn might not care what happens to his acolytes, but the dvargir will not be so careless with their own men.”
“Aye,” said Ridmark. He shrugged. “Or they might conclude it was the patrol’s own fault for getting themselves killed. I gather Theseus and the King’s Men have made a few other patrols disappear. I don’t think Taerdyn has more than a few hundred dvargir, and they mostly keep within the Blue Castra unless he needs them to do something.” He shook his head. “The Necromancer is an incompetent ruler.”
“He is an incompetent ruler,” said Calliande, “because he doesn’t care about governing. I don’t think he even cares about conquering Owyllain. I wonder…”
Ridmark waited, letting her work through her thoughts.
“Everyone says that the Necromancer is insane,” said Calliande.
“There seems to be ample proof to support that,” said Ridmark.
“Yes,” said Calliande. “And he may well be. But…everyone says that he was brilliant as well. All the things that seem insane to us…what if he has a rational reason for them? Not a good reason, true, but a reason that will advantage him?”
“What do you mean?” said Ridmark. “The second spell?”
“I think Taerdyn is about to do something terrible,” said Calliande. “I think the Bronze Dead are just part of a larger plan. And I think that the sooner we kill the Necromancer, the better chance we have of stopping whatever it is he intends to unleash.”
“Should we move sooner than we planned?” said Ridmark.
“No,” said Calliande. “If we act rashly, we might get killed. We’ll wait to meet with Princess Zenobia and Tirdua tonight. Anything she can tell us about Taerdyn or the Blue Castra’s interior will be helpful.”
“But if the meeting doesn’t happen,” said Ridmark, meeting her eyes, “then you think we should strike at once.”
“Yes,” said Calliande. “Even if I have to work a spell to rip a breach in the Blue Castra’s curtain wall like I did at Castra Chaeldon. Whatever the Necromancer is doing…I fear that it will be worth the risk to stop him.”
“Do we have enough time to stop him?” said Ridmark. “Or should we act now?”
“He’s already gathered enough power,” said Calliande. “I suspect he is waiting for the next configuration of the moons that would augment necromantic magic. That would be in…” She did the calculation in her head. “Two and a half weeks, if I remember right.”
“Then we have that long,” said Ridmark.
They stood in silence, gazing at the Blue Castra.
“Another mystery,” said Ridmark at last. “How do you think Tirdua acquired her magic?”
“Theseus’s daughter?” said Calliande. “I don’t know. She might be a former Arcanius, but I don’t see how. Taerdyn would have killed any of Trojas’s Arcanius Knights he couldn’t subvert to his side, but I doubt an Arcanius would flee here.”
“A Dark Arcanius, then?” said Ridmark. “One of Justin’s?”
“Maybe,” said Calliande, “but why would a Dark Arcanius flee here? Justin might have been merciless, but he wasn’t capricious. The only reason a Dark Arcanius would flee here was to learn from Taerdyn, not to work with the King’s Men.” She shook her head. “And Theseus says that she’s his daughter. I suspected she was born with magical talent and it manifested. Either she’s worked out how to cast spells without accidentally killing herself, or she had at least a modicum of training from someone.”
“Maybe you’ll have a third apprentice when we leave Trojas,” said Ridmark.
If they were able to leave Trojas alive.
“Let us hope that we can,” said Calliande. She drew in a breath. “If we…”
The Sight stirred within her, and Calliande reached for it.
The necromantic currents over the city were shifting. Had Taerdyn started casting a spell? No, the shift was a small one, not large enough to alter the malignant aura over the entire city. Calliande sent her Sight sweeping towards the change, and alarm flooded through her.
