Sevenfold Sword

  SEVENFOLD SWORD: SWORDBEARER

  Jonathan Moeller

  ***

  Description

  The quest of the Seven Swords kills anyone foolish enough to seek its secret.

  Ridmark Arban is the Shield Knight, but he is the only Swordbearer in the realm of Owyllain.

  That means he is the only warrior capable of defending Owyllain from the forces of dark magic.

  But the powers of darkness have servants in Owyllain, servants who are more than willing to put a dagger in Ridmark's back...

  ***

  Sevenfold Sword: Champion

  Copyright 2017 by Jonathan Moeller.

  Smashwords Edition.

  Cover design by Clarissa Yeo.

  Ebook edition published September 2017.

  All Rights Reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.

  ***

  A brief author’s note

  At the end of this book, you will find a Glossary of Characters and a Glossary of Locations listing all the major characters and locations in this book.

  A map of the realm of Owyllain is available on the author's website at this link (http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=8238).

  A map of the realm of Andomhaim is available on the author’s website at this link (http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=4487).

  ***

  Chapter 1: Gray Elves

  Eleven days after the quest of the Seven Swords began, eleven days after the day in the Year of Our Lord 1488 when the cloaked stranger came to the High King of Andomhaim’s court, Ridmark Arban looked at the strange white milestone standing over the crossroads.

  It reminded him of a tombstone rising over an unquiet grave.

  Ridmark took a few more steps into the crossroads and stopped. He was still in the hilly, dry country south of Castra Chaeldon, and since leaving the fortress, he had yet to see another sign of human habitation. The rocky hills did not lend themselves to farming. Yet all four roads leading from the crossroads looked well-traveled.

  And someone had raised that disturbing milestone.

  The sculpted milestone stood between the southeastern and southwestern roads. The statue had been carved from the gleaming white stone the dark elves had used to raise their mighty citadels. It depicted dozens of small kneeling stone figures, wrought in the shape of orcs and halflings and dvargir and other kindreds that Ridmark did not recognize.

  Before the kneeling statues stood seven stone orcs clad in the ornate robes of the Maledicti priests.

  Over them all towered the final piece of the sculpture, the figure of a dark elven lord.

  The stone dark elf stood twelve feet tall, clad in armor of similar design to Ridmark’s own dark elven armor. The dark elven lord wore a winged helmet and carried a sword in his right hand. The statue’s stone cloak billowed behind it, and the face beneath the helm was stern and cruel and implacable.

  Truth be told, the stone face reminded Ridmark of the features of the Warden of Urd Morlemoch, and he did not like the comparison.

  “Quite the eyesore, isn’t it?” said a man’s voice, deep and pleasant.

  Ridmark turned as a warrior in bronze armor approached, his plumed bronze helmet tucked under one arm, red cloak hanging from his shoulders. He had gray eyes and thick black hair, his jaw shaded with black stubble from the journey. A dark elven longsword hung in a scabbard at his belt. The man was smiling, but he almost always did.

  But Ridmark knew Tamlin Thunderbolt well enough by now to see past the mask.

  “That’s the Sovereign himself, I take it?” said Ridmark, nodding at the statue.

  “It is,” said Tamlin. The young Knight of the Order of the Arcanii stopped next to Ridmark. “The Sovereign had them placed along every major road in the lands he ruled. There is a giant one in Urd Maelwyn, overlooking the courtyard of the Sovereign’s tower.” He pointed at the base of the milestone. There was an inscription there in several alphabets that Ridmark did not recognize. “That records the distance to Urd Maelwyn itself, listed in the tongues of the dark elves, the orcs, the dvargir, and the xiatami.”

  “I’m surprised that the High Kings of Owyllain didn’t tear the statue down,” said Ridmark.

  Tamlin shrugged. “It makes for a useful landmark, doesn’t it? That and the white stone of the dark elves is practically indestructible. Ripping down the damned thing would be more trouble than it’s worth.” He pointed at the roads one by one. “Southeast to Najaris, the chief city of the xiatami. Southwest to Aenesium, where we’re going. Northeast to Urd Maelwyn, once the Sovereign’s capital and now the Confessor’s stronghold. And northwest to Cytheria, Castra Chaeldon…and the rest of our companions.”

  Ridmark turned northwest and saw the column approaching.

  Five supply wagons rolled towards them, each pulled by a pair of scutians. The big lizards took their name from the bony, shield-like crests that extended from the back of their heads to cover their necks. The scutians were some of the most placid animals that Ridmark had ever encountered, and they regarded nearly all situations with apathetic calm. Of course, given their sharp beaks, they could respond to threats with deadly force.

  A bronze-armored hoplite soldier of Aenesium drove each cart, and twenty more hoplites escorted the wagons, bronze shields on their arms and bronze swords at their belts. Ridmark spotted Sir Aegeus, Tamlin’s best friend, a stocky Arcanius Knight with bright red hair and beard. Next to him walked Sir Parmenio, middle-aged and worn-looking, his eyes never ceasing their scan of the hills.

  Behind them came Calliande.

  Today she wore the red tunic of a hoplite, trousers, and her favorite boots. In her right hand, she carried the staff of the Keeper, and in her left arm, she carried their youngest son Joachim. So far Joachim had been treating their sojourn through Owyllain like a grand adventure. But this morning Joachim had burst into tears, exclaiming that he wanted to go home, that he wanted to see Dagma and Dieter and the others again, that he wanted to sleep in his bed and he wanted all of this immediately. Ridmark was almost grateful to Joachim for the outburst. Since they had left Castra Chaeldon, Calliande had started to brood again, and Ridmark’s wife was always at her best when dealing with someone else’s problems.

  After Calliande walked their eldest son Gareth, a boy of eight with a serious expression. Because Joachim had started crying, Gareth would refuse to do so. He had borne up well under the journey, and it helped that Tamlin had been teaching him some of the sword techniques favored in Owyllain.

  Kalussa Pendragon walked next to Gareth, talking with him. She had taken well to Ridmark’s and Calliande’s sons, and the boys liked her. Kalussa also seemed to admire Calliande and had been helpful during the journey south from Castra Chaeldon.

  Ridmark wasn’t sure he liked that.

  In Andomhaim, a man took but one wife. In Owyllain, it seemed, a man also took but one wife, but was also expected to take several concubines since so many men died in battle against Owyllain’s many enemies. Kalussa had made it clear she would be happy to become Ridmark’s first concubine. Ridmark did not approve of the idea, and Calliande especially did not approve of the idea, but Kalussa was the daughter of Hektor Pendragon, the King of Aenesium and bearer of the Sword of Fire.

  He was not a man to offend.

  And that could be a problem.

  Especially since it ha
d been a long time since Ridmark had lain with Calliande, and Kalussa was a beautiful young woman…

  “Lord Ridmark?” said Tamlin.

  Ridmark pushed the thoughts out of his head. “Let’s rest here for a few minutes.” He headed back towards the column, Tamlin following him, and called for a halt.

  Calliande smiled as Ridmark approached, some of the shadows lifting from her eyes. “Is everything all right?” She, too, was beautiful, though the troubles of the last year had left their mark on her, her face thinner and sharper than it had been.

  “So far,” said Ridmark. “We’ll rest here for a few moments, and then continue to Myllene.”

  “We ought to reach it shortly after noon,” said Parmenio in his quiet voice. “Assuming we do not stop here overlong.” On his own, Ridmark suspected, Parmenio could have covered thirty miles a day, and every delay chafed at him.

  “Ugly statue, isn’t it?” said Calliande, gazing at the white sculpture.

  “In ancient days, the Sovereign set them up in every corner of his empire,” said Parmenio.

  Aegeus laughed. “I draw mustaches on the damned things whenever I get the chance.”

  “The face looks like the Warden,” said Calliande, her voice distant with memory.

  “It is said in our history that the Sovereign was the Warden’s brother, Lady Calliande,” said Kalussa, hovering at her elbow. “Just as the Warden was the greatest wizard of the dark elves, so was the Sovereign the greatest warrior of their kindred.”

  “But that’s good!” said Joachim. “You beat the Warden, Mother. Dagma and Dieter told me so. You can beat the Sovereign too.”

  Ridmark snorted. Within the realm of Andomhaim, he and Calliande were famous. Unfortunately, that meant a distorted version of their past adventures sometimes reached the ears of Gareth and Joachim.

  Kalussa laughed. “I’m afraid that it is too late, young sir. My uncle Kothlaric already slew the Sovereign before you were born.”

  “Before you were born, too,” said Tamlin.

  She started to glare at him but stopped herself, no doubt preferring not to fight in front of the children.

  “Why do they call him the Sovereign?” said Gareth.

  “I…do not know,” said Kalussa. “I never thought of it.”

  “I do,” said Tamlin. “The Sovereign was the greatest warrior of the dark elves, but whenever he conquered a land, it rebelled against him sooner or later. In mockery, the other dark elves called him the Sovereign.”

  “The dark elven lords never shared their true names with other kindreds,” said Calliande, “and they loved cruelty, so they gave each other mocking titles. The Artificer forged the instrument of his own imprisonment, so they gave him that name. They…” She looked at the children and stopped. Perhaps she had been about to list other examples, but she did not want to share the horrors that she and Ridmark had seen with the boys.

  Ridmark understood. He hoped his sons never had to face anything like the Warden or the Sculptor or the Traveler. Or the Sovereign, for that matter.

  “Well, since we’ve stopped, you can have time for a short history lesson,” said Ridmark. “Sir Tamlin, make sure the men have some water. Sir Parmenio, make sure the scutians are watered as well. We’ll stop for…say, a quarter of an hour, and then resume traveling until we reach Myllene.”

  “Kalussa,” said Calliande, lowering Joachim to the ground. “Can you keep an eye on the children? I need to speak with Lord Ridmark for a moment.”

  “Certainly,” said Kalussa. She squatted next to Joachim and grinned at him. “Maybe we’ll have a history lesson, yes? Perhaps Joachim will have to recite all the High Kings of Owyllain or he’ll have to pull one of the carts all the way to Aenesium.”

  Joachim burst out laughing. “I can’t do that!”

  “I can recite all the High Kings of Andomhaim,” said Gareth, not to be outdone. “Malahan Pendragon, Uthanaric I Pendragon, Talian Pendragon, Uthanaric II Pendragon…”

  Ridmark walked towards the milestone, Calliande following him, Gareth’s recitation fading behind them. He stopped on the western side of the Sovereign’s statue, where the ugly thing could at least provide shade from the harsh sun of Owyllain.

  “What’s wrong?” said Ridmark.

  He supposed it was a foolish question. They were thousands of miles from home in a strange land with no way to get back, and they were in the middle of a decades-old war between the bearers of the Seven Swords. Any number of things were wrong.

  Calliande opened her mouth, closed it again, and then frowned.

  “I’m…not sure,” she said at last. “But I think someone is following us.”

  “The Sight?” said Ridmark.

  “Yes,” said Calliande. “Ever since I woke up this morning, whenever I reach for the Sight, I get a flicker of…something.” She gave an irritated shake of her head. “I can’t be more specific than that. It’s a flicker of elemental magic.”

  Ridmark frowned. “Another Arcanius Knight, perhaps?”

  “Maybe,” said Calliande. “But concerning our new friends, the Arcanius Knights are not very skilled. Some of them have a lot of magical power, but none of them have much finesse. The lightning javelin that Tamlin can summon is the limit of his precision, and Antenora could do something like that with elemental flame without breaking a sweat.”

  “They’re warriors,” said Ridmark, looking to where Tamlin and Kalussa stood talking with Gareth and Joachim. Like Kalussa, Tamlin got on well with the children. He suspected that was what Tamlin needed to combat his black moods – to find a wife and have a crop of children with her. “The Magistri are healers and counselors. The training of the Arcanii lends itself more toward destruction.”

  “Most likely,” said Calliande. “But this flicker, Ridmark…I think someone is trying to conceal themselves from my Sight.”

  Ridmark looked back at her. “Is that even possible?”

  She shrugged. “We know it is. The Sculptor figured out a way to hide from the Sight. And the Sight couldn’t detect the Enlightened of Incariel unless they were actively calling upon their dark powers.”

  Ridmark tapped his fingers against the staff in his right hand. It was a shaft of bamboo he had taken from the wreck of poor Sir Tyromon’s supply wagons, and it had served him well as a walking stick ever since. Also, it seemed the men of Owyllain underestimated a staff’s utility as a weapon of war.

  “It would take someone powerful to hide from your Sight,” said Ridmark.

  Calliande nodded. “And presumably someone who knows I possess that ability.” She shrugged. “Or it could be a side effect of something else. A powerful wizard hiding from foes, without realizing I noticed his efforts.”

  “That seems the most likely explanation,” said Ridmark. “We’re in the middle of a war we don’t understand.”

  “Unless Khurazalin returned with reinforcements,” said Calliande.

  “Aye,” said Ridmark, looking at the dusty hills rising over the road. “We can do nothing but remain on our guard. And if someone does attack us, we’ll just have to make them regret it.”

  She smiled. “You always sound so confident when you say things like that.”

  “Practice,” said Ridmark. On impulse, he leaned down and kissed her, and she smiled up at him, the shadow of grief momentarily gone from her face. “We’ll get to Aenesium, figure out a way to find Rhodruthain, and force him to send us home.”

  Her smile widened. “Just like that?”

  He nodded. “Just like that.”

  A quarter of an hour later the men and the beasts had been watered, and they took the southwestern fork of the crossroads, traveling towards the town of Myllene and then the city of Aenesium.

  ###

  Calliande Arban walked next to her husband, the staff of the Keeper in her hand, and worries chased themselves around her mind.

  She feared for her children. They had come to a strange and dangerous land, and Gareth and Joachim had been in mortal dange
r while imprisoned in Castra Chaeldon. The traitorous Arcanius Knight Archaelon was dead, and the Maledictus Khurazalin had fled, but the War of the Seven Swords still raged, and Calliande’s family was in the middle of it.

  War, as she knew all too well, spared neither the young nor the innocent.

  And what if they were trapped here? What if Calliande and Ridmark would have to raise their sons as men of Owyllain? What would they do then?

  Her gaze turned to Ridmark in his blue armor, to the soulblade at his side.

  She also feared for him. He carried the only soulblade in Owyllain. As a Swordbearer, perhaps his power would invite challenge. Perhaps King Hektor would find the thought of such a powerful man walking his realm intolerable, and take steps to remove the perceived threat. Kalussa said that her father was a wise and brave man, and Tamlin said the same about his King, but Calliande could not trust them to be objective about Hektor Pendragon.

  The thought of Kalussa Pendragon sent Calliande’s mind to a dark place, and she glanced back at the girl. She walked with Joachim and Gareth, and she had somehow gotten Joachim playing a game that involved a great deal of clapping. Joachim kept laughing with delight, and even Gareth looked amused.

  Calliande would have liked Kalussa a great deal…but she could not overlook the lingering glances that the younger woman kept sending Ridmark’s way.

  It would have been so much easier, thought Calliande, if Kalussa had been contemptible. If she had been a coward, but Kalussa had stood and fought alongside Calliande against Archaelon’s undead. Or if she had been a spiteful harridan, but someone like that would not take such enjoyment in the company of children, nor so obviously desire her own. Or even if Kalussa had been a cold-hearted seductress, but from the overwrought offense Kalussa displayed to some of Aegeus’s raunchier jokes, Calliande suspected that Kalussa had never even with a man.