Calliande had been the Keeper during the reigns of four different High Kings of Andomhaim across two centuries, and she had learned a long time ago that the High King of Andomhaim never traveled anywhere alone.
The King of Aenesium, it seemed, was no different.
Hektor traveled on foot, as did every fighting man of Aenesium. As Calliande expected, Hektor was accompanied by Sir Tramond Azertus in his position as Constable of Aenesium, Nicion Amphilus as Master of the Arcanii, Prince Tertius as his personal chaplain (Tertius had a wooden leg, but that didn’t seem to slow him down), and his other advisors and his most trusted Companion knights.
The other three allied kings traveled with Hektor as well. King Aristotle Tempus walked with Hektor, interjecting himself loudly into every conversation. Calliande admired Hektor’s patience in dealing with the bombastic Aristotle. The monk still followed Aristotle, scribbling down his words for posterity, and Aristotle insisted on having his Lionesses (eleven of them in total) accompany him. King Kyrian the Pious also was in the royal party, and he alternated between scowling at Aristotle and joining with his monks in prayer. King Lycureon tried to look solemn and imposing, which wasn’t really possible at his age, and Sir Kamilius and the other Companions discussed strategy for the upcoming battle. Warlord Obhalzak and his headmen sang hymns to the Dominus Christus in orcish, or at least the Mholorasti equivalent of hymns, which seemed to involve a great more battle and blood and beheadings than most of the hymns of Andomhaim. Further down the line, Earl Vimroghast and his warriors sang their rumbling sagas, which were a good deal more melodious than the boisterous singing of the Mholorasti orcs.
So, between the kings, the Companions, the magistrates, the knights, the Arcanii, the nobles, the Lionesses, the saurtyri servants, and the various other advisors of the kings, nobles, and knights, nearly five hundred men and women and saurtyri traveled with Hektor Pendragon.
The din made it easier for Calliande to talk to Kalussa without anyone listening. Not that anyone cared.
“Hold it,” said Calliande.
“I’m trying,” said Kalussa. She was trying not to sound annoyed, which Calliande appreciated, but failing abjectly. The Staff of Blades swung with her stride in her right hand, and she held her left hand out palm-side up. A flame danced and writhed over her palm, and Calliande’s Sight saw the flow of elemental magic coming from Kalussa’s will.
She noted the strain on Kalussa’s face as she tried to maintain the spell. It wasn’t a powerful spell, but…
“How much longer do I have to hold this?” said Kalussa. Her frown tightened. “How long have I been holding this?”
“Twenty-three minutes,” said Calem. The bearer of the Sword of Air walked behind them, remaining vigilant. Calliande had told Calem to stay nearby, and he had interpreted that order to mean standing guard over the Keeper and her apprentice.
“Is there a point to this?” said Kalussa.
“Yes,” said Calliande. “You’re very good at short bursts of power, Kalussa. Like those fire bolts you use in battle. But many spells require sustained focus over a long period of time.” Kalussa’s frown deepened, and the flame flickered. “So this is a good way to practice.”
“Like the difference between throwing a punch and sprinting a mile,” said Calem.
Calliande looked at him in surprise. “Yes, precisely.”
“I can run a mile and throw a punch just fine,” said Kalussa.
“Unlikely,” said Calem. “You could run with reasonable speed, but you lack the muscle mass to throw a properly damaging punch.”
She gave him an arch look. “I don’t need to punch anyone, I’ll just set them on fire.”
Calem remained unruffled. “Or hit them with spheres from the Staff of Blades. Given that you possess that, punching seems a redundant tactic.”
“Yes,” said Calliande, before the conversation could wander further afield. “This will also help with your control over the Staff of Blades, Kalussa. From the way some of those disks bounced around the banquet hall, I think Khurazalin could exercise a measure of control over them from a distance. If you can do the same with the Staff of Blades, that will make it far more dangerous in your hands.”
“As you say,” said Kalussa, gritting her teeth and focusing on the flame in her hand.
She managed it for another two minutes before the flame went out. Kalussa let out several long, gasping breaths and stumbled. Calliande started to reach for her, but Calem was far quicker. He caught her elbow and helped her back upright.
“That was much harder than it looked,” said Kalussa. “A simple flame…I thought I could hold that easily.”
“The trainers in the Ring of Blood often employed similar methods to build strength and stamina,” said Calem as he stepped back from her. “They would give me a pair of weights to hold, and then bid me to run laps around the arena. The first mile was simple. By the fifth, it became near impossible.” He shrugged. “Of course, I was beaten if I failed to make the run in an adequate time.”
“That’s awful,” said Kalussa, catching her breath.
Calem shrugged. “Such are the methods of the dvargir gamemasters. Pain culls weakness from the gladiators.”
The more Calliande heard of the Confessor, the less she liked him. Dark elven nobles, in general, loved cruelty, but the Confessor seemed in a class of his own. Calliande had already seen the scars from the flogging on Tamlin’s back, had heard how the Confessor had allied himself with the high priests of the Maledicti, and the Confessor might have ordered Khurazalin to kill Tamlin’s wife in front of him. Calem’s treatment further confirmed it. The man had little self-consciousness about dressing and undressing, and so Calliande had seen the rows of scars running up and down his arms and legs and the whip scars on his back. He had been treated even more brutally than Tamlin…and if the Confessor was also his secret master, then the Confessor had tormented him with dark magic as well.
Perhaps the Confessor was marching towards Castra Chaeldon even now, preparing to fall upon the weakened victor of the impending battle between King Hektor and King Justin.
“That is an exercise you should do on a regular basis,” said Calliande, partly to continue the lesson and partly to distract herself from the dark thoughts. “Extended control is important in magic, especially in a long battle. And it will be useful for you to control the Staff of Blades.”
Kalussa took a deep breath and nodded. “Was it this hard for you?”
Calliande blinked. “Was what this hard?”
“Learning magic,” said Kalussa. “Learning to control it.”
“Yes,” said Calliande. “It was, but I had a hard school.” The story was one that she did not like to share, but it might help Kalussa. “My parents died of a plague when I was a girl. That was what caused my magic to manifest. I was taken to the Tower of the Magistri and trained in the magic of the Well of Tarlion. The realm of Andomhaim was fighting for its survival against the Frostborn, so I only had a short time as an initiate. I joined the other Magistri on the battlefield, and I spent my time healing the wounded. There were so many of them, and I healed them again and again. I say without false modesty or false pride that I was one of the best healers of the Magistri. That drew the eye of the Keeper of Andomhaim, and I became her apprentice.” She sighed. “I suppose I learned through action. There was always so much to be done, and little enough time to do it. Leisurely study was never something I had the opportunity to enjoy. It still isn’t, I suppose.”
“This was the first war with the Frostborn, yes?” said Kalussa. “Two hundred years ago?”
“Two hundred years?” said Calem. Surprise went over his impassive face. “If you are two hundred years old you have aged remarkably well.”
“That’s very kind,” said Calliande, “but it’s a long and complicated story. Suffice it to say the Frostborn were defeated once, but I knew they would return. So, I put myself into a magical sleep to await their return. When I awakened, we defeated them once more.”
Calliande almost laughed at her own description. She made it sound so easy. Two titanic wars filled with sorrow and suffering and incalculable loss, summed up in a few sentences. But how could she describe to Kalussa the fear and the dread she had known? The crushing burden of responsibility that had weighed upon her, the knowledge that no matter what she did, good men would die, and if she chose wrong, even more good men would die.
All that fear and struggle, summed up in a few sentences. In a few more decades it would be nothing more than history written upon the pages of a book.
Strangely, Calliande found that heartening. She had faced such trials and come out the other side. Perhaps she and Ridmark would defeat King Justin and the Confessor, take their sons, and return to Andomhaim. That almost made her reach for the Sight to check on them, but she stopped herself. Calliande had limited herself to checking on them only three times a day since every use of the Sight took a little of her strength, strength she might need if they were attacked.
Better to fear for her sons than to expend too much of her strength and leave them orphaned when the battle came.
“Then is Lord Ridmark two centuries old as well?” said Calem.
“No, no,” said Calliande. “I met him after I awakened.” Truth be told, he had rescued her when she had been tied naked to an altar by pagan orcs, but that was not something she wanted to discuss with either Kalussa or Calem.
Kalussa frowned. “Then…there was no one else?”
“What do you mean?” said Calliande.
“You defeated the Frostborn the first time,” said Kalussa, “slept for two centuries, and then awakened and met Lord Ridmark. But there was no…ah, man before that? Before you went to sleep?”
“No,” said Calliande. “No. Ridmark was the only one.” The first and only man she had ever kissed, and the only man who had ever shared her bed. She almost changed the subject, since she did not want to talk about Ridmark with the woman who had tried to seduce him away, but she kept talking. “Before…I had only my duty. That was all I ever had. Then I awoke, and there was Ridmark. He saved my life on the day I awakened. Ten years later we are married with two children.” She almost said three but stopped herself in time.
Kalussa said nothing. A flicker of emotion went over her face. Regret? Guilt? Sadness?
“A remarkable tale,” said Calem. “A pity Owyllain has no Keeper of its own. Else the Sovereign and the Confessor might have been defeated long ago.”
“Until we find our way back to Andomhaim,” said Calliande, “Owyllain has a Keeper, and…”
“Lady Calliande!”
Calliande turned her head and saw one of Hektor’s squires running towards her. It was another one of his sons, a boy of about thirteen with the same distinctive Pendragon look of black eyes and a crooked nose. What was his name? Pallas, that was it.
“What is the matter?” said Calliande.
Pallas stopped to catch his breath. “King Hektor requests the honor of your presence. It seems there was fighting near Castra Chaeldon, and the Shield Knight faced the High Warlock of Vhalorast in battle.”
Calliande blinked and reached for the Sight at once, sending it hurtling to the north in search of Ridmark and Oathshield. Had Ridmark been hurt? The High Warlock of Vhalorast had an evil reputation. As a Swordbearer, Ridmark was well-prepared to face an orcish warlock, but if he had been hurt…
Her Sight found Oathshield a few miles to the north, and she felt Ridmark’s presence connected to the sword an instant later. He was alive and unhurt as far as she could tell.
“Lady Calliande?” said Pallas.
“Do not presume to interrupt the Keeper’s contemplations,” said Kalussa, assuming her usual lofty tone.
Pallas stuck his tongue out at her. Kalussa blinked and responded in kind. Calem looked at them both in confusion. Calliande tried not to laugh. It was a good sign – Kalussa had been morose and grim ever since taking up the Staff of Blades. Calliande needed work to shake off her dark moods. Perhaps Kalussa needed an annoying younger brother to follow her around.
“If you are quite done bickering,” said Calliande, “we shouldn’t keep your father waiting.”
“This way, my lady,” said Pallas, and Calliande and the others followed him.
###
Kalussa looked up at the walls of Castra Chaeldon.
Memories went through her, most of them bad. They had very nearly lost everything here. If Ridmark hadn’t killed Archaelon, Kalussa would have died in the fighting, and either King Justin or the Confessor would have marched on Aenesium. Still, they had won, and perhaps they would prevail in the battle to come.
And as much as Kalussa wished she didn’t have the Staff of Blades and she didn’t have magic, there was one advantage to serving as the Keeper’s apprentice. She got to go through the gate to the courtyard first with the King and the Keeper while the others waited.
Decurion Rallios awaited them in the courtyard, grim and solid as ever. Lord Ridmark was with him, as were Sir Tamlin, Sir Aegeus, Kyralion, and Third. Calliande looked at Ridmark and smiled, and Kalussa saw the relief go over her face when she saw that he was uninjured.
That had to be hard, watching him go into danger again and again. Then again, it had to be hard for Ridmark to watch Calliande take the pain of wounds into herself. And it must have been just as painful to leave their sons behind in Aenesium. During the march from Aenesium, Kalussa had once seen Ridmark and Calliande sitting together, Calliande crying softly into his shoulder.
There was no trace of that now. The relief vanished behind the calm, cool mask Calliande assumed when acting as the Keeper of Andomhaim.
“Lord King,” said Rallios with a deep bow. “It is with great pleasure that I welcome you to Castra Chaeldon. I wish that Sir Tyromon Amphilus could welcome you here, but I must serve in his place.”
“Aye, Decurion,” said Hektor, his face grave. Like Calliande, he seemed to assume a mask when performing his duties as the King of Aenesium. “I have keenly felt Sir Tyromon’s absence on our march. But you have served well in his place as commander of Castra Chaeldon. However, I must now relieve you of this command and appoint another in your place.”
Rallios blinked and then offered a bow. “As my King wishes.”
“Castra Chaeldon will instead be commanded by Sir Rallios, Companion of the King and knight of Aenesium,” said Hektor. Ridmark smiled, and Kalussa laughed a little at the surprise on Rallios’s face.
“Sire,” said Rallios. “I am not fit to be a knight. I have a rough tongue, and…”
“Owyllain is at war, my friend,” said Hektor. “I need neither polished tongues nor fine words in my knights. What Owyllain needs are knights with strong sword arms, honest tongues, and loyal hearts, and you have all three.”
Sir Tramond laughed. “Accept, you rascal. Now when you tell me that my battle plans are folly, at least it shall be from one knight to another rather than impertinence from commoner to noble.”
“Then I accept gratefully, lord King,” said Rallios.
“It is traditional to have a feast to mark the ascension of a new Companion,” said Hektor, “but I am afraid we must lay aside such pleasantries for now. King Justin’s host is only days away. Do you have any reports of its movements?”
“I do, lord King,” said Rallios. “This way, please.” He headed towards the great hall, and Hektor and the other kings followed, Calliande and Kalussa trailing after them. Ridmark and the others came to join Calliande.
“The High Warlock?” said Calliande in a quiet voice.
“We stalemated each other, I think,” said Ridmark. “He couldn’t harm me, but he wielded spells of illusion, and I couldn’t get close to him. Eventually, he sent his undead and urvaalgs after us, and he escaped with an Ironcoat called Prince Krastikon.” Kalussa glanced at Tamlin, wondering how he felt about facing a half-brother in battle, but his face was blank. “He’ll be back, I suspect.”
“If I can catch him in the battle,” said Calliande, “the Sight can pierce his illusions, and I can tell you where to strike.”
“I suspect we’ll have our hands full with the Dark Arcanii and the rest of the Vhalorasti warlocks,” said Ridmark. “I’m just glad the High Warlock didn’t find a way into the castra.”
“Aye,” said Calliande. “That would have been disastrous.”
They reached the great hall of Castra Chaeldon. It was a fine example of the engineering skill of Owyllain, a basilica-like hall with a vaulted roof, thick stone pillars, and a high balcony. A dais at the far end of the hall held the curule chair, where a lord or magistrate would sit and give his judgments. A table had been set up in the center of the hall, and it held a large and surprisingly detailed map of the terrain between Castra Chaeldon and Cytheria. Kalussa wondered where Rallios had found it.
The kings, lords, and knights gathered around the table. Since Kalussa was with Calliande, she got to stand next to the table. Calem waited behind the Keeper, face calm. His blue armor and white cloak drew some odd stares from Rallios’s hoplites, but no one approached him. Kalussa wondered if they recognized that one of the Seven Swords that had caused so much woe hung from Calem’s belt.
“My scouts report that King Justin’s army is there,” said Rallios, pointing at a spot on the map. It was on the coastal road from Castra Chaeldon to Cytheria, about three days’ march northwest of the hill country. “He is not moving in haste, though he’s been sending Vhalorasti warbands south to make trouble, and I had the High Warlock standing outside the gate this morning.”
“Aye,” said Hektor. “No doubt he hoped the High Warlock would take Castra Chaeldon and give him a stronger position, or that the warbands would slow our march long enough for him to find another way to take this castra. Well, in this, at least, he has failed. Our army has arrived, and should be marching up the road to the castra’s gates even now.”
“We should march from the hills at once and fall upon Justin Cyros like a storm,” said Aristotle. The monk behind him scribbled down that bit of wisdom for posterity.
“That would be rash, King Aristotle,” said Hektor. He pointed at the map. “In warfare, many advantages lie with the defender, and we shall seize those advantages for ourselves. We shall meet King Justin here.” He tapped a spot on the road just to the northwest of the hill country. “From there, we can wait for Justin to come to us. We are well-supplied from Aenesium, and if the battle goes ill, we can withdraw into the hills, or fall back to Castra Chaeldon and contest the road. If we are victorious, we will be in an excellent position to seize Cytheria, or to meet the Confessor’s host if he should issue from Urd Maelwyn.”
“What about the Necromancer of Trojas and the Masked One of Xenorium?” said Sir Kamilius. “King Lycureon is concerned about the threat they pose.” Lycureon bobbed his head in agreement, attempting to look stern.
“The Necromancer is dangerous and commands numerous powerful undead,” said Hektor, “but so far has held himself aloof from the fighting. I suspect he plans to see who wins the three-way battle between us, Justin, and the Confessor, and then to attack the victor. And the Masked One of Xenorium is no threat.”
Calliande gave Hektor an odd look. Kalussa wondered why that troubled her. The Masked One of Xenorium really was no threat to anyone. He had the Sword of Shadows, and he ruled Xenorium, but the Masked One commanded barely a thousand hoplite soldiers. He had waged no military campaigns against any of the other bearers of the Seven Swords, and as far as Kalussa knew, he had never even left Xenorium in the twenty-five years since he had seized control of the city.
Yes, the Masked One of Xenorium was no threat…but Justin Cyros and the Confessor most certainly were.
“My lords and knights,” said Hektor. “We have a battle to plan.”
###
At sunset, Kalussa leaned upon the battlements of the central keep, the Staff of Blades propped against the stonework next to her, and gazed to the west.
The sea was eight or nine miles away, but from the pinnacle of Castra Chaeldon’s soaring keep, Kalussa could see the distant waves.
She had to admit it was a beautiful sight. As the sun dipped below the waves, the sea seemed to turn to molten metal. The rocky hills and broad ravines of the hill country were thrown into stark relief of light and shadow. As the sky dimmed, she began to see the moons appear in the sky overhead. Five of the thirteen, she thought. Or would it be six? Kalussa could never keep track.
She ought to have been in the great hall, she knew. Her father was giving a meal for his chief lieutenants and advisors. Lady Calliande was there, and Kalussa should have been at her side. But right now, Kalussa wanted to be alone. She was tired and sad, and watching Calliande with Ridmark would make her…
Not jealous, not really. Kalussa knew that she would never be Ridmark’s concubine, that Ridmark would never take a concubine. One could not be jealous of the unattainable. But watching Ridmark and Calliande together, how well they knew each other, how Calliande smiled at him and how sometimes even Ridmark’s grim face smiled when he looked at Calliande, that made Kalussa feel…
Lonely. It made her feel lonely.
It was wretchedly foolish, she knew. Tens of thousands of men were marching to battle, and in another few days, many of them would die. All Kalussa had ever really wanted was a husband and children of her own, and those tens of thousands of men had left their children behind to go to war. For that matter, Kalussa had seen how much it upset Calliande to leave her sons in Aenesium.
Her mind knew all this, but she supposed if her mind could talk her heart out of its emotions, then she wouldn’t have made such a fool of herself with Ridmark.
So Kalussa wanted to be alone.
She leaned on the battlements and watched the sunset, lost in her thoughts.
Twilight had fallen when she heard someone climbing the stairs to the top of the keep.
Instinct took over, and she reached for both her magic and the Staff of Blades. Though it was unlikely that any enemies had made their way into the castra. And if some soldier or knight thought to take advantage of Kalussa while she was alone, her magic would give him a very painful lesson.
An odd thought occurred to her.
Carrying the Staff of Blades meant far fewer things could threaten her than before.
A man in bronze armor climbed onto the top of the keep, and Kalussa blinked in astonishment.
It was Hektor Pendragon, and he was alone. No Companions, no advisors, no knights, just him.
“Father?” said Kalussa.
“Daughter,” said Hektor, his voice quiet and grave. “May I join you?”
“Yes,” said Kalussa, surprised. “Yes, of course.”
Hektor stood next to her at the battlements, watching the last glimmer of sunlight fade. Standing close to him, Kalussa was struck by how weary he looked. Had the lines always been so deep in his face? Had there always been that tired slump to his shoulders?
She realized this was the first time that she had ever been alone with her father.
“How go your lessons with Lady Calliande?” said Hektor.
“Well,” said Kalussa. “She is a very demanding teacher, but I am learning.”
“She is not pushing you too hard?” said Hektor.
“She pushes me hard,” said Kalussa, “but…I think it is working. Already my magic is stronger than it was when we left Aenesium and crossed the River Morwynial.” She grimaced and tapped the Staff of Blades with a finger. “And my control over this weapon is better. I think it is for the best that she pushes me hard.”
Hektor sighed. “Then you do understand, my daughter.”
“Understand what?” said Kalussa.
He gave the pommel of the Sword of Fire a tap with his left fist. “What it means to bear a weapon of terrible power. It is a grave responsibility, and so easy to misuse. If you were locked in a room with a hundred common hoplites and the Staff of Blades, you could likely kill them all.”
“I know,” said Kalussa. “It…I just want to do my duty well, Father.”
Hektor inclined his head. “Then it is a second thing we have in common. I am sorry that you have to understand something of the burdens I carry.” He sighed again. “Though I have not been very good at understanding my children, have I?”
Kalussa hesitated. “Are we talking about Rypheus now, Father?”
“We are,” said Hektor, “but more importantly, we are talking about you. May I be blunt with you, Kalussa?”
“You are the King,” said Kalussa. “You can be blunt with whoever you want.”
Hektor smiled a little at that. “You might be surprised. Of my surviving children, you are now the closest to being my peer and equal. And you are the closest because of the burden you chose to take upon yourself to bear the Staff of Blades.”
“But I didn’t choose it, Father,” protested Kalussa. “I just wanted to get it away from Khurazalin before he killed us all. And if I could get rid of the damned thing, I would.”
“But you knew that trying to get the Staff from Khurazalin might mean your death,” said Hektor. “You were prepared to accept the ultimate consequence that mortal life can offer for your decision. Instead of death, the consequence of your decision is that you will have to bear and wield the Staff of Blades and use its power responsibly and wisely.” He shook his head. “I faced such a choice twenty-five years ago at Cathair Animus. I didn’t want the Sword of Fire. What I wanted was to keep it from falling into the hands of men like Taerdyn or Cavilius or women like Talitha.”
“And you’ve had to live with the consequences of that choice ever since,” said Kalussa.
Hektor nodded.
They stood in silence, watching the sky darken.
“Father,” said Kalussa at last. “We’ve never…talked like this. Not ever.” She loved her father, certainly, but all her life he had been a distant figure. Her mother had died in childbirth when she had been young, and Kalussa had been raised first by nurses and then by the teachers of the Arcanii. She had talked to him, but their conversations had always been formal.
“We have not,” said Hektor. “But we are talking like this now because of consequences. And the consequences of my choice to take up the Sword of Fire twenty-five years ago have affected every one of my children.”
“Because we are Swordborn,” said Kalussa.
“You were born with power,” said Hektor. “And Rypheus…” He let out a long breath, and he looked even older. “I failed Rypheus. I do not understand why he did what he did.”
“It is not hard to understand,” said Kalussa. “Khurazalin corrupted him. The Maledictus poured all sorts of nonsense about the New God or the Kratomachar or whatever it is into Rypheus’s ears, and Rypheus soaked it all up. He ought to have refused Khurazalin, or told the Arcanii so we could set a trap for the Maledictus. Instead, Rypheus listened to Khurazalin’s nonsense, and so his own abscondamni tore him apart.”
“Yes,” said Hektor. “But why did Rypheus listen to him?”
“I don’t know,” said Kalussa.
“It was clear he hated Queen Adrastea for not being his mother,” said Hektor, “which meant he hated his half-siblings, you included. And that is my failure, daughter. I should have seen it. I should have stopped it. All the power of the Sword of Fire, and I failed to use it wisely.”
“I don’t know how you could have stopped it,” said Kalussa. “We all loved Rypheus. If love cannot cool hatred, then nothing can.”
“Perhaps the men of Andomhaim are wiser than we are,” said Hektor. “They take but one wife, and cannot have concubines, at least not licitly.” He shook his head. “But if we did not have concubinage, our realm would have collapsed long ago, and the survivors would be the slaves of the Sovereign. Sometimes kingship means selecting the least evil choice from a list of evil choices. Life is no different.”
“I fear so, Father,” said Kalussa.
“I think I have wronged you,” said Hektor. “You, Rypheus, and all my other children. You are Swordborn, so I placed too much emphasis upon your power. Perhaps that was what helped twist Rypheus. I committed the sin of Justin Cyros.”
“That is too harsh, Father,” said Kalussa. “Justin turned his sons into brutal thugs. We’re nothing like the Ironcoats.”
Though Rypheus had gone berserk and tried to kill his father and everyone else in the banquet hall.
“I let it be known,” said Hektor, “among my knights and lords, that I did not wish for any of them to court you. Your magic was too powerful, too useful a weapon, for it not to be used in battle.”
“I know,” said Kalussa. She tried to keep the bitterness from her voice and hoped that she succeeded.
“That was a mistake,” said Hektor.
Kalussa blinked. “Father?”
“Justin Cyros has turned his Swordborn children into instruments of his will,” said Hektor, “and his Ironcoats are monsters. I thought I was better than him…”
“You are!” said Kalussa. “You have the Order of the Arcanii, not the Dark Arcanii. You haven’t allied yourself with the High Warlock of Vhalorast. You haven’t taken your subjects and sold them into slavery to the dvargir to pay your debts. And you didn’t turn me into an Ironcoat. You didn’t do that to Rypheus. He made his own choices.”
“Maybe not,” said Hektor. “I did not abuse you the way Justin did with his children. But I did try to turn you into instruments of my will, did I not? I am an old man, Kalussa…”
“You’re not that old, Father,” said Kalussa, shaken by his confessions. Her father was the King of Aenesium, the rightful High King of Owyllain, the bearer of the Sword of Fire. He was the man who had kept Owyllain from falling to the Confessor or Justin Cyros. To hear him talk like this unsettled her. To learn that the King of Aenesium was haunted by the same sort of self-doubt that she experienced was shocking.
Maybe she had inherited it from him.
Hektor smiled a little. “Thank you, but I really am. I already felt old when I met your mother, and that was a long time ago. But I am an old man, and I do not have much time left to correct my mistakes. I wish to correct at least one. When we return to Aenesium, I will no longer discourage my knights and lords from approaching you and seeking your hand.”
Kalussa blinked.
“I will even find you a husband if you wish,” said Hektor. “If you do not desire to be a concubine. Presumably, your husband would take other concubines in time, but you ought to be a wife. I can do that for you, at least.”
Kalussa didn’t know what to say.
“Lord Ridmark is married,” she said at last.
Hektor laughed. It was so unexpected that Kalussa blinked in surprise.
“That is something else that reminds me that I am old,” said Hektor. “How very young I am.” He sighed again and rubbed his chin, the beard rasping beneath his palm. “When I was your age, I thought Helen would be the only woman I would ever love. I was wrong. I loved your mother. I loved Adrastea. And I loved some of my other concubines, though others I took for duty and alliance.”
“Father,” said Kalussa. She didn’t know what to say. She did want a husband and children. Did she want one right now? Did she want to share her husband with concubines? Definitely not, but she didn’t see how she had much choice.
“You don’t have to decide anything now,” said Hektor. “But think on what have I said once we return to Aenesium.”
“Do you think we will win?” said Kalussa.
“Of course,” said Hektor. “We will crush King Justin, defeat the Confessor, and destroy the Seven Swords and bring peace to our realm.”
They watched the stars come out for a while.
“Are you trying to comfort your daughter with soothing words?” said Kalussa. “Or are you speaking as a King?”
“Why can it not be both?” said Hektor. “What about you, daughter? Do you think we will win?”
“Beyond all doubt,” said Kalussa. “We have the bearer of the Sword of Fire, the true Arcanii, the Shield Knight, and the Keeper of Andomhaim. We’ll smash Justin and the Confessor.”
She could almost make herself believe it. Almost.
Bootsteps rasped against the stairs. Kalussa and Hektor turned at once, Hektor reaching for the Sword of Fire, Kalussa grabbing the Staff of Blades.
A figure in a white cloak appeared on the stairs.
“Perhaps you should marry Sir Calem,” said Hektor.
Kalussa gave her father an incredulous look.
“You’re joking,” said Kalussa. “He’s violent and dangerous and probably insane.”
“Even kings are allowed to joke, daughter,” said Hektor.
Sir Calem walked to join them, bowed to Hektor, and straightened up.
“Lady Kalussa,” said Calem. “The Keeper asked me to find you. She believes there is time for another lesson before you both retire for the night.”
“How did she know where to find me?” said Kalussa, and then realized the answer. “The Sight. She can probably find me anywhere.”
Calem shrugged. “I merely do as I am bid.”
“Then I will give you a task, young knight,” said Hektor.
“If you will, King Hektor,” said Calem, “so long as it does not contradict any command from Lord Ridmark and Lady Calliande.”
“A knight should be loyal to his liege,” said Hektor, voice grave. “Look after my daughter in the fighting to come.”
Calem blinked. “I shall, but why do you ask this of me?”
“Because you are one of the greatest warriors I have ever seen,” said Hektor, “and my daughter’s life is precious to me.”
Kalussa looked at her father and blinked, a surge of emotion going through her.
“I shall do as you bid then, King Hektor,” said Calem. “If I am to be a knight, then I understand knights are obliged to defend fair maidens.”
Kalussa laughed and raised an eyebrow. “Fair, am I?”
Calem’s green eyes settled on her. “I am many things, Lady Kalussa, but I am not a liar.”
Kalussa didn’t know what to say, so she only nodded.
“Go,” said Hektor. “You don’t want to keep Lady Calliande waiting.”
Kalussa nodded, bowed to her father, and followed Calem to the stairs.
And as Kalussa had promised, she thought on what her father had said.
***