Tyrcamber frowned. “Catacombs?”
“Tamisa is an old city, Sir Tyrcamber,” said Dietrich, “far older than the Empire itself, and I’m afraid we are merely the latest ones to hold it. The cloak elves had a city here, which the dark elves razed, and then the xiatami seized the island and built their stronghold. There are ancient warding spells on the walls and in the catacombs below the city.”
“It is difficult to use the Sight with any degree of accuracy here,” said Rilmael.
“Then the catacombs are an ideal place to hide,” said Tyrcamber.
“Aye,” said Dietrich with a scowl. “We’ve often had problems with criminals and rogues hiding in the catacombs, to say nothing of desert goblins and worse things. Every time we seal up one entrance to the catacombs, we seem to find two more.”
“Not surprising,” murmured Adalhaid, “for the xiatami are snakemen, and snakes do love their warrens.”
“What’s the third reason?” said Tyrcamber.
“The Theophract himself may be with the cultists,”
Dietrich scowled at the title. Both Rauldun and Adalhaid looked grave.
“The Theophract?” said Tyrcamber. “I’ve never heard of him.”
“Nor should you have heard of him,” said Dietrich, his voice sharp. “If you had, you might be under suspicion, Sir Tyrcamber.”
“Suspicion of what?” said Tyrcamber.
“Of being a Dragon Cultist,” said Dietrich.
“I don’t understand,” said Tyrcamber.
“Among the men of the Empire,” said Rilmael, “only the officers of the Imperial Orders, the Emperor, and a few of the nobles know this, Sir Tyrcamber. The Theophract is the dark elven sorcerer who founded the Dragon Cult among the humans of the Empire. Most men of the Empire, and most of the Dragon Cultists themselves, do not know that the Theophract exists. They believe that they came to the cult through reason and their own wisdom. But the Theophract created the cult in secret among humans soon after the Empire was founded in Sinderost, and he has guided it from the shadows ever since. He was the one who wrote the Path of the Dragon, the scripture of the cult. Only the highest priests of the Dragon Cult know that he even exists. But the Theophract advises the cult from the shadows and guides their activities.”
“Why would a dark elven sorcerer do that?” said Tyrcamber, chilled. All his life, he had heard tales of the sinister Dragon Cult, and the priests of the cult figured as villains in countless songs and tales. Tyrcamber had assumed the cult was a legend, a figment to frighten peasants…then he had met Sir Marchoc in Tongur.
“To raise dragons, of course,” said Adalhaid with a dismissive sniff. “The dark elves can dominate dragons, all men know that. The Dragon Cult lets the Theophract find fools who think they can become immortal dragon gods by embracing the Malison. But instead of becoming gods, they become the slaves of the dark elves.”
Rauldun frowned at her. “I am still not entirely sure that you should possess that knowledge, my lady. That should be the province of the Emperor, the Dukes, and the high officers of the Imperial Orders. Certainly, it is not a fit subject for the ears of a woman and the mother of the heir to Mourdrech.”
Tyrcamber wondered if his sister would respond with offense, but instead she turned a charming smile at Rauldun’s direction. “I am the wife of the Duke, sir, and it is not seemly for husbands and wives to keep secrets from one another.” Steel entered her voice. “And you are correct. I am the mother of Faramund’s heir. I will have my son inherit a prosperous and powerful duchy, not a wasteland ruined by a Dragonmaeloch and the petty delusions of the Dragon Cult.” The charming smile returned. “And I am quite good at getting my way, sir.”
Rauldun snorted. “Plainly.”
He had no idea. Tyrcamber knew that his father had married Adalhaid to Faramund in hopes of making an ally of the Duke of Mourdrech. Instead, Adalhaid had turned Faramund against Duke Chilmar, and now her husband opposed whatever Chilmar suggested for the course of the Empire. Likely it was Adalhaid’s version of revenge. After their mother had died, Chilmar had attempted to raise Adalhaid as the perfect bride of an Imperial lord, and his methods had involved a great deal of petty cruelty – constantly criticizing her appearance and weight and demeanor, saying that a lord of the Empire wanted to marry a woman, not an uncultured sow.
Chilmar had expressed angry bafflement when Adalhaid had turned Faramund against him. Their father might not remember his petty cruelties, but Adalhaid did.
“Which brings us, in a rather roundabout way, Sir Tyrcamber,” said Dietrich, “to why we need your help.”
Tyrcamber frowned. “I will do whatever the preceptor commands of me, of course.”
“I will be blunt,” said Dietrich. “We need you to investigate the catacombs beneath the city, find the remaining cultists, and put a stop to their plans.”
“By myself?” said Tyrcamber. His younger self would have leaped at the chance for glory and renown. Three years of service in the Order had taught him all the many things that could go wrong.
“No,” said Rilmael. “I will accompany you.”
“I would suggest Sir Olivier as well,” said Dietrich.
“Why us?” said Tyrcamber.
“Because the Guardian is above suspicion,” said Adalhaid, “and we cannot trust everyone in the castle.”
Dietrich let out an irritated breath. “My men are reliable.”
“The seven men who we executed,” said Adalhaid. “Three of them worked in the castle. One of them was a man-at-arms.” She scowled. “Treachery is the worst of sins. We thought we had removed the contagion of the cult from Tamisa, but if the ritual murders are continuing…clearly we did not find all the cultists.”
“Is the Knight of the Third Eye still in the city?” said Tyrcamber. “He could question anyone under suspicion with the Test of Truth.”
“Unfortunately, no,” said Rauldun. “He believed that the entire chapter of the cult had been found and departed for Sinderost. In any event, it doesn’t matter. If the Knight was here and he started questioning people, it could set off a panic. False accusations sprout like mushrooms in the forest during such a time. For that matter, further questioning is not necessary. The Guardian arrived after the Knight of the Third Eye departed, and confirmed our suspicions. The cult is hidden in the catacombs, and we must strike out and remove it.” He gestured at Tyrcamber. “Both you and Sir Olivier are not men of Mourdrech, which means we know that you are not part of the cult’s local chapter. Both Lady Adalhaid and the Guardian have said you are trustworthy. Therefore, we are asking you and Sir Olivier to descend into the catacombs and protect the Guardian as he roots out this evil.”
“I will do whatever you command, preceptor,” said Tyrcamber.
Rauldun nodded. “This is not a command, Sir Tyrcamber. I will not order you to do something so dangerous…”
“There is no need,” said Tyrcamber. “I will go.”
He remembered how disaster had almost befallen the last time he had met Rilmael. Tyrcamber’s sister and nephews lived in Tamisa. If he could help protect the city, he would.
“Thank you, Sir Tyrcamber,” said Rilmael. “I shall be glad of your help once again.” He looked at Rauldun. “I will speak to Sir Olivier myself.”
“That would be best,” said Rauldun. “None of us have any authority over him.”
“Does the Duke know about all this?” said Tyrcamber. “This little…council in the chapel?”
Adalhaid laughed. “This conspiracy, you mean? He does. He entrusted the task of rooting out the Dragon Cult to me and Sir Dietrich. And since the Guardian has arrived…only a fool would turn away such capable help. The Duke will defend the city from the xiatami. We must defend the city from the Dragon Cult and the Theophract.”
###
That evening Tyrcamber, Rauldun, and Sir Olivier of Falconberg dined in the great hall of Castle Berengar.
It seemed both comforting and strange to see that the Duke’s great ha
ll looked a great deal like the other castle halls Tyrcamber had visited in his travels. Thick pillars supported the balconies of the hall, the rafters rising high overhead. Captured xiatami and goblin banners hung in ragged lines from the ceiling. Three long tables ran the length of the hall, and the Duke’s knights and vassals ate there. Tyrcamber, as Faramund’s brother-in-law, got to sit at the high table with Rauldun. Faramund and Adalhaid presided over the meal, and Tyrcamber was pleased to see that they got along well.
Tyrcamber also spoke with his nephews. The oldest boy was named Faramund for his father, and so to avoid confusion most of the nobles and servants called him Young Faramund. The second boy was just a year and a half old and named Donarr. He was a plump, red-faced child who gazed at everything around him with placid contentment. Young Faramund, by contrast, was a vigorous three-year-old who devoured his meal and then peppered his nurses with constant questions. Tyrcamber spent a good fifteen minutes answering every question the boy could think of about the Order of Embers, much to Rauldun’s ill-concealed amusement. Finally, Young Faramund demand that his dessert be served immediately, accompanied by an attempt at casting the Lance spell to express his displeasure, and his father decreed he would go to bed at once for ill manners in front of guests.
The nurses bundled off the young heir, his outraged wails fading in the distance.
After dinner Adalhaid invited Tyrcamber to walk with her along the curtain wall. Tyrcamber followed her onto the ramparts, trailed by three of the Duchess’s ladies-in-waiting and two scowling men-at-arms. After the discovery of a cult chapter in Tamisa, the Duke had assigned extra men to guard his wife.
They walked along the western rampart of the castle’s curtain wall, which also served as the city’s western wall. Beyond Tyrcamber saw the vast expanse of the bay and then the open sea. The sky fire had dimmed, cooling from the harsh yellow-orange of day, and now a pale sheet of ghostly blue fire filled the night, casting a dim blue glow over everything. Tyrcamber had heard that on Old Earth there was no sky fire, but thousands of points of light called stars had filled the sky. He thought it sounded exasperating. How did anyone see to find their way at night?
“It is good to see you again, Tyrcamber,” said Adalhaid. “The Order seems to suit you.”
“It does,” said Tyrcamber, walking at Adalhaid’s side. “It is good to defend the Empire, rather than spend so much time dealing with the squabbles of the Dukes and the Counts.” He hesitated. “You seem happy here.”
“You know, I rather am,” said Adalhaid. “It’s so hot here…but it never gets cold the way it does in Chalons. Or wet.” She rolled her shoulders beneath her dress. It was another habit that their father had commanded her to abandon, saying it made her look unladylike. “I wasn’t sure what to think when Father sent me here to marry Faramund…but I like it here. This is my home now.”
“I am pleased you were glad to see me,” said Tyrcamber.
Adalhaid blinked in surprise. “Why would I not be?”
“You and Father have…rather fallen out,” said Tyrcamber.
Adalhaid snorted. “The Order has given you a gift for understatement, brother. I confess freely that of all our brothers you are my favorite. Probably because the rest of our brothers are Father’s lackeys, but you can think for yourself. And you do not have a cruel heart.” She scowled. “Father is cruel, though he enjoys it not. He simply views cruelty as necessary and efficient. He thought he could use me to turn Faramund into his puppet, maybe even his vassal. Well, he thought wrongly. Faramund is his own man, and he will not be dominated by anyone. And certainly not by his lordship the Duke Chilmar Rigamond.”
“No,” said Tyrcamber. “But I fear a time is coming when your husband and our father will have to work together.”
Adalhaid glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Now you sound like the Guardian.”
“He’s right,” said Tyrcamber. “The Valedictor is coming. He’s building an army like the one the Dragon Imperator possessed in days of old, and he means to conquer the Empire for himself…”
“I know, I know,” said Adalhaid, half-annoyed, half-agreeing. She leaned against the jade battlements and sighed, the salt breeze from the sea tugging at her hair. “What I wish, brother, what I truly wish, is to raise my sons in peace without fear of war. Without fear of the Malison.” A haunted look went over her face. “Young Faramund has begun trying to use magic when he has a tantrum. I punish him harshly whenever he does…but God and the apostles, Tyrcamber. What he uses too much magic and triggers the Dragon Curse? What if my own child becomes a dragon?”
It was a real fear. Children were often fascinated by fire, by its beauty and light. But fire could burn and maim and kill. And with magic, children could call that deadly fire at will. One of Tyrcamber’s oldest memories was learning the Seven Spells from his mother and nurses, and his mother slapping him whenever he tried to use too much magic. At the time, he had been enraged and hurt and frightened.
Now, though, after he had killed Corswain when the Malison took hold…now he understood.
“You will not let that happen, sister,” said Tyrcamber. “You may not like our father, but you’re at least as stubborn as he is.” She snorted. “You’ll keep close watch over the children.”
“Aye,” sighed Adalhaid. “Ah, but how I wish we could live in peace, free of these things.” She smiled at him. “You and the Guardian and that amusing Sir Olivier will defeat the Dragon Cult, and the Imperial Orders will smash the Valedictor. Then my sons will grow up in peace and plenty, without fear of war.”
“Perhaps it will happen that way,” said Tyrcamber.
Though, alas, he thought it unlikely.
“You do think a war is coming,” said Adalhaid.
“Aye,” conceded Tyrcamber. “A long one. And perhaps something else. I killed a Dragon Cultist in Tongur. He was talking about someone called the Warden and the five Heralds of Ruin.”
“Heralds of Ruin?” said Adalhaid. “I suppose we could call the Dragon Cult that, since they bring woe and misery wherever they go.” She let out that snort of contempt again. “And the Warden? What, the warden of a prison? Who would want to deal with some jailer?”
“I don’t know,” said Tyrcamber.
“Likely it was just some rot the Dragon Cult believes,” said Adalhaid. “You heard the Guardian. This Theophract sorcerer invented the Dragon Cult as a means of harvesting dragons. Like the way we raise pigs for bacon and pork. The ‘Warden’ is probably just some prophecy the Theophract invented to delude more fools into following him.”
“Yes, that’s probably it,” said Tyrcamber.
Yet he still felt uneasy at the memory of Marchoc’s boasting words.
“I fear I must return to my chambers,” said Adalhaid. “I must check on the children before they go to bed.” She smiled. “Young Faramund is prone to terrorize the nurses before he goes to sleep, but he’ll behave if I’m there to put my foot down.”
“You’re a Rigamond,” said Tyrcamber. “If we’re good at anything, it’s putting our foot down.”
“That would be insulting if it weren’t so very true,” said Adalhaid. She kissed him on the cheek. “Good night, brother. Be victorious tomorrow. I shall be very cross if you do not come back unharmed.”
“I shall endeavor not to disappoint you,” said Tyrcamber.
Adalhaid laughed. “And that’s why you’re my favorite brother.”
With that, she descended from the wall and headed for the keep, her men-at-arms and ladies following her. No guards remained behind to protect Tyrcamber, though as a Knight of Embers, he ought to be able to protect themselves. Then again, Adalhaid was hardly defenseless. She was remarkably skilled with the magic of elemental water, using that to charge her spells with ice and frost. Had she been a man, she was strong enough with magic to have joined the Order of Winter. Yet while a man’s duty was to fight for the Empire, a woman’s duty was to bear and raise children for the Empire, lest the goblins or the muridachs
outbreed humanity and conquer mankind through sheer weight of numbers.
But tomorrow Tyrcamber’s duty would be to descend into the catacombs and find the Dragon Cultists.
He walked along the circuit of the castle’s curtain wall, lost in thought but keeping a careful watch around him. The siege of Tongur had taught him wariness, and if Rauldun’s and Adalhaid’s fears were accurate, there might be spies for the cult within the castle. A cultist might decide to rid himself of an enemy by pushing Tyrcamber off the ramparts.
He reached the northern wall and came to a stop. A figure stood at the battlements, outlined against the ghostly blue fire of the sky, and Tyrcamber recognized the dragon-headed staff of the Guardian in Rilmael’s left hand. He hesitated, and then nodded to himself and walked to join Rilmael.
“Guardian,” said Tyrcamber.
“Sir Tyrcamber,” said Rilmael, gazing to the north. “Do you find your service in the Order of Embers agreeable?”
“I do,” said Tyrcamber. “It is good to have a purpose. The Order dedicates itself to the defense of the Empire from our foes.”
“Your father defends the Empire from its foes,” said Rilmael. “He did at Tongur.”
“He did,” said Tyrcamber. “I fear my father guards his own power. Defending the Empire is simply the most convenient way of doing so.”
Rilmael smiled a little. “You know him better than I do.”
“I have some questions,” said Tyrcamber.
“Yes.” Rilmael nodded and looked at him. “I thought you might.”
“Were you using the Sight to watch for the Valedictor’s movements?” said Tyrcamber.
Rilmael blinked his strange silver eyes. “I was. Very observant, Sir Tyrcamber. Because of the ancient spells upon the catacombs, I cannot find the Theophract or his cultists. I might as well watch the Valedictor. He is still within Urd Mythruin. So long as he does not issue forth himself, the war has not truly begun. He will send his goblin and ogre and muridach armies to harass the Empire, but until he leaves Urd Mythruin, the real battle will not begin.”
Malison: Dragon Fury Page 6