Dragontiarna: Thieves

by Moeller, Jonathan

  “Every time,” said Tyrcamber, “every time I have faced the Dragon Cult in the past, I have seen the blood and ruin and treachery you have worked. I have seen the lies and the betrayal and the black sorcery. And I saw a man become a Dragonmaeloch before, and I know you murdered dozens of innocents to become a Dragonmaeloch, my lord Duke. I know what you are. By their fruits you shall know them, that was what the Dominus Christus told his disciples. And the fruits you offer are rotten and filled with poison and treachery. I reject them and you, and if I come across you in the battle to come, I will kill you.” He looked at the Theophract. “And you. Let the author of the evil of the Dragon Cult fall on the same day as the Cult itself.”

  “I have been threatened by Dragontiarna Knights before, Tyrcamber Rigamond,” said the Theophract. “And I am still here.”

  There was no boasting in that hollow, metallic voice, merely a cold recitation of fact.

  “Very well,” said Merovech with a sigh. “I had hoped you might see reason, but I now understand you cannot break free of the superstitions of the past. I said that I am the herald of the ruin of the old order. And you shall burn with the rest of it. This parley is done.” He turned his horse. “The truce of the parley is over once I reach my lines.”

  “So be it,” said Prince Everard. “May God favor whoever’s cause is just.”

  Merovech let out a mocking laugh and rode away. The Theophract gave no response but rode after the Dragonmaeloch, and the rest of the Cultist knights followed their lord.

  “Come,” said Prince Everard, turning his mount. “We must prepare for battle.”

  They rode back to the waiting army of the loyalists and the five Imperial Orders.

  And as they did, the booming of drums and the blast of trumpets rang out from Merovech’s army.

  The battle had begun.

  ***

  Chapter 21: Beneath The Earth

  Niall rode with the men-at-arms and knights assigned to guard Prince Accolon, and he looked around as the Crown Prince reined up his horse in the center of the forum. Shouts and the clang of metal rang over the city, and Niall both smelled smoke and saw plumes of it rising from various places.

  A strange sense of grim resolution settled over Niall. He had expected something like this, ever since the men of Ebor had come to Cintarra and found that there was no work to be found, that many other villages had lost their farmlands and home to enclosures. He had always feared that the problems in Cintarra would end in a tide of blood.

  It seemed that he had been right. Cintarra had risen in revolt, or a civil war had begun between the factions loyal to the Regency Council and those who had aligned with Archbishop Caelmark and the Crown Prince.

  Niall was glad that his aunt Rhiain was safe in Queen Mara’s castra because he suspected that nowhere in Cintarra was about to be safe.

  He turned his horse towards Accolon and Vegetius, waiting for directions. Accolon seemed stunned at the violence, looking around with the same hard expression Niall remembered from the battle at Castarium. The Shield Knight, the Keeper, Lady Third, Lady Selene, Sir Rufinius, the archbishop, and the Wraith were all near him. Niall had been surprised that the Wraith was a woman of remarkable beauty. He was embarrassed that not only had he wondered what she would look like in a proper dress, he had also been imaging what she would look like without any clothes at all.

  Niall had limited experience of women, who were frankly something of a mystery to him. But if the Wraith’s sister had looked anything like her, no wonder Accolon Pendragon had been so infatuated with Caitrin Rhosmor.

  “You!” said Accolon, drawing Hopesinger and pointing the sword. A man-at-arms in Gwyrdragon green skidded to a halt, staring up at the Prince with wide eyes. “What in God’s name is going on here?”

  “The Regency Council, my lord!” said the man-at-arms, wiping sweat from his face as he attempted a shaky bow. Niall saw blood in the man’s hair. It looked like he had been clipped by a thrown stone. “They’ve declared war on the city and the commoners!”

  “What?” said Accolon. “Explain yourself!”

  “A dozen priests have been murdered, cut down by the Council’s soldiers,” said the man-at-arms. “The Council has issued a decree, saying that the church of Cintarra is dissolved and that every man, woman, and child from an enclosed village still inside the walls at sundown will be slaughtered.”

  “What?” said Accolon again, his fury suddenly plain. During the long days at court when Accolon had reversed enclosure after enclosure, Niall had never seen the Crown Prince show open anger. Icy calm and reserve, perhaps even stern disapproval, but never fury. But now Accolon Pendragon looked enraged. “They have no authority to give that order!”

  “And they have no right to kill priests!” thundered Caelmark. At that moment, the archbishop looked a little like Lord Ridmark.

  “But I saw the proclamation with my own eyes, my lord,” said the man-at-arms. “Copies were left…copies were left with all the killed priests. The city…my lord, the news is spreading like fire in a dry barn.”

  “This cannot stand,” said Accolon. “I will order the Regency Council dissolved and arrested, not just the Drakocenti members.”

  “Prince Accolon,” said Ridmark. “Cyprian and the Drakocenti might have murdered those priests as a ruse, to distract us from the opening of the Great Eye.”

  “Yes, you’re right,” said Accolon. “This is what we must do. I will ride for the Prince’s Palace, announcing that the Regency Council is under arrest and their authority is dissolved. Sir Peter, oversee the men sent to arrest the Council members. Bring them to the Prince’s Palace alive, but if they put up any resistance or if they use dark magic, kill them. Lord Ridmark! Go at once to the Great Eye and stop whatever Cyprian and the Drakocenti are doing. They cannot be allowed to open that world gate. Lady Moriah.” He turned to look at the woman in the bronze armor and the white cloak. “Please guide Lord Ridmark to the Great Eye. If you want vengeance for your friends, today you shall have it…and if I desire vengeance on Cyprian for your sister, I shall have to ask you to take it for me.”

  “It will be done, lord Prince,” said Moriah, her tone like ice. “One way or another, this ends today.”

  “Come,” said Ridmark, and Calliande, Third, Selene, Sir Rufinius, and Moriah moved to his side.

  “Lord Ridmark!” called Vegetius. “What should we do?”

  “Stay with Prince Accolon, Vegetius,” said Ridmark. “Keep him alive.” He hesitated and then turned in his saddle and looked at Niall. “You too, Niall.”

  Niall straightened up, a mixture of fear and pride going through him. “I will, my lord. You can count on me.”

  “I know,” said Ridmark, and he turned and rode away, following Moriah’s directions.

  ###

  “Here,” said Moriah, pointing. “The church of St. Matthew. Another block and we’ll be there.”

  Ridmark nodded and kept riding, Aegisikon ready in his right hand.

  The streets of Cintarra seethed around them. The city had already been crowded with the displaced villagers, and now the long-repressed tensions had exploded into violence. Mobs of villagers, enraged by the murder of the priests, attacked houses and properties owned by members of the Regency Council. Ridmark had seen one house on fire, and another in the process of getting looted.

  They passed one of the parties Accolon sent to arrest the lords of the Regency Council, and that, at least, seemed to restore calm. The news that Accolon had dissolved the Council and ordered its arrest soothed the fury of the mob, at least those that heard the news. Ridmark didn’t know if it was too late. Perhaps Accolon and Caelmark could keep Cintarra from ripping itself apart in an orgy of bloodshed and violence.

  Or maybe not.

  Regardless, it was up to Ridmark and Calliande and the others to keep the Drakocenti from opening the Great Eye. The Drakocenti had created this distraction to prevent Accolon from intervening, but Ridmark intended to stop them.

&n
bsp; The church of St. Matthew came into sight. It was one of the smaller churches of Cintarra, devoted to serving a parish of a few thousand people. The church’s doors were open, and inside Ridmark saw a mob of frightened people who had taken refuge from the spreading riots. A half-dozen burly men in the tabards of churchwardens waited by the doors, clubs in hand as they watched the streets.

  Ridmark reined up before the doors to the church and dismounted, and Calliande, Third, Selene, Rufinius, and Moriah followed him.

  “Just who the devil are you?” said one of the churchwardens, eyeing him.

  “My name is Ridmark Arban, the Shield Knight of Andomhaim,” said Ridmark, “and this is my wife Calliande, the Keeper of Andomhaim.” The eyes of the churchwardens widened. “Cyprian and the lords of the Regency Council are members of a cult that calls itself the Drakocenti. They are about to work a mighty spell of black magic in the Shadow Ways, and they murdered the priests and started the riots as a distraction.”

  Dead silence answered him.

  “I knew it,” said one of the churchwardens, an older man with receding gray hair. “I knew it. Didn’t I tell you, Secundus? I told you the Regency Council prayed to devils, I just knew it. I told every…”

  “Yes, thank you, Taron,” said Secundus, a middle-aged man with the look of a prosperous artisan. “We all heard you the first time. What would you have of us, Shield Knight?”

  “I am going to use the entrance in your crypts to descend to the Shadow Ways,” said Ridmark. “Keep watch over your people.”

  “And spread the news, please,” said Calliande. “The Regency Council has been dissolved, and the Crown Prince is placing them under arrest. If we can do that without burning Cintarra to the ground, that would be better for everyone.”

  “It will be as you say, my lady,” said Secundus.

  “Come,” said Moriah. “We don’t have much time.”

  They walked into the church. The building was full of frightened women and children, their eyes wide. Ridmark walked past them to the altar and circled behind it. A trapdoor was there, and he pulled it open, revealing a stone staircase that descended into the gloom. Calliande cast a spell and summoned a sphere of light, illuminating a stone crypt with the ceiling supported by thick brick pillars.

  “There,” said Moriah, gesturing. “The door to the Shadow Ways.” A door of oak planks and rusting iron bands stood in the far wall, bound by a padlock and a thick, rusted chain. “From there we can descend to the catacombs, cut through the dwarven ruins, enter the dvargir corridors, and reach the elven levels and the chamber of the Great Eye.” She reached for her belt. “I can get the lock open in a…”

  “No need,” said Selene.

  She stepped forward, raised her dwarven war axe, and swung. The blade of dwarven steel severed the padlock and the rusting links with ease, and they fell in a pile to the stone floor.

  “Or we could do that,” said Moriah.

  “A mighty blow, my lady,” said Rufinius, looking at Selene with surprise.

  “They needed to replace that lock anyway,” said Selene. Third grasped the door handle and wrenched it open. The hinges squealed, and Ridmark saw a dark spiral stair sinking into the earth.

  Calliande gasped and took a step back, her eyes going wide.

  “Calliande?” said Ridmark, grabbing her arm.

  “It’s beginning,” she said, blinking her eyes. “I can see the dark magic gathering below the city. The source of power is awakening. The Drakocenti are getting ready to open the Great Eye.”

  Ridmark moved Aegisikon to his left hand and shifted the weapon to its shield form, drawing Oathshield with his right. The blue blade glimmered in the light from Calliande’s staff and then began to shine with its own light, while flames dancing along the sword’s edges.

  The soulblade was reacting to the dark magic stirring below Cintarra.

  “Let’s go,” said Ridmark, and he led the way down the stairs.

  ###

  Moriah had done a lot of strange and dangerous things in her life.

  However, she had never traversed the Shadow Ways in the company of two Swordbearers, the Keeper of Andomhaim, and two…whatever Third and Selene were. Hybrid dark elves? Former urdhracosi? Moriah had heard conflicting tales, and she had never been all that interested in finding the truth because she had been entirely certain that her path would never cross with Third and Selene.

  Truly, no one could predict the future.

  She summoned her helmet back over her head, using the spells on it to see in the dark. With her sword and dagger in hand, she led the way through the catacombs, across the dwarven ruins, and into the dark, silent halls of the dvargir. Moriah moved as fast as she dared, pausing only to show the way around the ancient mechanical traps of the dwarves or natural hazards caused by cave-ins and floods. The Keeper said nothing, but Moriah saw the tension on the older woman’s face. Calliande sensed the power gathering below, and there was not much time left before the Drakocenti opened the Great Eye and…whatever was on the other side of the gate came through.

  Moriah hoped they arrived in time to stop it.

  She really hoped that she had the chance to kill Cyprian.

  They hurried down one of the main corridors of the dvargir ruins, a wide hallway carved from the rock. The floor was built of polished red granite, like a mirror shaded with blood, and the walls were of black, lusterless stone that drank the Keeper’s light. Old bones from ancient battles littered the floor, marked by the blows of sword and spear and axe.

  “Stop,” said Calliande, her voice hard.

  “What is it?” said Ridmark.

  “Urvaalgs,” said Calliande, her eyes darting back and forth. “About a dozen of them, maybe more. They’re moving through the side passages, getting ready to converge on us.”

  “Urvaalgs?” said Moriah with alarm, taking an involuntary step back. “We can’t fight urvaalgs. We need to find another route, we…”

  Belatedly she realized the foolishness of her words. She was in the company of two Swordbearers and the Keeper of Andomhaim. If anyone could face a dozen urvaalgs and win, it was them.

  “Fear not, Lady Moriah,” said Rufinius, lifting Starflame. The soulblade glimmered with white fire. Vaguely Moriah wondered why Ridmark’s sword was blue and Rufinius’s was not. “The Knights of the Order of the Soulblade are sworn to face creatures of dark magic in battle.” He smiled. The madman actually looked eager for the fight.

  “We all have weapons that can harm urvaalgs, but you do not,” said Calliande. “Let me rectify that.”

  The Keeper gestured, white fire blazing around her fingers, and struck the end of her staff against the floor. A ring of white fire erupted from her in all directions. Moriah flinched as it struck her, but the fire passed without harm. Instead, it lingered around the blades of her sword and dagger, sheathing them in pale flames.

  “An augmentation spell,” said Calliande, her voice distant as if she was concentrating on something else. “So long as it lasts, it will let your weapons wound urvaalgs…here they come!”

  Moriah’s gaze snapped to the side, and she saw a rippling distortion move along the floor of the corridor, almost like the heated air over the ground on a summer’s day. A jolt of icy fear shot through Moriah. She had seen that kind of distortion in the Shadow Ways a few times before, and she knew what it was. Moriah had only stayed alive by running.

  Calliande shouted and thrust her staff, and a shaft of white fire leaped from the end of the weapon and slashed across the corridor. There was a harsh snarling sound, accompanied by a sizzle, and then the urvaalgs appeared out of the distortion. A dozen of the creatures sprang forward, their claws raking at the ground. The twisted hybrids of ape and wolf attacked, and every fiber of Moriah’s nerves screamed for her to run.

  Stepping forward and attacking was the hardest thing she had ever done.

  An urvaalg lunged towards her, and Moriah dodged. She was hardly a master with blades, but she had been in her fa
ir share of fights, some to the death, and she knew how to use a sword. Her dagger ripped across the urvaalg’s flank, and to her surprise, the glowing steel bit into the grayish flesh. The creature staggered, and Moriah seized the opening and plunged her sword into its yawning jaws. She wrenched the blade free, and the urvaalg staggered forward and collapsed to the ground, smoke rising from the wounds she had dealt it.

  Moriah had just killed an urvaalg. Now that was a new experience.

  She whirled, blades held ready. Ridmark and Rufinius tore through the urvaalgs like a storm through the forest, their soulblades blazing with white fire. Third disappeared and reappeared with bursts of blue fire, lightning and fire twisting around her swords as she struck. Selene fought with an axe in her right hand and a blue longsword in her left, which looked unwieldy, but somehow her weapons never tangled together. She stabbed the urvaalgs with her sword, slowing them long enough to bring her axe down on the top of their skulls. All the while Calliande maintained her augmentation spell even as she flung bursts of white fire that wounded or killed the urvaalgs.

  Another urvaalg staggered towards Moriah, smoke rising from a burn down its right flank. The creature lunged at her, and Moriah danced aside, tattered white cloak flying around her. The urvaalg landed hard on its forepaws and twisted to face her, but Moriah was ready. Her sword stabbed forward, plunging between the urvaalg’s ribs, and the blade found the creature’s black heart. Moriah felt its heartbeat shudder up the sword as the creature died.

  She wrenched her blade free, turning with her weapons in a guard stance, prepared to face another urvaalg.

  But there were no creatures left. Dead urvaalgs lay sprawled on the floor, black slime leaking from their wounds. Breathing hard, Moriah looked around, but all the others were uninjured, and none of the urvaalgs had survived.