But she had pointed at the battlements.
Almost as if she had known the dragon would land there.
***
Epilogue: A Ruined Sword
Aeliana rode west along the coast road, leaving Castarium and its surrounding freeholds behind.
All in all, she was pleased with the work she had undertaken. The Dwyrstone had drawn far more goblins and ogres than she had anticipated. Granted, she hadn’t expected men from the Empire to arrive, and certainly not someone with the power of a Dragontiarna Knight.
Still, the Warden had taught her that chaos and disorder ruled the cosmos, and the best-laid plans could go awry for no better reason than random chance.
It was one of the things he was going to change.
Aeliana had hoped the attack would kill Ridmark, the murderer of her father, but she hadn’t expected it. He had too many powerful allies around him, too much skill and experience. But that was all right.
This was just the beginning.
And there were far more Dwyrstones scattered around Cintarra than the one in Castarium.
That, and the thing that waited in the darkness below Cintarra was far more powerful than any mere Dwyrstone, for the stones had been only part of the great spell.
Aeliana turned her horse north, leaving the coast road and following an old deer trail into a patch of trees. Most of southern Taliand had been cultivated and farmed for centuries, but there were still patches of woods scattered throughout the duxarchate. Men needed firewood, after all, and lords enjoyed hunting.
These particular woods, however, were here for a specific reason.
Not all the lands of Taliand were safe for cultivation.
Her horse snorted and began stamping, too frightened to go any further north. Aeliana patted the animal’s neck, soothing it, and dismounted. She tied the reins to a tree branch since the horse might panic and run off before she returned.
Then she strode north, pushing her way through the trees. The air grew colder, darker, and the trees seemed somehow warped. The woods went silent around her since no animals would venture here.
Unless they were already twisted.
Aeliana came to the clearing at the heart of the woods, and she saw the stone circle.
Thirteen black standing stones stood in a ring, their sides carved with scenes of the dark elves torturing and murdering other kindreds. The ring was about twenty yards across, and in the center of the ring rose a low mound. A black altar topped the mound, and Aeliana felt the cold, malignant magic radiating from the circle. There were places like this scattered across Andomhaim, standing circles the dark elves had built to focus and direct their black sorcery.
Aeliana had found a slightly different use for this one.
She was only a little surprised to see the tall figure waiting for her.
It was a dark elf, standing over seven feet tall. He wore armor of overlapping plates of blue steel. A great black cloak hung from his shoulders, the cowl drawn up to shadow his head. A helmet of blue steel, the faceplate wrought in the image of a roaring dragon, concealed his features. In his right hand, he carried a staff of a strange black metal that seemed to drink the dim light of the woods. It was almost like looking at a slash in the air.
“Aeliana Carhaine,” said the dark elven sorcerer, the helmet making his beautiful, terrible voice metallic.
“Lord Theophract,” said Aeliana. He wasn’t a Herald of Ruin as she was.
Nevertheless, he was still a servant of the Warden. In a certain sense, anyway. Long, long ago the Theophract had made the journey to Urd Morlemoch as Aeliana had, and when he had left, the Theophract had no longer been the master of his own will. More precisely, his will matched the Warden’s own.
Always.
“I understand the Shield Knight slew the Signifier,” said the Theophract, the founder of both the Dragon Cult of the Empire and the Drakocenti of Cintarra.
“Aye,” said Aeliana, stopping before the dark elf. “But this is only the beginning.”
“You have come to retrieve the weapon?” said the Theophract.
“I have,” said Aeliana.
“Then you may require this,” said the Theophract, and his free hand reached into his cloak. It came out holding a scabbard and a sword belt. The scabbard looked utterly unremarkable, and something about it made Aeliana’s eyes want to move past it, to forget she had seen it.
“A thoughtful gift,” said Aeliana.
“You were wise to conceal the weapon here,” said the Theophract. “But this scabbard will shield the weapon from any bearers of the Sight. You could stand five feet from Calliande Arban, and so long as you did not draw the sword, she would not sense your presence.”
“Ah,” said Aeliana. “A thoughtful gift, indeed.”
“I must return to the Empire,” said the Theophract, and he handed her the scabbard. “You are to go to Cintarra and await a moment to strike. Our master’s other Heralds have done their work diligently. The moment to open the way to Cathair Kaldran shall come soon.”
With that, the Theophract struck the end of his staff against the ground. The staff seemed to waver and ripple, almost like a heat mirage, or perhaps a serpent preparing to strike. A shadow reached out from the staff and coiled around him, and the Theophract vanished.
Aeliana walked to the black altar, knelt, and opened the hidden compartment.
Her hand closed around a hilt, and she drew out the weapon.
It was a longsword made of black metal, and a soulstone was embedded in the tang.
Or a former soulstone, anyway. It had been corrupted, and it now glowed a sullen red. Red streaks had spread from the soulstone and into the black blade, almost like poison corrupting flesh. Aeliana felt her link to the weapon, felt its malicious hunger awakening, its desire to spill mortal blood and feast upon mortal lives.
She slid the dark soulblade into its scabbard.
After all, if Ardrhythain could forge soulblades for his beloved humans, why could the Warden not do the same?
Aeliana had been forced to conceal the weapon here. There was no way she could hide a dark soulblade from the Sight of the Keeper and her apprentice, not if she was within a few miles of them. Here, in the ancient circle, the latent dark magic of the menhirs had concealed the power of the corrupted soulblade.
It was a suitable weapon for the death of Ridmark Arban.
But that, of course, would just be the beginning.
Aeliana returned to her horse and rode west towards Cintarra, the dark soulblade at her hip.
THE END
Thank you for reading DRAGONTIARNA: KNIGHTS!
Ridmark, Calliande, Tyrcamber, and their friends will return in their next adventure, DRAGONTIARNA: THIEVES (https://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=11564), coming in 2019. Turn the page to read a sample chapter!
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***
DRAGONTIARNA: THIEVES Chapter 1: The Gate of the Shield Knight
Ten days after it began, ten days after the day in the Year of Our Lord 1491 when the sky ripped open, and the dragons returned, Ridmark Arban braced himself.
This wasn’t going to be pleasant. It wouldn’t hurt Ridmark or inflict any harm. Indeed, it wouldn’t even be all that difficult in the end.
But it was still a strange and unsettling experience.
He turned and looked back at the town of Castarium and the waiting force.
High King Arandar Pendragon had selected a small army to accompany his son to Cintarra. A thousand men-at-arms and five hundred knights with their horses would escort Crown Prince Accolon Pendragon. They made a formidable force, one capable of defending Andomhaim’s borders from all but the most powerful raiders.
Ridmark hoped they wo
uld be enough.
That force did not go to defend Andomhaim from external threats but from internal foes. Matters were not right in Cintarra, the largest city in Andomhaim. The commoners and freeholders had been driven from their farms, their lands enclosed to create grazing pastures for sheep. The Regency Council that ruled in the name of the child Prince Tywall Gwyrdragon was either indifferent to the chaos or profiting from it, and the city was on the edge of revolt.
All that was bad enough, but something darker stirred with Cintarra. A cult called the Drakocenti had arisen within the city, and they had tried to murder Crown Prince Accolon. The murder had been planned far enough in advance that the Drakocenti had killed Accolon’s mistress Caitrin Rhosmor to lure the crown prince to Castarium. Grieving from her death, and believing himself responsible for her suicide, Accolon would not have seen the blow coming.
If not for a young man Ridmark had recruited as a soldier, Accolon would have perished.
And now Accolon was going to Cintarra, with full authority from his father to investigate and issue decrees. He might need the thousand men-at-arms and five hundred knights to back up his authority, to convince the proud merchants and nobles of Cintarra to obey.
But if the Cintarran lords decided to defy the Crown Prince…
Ridmark had seen one civil war in Andomhaim and a second in Owyllain. He had no wish to see a third.
He looked past the gathering men to the stone walls of Castarium. The town stood on a peninsula jutting into the ocean, surrounded by the sea on three sides. Castarium looked peaceful, but Ridmark saw the charred buildings where the goblins had set fires during their attacks. The town had withstood the attack of the Signifier’s soldiers, but the victory had not been without cost.
Such things never were.
But perhaps Ridmark and the others could keep worse things from happening. Thousands had died in both Andomhaim’s and Owyllain’s civil wars. Maybe they could stop it from happening again.
Ridmark turned and walked towards the standardbearers. Two horsemen rode at the front of the small army. One carried Ridmark’s own banner, the one he had taken when he had agreed to become Comes of Castarium. It was a field of blue adorned with a sigil of a silver shield. The second horseman carried a lance with a larger banner, blue with a red dragon. It was the banner of the Pendragons, the royal house of Andomhaim.
A small group of men and one woman stood near the banners.
“We’re ready?” said Ridmark.
“Aye, my lord,” said Vegetius, the decurion of Ridmark’s men-at-arms, a grizzled veteran soldier. Ridmark was only taking twenty of his own men to Cintarra, leaving the rest to hold Castarium against any attackers. Of course, Arandar had named Ridmark magister militum of the force, giving him the right to command any of the royal soldiers. “The entire column’s ready. We’ll be able to march everyone through the gate in a half-hour or so.”
Ridmark nodded. “Good.” He thought he could hold the gate open for a half-hour, but he had never used the power to transport such a large force.
“I suppose the better question is whether or not you’re ready for this,” said Calliande Arban, Ridmark’s wife. She was slender and blond, with a windswept sort of beauty and keen blue eyes. Today she wore her favored traveling clothes – a long green tunic, trousers, worn leather boots, and a green cloak. The ancient staff of the Keeper was in her right hand. Her expression was worried as she looked at him.
“I’m ready,” said Ridmark.
“We would be able to reach Cintarra in a week if we marched swiftly,” said Accolon Pendragon. The Crown Prince looked a great deal like his father, with the same hawk-like features and gray eyes. He had thick black hair, and there was a grimness to his expression that hadn’t been there before. Some of it was the soulblade that now rested on his belt. Hopesinger was a powerful weapon and bearing a soulblade sobered a man.
But much of it was the dark truths that Accolon had learned in Castarium.
Ridmark shook his head. “We could. But if we use the gate to reach Cintarra, it will give us a mighty advantage. I doubt any news of the battle of Castarium has reached Cintarra yet. If we arrive before the news, it will take the Drakocenti and any allies they have among the Regency Council off-guard.”
“Very well, Lord Ridmark,” said Accolon. “I will heed your counsel.” He turned to another middle-aged knight, a grim-faced man with a facial scar that left his mouth turned in a constant sneer. “Sir Peter, are we ready?”
“Aye, lord Prince,” said Sir Peter Vanius, one of the High King’s household knights and the commander of the force that Arandar had sent. Despite his battle-scarred appearance, he had a deep, mellifluous voice, and was something of an accomplished bard. “We’re ready. We can get the men and supplies through the gate as fast as you wish.” He shook his graying head. “It’ll be damned strange to march from Taliand to Cintarra in a half-hour.”
Calliande smiled. “Would you rather walk, sir knight?”
Peter snorted. “I’m too old a campaigner to turn down a chance to rest my feet, my lady. Even if it means walking through a magic hole in the air.”
“Think of the song you’ll be able to make of the experience,” said Accolon.
“Aye, but no one would believe it.”
Ridmark looked at Calliande. “Where are the children?”
“With Rhiain and Lucilla among the baggage wagons,” said Calliande. “They’ll be well guarded.”
Ridmark nodded and walked to the north, Calliande following him. He moved perhaps twenty yards along the dusty road, stopping at where it turned west to follow the shore of Taliand to Cintarra. To the east, the road continued to the River Moradel and Tarlion, the chief city of the realm. Ridmark’s son Gareth was in Tarlion at the High King’s Citadel, serving as a page. Soon he would be a squire, learning the skills and arts necessary to become a knight of Andomhaim. He hoped that when Gareth came of age, Andomhaim would not face any dangers like the Frostborn or the Enlightened of Incariel. Ridmark could not control that, but perhaps he could ensure that the Drakocenti, whatever they really were, did not become as dangerous as the Enlightened had once been.
“Will this spot work?” said Calliande.
Ridmark shrugged. “One is as good as another.”
He reached for his belt and drew his sword. Oathshield’s blade of blue metal flashed in the morning sun, as sharp as it had been on the day the high elven archmage Ardrhythain had given Ridmark the weapon. Most soulblades had a single soulstone set in the tang of the blade. Oathshield had two, one in the tang, another in the pommel. Unlike most soulblades, Oathshield let Ridmark summon the power of the Shield Knight, making him all but invincible for a few moments.
And after his journey to Owyllain, the sword now let Ridmark open magical gates.
That power had limitations. Ridmark could only open gates to places he had visited before, places he could see clearly in his mind’s eye. He did not have the rigorous mental discipline that wizards acquired through wielding magical forces, so he could not always target the gates accurately, and sometimes they appeared several miles from his intended destination. Though given that it was hundreds of miles from Castarium to Cintarra, a difference of five miles was trivial.
And Ridmark could not hold the gates open for long. He could maintain them for about an hour, perhaps, if he concentrated and did nothing else.
“All right,” said Calliande. “I will guide the gate with the Sight, and will help focus your will.”
Ridmark nodded and rested Oathshield’s point on the ground, both hands grasping the sword’s hilt. Calliande laced her fingers around his, her eyes growing hazy as she drew upon her magical Sight. Ridmark took a deep breath, and then another, concentrating on his link to the soulblade, the bond that let him summon speed and strength. But as he did, he focused on the city of Cintarra, trying to remember the way the road leading to the city’s Great Northern Gate looked, the smell of the river, the noise of the horses on the road, the
green grass waving in the sun.
Oathshield shivered in his grasp, and Ridmark unlocked the power of the Shield Knight.
But instead of armoring him, the power reached out and folded around itself.
He could think of no other way to describe the sensation. The Guardian Rhodruthain had told Ridmark that magical gates were created by folding time and space upon each other, and Ridmark had no idea what that meant and knew the concept it was beyond his comprehension. But however the power functioned, it worked, and he saw a curtain of gray mist rise from the ground, about twenty feet high and twenty feet wide. The mist thickened and then became translucent. Beyond the mist, Ridmark should have seen the fields and villages north of Castarium.
Instead, he saw the red stone walls of Cintarra, the largest city in Andomhaim.
“The gate is open!” shouted Calliande. “Move quickly!”
Follow this link to continue reading DRAGONTIARNA: THIEVES (https://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=11564).
***
Glossary of Characters
ACCOLON PENDRAGON: The son of Sir Arandar and grandson of the High King.
ADRASTEA PENDRGON: The wife of King Hektor Pendragon.
AESACUS PENDRAGON: The second son of King Hektor Pendragon, and heir to the crown of Aenesium. Regent of Aenesium while Hektor marches with the army.
ARDRHYTHAIN: The last archmage of the high elves, and the founder of the Order of the Magistri and the Order of the Soulblade.
AEGEUS: A Knight of the Order of the Arcanii, strong with water magic.
AELIA LICINIUS ARBAN: The eldest daughter of Gareth Licinius, and the late wife of Ridmark Arban. Killed at Castra Marcaine by Mhalek.
AELIANA: The illegitimate daughter of Tarrabus Carhaine and former assassin of the Red Family of Cintarra.
AGRIMNALAZUR: An urdmordar, slain by Ridmark Arban in Urd Arowyn.
Dragontiarna: Knights Page 33