Dragontiarna

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Indeed,” said Caelmark. “Recall the examples of the ten lepers who came before the Dominus Christus. All ten were healed, but only one returned to offer thanks.”

  “I don’t want to be an ungrateful leper,” said Tywall.

  “A good thought,” said Moriah. “I’d rather not be a leper at all if I was given a choice in the matter.”

  Tywall laughed at that, looked embarrassed, and laughed again.

  “Go, my lord Prince,” said Caelmark. “Your knights will take you to your morning lessons. This afternoon I will hear cases in the great hall of the Prince’s Palace to dispense justice, and you will need to be there.”

  Tywall left to join his knights, and Moriah heard them depart.

  She and the archbishop looked at each other.

  “How much did you tell him?” said Moriah.

  “All of it,” said Caelmark. “Lying can be destructive. Lying to children is especially ruinous, for the truth inevitably emerges, and their feelings of betrayal at the deception are profound. And if a prince does not receive honest counsel, how then can he govern?” Caelmark sighed. “But I did not dwell on the…gorier details. I only told him that Lord Zimri and his men tried to betray him to Merovech and that you foiled the plot.” He rubbed his jaw. “I think we had best move the Prince’s bedroom. Someplace more defensible, without secret passages.”

  “I think that wise,” said Moriah. “Or at the very least we should seal that secret passageway. Zimri isn’t the only noble embittered by the reversal of the sheep enclosures. If Merovech is offering bribes, he might find some ready converts.”

  Caelmark inclined his head. “Thank you for your vigilance, Lady Moriah. It averted great evil today.”

  Moriah shrugged. “I told Prince Accolon that I would act as his spymaster, and I keep my word.”

  “In the ordinary course of life,” said Caelmark, “a woman’s proper duty is to wed and bear children.”

  “Given my evil reputation, that seems unlikely,” said Moriah, wondering where Caelmark was going with this.

  “But God has given you extraordinary gifts of intellect and resolve,” said Caelmark. “And to whom much has been given, much will be required. I am afraid the coming days will require much of all of us.”

  “Yes,” said Moriah, thinking of the war to the north as the High King’s army prepared to attack Merovech Valdraxis.

  She walked back to the Prince’s Palace, intending to get some sleep. Tonight, she would check in with Helmut, and then visit the domus of another noble she suspected of plotting with the Dragon Cult.

  As she walked back to the Palace, she could make out the harbor and then the vast expanse of the southern sea behind it.

  Moriah almost expected to see the dark sails of Heptarchy warships filling the ocean.

  But the sea was empty.

  For now.

  Moriah feared that would change far sooner than they might wish.

  ***

  Chapter 4: Old Friends

  “You there, lad!” bellowed Sir Angaric Medraut, pointing at a squire in the colors of the Order of Embers. “Go find some horses for us.” He gestured at Tyrcamber. “Can you not see that the Guardian and the Dragontiarna Knights of the Empire have returned?”

  Tyrcamber Rigamond rolled his eyes.

  He stood with his wife and friends in the northern market of the Imperial capital of Sinderost, the heart of the Frankish Empire. The square bustled around him with activity. Some of it was the usual business in a market square in the largest city in the Empire. But most of it was preparations for war. Two great armies had converged on Sinderost – the army of Prince Everard Roland, Duke Chilmar Rigamond, and the five Imperial Orders, and the army of the western Dukes and Imperial Free Cities. With the Dukes of the Empire gathered in the capital, they could elect Everard as the new Emperor. The Prince had been acting as the Emperor in all but name for the last few years, but with a formal coronation, he would have authority to compel the nobles and the Imperial Free Cities to join in the war. Perhaps, at last, the Empire could be reunified and at peace.

  “We can walk, you know,” said Tyrcamber.

  Angaric grinned at him. “Nonsense.” Angaric was a big man with a bushy black beard. He had been bigger when Tyrcamber had first met him years ago, before the Valedictor’s invasion, but years of campaigning had burned much of the weight off him. He was one of the most powerful wizards of the Order of Embers and had the skill in battle to survive all those years of campaigning. “The two Dragontiarna Knights of the Empire and the Guardian of Cathair Kaldran, walking through the streets like commoners? Nonsense. Especially since there is now a third Dragontiarna Knight.”

  Tyrcamber looked back at his companions.

  His wife Ruari stood at his side, slim and silent in golden armor and a white cloak of similar design to his own. The withering plague had taken her power of speech, but he had come to realize that her keen blue eyes missed very little, and there was a formidable mind behind her silence. A few paces away stood Selene of Andomhaim, silver-eyed and silver-haired, the customary smile on her face. She wore a dark leather jerkin over a blue tunic and a dark elven sword and a dwarven axe hung at her belt.

  The Guardian of Cathair Kaldran waited next to her. Rilmael looked almost as he always did. He wore golden armor like Tyrcamber’s and Ruari’s, a gray cloak hanging from his shoulders. His dark hair was shot through with gray, and he had a close-cropped beard, making him one of the very few cloak elves Tyrcamber had ever seen with a beard. In his right hand, he held a staff of red gold with its top wrought into the shape of a dragon’s head, the staff of his office as Guardian.

  Third of Nightmane Forest stood next to him.

  When Tyrcamber had met Third in the village of Muldorf, in the midst of killing some Knights of the Order of Blood, Third had had been clad dark clothing and armor. Now she wore the golden armor of a Dragontiarna, her twin enspelled longswords strapped to her back. Her black hair had been bound in a severe braid, making the hard planes of her face look all the starker and alien.

  Yet her hard face softened a little whenever she looked at Rilmael. Ruari had said (well, written on her wax tablet) that she thought Third and Rilmael would become lovers. Tyrcamber had found the thought of the ancient Guardian having a lover almost incomprehensible, but it seemed that Ruari had once again been correct.

  “Well, the three of you are Dragontiarna Knights,” said Selene. “You could transform and fly to the Imperial Palace from here.”

  “You and Sir Angaric would have to walk,” said Third, a ghost of a smile on her face.

  “I have spent a lot of time walking places,” said Selene. “I might just wait for the horses.”

  “A wise woman,” said Angaric. “I am a knight of the Order of Embers. It would be beneath my dignity to walk. I have to uphold the honor and prestige of the Order.”

  Ruari produced her wax tablet and wrote something on it.

  BEFORE OR AFTER YOU TELL ONE OF YOUR JOKES ABOUT PROSTITUTES?

  “Maintaining the morale of the soldiers in war is vital,” said Angaric. “A knight must keep good cheer to inspire the common serjeants.”

  “Selfless of you,” said Selene.

  “Thank you. It is pleasant to be appreciated.”

  Tyrcamber shook his head, and then the squire returned with several others, leading six horses between them. Angaric thanked the boy and sent him off, and Tyrcamber mounted one of the horses. The others followed suit, and they rode to the south, making for the Old City and the Imperial Palace.

  Traffic teemed through the New City. Everywhere Tyrcamber looked, he saw soldiers going about their tasks or workmen toiling. Large portions of the New City had been destroyed by the Valedictor’s attack and were only now being rebuilt. All those idle soldiers needed something to do, though the army would march out soon enough. Given that Tyrcamber had expected to see Sinderost destroyed, given that he had seen the city reduced to ashes countless times while in the Chamber of
the Sight, it did him good to see the rebuilding work.

  They came to the outer wall of the Old City, the white towers and domes of the ancient buildings stark against the yellow-orange sheet of the sky fire overhead. Once the Old City of Sinderost had been the ancient cloak elven city of Cathair Sindar. When Tyrcamber’s ancestors had come here, the first Emperor Roland had settled in the abandoned city, founding Sinderost and the Frankish Empire. Rilmael had been there as well, teaching the Seven Spells to the founders of the Frankish Empire and showing them how to keep the Malison from twisting them into enslaved dragons.

  Strange to think that Rilmael, who had mentored Tyrcamber and helped him along the path to becoming a Dragontiarna Knight, had been there so long ago.

  Even stranger to think of him as having a lover. But Rilmael had told Tyrcamber that he had been married tens of thousands of years ago on his homeworld, the world where Third and Selene had been born.

  That was a long time to be alone.

  They rode into the Square of the Empire, the largest square in the Old City. On Tyrcamber’s right rose the broad white dome of the Imperial Cathedral, where he had wed Ruari about five minutes after meeting her for the first time, little dreaming that the frightened, mute woman had in truth been another Dragontiarna. On the southernmost tip of the triangular land formed by the confluence of the River Bellex and the River Nabia rose the massive Imperial Palace, a huge castle built by the ancient cloak elves. Tyrcamber had visited towns in the Empire that were smaller than the curtain wall’s perimeter, and the highest tower soared four hundred feet above the rest of the city.

  Tyrcamber rode towards the gate as another party of horsemen emerged from the Palace. He reined up to let them pass, the others following suit, and blinked in surprise. The horsemen were mailed knights, clad in the colors and sigil of the House of Roland, a golden sunburst upon a field of blue. At their head rode a keg-like man in his sixties, a stern scowl upon his face. But his eyes widened when he saw Tyrcamber, and he held up a hand for a halt.

  “Sir Tyrcamber?” said Sir Karling Roland. A cousin to the Prince, Everard had left Karling as castellan of Sinderost when he had marched to confront Merovech Valdraxis. But Merovech had retreated through the rifts to Andomhaim, and Theudeuric, Duchess Rosalyn, and the armies of the Fallen Order had advanced from Carnost. Karling had commanded the defense of Sinderost with iron-handed competence, and with the help of Tyrcamber, Ruari, Rilmael, Third, and Selene, they had held the city against the Knights of the Order of Blood.

  “My lord castellan,” said Tyrcamber.

  “It is good to see you again, sir,” said Karling, “and your noble wife.” His gaze moved over the others. “And you, lord Guardian, and you, my ladies Third and Selene. I hope you have recovered from your wound, Lady Third.”

  “I have, Sir Karling, thank you,” said Third.

  “More than recovered,” said Selene. “There are now three Dragontiarna Knights in the Frankish Empire.”

  Karling’s brow furrowed deeper, and then his eyes went wide.

  “Truly?” said Karling. The old man looked as surprised as Tyrcamber had ever seen him. “Another Dragontiarna Knight?”

  “It is so, sir,” said Rilmael.

  “God and the saints, three Dragontiarna,” said Karling. “The two of you let us hold Sinderost against the Fallen Order. Three of you… what can we do with three Dragontiarna Knights?”

  “There is more news,” said Rilmael. “The Council of Cathair Kaldran has agreed to aid the Empire against the Fallen Order. As soon as the city recovers from the attack, the army of Cathair Kaldran will march to the aid of the Empire.”

  “That is good news,” said Karling. “What is the bad news?”

  Tyrcamber looked at the others, and Ruari shrugged.

  “I…don’t think there is any,” said Tyrcamber.

  Karling snorted. “Now that is the most shocking thing of all. For the last ten years, every piece of good news has been balanced by ill tidings.”

  “Fear not, lord castellan,” said Rilmael. “I am sure bad news will arrive on our doorstep soon enough.”

  “Spoken like a veteran soldier, sir,” said Karling. “Speak to the Prince and Duke Chilmar as soon as you can. They will want to hear your tidings. The Prince and the Duke are in the council chamber off the great hall. I am off to inspect the camps on the other side of the River Nabia.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” said Tyrcamber, offering a bow from the saddle.

  Karling and his men rode off, and Tyrcamber and the others headed into the courtyard of the Imperial Palace. Squires and pages came forth to take their horses, and Tyrcamber dismounted. On impulse, he extended his arm towards Ruari, and she blinked, smiled, and threaded her arm through his.

  They walked into the great hall, a massive rectangular chamber large enough to hold some of the smaller castles that Tyrcamber had visited. Great blue banners with the Emperor’s golden sunburst hung from the ceiling, and their boots rang against the gleaming floor of white stone. The Emperor’s throne rested upon the dais, a massive chair with a rounded back, flanked by twin statues of lions.

  The door to the Emperor’s council chamber was to the right of the dais, and it stood open. Tyrcamber heard voices from within, and he headed towards the chamber.

  “The Count’s behavior has been appalling, my lord,” said a man’s voice, speaking with the accent of the northwestern Empire, of the duchies of Ribaria and Tournis. “He has been far too friendly with the merchant scum of the Imperial Free Cities and given them far too many liberties. Once you take your rightful inheritance on the Imperial throne, I hope you will resolve this matter.”

  “We have to win the war first, Cormarl,” came the familiar, harsh voice of Chilmar Rigamond, Tyrcamber’s father and the Duke of Chalons. “Matters of trade can wait until the Fallen Order is destroyed.”

  “But the conduct of the Count of Eichenfel has been egregious,” said Cormarl. Recognition went through Tyrcamber. That had to be Cormarl Scuinar, the Duke of Ribaria, and the father of Corswain Scuinar, who had been Tyrcamber’s best friend as a squire and a young knight.

  Until Tyrcamber had killed Corswain to save him from the twisting curse of the Malison.

  The Count of Eichenfel. Something tugged at his memory about that. But what?

  Tyrcamber shook off the memories and entered the council chamber. It was a round room with a domed ceiling, a circular table filling most of the floor space. Three men stood on the far side of the room. The first was Prince Everard Roland, a man about Tyrcamber’s age, with dark hair and a long beard. The second was Chilmar Rigamond, his hair and beard the color of iron, his face as hard as if it had been carved out of granite. The third was Chilmar’s age, with blond hair and beard going to gray. Duke Cormarl Scuinar looked so much like an older version of his late son that Tyrcamber felt another wave of old memories roll through his head.

  Duke Cormarl turned an annoyed look towards the door, and his eyes widened.

  “Ah,” said Chilmar. “Guardian, Tyrcamber. It seems that you have returned.”

  “Welcome,” said Prince Everard. He greeted them all by name. “I trust, Lady Third, that you have recovered from the wound you took in the defense of Sinderost?”

  “I did, thank you,” said Third.

  “Guardian, you thought you might be able to persuade your kindred to help in the war?” said Chilmar.

  “Our timing was fortunate,” said Rilmael. “There was a traitor among our people. One of our archmages wielded a dark soulblade given to him by the Theophract. He tried to destroy Cathair Kaldran, but we defeated him. The attack shocked the ruling Council of the city, and they agreed to send aid in our struggle against the Fallen Order.”

  “That is good news indeed,” said Everard. “Let it never be said that the Guardian of Cathair Kaldran has brought only ill tidings to the Empire of the Franks.”

  “And the traitorous archmage was defeated,” said Selene, “by the efforts of Lady Third, who tr
ansformed into another Dragontiarna Knight in the process.”

  Everard, Chilmar, and Cormarl all stared at her in surprise.

  Third remained expressionless, but Tyrcamber glimpsed the faint tightness around her eyes. She didn’t like being the center of attention but was prepared to endure that unpleasant duty with quiet stoicism.

  “I hardly defeated Solthalis alone,” said Third. “I had a great deal of help.”

  “You did most of the work, though,” said Selene.

  “You have my congratulations, Lady Third,” said Everard, “and you were welcome in the Frankish Empire before, but you are especially welcome now. If you are willing to fight alongside us against the undead of the Fallen Order, we would gladly accept your aid.”

  “I am,” said Third. “It is as I told you when we first met, lord Prince. The Dragon Cult and the Fallen Order might claim to be rivals, but they are different faces of the same evil. Both Andomhaim and the Frankish Empire battle the same foe. The battle at Cathair Kaldran proved that further. The dark soulblade that Solthalis wielded was called Ghostruin, and I last saw it in Andomhaim.”

  Everard and Chilmar shared a look. They understood what that meant. Cormarl only maintained his look of aloof, lordly belligerence. Tyrcamber recalled that his old friend’s father had not been the brightest of the Dukes of the Empire.

  “If you saw it last in Andomhaim,” said Everard at last, “how did it come to the Empire?”

  “I do not know,” said Third. “The Keeper secured it in her Tower, a stronghold fortified with many potent wards. Her magic is at least as strong as the Guardian’s, and in some areas, it is stronger. It should not have been possible for anyone to take Ghostruin from the Tower of the Keeper, and yet I saw that weapon in Solthalis’s hand.”

  “At least the damned thing is secured now,” said Chilmar.

  Rilmael shook his head. “It disappeared from Cathair Kaldran. I suspect the Theophract gave it to Solthalis, and the Theophract laid a spell upon the sword to return it to his hand should Solthalis be slain.”