Dragontiarna

by Jonathan Moeller

  “That was quick,” said Tyrcamber.

  Angaric shrugged and then offered a bow to the Count. “Master Ruire wants this mystery solved as well, my lords. I have a hundred serjeants under Captain Rudolf with me.”

  “Good man,” said Tyrcamber. Rudolf had been a serjeant of the Order of Embers for decades, and he had come through every battle of the war against the Valedictor and the struggles since.

  “We’ll need someone steady for what I have mind,” said Rilmael. “This is what I propose.”

  He laid out his plan.

  It was a good plan, Tyrcamber thought. No one else had any better ideas, so a few moments later, the Count of Eichenfel and his men marched west, accompanied by the soldiers of Falconberg and a hundred serjeants of the Order of Embers.

  ###

  Tyrcamber leaped into the sky, his great wings unfurling, and hurtled over the heads of the marching men.

  Once his dragon form had felt alien and cumbersome, his body transformed into a prison of flesh, but that had been long ago. Now he felt as natural and as comfortable in his dragon form as he did while human, which was sometimes disquieting. Perhaps the dragon was his true form, and human shape only a guise he donned.

  Or maybe the visions in the Chamber of the Sight had been real, and this was only a pleasant dream…

  No. Tyrcamber thought of Ruari, of her arms around him, of the intent expression on her face as she wrote her letters, the first time she had kissed him. She was real. And she hadn’t been in the vision of the Chamber of the Sight. Which meant that this was real and not a dream. His marriage to Ruari was one of the things Tyrcamber made himself recall in dragon form, a touchstone to remind him that the millennia in the Chamber of the Sight had been visions.

  Impending battle was also a marvelous method of focusing the mind.

  He soared to the west, the green countryside rolling beneath him, the sky fire overhead, and left the Count’s men and the soldiers of the Order of Embers behind. Soon the patch of forest came into sight. Most of the land for several miles around Sinderost had been cleared for cropland, but not all of it, and there were still large patches of dense forest where animals lurked.

  And where bandits and raiders could hide.

  Tyrcamber examined the forest as he overflew it. It was about four acres large, a patch of woods surrounded by empty fields. The fields around Sinderost should have been filled with crops, but the endless wars of the last decade had left the fields abandoned and fallow. Tyrcamber flew perhaps fifty feet above the tops of the trees, and he glimpsed the dark shapes of muridachs lurking beneath the branches. He felt their beady black eyes watching them. The muridachs had to know that trouble had come for them. Despite the dangers of the Malison, dragons were not that common – and the muridachs had to know that several Dragontiarna Knights now protected the Empire.

  If not, they were about to realize it.

  Tyrcamber banked and came to a stop over the western edge of the woods. He hovered forty or fifty feet above the tops of the trees, his wings flapping and producing a gale wind that blew into the woods.

  His jaws opened, and he called forth the dragon fire that burned within him.

  A cone of searing white-hot flame leaped over his fangs and swept over the forest. The trees were old and healthy, but even wet wood could not withstand the fury of dragon fire. The wind from his wings drove the flames forward, deeper into the forest, and Tyrcamber breathed again and again. Soon the western half of the forest had become a firestorm, and Tyrcamber spiraled higher and flew back and forth, setting fires over the northern and southern edges of the forest.

  As the woods became an inferno, the muridachs and the Knight of Blood commanding them fled from the trees.

  Count Niamar’s men and the serjeants awaited them.

  ###

  “Hold here!” roared Serjeant-Captain Rudolf. “Shield spells ready, first line! Second line, ready Lance spells.”

  Third had met countless men like Rudolf in her time. He was towards the later side of middle age, grim-faced and tough as an oak tree. Men like him were the backbone of any army, making sure the soldiers got into the proper positions and attended to their duties. It helped that the serjeants of the Order of Embers were excellent infantry soldiers. Not the equal of the Anathgrimm, true, but few soldiers were. In the time that Third had known him, Tyrcamber had always spoke with fondness of his time in the Order of Embers, and Third could see why. Here was an Order that encouraged excellence, whose soldiers could take pride in their skills and discipline.

  Rilmael had told her that the five Imperial Orders had been the backbone of the Empire’s defense, and Third did not doubt it.

  The muridachs charged from the burning forest and rushed towards the soldiers, swords and axes in hand.

  “You’re ready?” murmured Rilmael.

  “I am,” said Third, her hands around the hilts of Storm and Inferno.

  “Shield spells!” boomed Rudolf. Rincimar echoed a similar command, as did Count Niamar. Up and down the line, Shield spells flared to life before the soldiers, presenting a wall of flickering light to the muridach raiders. Third noted that the serjeants’ Shields appeared with much greater alacrity than the other soldiers’ spells, though Rincimar’s militiamen did well. The Shield of Falconberg did not seem the sort of man to tolerate laxness in his soldiers.

  The muridachs charged in a ragged line, hurling Lance spells. Fire and ice and acid struck the wall of Shield spells, which held against the onslaught. A few of Niamar’s men fell screaming, but the formation kept its position.

  “Lance volley!” shouted Rudolf, pointing his sword.

  The serjeants cast a volley of Lance spells, flinging a storm of fire at the muridachs. Third was impressed. She had seen the disciplined use of magic in battle before – Owyllain’s Arcanius Knights displayed it, as had the gray elven defenders of Cathair Caedyn – but the serjeants of the Order of Embers held their own. Dozens of muridachs fell, the flames of the Lance spell ripping into their flesh, and the foul stench of burned muridach fur filled Third’s nostrils.

  “There he is,” said Rilmael.

  A black-armored figure strode from the burning forest towards the battle, and Third glimpsed the familiar gray features and crimson eyes of a Knight of the Fallen Order. The black-armored knight had already sheathed himself in wraith-armor, and ghostly blue fire danced around his drawn sword.

  “Go!” said Rilmael, and he struck the end of his staff against the ground and cast a spell.

  A lightning bolt stabbed down from the sky fire and struck the knight. Rilmael had put all his power into the strike, and the lightning punched through the wraith-armor. The blast flung the knight to the ground, and he twitched, his arms and legs jerking at random.

  Third strode forward and called on the fire of her dark elven blood.

  Blue flame swallowed the world, and when it vanished, she stood on the edge of the burning forest. The heat hit her in a hot wave. No wonder the muridachs had fled. The farther she used her power to jump, the harder it was, and it had been a long jump from the rear of the battle line to the side of the black knight.

  The Knight of Blood was rolling to one knee. Smoke rose from his armor, and there were burns on his face and hands. Third was unsure whether or not the knights felt pain in their undead state, but this one looked dazed. His gaze turned to her, and despite the burns, Third recognized his features.

  It was Sir Austron, the Knight of Blood who had tried to kill her on the day she and Selene had arrived here.

  “What?” said Austron, and his crimson eyes widened. “You!”

  “Yes,” said Third, and she stabbed with Storm. The blade crunched through Austron’s cuirass and plunged through his stomach and into his back, pinning him to the ground. Austron snarled and tried to rise, but Third sent her will into the sword. Lightning coiled around the blade, and Austron jerked and thrashed. Third didn’t know if the Knight of Blood felt pain or not, but the lightning overrode his
muscles, and he fell back to the ground.

  Third worked the Sense spell and focused it upon Sir Austron. Every time he tried to move or summon magic, Third called forth Storm’s power of lightning, and Austron thrashed and jerked, losing his grip on the magic.

  After the ninth time, Austron spat a curse and slumped against the ground.

  “That is not very knightly,” he grumbled.

  “I am not a knight,” said Third.

  “Plainly.” Austron glared at her. “You look different.”

  “New armor,” said Third. “You look exactly the same. Why is that?”

  “Because when my spirit inhabits a new vessel, my will dominates it,” said Austron. “The flesh reshapes itself in accordance with my will.”

  “Because your spirit is bound within a minor soulstone somewhere,” said Third.

  “Correct,” said Austron. “That is…why am I telling you this?”

  “I am very persuasive,” said Third.

  “Plainly, my lady,” said Austron. He smiled. “Also, those muridachs are about to kill you.”

  Third had seen the three muridachs fleeing towards her. Still keeping her right hand grasping Storm’s hilt, she raised her left hand, summoned magic, and worked a spell. Three bolts of magical flame ripped from her fingers in rapid succession. Each one found a muridach and killed it. Halfway through the process, Sir Austron tried to cast a spell, and again Third called to Storm’s power, stunning Austron.

  “That is indeed very unknightly,” said Austron.

  “As we have already established, I am not a knight,” said Third. “Besides, I do not believe that causes you pain.”

  “No, but it is damned uncomfortable,” said Austron. “You were unable to use magic at our first encounter. We pressed you and the Lady Selene hard enough that you would have cast a spell if you had possessed the ability.”

  Third said nothing, taking a quick look around the battlefield. All the muridachs were slain. A large portion of the forest was burning. There was a golden flash, and Tyrcamber landed at the edge of the woods. Golden light flared around the great dragon, and it shrank back to the form of Tyrcamber in his armor.

  “Ah, how remarkable,” said Austron. “You’re one of them, aren’t you? A Dragontiarna Knight.”

  Third said nothing.

  “It is an accomplishment in which you should take pride,” said Austron.

  Third looked at the undead knight. “I thought you wished to destroy the Dragontiarna.”

  “That is an oversimplification,” said Austron. “We don’t wish to destroy the Dragontiarna but to make them unnecessary. Perhaps one in a hundred thousand can become a Dragontiarna. I ask you, is that just? No. The wizards of the Order of Blood shall make mankind immortal and everlasting, and we shall…”

  “We shall be as gods?” said Third. “And I just have to eat of the fruit of the forbidden tree?”

  Austron smiled. “I seem to recall us having this conversation before.”

  “More or less,” said Third. Tyrcamber approached, and she saw Rilmael, Angaric, Selene, Count Niamar, Rincimar, and Serjeant-Captain Rudolf hurrying towards her. “But my answer is unchanged. You think to become gods, but to attempt to become a god is to instead become a monster.” She shook her head, keeping the Sense spell focused upon Austron. “And I know about the Fallen Order, Sir Austron. You think your ideas are your own, but they are not. The Theophract fed them to you, to make you into his weapons against Cathair Kaldran. You are not men upon the path to godhood, but the pawns of a dark elf.”

  Austron laughed. “The Theophract? The founder of the Dragon Cult? My lady, I fear you are sadly misinformed. The Order of Blood shall destroy the dark elves, and mankind shall reign immortal…ah.”

  By then, the others had joined them.

  “Sir Tyrcamber,” said Austron. “Guardian. It is rare that a man is defeated by two Dragontiarna Knights and a Guardian. I congratulate you on your victory.”

  “Thank you,” said Tyrcamber in a dry voice. For a moment, he sounded almost like Ridmark.

  “You must realize that we will ask you some questions,” said Rilmael.

  Austron smirked. “Ask what you will, Guardian. Though you may not like the answers. Unlike the rest of the Empire, the men of the Order of Blood are not fooled by your deceptions, nor will we allow you to make us into your weapons.”

  “I haven’t lied to anyone in the Empire,” said Rilmael. “What are the Fallen Order and the muridachs doing near Sinderost?”

  “Securing the future of mankind, sir,” said Austron.

  “An alliance with the muridachs seems an odd way to do that,” said Tyrcamber. “Given that they eat humans.”

  “War makes its own necessities,” said Austron. “And the muridachs are readily at hand. Their civilization moves in cycles. They breed and breed, and then explode out of their cities in search of new sources of food. The Order of Blood might as well direct their surplus population in pursuit of the immortality of mankind.”

  “Tell me about the obelisks,” said Rilmael.

  “Obelisks?” said Austron. “An obelisk is a standing stone with a tapering pyramid shape on the top…”

  “Why have the muridachs mentioned them?” said Rilmael.

  “The muridachs talk too much,” said Austron.

  “Why did the Fallen Order dig up the ruins around Sinderost?” said Tyrcamber. “You weren’t building siege works at all, were you? You were digging for those ruins and to find those obelisks.”

  “The ruins of the Embalmer,” said Austron. “His understanding of necromancy was limited and not as comprehensive as ours. Yet he was, in his own way, brilliant. It is almost a pity he was killed in battle before he could carry his experiments to their fruition. The history of the Empire might have been different.”

  “The Embalmer died thousands of years before the first Emperor Roland came to Sinderost,” said Rilmael.

  “And you were there for it, were you not?” said Austron. “Manipulating from the shadows as you always do. Turning others into your weapons. The Empire is just the latest to fall for your schemes. Tell me, did you lure the Embalmer to his doom?”

  “The Embalmer fell in battle against the cloak elves,” said Rilmael. “Either by mischance or because the Dragon Imperator wanted him dead. I didn’t know these buried ruins existed near Sinderost until your Order began digging them up.” He tapped his fingers against his staff and nodded. “A mistake, I’m afraid…”

  Austron sneered. “You’ve made many errors.”

  “Me? Well, yes, but I meant for you,” said Rilmael. “For the Fallen Order as a whole. You should have left the ruins alone. Or entered them quietly. Instead, you’ve drawn our attention to them, and that might be a fatal mistake.”

  “For you, perhaps,” said Austron. The implication that he had made a mistake had shaken his courtly mien, and he glared at Rilmael. “Master Theudeuric offered Prince Everard a chance to take the path of wisdom. To assist in the great and glorious work of remaking the Empire and bestowing immortality upon mankind. Instead, the Prince rejected the Master’s counsel. He chose instead to hew to the old ways, the old traditions and beliefs that will lead to the destruction of mankind. Prince Everard had the chance to become the immortal Emperor of all humanity. Instead, he has spurned the wisdom of the Order of Blood. So be it! Let the consequences be upon his own head.”

  “So instead of an Emperor,” said Selene, “the Frankish Empire shall have an Empress?”

  “Yes,” said Austron, smirking again. “When the four obelisks do their work, and Duchess Rosalyn takes the throne as the first Empress, she will…”

  The attack came swiftly, almost without warning. Austron surged up, calling as much dark magic as he could hold. Blue fire blazed around his fingers, and Third started to call on Storm’s power, but Rilmael was faster. There was a flash of fire, and Sir Austron of the Fallen Order slumped against the ground, the top half of his skull missing.

  For a while
no one said anything. The only noise was the roar of the fire in the burning forest. Third tugged Storm free from Austron’s latest corpse. Some black blood dripped from the blade, and she cleaned the weapon and returned the sword to its scabbard.

  “That was a waste,” said Niamar, shaking his head.

  “It wasn’t, my lord,” said Rilmael. “We learned several valuable things. Sir Austron revealed more than he intended once we provoked him. There are four of these mysterious obelisks.”

  “Also, they’re planning to kill Prince Everard and all the other Dukes,” said Selene.

  “What?” said Niamar, stunned.

  “Duchess Rosalyn,” said Selene. “I am not entirely fluent with Frankish tradition and law, but I assume she can only seize the Imperial throne if the Emperor, the Dukes, and all the other members of the House of Roland are slain.”

  “And that means,” said Third, “the Fallen Order plans to kill the nobles in Sinderost and install Duchess Rosalyn as a puppet Empress through force.”

  They all looked at each other.

  “I think,” said Tyrcamber, “we had better find those obelisks, whatever the hell they are.”

  ***

  Chapter 18: Advance

  “You have your tasks,” said Agravhask.

  He stood on the middle deck of his flagship, watching as the fleet maneuvered. They had stopped perhaps a half-day south of Cintarra itself, close enough that they could reach the city swiftly, but far enough away that the watchers on the coast would not see them.

  The watchers, alas, were another result of Mayascora’s ill-judged attack on Cintarra. Before that, Agravhask’s instructions to the raiders aboard the longships had emphasized stealth. They were to explore and chart the coast of Andomhaim near Cintarra, but they were to kill any witnesses. Complete secrecy, of course, would be impossible. Some witnesses would escape, and no doubt dark stories of red orcs appearing from nowhere and vanishing into thin air would spread among the commoners of Andomhaim.