Malison: Dragon War

by Moeller, Jonathan

  A shriek came from the city, and Tyrcamber saw the Order of the Griffin take to the air. Dozens of griffins and stormhawks flew over wall of Sinderost, heading for the enemy. Tyrcamber already saw lightning dancing around the wings of the stormhawks as the Knights of the Griffin riding the beasts summoned their powers.

  The Valedictor’s dragons rose in response.

  A score of dragons soared into the air behind the goblin ranks, heading towards the stormhawks and the griffins. Tyrcamber spotted the Valedictor riding atop his mighty black dragon, the ebony staff in his right hand. He felt the Valedictor’s song thunder inside his skull, commanding him to obey, and hate exploded through Tyrcamber’s heart.

  The griffins and the stormhawks attacked the dragons, lightning and fire lashing back and forth through the sky, and Tyrcamber flew towards the Valedictor, intending to cast his tormentor to the ground. But a red dragon, slightly smaller than Tyrcamber but just as quick, flew towards him, fire stabbing from its jaws. Tyrcamber banked to the side, dodging around the plume of flame, and it clipped his side, pain ripping through him. A dragon’s scales were hard enough to deflect steel, but few things could withstand dragon fire. Had Tyrcamber remained still long enough, the dragon fire would have melted through his scales and found his flesh.

  As it was, the fire still hurt.

  Tyrcamber dodged around the blast of fire, spiraled upward, and then dropped down, his wings folding into a dive. The red dragon saw him coming at the last instant and tried to twist out of the way, but Tyrcamber’s forelimbs struck the dragon’s side, his claws punching through the scales to rip into the flesh beneath. The red dragon screamed and flipped over, unbalanced by the impact, golden blood leaking from the claw wounds in the creature’s side. Before it could recover, Tyrcamber’s head darted forward, and his jaws closed around the dragon’s throat. His fangs ripped through the crimson scales, and he tore out the red dragon’s throat in a spray of golden blood. The dragon’s roar of fury turned to a gurgling bellow, and the creature went limp and fell from the sky. Golden fire blazed along its body as the Malison departed in death, the dragon’s carcass returning to its original form before it struck the ground.

  As it fell, Tyrcamber pushed away, his wings unfurling, and soared back into the air. The airborne melee raged around him, the griffins and the stormhawks battling the Valedictor’s dragons. Tyrcamber looked around, trying to find the Valedictor. The dark elven lord was close, and his aura was so powerful that it was like thunder in Tyrcamber’s head, though he no longer felt any compulsion to obey. Yet it was so close that Tyrcamber could not pinpoint its location, and…

  A shadow fell over his vision.

  Instinct and thousands of years of experience took over Tyrcamber’s mind, and he knew at once that an enemy was about to attack him from above. He banked hard to the north and dove, and a half-second later a dark shape flashed through the space he had occupied. It was the great black dragon, fire lancing from its jaws like a glowing knife, and the Valedictor sat atop his mighty steed, his ebony staff in hand. Tyrcamber came out of his dive and leveled off, flying parallel to the black dragon, and the Valedictor turned and pointed his staff at Tyrcamber.

  The crystal orb at the end of the staff blazed with blood-colored fire, and the Valedictor’s aura ripped through Tyrcamber’s skull like thunder. He knew the staff was how the Valedictor had rebuilt so much of the Dragon Imperator’s power. The Dragon Imperator, whether through skill or native talent, had been able to control dragons far more easily than most dark elves. That had been the foundation of his conquests, and the Valedictor had gained the same ability.

  The staff was the key. Perhaps it had belonged to the Dragon Imperator before his death, or perhaps the Valedictor had made it himself. Tyrcamber didn’t know, and he didn’t care.

  What mattered was that the Valedictor could no longer control him with it.

  Did the Valedictor know that?

  Tyrcamber flew towards the black dragon and the Valedictor. The orb at the end of the black staff shone brighter, and Tyrcamber saw the Valedictor’s bloodless face beneath his winged helm, the void-filled eyes staring at him. He remembered the Valedictor’s glee as Sinderost had fallen, as Tamisa had burned and Adalhaid and her children perished inside the chapel. That familiar smirk spread across the dark elf’s face as Tyrcamber drew closer.

  It vanished when Tyrcamber’s fire erupted from his jaws. The Valedictor snarled and gestured, and the hazy blue sphere of a warding spell appeared around him. The magic deflected Tyrcamber’s fire from the Valedictor, but it did nothing to protect the black dragon, which screamed as the fire seared away some of the scales on its back and right flank. The dragon whirled with serpentine grace, spinning to face Tyrcamber, and the Valedictor began casting another spell, gesturing with his free hand.

  Tyrcamber surged to meet his hated foe.

  Their duel tumbled through the sky over Sinderost as the battle raged above and below them. Stormhawks and dragons traded lightning bolts and fire. A stormhawk fell burning from the sky, the Knight of the Griffin that had ridden the beast thrown from his saddle to die against the earth. A dragon plummeted with a shriek, its body riddled by lightning bolts and dwarf-forged javelins hurled by the Knights of the Griffin. On the ground, the footmen and cavalry of the Empire strove against the goblin horde, and the sound of steel upon steel was louder than the thunder of competing spells.

  The Valedictor handled his dragon well, riding the enslaved creature with skill and precision. The entire time he unleashed his dark magic against Tyrcamber, throwing lances of shadow and volleys of deadly blue flame. Tyrcamber frequently had to break off his attacks and dodge. Dragon scales would block steel, but not the deadly dark magic the Valedictor commanded.

  Yet Tyrcamber knew the Valedictor, knew how he fought, knew how he flew a dragon. And the black dragon had been injured by the fire, the scales burned away on its spine and sides. Tyrcamber focused his attacks on that spot, his fangs and claws digging deep into the dragon’s flesh. He was aided by the Valedictor’s defenses. Whenever Tyrcamber’s attacks got too close to the Valedictor himself, the dark elven lord forced his dragon to dodge, letting Tyrcamber land a hit on the creature. For all his power, for all his skill, in the end the Valedictor was a coward. What did he know of pain? Had he been enslaved for tens of thousands of years?

  At last the black dragon was a little too slow, and Tyrcamber’s next blow snapped its spine just above its heart. The dragon lurched and let out a dying scream, and the golden fire of the transformation blazed up its limbs. The creature went limp and began to fall, and the Valedictor started to jump from its back, casting a levitation spell as he did.

  But Tyrcamber had known the Valedictor would do that. He had seen his former master do it dozens of times. Tyrcamber spun in midair, and his tail cracked like a whip. It was as thick as a tree trunk, and it caught the Valedictor in midair with bone-crushing force. The levitation spell was active, but the force of the strike sent the Valedictor tumbling head over heels, falling towards the earth like a meteor.

  Tyrcamber followed the Valedictor, folding his wings for a dive. The Valedictor managed to slow his descent, turning to cast a spell, but Tyrcamber slammed into him first. The dark elf crashed to the ground, and Tyrcamber landed atop him, seizing the Valedictor in one clawed forelimb. His talons punched through the dark elf’s enspelled armor and sank into his chest and torso, and the Valedictor screamed, dark blood bursting from his lips.

  “At last,” snarled Tyrcamber. His voice was monstrous in dragon form, deeper than anything human. “At last, I shall repay you.”

  “What?” said the Valedictor. “I do not…I do not…who are you? Who? The Dragontiarna died! They all died! They…”

  Tyrcamber reached up with his other forelimb and ripped off the Valedictor’s head.

  He tossed the body and the head away in opposite directions. The ebony staff lay a few paces away, the crimson sphere at its end glowing. Tyrcamber unleashed his fire
. The flames washed over the staff, and both the staff and the crystalline orb shattered, melting under his fury.

  A surge of dark power went out from the staff as it melted, and roars rang from overhead. Tyrcamber glanced upward to see the dragons thrashing as the Valedictor’s control over them shattered. Some of the beasts turned and fled in all directions as fast as their wings would carry them. Others went mad, roaring and thrashing until the Knights of the Griffin brought them down.

  The Valedictor’s army began to disintegrate as the goblins and the muridachs and the ogres realized what had happened, and bands of the creatures broke off and fled to the north. The men of the Empire attacked with renewed vigor, and Tyrcamber took to the air and breathed fire upon the foe.

  The battle was not over yet.

  ***

  Chapter 10: The Price

  The next day Tyrcamber sat alone atop a pile of broken rubble in the northern square, gazing at the wreckage of the battlefield.

  He was in human form, clad in the golden armor of a Dragontiarna Knight, Kyathar in its scabbard upon his left hip. Tyrcamber supposed he was technically still a Knight of the Order of Embers, but by ancient tradition, the Dragontiarna Knights were sworn to the Emperor himself, and the Emperor was dead.

  The Empire had been saved…but the cost had been hideous.

  Thousands of men lay slain both outside and inside the city, and much of the eastern Empire was still in the hands of the Valedictor’s armies. The Valedictor was dead, but most of his vassals had escaped the battlefield, and they would try to carve kingdoms for themselves from the lands of the Empire. For that matter, the goblins and muridachs and ogres might try to keep the lands they had conquered. There was much work to be done, but the Empire had no Emperor.

  Tyrcamber was so tired, and whenever he closed his eyes, he saw so many horrors.

  A boot rasped against stone, and Tyrcamber opened his eyes.

  The Guardian Rilmael climbed to the top of the pile of broken stone and sat next to him with a sigh.

  “I thought you would like to know,” said Rilmael. “The western Dukes are crossing the River Nabia without trouble. Your father and the Masters of the Imperial Orders are calling for the conclave of the nobility to elect a new Emperor. Then your father intends to convince the new Emperor to launch a campaign to drive the goblins out of Talgothica and back into the Goblin Wastes.”

  Tyrcamber nodded, and they sat in silence for a while.

  “Did you know?” said Tyrcamber at last, his voice hoarse.

  “Know what?” said Rilmael.

  Tyrcamber waved a hand at the destruction in the northern square. “That it would all…end like this?”

  “No,” said Rilmael. “I never know what will happen. I can guess, I can foresee what could happen…but I never know.” He sighed. “I would have spared you this, if I could. I would have saved all the men who fell in the battle, if it had been within my power. But I could not. What we did achieve, though, was to save the Empire, and the lives of many millions who otherwise would have perished.”

  “I know,” said Tyrcamber. “I saw that future. For thousands of years.”

  “And it is because of you that future was averted,” said Rilmael. “Your choices, Tyrcamber Rigamond, saved the Empire from destruction and kept mankind from falling under the slavery of the Valedictor. I know that is no comfort to you now. It might never be a comfort, given what you endured. But the Empire still stands, and millions survived because of your choices.”

  “Is it a comfort to you?” said Tyrcamber. “You must have made similar choices over the millennia.”

  “I have,” said Rilmael. “And sometimes it comforts me, and sometimes it does not.”

  “Why me?” said Tyrcamber.

  “I’ve asked that question myself a thousand times, and never received an answer I liked,” said Rilmael, and Tyrcamber laughed a little. “I never know why. Ardrhythain once told me…”

  “Ardrhythain?” said Tyrcamber.

  “An archmage of the high elves on the world where I was born,” said Rilmael. “He once told me that in the end, you must find trustworthy people, and put their trust in them and leave the rest to God. I saw you would have a chance to become a Dragontiarna in your potential futures, Sir Tyrcamber. I would have killed you, if you had asked it of me…but I brought you to the Chamber of the Sight, and I trusted that you would find the path. And you did.”

  They sat in silence for a while.

  “In all the futures I saw,” said Tyrcamber, “in all the repeats I endured, the Valedictor never once threatened Cathair Kaldran.”

  Rilmael nodded. “The Valedictor, for all his pride, wasn’t the Dragon Imperator, and didn’t have the Dragon Imperator’s power and brilliance. He would never have ruled his domains well enough to gather the force necessary for an attack on Cathair Kaldran.”

  “Then why did you help us?” said Tyrcamber. “If the Valedictor never would have threatened the cloak elves?”

  “I know that some in your Empire think that I use humans as a shield,” said Rilmael. “That I use you to defend Cathair Kaldran to protect my own people. And they are right. I have done that. Because if Cathair Kaldran falls, if the door beneath the city is opened, then both the cloak elves and humanity will be destroyed. But…I would not see mankind enslaved or destroyed, Sir Tyrcamber. I would not see anyone enslaved, if I could manage it. And in the last eight centuries, your kindred did what the cloak elves failed to do in fifteen thousand years, and you destroyed the Dragon Imperator.”

  “With your help,” said Tyrcamber.

  “Aye, but I couldn’t have done it myself,” said Rilmael. “I would see mankind thrive and grow free of the threat of dark magic and the Malison. Perhaps one day that will come pass.” He stood. “I will go counsel your father and the Masters as the western Dukes arrive. Will you come? The presence of the Empire’s one Dragontiarna Knight would be useful.”

  Tyrcamber wanted to close his eyes and sleep forever.

  “I will,” said Tyrcamber. He was still a knight of the Empire, and duty compelled him. “Let’s go.”

  Rilmael nodded, and they picked their way down the rubble heap.

  Tyrcamber supposed that he had gotten what he had always wanted. He had saved the Empire, had gained glory and renown. He had even become a Dragontiarna Knight.

  But the cost had been hideous, both to himself, and to the Empire.

  And he was so very tired.

  Yet duty compelled him onward, and he accompanied Rilmael to the ruined gate.

  ###

  Rilmael walked with the young Dragontiarna Knight .

  The Empire had been saved, for now, but Rilmael still saw the gathering shadows in the potential futures. The Dragon Cult and the Fallen Order were strong, their power waxing.

  And darker shadows gathered, preparing to open the door that must never be opened.

  The Warden was coming, somehow, and five Heralds of Ruin would proceed him.

  It was well that Tyrcamber Rigamond had become a Dragontiarna, despite the hideous price it had demanded of him.

  The Empire would need a warrior like him in the days to come.

  The world would need Tyrcamber Rigamond.

  THE END

  Thank you for reading MALISON: DRAGON WAR and the MALISON series!

  More adventures lie in store for Tyrcamber Rigamond. Turn the page to find out about DRAGONTIARNA (https://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=11387), his next quest.

  If you liked the book, please consider leaving a review at your ebook site of choice. To receive immediate notification of new releases, sign up for my newsletter (https://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=1854), or watch for news on my Facebook page (https://www.facebook.com/Jonathan-Moeller-328773987230189/).

  ***

  Author’s Note

  Thank you for reading all four books of the MALISON series! I hope you have enjoyed them.

  But the adventures of Tyrcamber Rigamond have not
yet concluded, and new friends, enemies, and challenges await him. Turn the page for a preview of DRAGONTIARNA: KNIGHTS (https://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=11387), the first book of the DRAGONTIARNA series. Look for DRAGONTIARNA: KNIGHTS and Tyrcamber's return at the end of summer 2019!

  ***

  Dragontiarna Bonus Chapter

  In the Year of Our Lord 1478, the Warden of Urd Morlemoch stood atop his high tower and gazed at the burning desolation around his fortress.

  Urd Morlemoch itself was intact, of course. Nothing could breach the mighty wards around the citadel, not even the power of the high elven archmage Ardrhythain. But their duel had laid the hills around Urd Morlemoch waste, and now the citadel sat on an island in a lake of molten stone.

  The Warden himself was unharmed. Within Urd Morlemoch, he was invincible. But the same spells that made him invincible also prevented him from ever leaving. He was trapped within the perfect defense he had made.

  But he would find a way to escape, and the cosmos would be his to order as he pleased.

  For the last nine years, he had prepared a plan to escape. He would thrust his spirit into the flesh of Calliande of Tarlion, the Keeper of Andomhaim, and he would open a gate to the world of Old Earth. Using the sciences and engines of the humans, he would conquer Old Earth, and then open portals to other worlds, bringing them within his empire one by one.

  But the plan had failed. The Warden had underestimated Ridmark Arban, and he and Calliande and their friends had escaped from Urd Morlemoch. The Warden’s form was undead and required neither food nor drink nor air, but if he had inhabited a living body, he would have let out a sigh of irritation.

  Nine years of preparation wasted.

  But what were nine years measured against eternity?