Malison: Dragon Fury

by Moeller, Jonathan

  MALISON: DRAGON FURY

  Jonathan Moeller

  ***

  Description

  Magic has been mankind's defense against the dark elves and the xiatami...but the Dragon Curse threatens to destroy all.

  When Tyrcamber Rigamond is sent to help defend the Empire's southern border against the xiatami, he expects a difficult campaign.

  He doesn't expect to find the sinister Dragon Cult.

  And their treachery might destroy humanity...

  ***

  Malison: Dragon Fury

  Copyright 2019 by Jonathan Moeller.

  Smashwords Edition.

  Cover image copyright © Susazoom | Dreamstime.com & Sylphe_7 | istockphoto.com & RF License : STANDARD | Print & Web | Unlimited Digital Impressions, up to 250,000 Prints neostock-s011-karlos-grimdark-knight-115 - Original file (2617x5334 pixels).

  Ebook edition published February 2019.

  All Rights Reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.

  ***

  Chapter 1: Desert Goblins

  Tyrcamber Rigamond, Knight of the Order of Embers, squinted in the glare of the desert plain.

  He had grown up in Chalons, the northernmost duchy of the Frankish Empire, and he had spent years as a page and a squire in the Emperor’s capital of Sinderost. The winters of Chalons were harsh and cold, the summers cool and prone to storms. Winter in the Emperor’s city of Sinderost was not so harsh, but the summers were far warmer.

  At least, Tyrcamber had thought of Sinderost’s summers as hot until he had come to the deserts of Mourdrech.

  It was always hot here, the sky fire burning like a sheet of molten metal overhead. When night came, and the sky fire cycled to cool blue, the deserts grew bitterly cold, only to bake with heat once more when day returned. The coastal regions of Mourdrech around the city of Tamisa possessed some of the most fertile farmland in the Empire, but the interior of the duchy was all desert.

  The road slashed its way across the flat, bleak plain. The landscape was hard-packed earth dotted with tough scrub and thorny plants. Fingers of weathered orange-brown rock jutted from the ground like bones rising from a disturbed grave. Far to the east, Tyrcamber glimpsed the mountains that divided Mourdrech and the Empire from the vast expanse of the Goblin Wastes.

  Fortunately, the flatness of the desert made the mountains look much closer than they really were.

  Unfortunately, the deserts of Mourdrech possessed their own perils.

  Tyrcamber turned in his saddle and glanced back at his command.

  He had been a Knight of the Order of Embers since the victory at Tongur three years ago. Ever since he had been a boy, Tyrcamber had wanted to join one of the five Imperial Orders, to defend the Empire against its many enemies. He had gained enough renown during the defense of Tongur to join the Order of Embers, knights who specialized in wielding the magic of elemental flame. Tyrcamber found the life of an Order knight agreeable – not easy, certainly, but full of duty and purpose.

  Though he was still haunted by the deaths that he had seen during the siege of Tongur and in battles since.

  And by the dark rumors gathering to the east.

  The dark elven lord called the Valedictor had claimed the Dragon Imperator’s ancient throne in Urd Mythruin and gathered tribes of goblins and ogres and muridachs under his control. Even some of the cities of the umbral elves, prickly and proud, had rallied to the Valedictor. The siege of Tongur had been a probing attack, a testing of the Empire’s resolve. Soon the Valedictor would launch a massive assault on the Empire, and the five Imperial Orders would need to rally to the Empire’s defense, along with the Dukes and the Counts.

  Assuming the nobles could stop squabbling long enough to do so.

  But with the Imperial Orders focused to the east, the other enemies of the Empire saw an opportunity. Renegade goblin tribes moved, raiding the outlying lands. Muridach raiders had begun attacking targets of opportunity, carrying off slaves and spoils. The cities of the umbral elves had launched attacks into the Empire. And the xiatami, the lords of the Serpent Desert, had sent probing attacks into the desert of Mourdrech. Long ago, the Emperor had wrested Mourdrech and the city of Tamisa from the xiatami. The snakemen had tried to take it back several times. Indeed, they had no choice. The priests of the xiatami, the Conciliators, taught that their god Xophiramus was hungry for blood, and the xiatami brought a constant stream of victims to their god’s altar.

  Which was the entire reason that Tyrcamber was here in the desert.

  He turned in the saddle and glanced back at his command.

  A hundred serjeants of the Order of the Embers marched along the road, trailed by a long train of camels that carried their food and water and other supplies. A half-dozen horsemen screened the column, short bows resting atop their saddles. Every so often one of the scouts rode off, checking for foes along the flanks or to the south. So far, at least, they had found none. This part of Mourdrech was mostly deserted. The human population kept towards the coast, where the land was fertile enough to grow crops. The tribes of desert goblins kept to the west, near the mountains that bordered the Wastes. But, of course, if the desert goblins wanted to raid the human villages, they crossed the desert and the road.

  And if xiatami raiders came north in search of human slaves to sacrifice on the altars of their Conciliators, they would have to take this route.

  Still, no foes had shown themselves as yet.

  Though the desert had enough natural hazards to make up for them. Tyrcamber had never before been forced to ration water, and he found it an unpleasant experience. Fortunately, enough of his men had skill with water magic that the odds of dying of thirst were low. Snakes infested the desert, along with peculiar horned toads whose touch caused hallucinogenic madness followed by agonizing death. The black scorpions of the desert could grow to the size of ponies, and their smell caused panic in both horses and camels. Tyrcamber had killed two of the things with the Lance spell, and then the column had lost a few hours as they put hoods over the horses and camels and led them past the carcasses.

  “This afternoon, I reckon,” said a man’s voice, deep and gravelly.

  Tyrcamber looked to his right. A serjeant in the chain mail and crimson tabard of a man-at-arms of the Order of Embers walked next to him, pale eyes roving over the bleak plains. His nose had been broken multiple times, and deep lines scored his face above his drooping gray mustache. On his left shoulder was a small bronze badge in the shape of an eagle, the mark of a captain of serjeants.

  “Serjeant-captain Rudolf?” said Tyrcamber.

  “This afternoon, sir,” said Rudolf. “We ought to come into sight of the sea, and then the walls of Tamisa itself.”

  “That is good news,” said Tyrcamber. “I am ready to be done with this wretched desert.”

  “It isn’t a pleasant place, sir,” said Rudolf with calm equanimity. “No water save for the oases along the road, and no place to take cover, either. The desert will kill you stone dead if you’re not careful.” He shrugged. “Still, it’s one of the easiest trips I’ve had through the desert of Mourdrech. Haven’t even seen a desert goblin, let alone a manticore.”

  “Let us hope we don’t see any today,” said Tyrcamber. They were not, after all, at the gates of Tamisa yet. Once Tyrcamber would have looked forward to a battle, to winning glory
and renown by defeating the enemies of the Empire. Now he just wanted to get his command to Tamisa without any losses.

  “Yes, sir,” said Rudolf. “Let’s hope for a peaceful day. Once we get to the chapterhouse at Tamisa, I think the lads could do with a night or two under a roof and out of the desert wind.”

  “I find I agree with the men, serjeant-captain,” said Tyrcamber. He carefully hid his flicker of amusement. Some of the serjeants in Tyrcamber’s command were ten or fifteen years his senior. Of course, Rudolf himself was at least twice Tyrcamber’s age, maybe a little older, a man who had spent his adult life fighting as a man-at-arms of the Order of Embers. He seemed old enough that everyone was a “lad” to him.

  “Very sensible, sir,” said Rudolf. “Might I make a suggestion?”

  “Certainly,” said Tyrcamber. Rudolf was a commoner, and Tyrcamber was a Knight of the Order and the son of one of the Dukes of the Empire. His place was to command, and Rudolf’s was to obey. Yet Rudolf had decades of experience fighting the enemies of the Empire. His advice was invariably good, and he had mastered the trick of wording his suggestions so that they seemed to be the most sensible course of action.

  Tyrcamber’s pride had stung a little at first, but he welcomed the assistance. This was his first command in the Order, and he did not want to make a botch of it. He envied the arrogant assurance he sometimes saw in other knights, both in members of the Imperial Orders and knights sworn to the various Counts and Dukes of the Empire. Tyrcamber wished he could have been that confident.

  Yet he had seen firsthand that overconfidence and arrogance could lead to ruin.

  Adalhaid had always said that Tyrcamber thought too much, and she had a point. Yet so often Tyrcamber encountered problems that required more thought, not less.

  “I think we ought to send half the scouts ahead, sir,” said Rudolf. “If I remember right, in another few miles the road turns sharply to the west and descends towards the lowlands around the coast. If anyone wants to make trouble for us, sir, that will be the place to do it.”

  Tyrcamber frowned. “You expect an ambush?”

  “I’ve been a soldier long enough to always expect trouble, sir,” said Rudolf. “And that bend in the road is a favorite ambush point for the desert goblins. And the xiatami soldiers, since they’ve been making trouble of late.”

  “Which is the entire reason we’re here,” said Tyrcamber. “Very well, captain. See it done.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Rudolf, and he turned and bawled out orders to the scouts. Three of the riders acknowledged and kicked their horses to a canter, sweeping south and west along the road. Reddish-brown dust rose from their horses’ hooves, hanging in a veil before it settled down towards the earth. Tyrcamber supposed the dust would make the scouts visible from a long way off. Still, there didn’t seem to be any way to avoid it.

  “You’ve been to Tamisa before, serjeant-captain?” said Tyrcamber.

  “That I have, sir,” said Rudolf. “This trip will be…the sixth time now, I reckon. It’s a pleasant enough place when the xiatami or the desert goblins aren’t knocking on the gates of the city. The preceptor of our Tamisa chapterhouse is a steady man and a good knight, sir.”

  “Preceptor Rauldun,” said Tyrcamber, recalling the orders he had been given before departing Sinderost. He would serve under Rauldun’s command once he arrived in Tamisa.

  “Yes, sir,” said Rudolf. “Sir Rauldun is high in Duke Faramund’s councils.” He hesitated. “And begging your pardon, sir, but I think your sister is high in the Duke’s councils as well.”

  Tyrcamber snorted. “Of course she is. She’s his wife, for God’s sake. Have you met my sister, serjeant-captain?”

  “I haven’t yet had that honor, sir.”

  “Adalhaid has always known her own mind, and she’s very good at getting her way,” said Tyrcamber. “You might as well try to command the sea as to tell my sister what to do. You’ll get the same results, more or less.” When his father had arranged Adalhaid’s marriage to Duke Faramund, Chilmar Rigamond had thought Adalhaid would transform the Duke of Mourdrech into a loyal ally.

  Duke Chilmar didn’t often miscalculate in the deadly games of the Empire’s internal politics, but this time…

  “I apologize for the question, sir,” said Rudolf, “but it might affect our mission from the Order. Are you and the Duchess Adalhaid, may God save her, on…good terms?”

  The elaborate courtesy of the question made Tyrcamber laugh. “What? Adalhaid and I get along just fine. It’s our father that she can’t stand. We…”

  He fell silent.

  The three scouts that Rudolf had sent out were galloping back.

  “Captain,” said Tyrcamber.

  “I see them, sir,” said Rudolf, his voice hardening, and the three scouts converged on Tyrcamber and Rudolf.

  “Sir knight,” said one of the scouts.

  “Report,” said Tyrcamber.

  “Goblins, sir,” said the scout, breathing hard. “A large force of desert goblins, about sixty or seventy strong. They are coming up the road to the south. We should be able to see them at any moment.”

  “I think I saw some xiatami with them,” said the second scout. “Maybe five or six of the snakemen.”

  Tyrcamber shared a look with Rudolf. There were independent tribes of goblins in the Mourdrech desert and the neighboring mountains, but the xiatami snakemen had enslaved all the goblin tribes in their lands. Often the xiatami used the desert goblins as fodder in preparation for a serious attack. And if the scouts had seen xiatami this far north…

  “They are coming up the road?” said Tyrcamber.

  “Yes, sir,” said the first scout. “We should see them any minute.”

  Tyrcamber turned to Rudolf. “We had better form up.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Rudolf, and then he turned, his voice rising in volume. “Form up! Form up!” Tyrcamber was still astonished that the serjeant-captain’s hoarse voice could become a commanding bellow. “Shield wall across the road. Form up!”

  Rudolf gave a torrent of orders, and the column unfolded and drew itself up in a shield wall across the dusty road. The serjeants of the Order of Embers were well-trained and well-drilled, and it showed in the speed and ease of their movements. The men-at-arms raised by the lords of the Empire varied wildly in quality. Some of the nobles maintained troops of professional soldiers that were the equal of the Imperial Orders’ serjeants. Others only managed to raise mobs of unruly peasants armed with pitchforks. But though the lords would hate to admit it, the five Imperial Orders sworn directly to the Emperor possessed the finest infantry in the Empire of the Franks.

  Tyrcamber saw the results of that training. In a matter of moments, a line of forty men stood across the road, shields and swords in hand. Behind them stood another forty men, ready to step forward should the first line falter or to secure the flanks if the enemy attempted to go around them. The remaining twenty men hung back, both as a final reserve and to secure the camels and the baggage. Tyrcamber waited atop his horse behind the second line, Rudolf standing next to him. The mounted scouts formed up on the left side of the shield wall, bows resting in their hands.

  A moment later the enemy came into sight.

  Tyrcamber had spent much of his life before he joined the Order of Embers fighting the forest goblins of the northern Empire. Forest goblins stood about five feet tall, with blue skin, pointed ears, and venomous yellow eyes. Desert goblins, by contrast, had yellowish-green skin, which made them look somehow sickly. Their eyes were smaller, and their ears were larger than their forest cousins to the north, though they still had clawed fingers and toes and mouths filled with fangs.

  A mob of ninety goblin soldiers moved along the road, armed with a variety of axes and swords and spears. They had lighter armor than Tyrcamber would have expected, shirts of ring mail and spiked helmets. Behind them, Tyrcamber glimpsed a tall figure in a crimson robe. Alarm went through him at the sight. The crimson-robed figure would be a C
onciliator, a priest of the xiatami who collected the endless sacrifices slain upon the altars of the serpent god Xophiramus.

  “Do you see the priest, sir?” murmured Rudolf.

  “I see him,” said Tyrcamber. “We’d better goad them into attacking first and hold our magic in reserve.”

  “The scouts, sir?” said Rudolf.

  “Send them out.”

  Rudolf bellowed more orders, and the six scout riders galloped forward. They rode back and forth between the waiting serjeants and the advancing goblins, loosing arrow after arrow. The scouts of the Order were trained as horse archers, and the six riders used their bows with superb skill. A half-dozen goblins went down, feathered shafts jutting from their throats, blue blood spilling into the dust of the desert. The creatures snarled in fury, and some of them cast spells. A volley of Lance spells burst from their clawed hands, mostly in the form of jagged spikes of ice. The riders either dodged the Lances or cast Shield spells of their own, deflecting the magical attacks.

  Tyrcamber saw a flare of blood-colored light from behind the goblins. The xiatami Conciliator was casting a spell. The xiatami priests often used blood magic in their spells, and the sacrificial blood of their victims allowed the priests to work mighty feats of dark magic with reduced risk of succumbing to the curse of the Malison. Tyrcamber rose in his stirrups, raising his left hand, and called his own magic. He was the strongest wizard among his men, and thanks to the training the Order of Embers had given him, he had become stronger yet. That meant it was up to Tyrcamber to stop the Conciliator’s attack.

  Fire blazed around his left hand. His horse shied beneath him, letting out a nervous whinny. The Order trained its mounts to withstand both the carnage of battle and the flare and light of spells, but horses still did not like magic. Tyrcamber cast the Lance spell and hurled a blazing shaft of yellow-orange fire almost the exact color as the sky fire overhead. The blast hurtled over the heads of the goblins and struck the crimson glow around the Conciliator. The glow focused into a Shield spell as the xiatami priest responded to Tyrcamber’s attack, and the Lance spell exploded into a spray of hissing sparks.