Malison: Dragon Fury

by Moeller, Jonathan

  “No,” said Rilmael, shaking his head. “No, the dark elves did not create these creatures.”

  “The Dragon Cultists, then?” said Tyrcamber. He had never heard of the cultists raising undead creatures, but the Dragon Cult would not scruple at any crime.

  “Something else,” said Rilmael. “A new dark power.”

  “A new power?” said Tyrcamber. Weren’t there enough dark powers loose in the world already?

  “From my perspective,” said Rilmael. “From your perspective, it would be an ancient one from the early days of the Frankish Empire. These undead goblins were created by the Fallen Order.”

  Tyrcamber had never heard the name before, but Olivier let out a long breath.

  “Bloody hell,” said Olivier. “The Fallen Order. Thought they were extinct. Or that they had only been a legend.”

  “No, they were quite real,” said Rilmael, “and they almost took over the Empire six centuries ago.”

  “I’ve never heard of them,” said Tyrcamber.

  “Suppose you’re too young,” said Olivier. “The high officers of the Orders know about them, and so does the Emperor. Me, I’m not a high officer, but I’ve been around a while, and I hear things. You know how there are five Imperial Orders, right? You lot in the Order of Embers use fire magic and we in the Order of the Griffin use spells of elemental air. The Order of Iron uses earth magic, the Order of Winter uses water and ice spells, and the Order of the Third Eye uses the magic of the mind. Five orders.” As if to reinforce the point, he counted them off on the fingers of his left hand. “But way back in olden times…”

  “Around the Year of Our Lord 950,” said Rilmael.

  Olivier nodded. “Around then, some knights founded another order. That was right after a war with one of the muridach cities, and those knights were fascinated by the necromancy the muridach priests used. They started to think that maybe necromancy was a way that the Empire could defeat all its enemies, that we could raise undead armies the way that some of the dark elves did.”

  “That violates the law of both the Empire and the church,” said Tyrcamber.

  “It does,” said Rilmael. “The elemental powers and the magic of the mind are natural forces of this world. They can be used for good or evil, of course, just as a sword or a bow may be used for good or evil ends, but they are not inherently corruptive. Necromancy and dark magic, however, are innately evil, and inevitably corrupt the user. They cannot be used safely.”

  “Aye,” said Olivier. “These knights founded what they called the Order of Blood, and they knew the Imperial Church and the other Orders would never accept them. So they tried to secretly take over the Empire, but they made a botch of it, and the Emperor and the other Orders drove them out. That’s why they’re called the Fallen Order.” He scratched at his jaw, his beard rustling. “Though they were all destroyed.”

  “They were not,” said Rilmael. “The Order was nearly destroyed, but its surviving knights went into hiding, or concealed their true allegiance. The Fallen Order remains a secret cabal to this day.”

  Tyrcamber frowned. “Are they allied with the Dragon Cult?”

  “No,” said Rilmael. “Whatever else their failings, the knights of the Fallen Order see the Malison for the curse that it is. But they are just as dangerous. They are masters of necromancy and blood spells, and some of them have survived for centuries, using dark magic to extend their lives to unnatural lengths. There is a real chance a knight of the Fallen Order has been hiding here since the Empire seized Tamisa from the xiatami.”

  “Surely someone would have realized it,” said Tyrcamber.

  “Not necessarily,” said Rilmael. “The Order of Blood prizes secrecy above all else and prefers to carry out its work in the shadows. I have spent considerable time looking for their motherhouse and have never been able to locate it. If a knight of the Fallen Order was wise enough to keep his activities quiet, he could have hidden here for centuries. He might even be furious that the Dragon Cultists have set up in the catacombs and are disrupting his work.”

  “You don’t think to ally with this necromancer, do you?” said Tyrcamber. He did not like the thought of working with a wielder of dark magic.

  “No,” said Rilmael. “A knight of the Order of Blood would not be a reliable ally. He would stab us in the back at the earliest opportunity, and he might try to kill us to keep his secret.” He took a deep breath. “The undead goblins were likely the knight’s guards. Fighting them will have alerted him to our presence. I hope to avoid him, but he may try to kill us to preserve his secrecy.”

  “Bloody idiot,” said Olivier. “Why doesn’t he kill the Dragon Cultists if he wants to be left alone? Save us all a lot of damned trouble.”

  “If he attacks us,” said Rilmael, “I’ll be sure to pose the question to him.” He pointed his staff at an archway on the other side of the hall. “This way. I hope we can evade the knight of the Fallen Order, but we may have to fight him.”

  “If we fight him,” said Tyrcamber, “will you have to use your magic at its full strength?”

  “Perhaps.” Rilmael considered the question as they walked down the aisle of biers. “Probably. It depends on his power.”

  “Won’t that give away your presence to the Theophract and the Valedictor?” said Tyrcamber.

  “It may,” said Rilmael. “The knight’s power could conceal mine. Regardless, we might have no choice.”

  They walked through the archway and down another high corridor. Tyrcamber kept his sword raised, ready to strike. The fatigue in his mind from the Fire Torrent spell began to pass, and he held magical power ready to strike. If they were attacked by more undead, Tyrcamber decided, he would use either the Sword spell to sheathe his weapon in fire, or the Armor spell to cover himself in elemental flame. Both would be useful against the undead.

  The corridor ended, and Tyrcamber found himself in a wizard’s workroom.

  It was another of those pillared halls that Tyrcamber had walked through in the last hour. Unlike the previous halls, this chamber showed signs of recent habitation. A half-dozen bookcases stood against the wall on the left, holding scrolls and books in Latin and Frankish and the dark elven tongue. Four wooden worktables stood in a row down the center of the hall, and each table held a dead desert goblin in various stages of mummification. The air had a strong reek of chemicals and rotting flesh, and a long table along the right wall held a variety of jars and bottles containing powders and strange-colored fluids.

  A man in black armor stood behind the second worktable, a sword in hand.

  He did not look healthy. The black plate armor concealed everything but his head, which was utterly hairless. His skin had turned a translucent white and was stretched tight against his skull. The veins beneath the white skin had turned black, and the man’s eyes had turned solid red, like the eyes of an umbral elf. He lifted the black sword in his armored hand, and something like a shadow crawled along the blade.

  This man, clearly, was the Knight of the Fallen Order that Rilmael had suspected.

  A portion of the wall behind the black-armored knight had collapsed, and beyond it, Tyrcamber saw another spiral stairwell sinking into the earth.

  Of course, the Knight of Blood had made his lair over the entrance to the cloak elven level of the catacombs.

  “Treasure hunters, I see,” said the Knight in Frankish, his voice a harsh whisper. “Those who come to rob tombs do not leave them.”

  “We are not tomb robbers,” said Rilmael. “I suggest you let us pass, and we shall leave you in peace.”

  The Knight shook his head. “You destroyed my sentries.”

  “They attacked us,” said Rilmael.

  “You intruded on my territory,” said the Knight.

  “You were always pedantic, Erkan,” said Rilmael. Tyrcamber blinked. Did the Guardian know the Knight? “I see the past four hundred years haven’t changed that about you.”

  Erkan’s blood-colored eyes narrowed. “You know
me?”

  “I remember you, even if you do not remember me,” said Rilmael. “I am frankly surprised that you lasted this long, Sir Erkan. You were never the most talented of the Order of Blood’s wizards. But I suppose with four hundred years to practice, even the inept can work their way up to mediocre.”

  Erkan scowled at Rilmael, and then his eyes went wide.

  “You,” hissed Erkan.

  “Ah, you do remember,” said Rilmael. “I would have been insulted if you had forgotten .”

  “You betrayed us, Guardian,” snarled Erkan. “The Order of Blood would have secured both the Empire and humanity’s future, and we would have made Cathair Kaldran safe in the process. Instead, you were threatened by our power, and you led the other five Orders to us…”

  “You would have made yourselves into something worse than the dark elves,” said Rilmael, “and you would have been destroyed by your own corrupted power.”

  Erkan’s thin lips pulled back from his yellowed, jagged teeth. “You feared our potential. You feared that mankind would surpass the cloak elves in power. You gave us only a few tidbits of magic, lest we threaten the cloak elves…”

  “I taught you the Seven Spells,” said Rilmael, “which kept the Malison from destroying humanity.”

  “A few scraps of power,” snarled Erkan, “enough to keep us on a leash and nothing more. You made humanity into your puppets, Guardian, into your guard dogs. You use us to defend Cathair Kaldran because you cannot defend it by your own power.”

  “If Cathair Kaldran falls, the world will be destroyed,” said Rilmael. “And by the time the armies of the dark elves reach the gates of my city, humanity will have been conquered and enslaved, or the dark elves would have annihilated you as too much trouble. If I had not taught you the Seven Spells and helped the first Emperor found the Imperial Orders, humanity would have been destroyed centuries ago. That is the idea of an alliance, Sir Erkan. Humanity is defended, and Cathair Kaldran does not fall. We must stand together against our mutual foes, or they will destroy us both.”

  “A petty and convenient justification,” said Erkan. “You placed the restriction of the Seven Spells upon us. You created the Malison as a tool to bind us.”

  “I did not,” said Rilmael. “The Malison was here before any sapient kindreds ever strode upon the face of this world. It is part of the nature of this world’s magic, and it is ill fortune that humans are particularly vulnerable to it. The Seven Spells were to teach you to discipline and control your magic, not enslave you.”

  “The Order of Blood moved beyond your strictures and your self-serving laws,” snarled Erkan. “Necromancy and blood spells are resistant to the curse of the Malison, and with them, we can work feats of magic beyond the reach of petty elemental spells. Behold!” He gestured at himself. “I have lived for five centuries, far beyond the span of mortal men.” His blood-colored eyes moved over Tyrcamber and Olivier. “And you can become immortal as well, powerful and free of the Malison.”

  “He makes a compelling offer, I will admit,” said Rilmael, “but he failed to mention how he obtained his immortality. Such as it is. He has staved off death for this long by draining the life force of his victims. Children, especially, are useful for necromantic purposes. How many dozens of people have you murdered in your five hundred years, Sir Erkan? How many hundreds? Have you lost count? Do you even remember?”

  Erkan drew himself up. “Their lives were a necessary sacrifice…”

  “That is contemptible,” said Tyrcamber.

  Erkan bared his jagged yellow teeth. “Child. You should be silent while your betters are talking.” His crimson gaze swung back to Rilmael. “Have you come for me at last, Guardian? Come to remove a challenge to your authority?”

  “I am here to stop the Dragon Cultists below,” said Rilmael. “Finding you was just a coincidence.”

  Erkan laughed. “The Dragon Cult. The contemptible fools. They think to use the Malison to ascend to godhood. Little do they know the Malison is a tool of our enemies.” He gestured with a sword. “Had you not destroyed the Order of Blood, we would have purged the Dragon Cult from humanity.”

  “Perhaps,” said Rilmael, “and you would then enslave the rest of mankind as cattle, draining their lives to sustain your corrupt immortality. But I did not come here to kill you, Erkan. Let us pass, and we shall go in peace.”

  “Lies,” said Erkan. “You shall return, destroy my work,” he gestured at the dead goblins on his worktables, “and kill me.”

  “If you are still here when I return, then yes,” said Rilmael. “But I have more urgent business than fighting you. The Dragon Cultists in the level below are preparing to create a Dragonmaeloch. You know as well as I do that it takes a number of ritual murders to transform a man into a Dragonmaeloch, and there have been at least nine deaths that I know about. They’ve very nearly finished their work, and when they do, they will unleash a Dragonmaeloch upon Tamisa. Thirty thousand people live here, sir knight. The Order of Blood claims to defend humanity. If you hinder me, the Dragonmaeloch may well burn Tamisa to the ground.”

  Erkan sneered again. “Then that is their own folly for allowing the Dragon Cult to thrive in their midst.”

  “You think to oppose me, then?” said Rilmael, his voice hardening. “You will side with the Dragon Cult against me?”

  “I am on no one’s side but my own!” thundered Erkan. “And a marvelous opportunity lies before me. I shall devour the life force of your two young knights, Guardian, and then yours. With your power enslaved to mine, I shall take command of the Order of Blood, and we shall guide the Empire to new glory.”

  “If you wish to fight me,” said Rilmael, “I am more than willing to oblige. But I urge you to turn aside from this path of folly. You lack the strength to fight me.”

  Erkan let out a cold laugh. “Perhaps five hundred years ago that was true.” He gestured with his sword, and the shadows started to dance around the blade. “But I have put that time to use. Rise, my servants! Rise and kill!”

  Tyrcamber had heard enough, and he took a step forward, calling magical power as he did. He saw Olivier advance as well, the dwarf-lance drawn back to strike.

  Shadow and blue fire writhed around Erkan, and a deathly chill filled the hall.

  Two wraiths fashioned of shadows and blue flame rose from the floor. They looked like specters wreathed in hooded shrouds, eyes of blue fire shining in the depths of their black cowls. The wraiths glided forward, hands extended, as Erkan began to cast a spell. The horrible chill flooded through Tyrcamber, and suddenly he was too cold to move, too cold to even keep standing. He fell to his knees, frost forming over his chain mail, his blade ringing as it bounced off the floor.

  “The Ward spell!” thundered Rilmael, fire blazing to life along the length of his dragon staff. “Cast it now! Now!”

  Tyrcamber drew on the magical power he had gathered and cast the Ward spell. Fiery light flared around him, and all at once the deathly chill vanished and he could move again. The Ward spell protected the mind from magical attack, and it also seemed to block the strange cold power of the wraiths. Warmth flooded back into Tyrcamber’s limbs, and he leaped to his feet and charged, drawing back his sword to strike. Olivier yelled and leaped at the wraith on the right, stabbing with his dwarf-lance. Erkan snarled and turned his attention to Rilmael, and both the Knight of the Fallen Order and the Guardian began casting spells.

  The wraith on the left turned towards Tyrcamber, and he slashed his sword. The dark elven steel passed through the wraith without slowing. The ethereal creature shuddered, discomforted by the blow, but continued reaching for Tyrcamber’s head. His Ward spell protected him from the wraith’s chilling aura, but he doubted that protection would hold if the creature actually touched him.

  He summoned power for the Sword spell. His blade burst into howling elemental flames, and Tyrcamber swung the weapon over and over. The dark elven sword ripped through the wraith, and the fire tore it to shreds. A stab thr
ough its head and the blue fire of its eyes vanished, and the creature unraveled into nothingness.

  Tyrcamber whirled, intending to aid Olivier against the second wraith, but the Knight of the Griffin was already winning. The blade of the dwarf-lance blurred and darted like a serpent’s tongue, the bronze-colored weapon ripping through the wraith. The magic of the spear was far more potent than Tyrcamber’s magic, and the dwarf-lance ripped apart the creature with ease.

  Erkan howled and threw something that looked like a streaming coil of shadows at Rilmael. The Guardian held out his staff, a corona of golden light shining from it. The coil of shadows struck the corona and shattered, and Rilmael surged forward, his sword striking like lightning. Erkan snarled and parried once, twice, three times, his shadow-wreathed sword ringing against Rilmael’s burning blade.

  Then the Guardian’s sword blurred, and Erkan’s head hit the floor and rolled away, coming to a stop against one of the worktables. Tyrcamber expected Erkan’s body to collapse, but the headless form staggered forward, and the head kept snarling curses and threats.

  “The head!” shouted Rilmael. “Elemental fire, quickly!”

  Tyrcamber whirled and cast the Lance spell three times in rapid succession, the dark shadow of the Malison dancing at the edge of his thoughts. By the third blast, the elemental fire of the Lance spells had turned Erkan’s head to a charred skull, and the headless body fell to the floor with a clatter of armor.

  The shadows around Erkan’s sword went out.

  Silence fell over the workroom, and Tyrcamber looked around, fearing that more wraiths would rise from the floor, or more undead goblins would attack.

  But they were alone with the dead.

  “I don’t see any more undead,” said Olivier. “Is that all of them?”

  “I believe so,” said Rilmael. “If Erkan had any more minions, he would have thrown them at us.”

  “That’s not something you usually see,” said Olivier. “A man walking around after his head gets chopped off.”

  “If his body had found his head, he could have repaired the damage,” said Rilmael. “The necromancers of the Fallen Order can heal themselves from nearly anything. It simply costs the lives of a great many victims.”