Dragontiarna: Thieves

by Moeller, Jonathan

  Once, the five Imperial Orders, the orders of knights sworn directly to the Emperor, had been six. But the sixth order had turned to the path of necromancy and blood sorcery, and they had been outlawed. The Fallen Order had mostly been destroyed, but the surviving necromancer-knights had gone into hiding, building their strength in secret.

  With the Emperor dead and the Empire riven by civil war, the Fallen Order had come out of the shadows and made its claim to power. Their Master, a necromancer named Theuduric, had conquered much of the duchy of Corbrast, and there were dark rumors that the Fallen Order and Duke Merovech had made an alliance.

  The last year and a half had been full of shifting allegiances as nobles fled the capital to ally themselves with the Dragon Cult or the Fallen Order. But Chilmar Rigamond and Prince Everard Roland had rallied the loyalist nobles and prepared campaigns to drive back the necromancers and the Dragon Cultists.

  “Are you deaf, boy?” said Chilmar irritably. “Did transforming into a dragon leave you hard of hearing? You need to get married.”

  Tyrcamber blinked. He had never really gotten along with his father, though he respected the man as a just (if harsh) lord and a capable commander. Now he found his father’s acerbic company…if not congenial, then certainly a relief. Too many people held Tyrcamber in awe now. But not Chilmar Rigamond. Nothing daunted the Duke of Chalons, not the Valedictor, not the Dragon Cult and the Fallen Order…and certainly not his youngest son, who happened to have become the Empire’s only Dragontiarna Knight.

  “Surely we have more important concerns,” said Tyrcamber, looking at the damaged northern wall of Sinderost.

  “We do not,” said Chilmar. “You know our situation. The Emperor is dead, and the Empire is broken. And unless we can gather enough of the Dukes to elect and crown a new Emperor, the Empire will remain broken. Or, worse, humanity will be conquered by the Dragon Cult or the Fallen Order.” His father’s perpetual scowl deepened behind his long, iron-colored beard. “It is up to us to prevent it.”

  “I agree,” said Tyrcamber. “That is why I am marching tomorrow with Duke Hulderic to reclaim Valstrasia and Castle Grimnir.”

  “Aye,” said Chilmar, “and when you return, you will wed to strengthen our alliances.”

  Tyrcamber sighed. His father couldn’t force him to do anything. The Dragontiarna Knights answered to the Emperor alone. But the Emperor was dead, and Tyrcamber’s duty was to defend mankind and the Empire.

  “And what woman do you hate enough,” said Tyrcamber, “to inflict me upon her as a husband?”

  Chilmar snorted. “You can flagellate yourself once the Empire is secure and the civil war is over. You will wed Ruari Tetrax.”

  Tyrcamber blinked again. He didn’t know the woman, but he did recognize the family name. “The daughter of the Duke of Carnost? You hate the Duke of Carnost.”

  “His sister,” corrected Chilmar. “The old Duke died when the Valedictor broke the gate of Sinderost. His son Cataul is the new Duke of Carnost, and Ruari is his younger sister. Duke Cataul is more amenable to persuasion than his father, who was a fool.”

  “Given that half of Carnost is still overrun by goblins,” said Tyrcamber, “that is not surprising.”

  “The crisis of the Empire makes for all sorts of compromises,” said Chilmar. “I am willing to endure the impertinences of Duke Faramund and my daughter,” his voice grated a little on the last word, “for we must have the support of Mourdrech to rebuild the Empire. Which is why you are going to marry Ruari Tetrax.”

  Tyrcamber shook his head. “A Dragontiarna Knight cannot father children. You would condemn the poor woman to a childless life.”

  “That already happened,” said Chilmar. “She survived a bout with the withering plague a few years ago.” The Duke misinterpreted Tyrcamber’s look of dismay. “Do not trouble yourself. She is reputed to be quite fair to the eye. Some scarring along the right side of her neck and jaw, but she is otherwise lovely and healthy. You needn’t fear that I would saddle you with some ghastly harridan. She’ll be able to satisfy the hungers of the flesh.” Chilmar frowned. “I assume you still have the hungers of the flesh? The transformation didn’t leave you a eunuch?”

  “It did not,” said Tyrcamber with annoyance. It wasn’t a topic he wanted to discuss with his father or anyone. The last time he had been with a woman had been Sigurd Rincimar, now wed to the Count of Eichenfel, and that had been before the Valedictor had started his invasion of the Empire. That had been four years ago…but to Tyrcamber’s mind, thousands of years had passed. Sometimes it felt like his life before the Chamber of the Sight had been a dream, a wavering mirage, and the horrors he had experienced in the vision were the only reality.

  “The girl’s father was planning to send her to a nunnery,” said Chilmar. “That would have been a waste. A marriageable daughter is a useful asset, but if the girl cannot bear children, then what other use does she have? But the situation is advantageous. You cannot father children, and she cannot bear them. Yet you are both unwed, and the marriage will create an alliance between us and the Duke of Carnost.”

  Tyrcamber shook his head. “It is a cruel thing to do to her.”

  “Why?” said Chilmar. “Do you intend to beat her? Humiliate her? Force her to become your domestic drudge?” Appalled, Tyrcamber shook his head. “Frankly, you’re doing the girl a favor. Neither her father nor her brother had any use for her, so they would have sent her off to a convent in another few years. To spend her life around joyless old women carping endlessly about prayer and piety? That would be a grim fate.”

  “I am not…” Tyrcamber paused, trying to sort out his thoughts. “I am not well, Father.”

  Chilmar frowned. “How so? You look well enough. So long as you’re healthy enough to consummate the marriage, there is no difficulty.”

  “I’ve seen terrible things,” said Tyrcamber, unable to articulate the shadows that filled his mind. “I’ve done terrible things. I’ve killed thousands, and…”

  Chilmar scoffed. “So what?”

  Tyrcamber blinked, anger stirring in him.

  “Becoming a Dragontiarna Knight was a bleak experience, I am sure,” said Chilmar. “But thousands of men have died fighting the Valedictor. Thousands more are crippled or maimed or blinded from their wounds. Have you any greater right to complain than they do?” Tyrcamber had no answer for that. “Before you joined the Order of the Embers, you kept talking about how you wished to do your duty for the Empire. Well, sometimes duty involves wading through an ocean of blood. But for you, once you return from Valstrasia, your duty will be to wed a beautiful woman and to bed her. Is that so onerous a task? The marriage will put us that much closer to reunifying the Empire. I will have the support of Duke Cataul, and that will bring more nobles to our side. And if we can defeat either Merovech or the Fallen Order, we will be able to elect a new Emperor.”

  Tyrcamber said nothing. He could not refute his father’s arguments. But getting married was the last thing he wanted to do. Inflicting a Dragontiarna husband on Ruari Tetrax seemed appallingly cruel, and based on his father’s comments, it seemed like the woman had already suffered a great deal.

  “And if you can’t stand her, what of that?” said Chilmar. “We’ll put her in a manor house somewhere and give her a household to manage. Noblewomen like having others to boss around, and I doubt Ruari is any different. You can see her twice a year at the Festival of the Nativity and the Festival of the Resurrection. And you can take as many mistresses as you want to ease your mind since you won’t have to worry about fathering any bastards. God knows you could use a good shag or two to lift you out of this maudlin mood.”

  “Maudlin,” said Tyrcamber, his voice hoarse. He laughed a little, which seemed to take Chilmar aback. “If only you knew.”

  “Will you do it?” said Chilmar. “I suppose I cannot force you. But this marriage will offer great advantages, and right now we need every advantage we can find. Else the Dragon Cult or the Fallen Order will
conquer mankind.”

  Tyrcamber sighed. “Very well. If I return alive from Valstrasia.”

  “Oh, you will,” said Chilmar, clapping him on the shoulder. “It will take more than the likes of the Signifier to defeat a Dragontiarna Knight.”

  Chilmar had been right, though the defeat of the Signifier had been far stranger than Tyrcamber could have imagined.

  ###

  Four months after that conversation, Tyrcamber rode through the streets of the New City, flanked by Daniel and Angaric. Olivier had gone to oversee the encampment of the men and gnolls outside the walls, though he would return in time for the wedding.

  Tyrcamber looked around the city. Parts of the New City were still in ruins, shattered from the explosion that had broken the northern gate of Sinderost. The sight put Tyrcamber into a grim mood. Perhaps that was the state of the Empire and humanity, crumbling into ruin beneath the attacks of the Dragon Cultists and the Fallen Order. Then again, many of the damaged houses had been rebuilt, and others were half-finished, workmen swarming over them with hammers and trowels. There was more work than there were hands to do it in Sinderost.

  Perhaps the Empire would recover in time.

  Tyrcamber shook his head. He was about to be married. His mood shouldn’t have been so grim. Then again, he was about to marry a woman he had never met, who had been left mute by a plague, so perhaps solemnity was the suitable response.

  They left the New City and came to the Old City. The wall of the Old City was built of the pale white stone both the cloak elves and the dark elves had used in their construction. Tyrcamber rode through the gate and looked around. Inside the wall stood slender towers and sprawling palaces of white stone crowned with gleaming domes. The first Emperor had claimed the entirety of Sinderost as his personal demesne and granted various lords and merchants the right to houses and towers as it pleased him. As happened whenever they visited the Old City, Angaric indulged his taste for history and began lecturing about the lore of various mansions and houses. Tyrcamber didn’t have the heart to tell him that he had heard the lectures before. In a way, the predictability of it was almost comforting.

  They rode to the southernmost tip of the city, where the River Nabia joined the River Bellex as it flowed south to the sea. Each river was nearly half a mile wide this far south. Combined with Sinderost’s ancient walls, the rivers provided for a strong barrier against any attackers. The Imperial Palace filled the triangular southern tip of the city, the River Nabia flowing past its western wall and the River Bellex past its eastern wall. It was a soaring castle built in the cloak elven style, with gleaming white walls and soaring domes and towers. The highest slender tower rose nearly four hundred feet from the ground. Before the castle’s northern gate stretched the Square of the Empire, where the first Roland had declared himself the Emperor, and the Guardian Rilmael had instructed the men of the Empire in the Seven Spells and the dangers of the Malison. On the western side of the square rose the Imperial Cathedral, the first church of the Empire, a building of white stone with a broad domed roof.

  In another few hours, Tyrcamber would be married there.

  A broad flight of stairs led up to the cathedral’s doors, and a party of men waited before them. Tyrcamber spotted his father standing like a pillar of granite among the other lords. The exertions of the last four years of warfare had worn on many nobles, aging them prematurely, but Chilmar Rigamond seemed as unchangeable as a mountain. With Chilmar were Tyrcamber’s older brothers Conrad, his father’s heir, and Dagobert, Chilmar’s second son. Both men looked like younger versions of Chilmar, their long beards black instead of gray. They had tormented Tyrcamber mercilessly when they had been children, and he had lived in fear of them. Now they meant less than nothing to him, and he saw the mixture of fear and resentment as his elder brothers looked at him.

  Tyrcamber reined up at the base of the steps, Daniel and Angaric following suit, and some of his father’s squires attended to the horses. Tyrcamber climbed the steps, offered his father a bow, and straightened up.

  “Father,” said Tyrcamber.

  “Son,” said Chilmar. “Welcome. It appears you and Duke Hulderic were victorious in Valstrasia.”

  “Aye,” said Tyrcamber. “The Signifier has been slain, and Valstrasia and Castle Grimnir have been reclaimed for the Empire.”

  “What took you so long?” said Dagobert with a scowl.

  Chilmar and Conrad shared an irritated look. Tyrcamber didn’t like Conrad, but he had to concede that his eldest brother was a capable knight and commander. He was glad that Conrad, not Dagobert, would inherit the ducal title of Chalons.

  “You performed admirably,” said Chilmar. “With Valstrasia secured, we don’t have to worry about an attack across the River Bellex.”

  Tyrcamber frowned. “What about the goblins tribes still in Carnost?”

  “Duke Faramund is marching against them,” said Chilmar. He only grimaced a little at the mention of his son-in-law. “Duke Cataul?”

  One of the other men stepped forward. He was younger than Tyrcamber by several years, with blond hair, pale blue eyes, and a long beard that glinted like gold. It took Tyrcamber a moment to realize that the young man was Cataul Tetrax, the Duke of Carnost.

  And, in another few hours, he would be Tyrcamber’s brother-in-law.

  “My lord Duke,” said Tyrcamber with a bow, remembering the necessary courtesies.

  “Sir Tyrcamber Siegebreaker,” said Cataul, clapping Tyrcamber on the shoulder. Tyrcamber just stopped himself from wincing at the title. “An honor, sir, an honor. I am pleased that we shall have a marriage alliance between our two houses. The families of Rigamond and Tetrax have long been foes, but enemies threaten the Empire, and there is no longer any place for rivalries. Together, Chalons and Carnost shall sweep our foes from the Empire and force the election of a new Emperor.”

  “I hope that you are right, my lord,” said Tyrcamber. He looked at his father. “Strange things happened in Castle Grimnir, Father. I should speak to you.”

  “Aye,” said Chilmar. “We must speak alone.” He looked at Conrad. “See to the guests, will you?” He glanced at the sheet of the sky fire blazing overhead. “We will have the ceremony and the feast in another two hours. Tomorrow, we are marching for Swabathia.”

  Tyrcamber frowned. “We are bringing the war to Duke Merovech?”

  “That is the plan,” said Chilmar. “Come.”

  He beckoned, and Tyrcamber followed his father up the stairs while Angaric and Daniel introduced themselves to the other nobles. It was a pity Tyrcamber couldn’t watch Angaric annoy Dagobert, but even the brutish Dagobert knew better than to offend a Knight of the Order of Embers. Chilmar thrust open the cathedral doors, and they strode inside.

  The cathedral of Sinderost was different than any other church in the Empire. Most Imperial churches were long, straight buildings, constructed like the basilicas of the Romans on Old Earth, with thick square pillars supporting the roof and light admitted through narrow windows. By contrast, the cathedral was a vast round space, with the dome arching high overhead. An oculus in the apex of the dome admitted light, and tall windows opened in the round walls at regular intervals. The sky fire made it seemed as if the interior of the great church was filled with a flickering glow.

  A colonnade circled around the wall, and Tyrcamber followed his father into it.

  And he came to a surprised halt.

  A cloak elf awaited them.

  “We ought to be able to speak now,” said Chilmar.

  The cloak elf was tall, with a weathered-looking face, dark hair, and a close-cropped beard that was going gray in places. He had silver eyes and wore worn traveling clothes of wool and leather beneath a cuirass of golden steel. A gray cloak was flung back from his shoulders, a longsword of golden elven steel at his belt. In his right hand, he carried a dragon-headed staff that looked as if it had been made from a metal like reddish gold. Tyrcamber had seen the Guardian use that staff to work powerful
magic…and also to pummel his foes to death.

  “Guardian Rilmael,” said Tyrcamber.

  Rilmael smiled. “Sir Tyrcamber.”

  “I did not expect to see you here,” said Tyrcamber. He had seen Rilmael only a few times during the campaigns of the last two years. The Guardian of Cathair Kaldran, Rilmael said, went where he was needed, and he was needed in many different places across the Empire. Tyrcamber would have preferred the Guardian’s counsel, but as Rilmael himself had said, there were only a few foes who could hope to face a Dragontiarna Knight in battle and prevail.

  “You didn’t think I would miss your wedding, did you?” said Rilmael.

  Tyrcamber opened his mouth, closed it again. “Surely you did not come to Sinderost just for that?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” said Rilmael. “The Sight showed me a vision of your battle in Valstrasia, and I saw an echo of a magic I have not seen for millennia. Please tell me what happened.”

  Tyrcamber described the fall of Castle Grimnir to his father and the Guardian. He told them about the strange rifts, the town of Castarium and Ridmark Arban, and the Dwyrstone and the final battle against the Signifier. Tyrcamber also made sure to describe what he had learned about the Drakocenti, the strange parallel of the Dragon Cult within Andomhaim. Chilmar looked more and more incredulous.

  Rilmael seemed grave, even alarmed.

  “God and the saints, boy,” said Chilmar, shaking his head. “I want to call you a liar.”

  Tyrcamber frowned. “If you don’t believe me, you are welcome to speak with Sir Angaric or Sir Daniel or Sir Olivier, or Duke Hulderic, or any of the thousands of soldiers who passed through the rift to…”

  Chilmar raised a thick hand. “Peace! I believe you. You were never a liar, boy, whatever else could be said about you. And there have been so many strange and dire events after the Valedictor crossed the River Bellex, why should we not have two or three more?” He looked at Rilmael. “Well, Guardian, what do you think?”