Dragontiarna: Thieves

by Moeller, Jonathan

  She nodded, every time.

  They exchanged rings, which had been provided by Duke Chilmar. Tyrcamber slid the ring onto Ruari’s finger, and she did the same for him. Despite her trembling, the fingers were steady, decisive, and strong. A healer’s fingers and they had more calluses than he would have expected.

  Finally, the priest proclaimed them husband and wife, pronouncing the wrath of God upon anyone who would tear asunder one flesh. The audience applauded, Lady Brunhilda managing a few sour claps, and Tyrcamber drew back Ruari’s veil and gave her a brief kiss.

  Her lips felt very soft and very cold, and she only flinched a little.

  The banquet took place an hour later at Duke Chilmar’s mansion. As one of the Dukes of the Empire, Chilmar had received the ancient elven mansion as a fief from the Emperor. It was a lovely place of white stone and arches, and servants diligently maintained the gardens. Though the gardens were devoted to vegetables, due to the danger of Sinderost falling under siege once more.

  The banquet took place in the mansion’s hall. Tyrcamber and Ruari sat at the high table with Duke Chilmar and Duke Cataul. One of Ruari’s maids attended her, a plump minor noblewoman named Adalberga. The withering plague had left Ruari lightly scarred. It had done much worse to Adalberga, and her face looked like a mask of creased, tight leather. The plague had destroyed her hair, and she wore a coif and a cap to cover her baldness. Nonetheless, her manner was merry, and she attended Ruari with great solicitude. Tyrcamber had been a knight long enough to know loyalty when he saw it. Perhaps Ruari had been the one to use the Heal spell to stop the withering plague from killing Adalberga.

  Before the banquet started, Ruari’s cold fingers pressed a square of paper into Tyrcamber’s hand. Frowning, he unfolded it and saw that Ruari had written two sentences there.

  I DON’T WANT TO HURT ANYONE. I DON’T WANT TO DESTROY ANYTHING.

  “No, my lady,” said Tyrcamber, puzzled. “There is no need for you to go on campaign. You can remain here in Sinderost when Prince Everard’s army marches tomorrow.”

  She nodded once but gave no other sign.

  Had Tyrcamber attended the banquet as a guest rather than a groom, he would have enjoyed himself thoroughly. Chilmar Rigamond, for all his harsh nature, knew the value of lavish generosity to show his prestige, and he set a fine table to celebrate his youngest son’s marriage. The food was superb, and the wine was excellent and abundant. Halfway through the meal, Sir Angaric rose and proposed a toast. Angaric was an excellent storyteller when he set his mind to it, and he told an amusing story about the mighty sword of Tyrcamber Rigamond that was an obvious metaphor for his manhood without crossing the lines into vulgar impropriety. The audience laughed and clapped at the appropriate times, Angaric soaking it up. Conrad’s wife Hilbranda, whom Tyrcamber had always liked better than his brother, laughed so hard that she started crying, which set off the crowd again. Even Duke Chilmar and Lady Brunhilda chuckled a few times.

  Ruari remained as silent and as motionless as a statue of white marble.

  At last, the banquet ended, and the guests went to their rooms or houses in various states of inebriation. Adalberga and some of Chilmar’s servants led Tyrcamber and his new wife to their guest room in the mansion’s northern wing. Adalberga passed Ruari something, and Tyrcamber saw the look of concern the maid gave her mistress, one that he likely wasn’t supposed to have seen.

  Ruari only took a deep breath and nodded.

  The room was richly furnished, with chairs, a carpet, a hearth with a crackling fire, and a large bed heaped with blankets and pillows. Tyrcamber looked at the bed, and Ruari, and was surprised at the sudden wave of desire that burned through him. He had a sudden intense vision of ripping her out of that gown, throwing her on the bed, and crushing her beneath him. For all the rumors about her facial scarring, she was a beautiful woman, and the urge to see what the rest of her looked like beneath the dress was near overpowering.

  He blinked, surprised at the intensity of it. Maybe he shouldn’t have been. It had been four years since he had been with a woman. Though from his perspective, it had not been four years but thousands. It had been so long that he had forgotten the feel of a warm body pressed against his.

  But now Tyrcamber found that he was remembering, so vividly that a sheen of sweat was standing out on his forehead.

  Ruari stared at him, transfixed, that tremor in her shoulders getting worse.

  “I…” Tyrcamber started to say.

  She stared at him, waiting, a muscle near her eye jerking.

  “I am uncertain of what to say to you,” admitted Tyrcamber. “My father said I ought to marry you for the good of the Empire. I have no doubt that your mother and brother forced you to do this.”

  She hesitated and then gave a shallow nod.

  “I know not how to take your fears away,” said Tyrcamber. He sighed and spread his hands. “I am leaving on the morrow with my father’s army and Prince Everard’s forces. I might die in battle and never see you again.” Her eyes widened. “I’m not doing this very well.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I am trying to say that I don’t intend to rule you or dominate you. My father can find a fief for you, a manor and servants, and you can live in comfort and peace there, far from the war. Or at a house here in Sinderost. We just have to consummate…”

  Again, that surge of lust went through him. He had forgotten what that felt like, but his body reminded him now.

  But she looked terrified of him.

  “But we can wait until I return from the battlefield,” said Tyrcamber, “if…”

  She held out a hand to forestall him. It only shook a little. In her other hand, she lifted the object Adalberga had given her, and he saw that it was a small wax tablet and a stylus. She wrote a sentence and turned the tablet to him.

  LET US DO OUR DUTY.

  And with that, she undressed.

  Tyrcamber stared at her, enraptured. The scar from the plague only went down to the level of her right shoulder, and the rest of her was unmarked and smooth and lovely. She had arms and legs that looked strong and sinewy, but with feminine curves of hip and chest. Ruari undid her hair, and it fell in a blond fall to her hips. She looked so beautiful that he was almost drunk on it.

  Yet she was still shaking with fear, her hands jerking to cover herself before she stopped them.

  And there were tears in her eyes.

  Nevertheless, Tyrcamber was out of his armor and clothing so fast that he could scarcely remember undressing. Ruari lay on her back atop the bed, her eyes closed, and she opened her legs to him. Tyrcamber started to take position over her, his weight braced on his palms, and…

  He saw her hands. They were curled into fists, the knuckles shining white.

  Her chest rose and fell with the rapid draw of her breath, which was a captivating sight, but she was breathing so fast that he thought she was about to hyperventilate or maybe pass out.

  And her expression…

  Her eyes were screwed shut, her jaw clenched, the cords standing out in her neck.

  Tyrcamber had seen that expression countless times before on the faces of wounded men waiting for the physicians to pull the spear from their guts or to draw out the arrow, men bracing themselves for agony.

  The expression seemed ugly and out-of-place on Ruari’s fair features.

  Tyrcamber sighed and let out a long breath.

  He couldn’t do this. He wanted to, quite badly. But he couldn’t.

  Ruari opened her eyes, puzzlement edging in alongside the fear.

  “I am sorry,” said Tyrcamber, and he levered himself off the bed and went to retrieve his clothes.

  ###

  The next morning, Tyrcamber rode for the ferry over the River Nabia.

  He sat atop his horse, clad again in his golden armor and white cloak, and all Sinderost seemed to be on the move around him. Most of the army had already been ferried across the River Nabia and was preparing to push into Swabathia under the command of Pri
nce Everard and Duke Chilmar. There was an air of excitement over the city, perhaps even hope. This was the largest force the Empire had fielded since the Valedictor’s invasion. Valstrasia had been reclaimed from the Signifier, and Duke Faramund was driving back the goblins from eastern Carnost.

  Perhaps the tide had turned, and the Empire would soon be reunified.

  Tyrcamber didn’t know. He supposed he would find out soon enough.

  His night’s sleep had been surprisingly restful. The bed was large enough that he and Ruari had slept with ample space between each other. She had still been asleep when he had awakened before dawn. Tyrcamber had left without waking her, gathered his equipment and weapons, and was now riding to join the army.

  He decided to talk with his father and find a fief where Ruari could live in peace. Given that her brother and mother had forced her to marry a man she had never met, he wasn’t inclined to trust Duke Cataul and Lady Brunhilda with Ruari’s safety. Yes, finding her a manor to oversee would be the best thing to do.

  All told, getting married hadn’t been that bad. Tyrcamber had spent an awkward night with a woman who was terrified of him, but he hadn’t touched her, and he found that his conscience was clear. For that matter, he’d enjoyed a deep sleep in a comfortable bed. It had been months since he had last slept in a proper bed. In the long list of unpleasant things that Tyrcamber had done for his duty to the Empire, an awkward night spent with a woman he hadn’t touched had hardly been among the top ten.

  The top hundred, really.

  By the time the western gate came into sight, Tyrcamber’s mind had turned fully to the campaign ahead. Prince Everard and Duke Chilmar and all their allies ought to have more men than Duke Merovech, especially with the aid of the five Imperial Orders. Yet Merovech was a Dragonmaeloch, which made him dangerous, and he had all the dark sorcery of the Dragon Cult to reinforce him. The Theophract himself might make an appearance, and Merovech might have recruited additional allies…

  “Sir Tyrcamber! My lord Tyrcamber!”

  It was a woman’s voice. Startled, Tyrcamber turned his horse and looked over his shoulder.

  Two noblewomen rode towards him. One was Adalberga, wearing a green dress and coif, her scarred face red with exertion. The second was slimmer and fairer, and wore a loose blue dress and mantle, and…

  He blinked in surprise.

  Ruari Tetrax?

  No, Ruari Rigamond, he had to remember that. Even if they hadn’t consummated the marriage.

  Why the devil was she following them?

  Tyrcamber’s first thought was that Ruari wanted to make a scene. But his wife couldn’t speak. Maybe she would recruit Adalberga to make a scene for her. Then he spotted a half-dozen more maids riding after the two women, leading a dozen pack horses.

  “Is anything amiss?” said Tyrcamber, looking back and forth between them.

  Adalberga caught her breath. Ruari just stared at him, her expression tense.

  “Sir Tyrcamber,” said Adalberga. “As your wife, Lady Ruari would like to accompany you on the march.”

  Tyrcamber frowned. “What? Why? No, of course not. It is too dangerous. I pray we will be victorious against Duke Merovech, but the battle might go ill. It is not the place for…”

  “Lady Ruari is the best wielder of the Heal spell in the Empire,” said Adalberga. “She doesn’t want to come as a spectator, but to help run the field hospitals. She has experience with it, a great deal of experience.” She smiled. “Her ladyship helped deliver my youngest son, so I can assure you she does not quail at the sight of blood.”

  “I should speak with my father,” said Tyrcamber, taken off-guard. “Or Prince Everard…”

  “Neither the Duke nor the Prince would bother speaking to us,” said Adalberga. “But you are a Dragontiarna Knight, my lord.” A muscle jumped in Ruari’s lovely face at the mention of his title. “The only Dragontiarna Knight in the Empire. Who will gainsay one of your commands? Especially when it is in the best interest of the army. My lord, Lady Ruari is the best healer in the Empire. She begs you to let her help. If the battle is dangerous, then her ladyship might be able to save men who would otherwise perish.”

  Tyrcamber said nothing. But he remembered watching Calliande Arban heal wounds, and he had wondered how many men of the Empire might still live if the Keeper or Lady Antenora had been at the siege of Sinderost.

  Ruari scribbled something into her wax tablet and turned it to face him.

  LET ME HELP. LET ME SAVE THOSE WHO CAN BE SAVED. LET ME HEAL, NOT DESTROY.

  Again that odd turn of phrase puzzled him. What did Ruari fear destroying? Had she destroyed something? He felt a pulse of frustration that he couldn’t get a straight answer out of her.

  Then again, he couldn’t get an answer from Ruari because she couldn’t speak. How much more frustrating would it be for her?

  And the two noblewomen were right. The Empire needed every man who could be saved.

  “Very well,” said Tyrcamber. “Come with me. We’ll take the ferry together. I will speak to my father and include you in the line of march. I’ll find some men-at-arms or serjeants to make sure none of the soldiers trouble you.” Probably some of Sir Daniel’s serjeants, he thought. Definitely not Angaric.

  “Thank you, Sir Tyrcamber,” said Adalberga.

  And for the first time, Tyrcamber saw Ruari smile. It was a small smile and vanished quickly. But it was there, and it seemed to transform her pale face from a bloodless mask to something radiant.

  Huh.

  Perhaps it was a start.

  ***

  Chapter 7: A Public Embarrassment

  It took longer for Calliande to prepare for the Regency Council’s banquet than Ridmark, so he used the extra time to take a walk with his son and daughter.

  He held Rhoanna in the crook of his arm, and Joachim walked at his side. The nurse Lucilla followed, ready to intervene if Rhoanna decided to soil herself or throw up on her father. Though that didn’t trouble Ridmark. He was wearing finer clothes than he usually did, but over them, he still wore his dark elven armor and gray elven cloak. Things far more unpleasant than the contents of Rhoanna’s stomach had spattered his armor and cloak, and they had cleaned off just fine.

  Ridmark looked to the south. It was late afternoon, the sun dropping down the sky to the west. He saw the city on either side of the river, the waters glittering in the sunlight, the Eastern City and the Western City rising on either bank. Odd that it looked so peaceful from a distance, given the tensions that seethed beneath its surface.

  He climbed the ladder to the ramparts of the wall, pausing long enough to let Lucilla follow. Ridmark was impressed by the quality of the stonework. The Anathgrimm, when they put their mind to it, could build with great speed. The wall was strong enough to hold off a large force.

  Hopefully, it would not come to violence. Perhaps Accolon would root out the Drakocenti and force the Regency Council to back away from the sheep enclosures. But Ridmark had seen too many wars to hope for a peaceful solution, and he was ready for a fight.

  And that was why Joachim and Rhoanna would remain here, safe with the Anathgrimm, until matters were settled in Cintarra. At least Gareth was at the High King’s court in Tarlion. When Ridmark had seen Arandar at Castarium, the High King had said that Gareth had just been made a squire, learning swordplay and horsemanship and the other skills of a knight under the tutelage of the Citadel’s master-at-arms. Ridmark wished he could have left Calliande and Joachim and Rhoanna in Tarlion, but Calliande was loath to be parted from her young daughter, and the Keeper of Andomhaim was needed in Cintarra. Calliande pursued her duties as the Keeper and as a mother with equal fervor, and left unchecked, she would work until she collapsed from exhaustion. Ridmark was glad he had finally convinced her to hire more servants to help look after the children.

  He supposed it had only taken ten years and the War of the Seven Swords for him to win that argument.

  “Where are you going tonight, Father?” s
aid Joachim.

  “The Prince’s Palace,” said Ridmark, pointing at the Palace’s red towers, distant but visible to the south. “The Regency Council of Cintarra is holding a banquet to welcome Prince Accolon, and your mother and I are invited.”

  “Accolon,” announced Rhoanna.

  “Can I come?” said Joachim.

  “No, you’ll stay here with Lucilla and Rhiain,” said Ridmark.

  Joachim pouted. “But I want to come. It’s boring here.”

  “It’s not safe,” said Ridmark. He hesitated. He never liked to lie to his children. Yet he wanted to shield them from the harsh realities of life as long as he could. “The Prince is here to carry out his father’s business.”

  Joachim frowned. “I heard some of the men-at-arms say that the Regency Council are,” he paused to remember, “damned bloodsucking thieves, the lot of them.”

  “Don’t use that word,” said Ridmark.

  “Bloodsucking?” said Joachim.

  “No, damned,” said Ridmark.

  “Damned!” said Rhoanna happily. “Damned! Damned! Damned!”

  “See, now your sister has picked it up,” said Ridmark. “Don’t either of you say that word. It’s not polite.”

  “But I’ve heard you say it when you’re angry!” protested Joachim.

  Ridmark heard Lucilla make a noise that might have been a stifled laugh. He gave the old woman an exasperated look. She managed to look contrite, if barely.

  “It’s an impolite word,” said Ridmark, “and I shouldn’t have said it, and neither should you.” A sudden idea came to him, and he crouched, meeting Joachim’s eyes. “Can you help me and your mother? You’re going to be a Magistrius someday, so you need to learn important work.”

  Joachim nodded, his eyes suddenly wide.