Dragontiarna: Thieves

by Moeller, Jonathan

  Aeliana opened the shutters, chill air washing over her skin and making goosebumps rise. The pale silver-blue light of the three moons out tonight stabbed into the room. “Does not my lord wish to take me in the gentle moonlight?”

  “By God, woman, you are disobedient,” growled Hadrian.

  Aeliana looked over her shoulder at him and let a purr fill her words. “Will my lord come and teach me obedience? I shall be happy to learn beneath him.”

  That did it. Aeliana’s little show with the gown had enraptured him. Hadrian heaved himself out of bed and walked towards her, the lustful smile wide on his bearded face.

  When he was a single step away, Aeliana reached up and wrenched aside the veil with her left hand.

  Hadrian looked at her, smiled, and then his eyes went wide.

  “What?” he sputtered. “Herald? What are you doing here?”

  “This,” said Aeliana.

  She yanked the dark soulblade from its scabbard, whirled, and plunged it into Hadrian’s chest with all her strength driving the weapon.

  The deadly point of the black sword sank into Hadrian’s chest. The lord gagged, eyes going wide as the dark soulblade found his heart. The black soulstone in the tang of the blade flared with crimson light, and the sword began to feed.

  Lord Hadrian Vindon withered before Aeliana’s eyes. A heartbeat later he looked a hundred years old, his arms and legs withered to sticks wrapped in rolls of fat. A second after that he was a gaunt, mummified corpse, a few wisps of red hair clinging to the leathery flesh of his scalp. Aeliana pulled the dark soulblade free, and the mummified husk that had been Lord Hadrian of the Regency Council fell lifeless to the carpet.

  The soulstone in her sword blazed with blood-colored light, and more red fingers spread through the black blade. Aeliana let out a shuddering gasp and closed her eyes, the sword’s malevolent pleasure spreading through her. It devoured Hadrian’s life with an intense joy that a mortal mind could scarce comprehend, but Aeliana felt it anyway.

  She grinned and looked at Hadrian’s corpse.

  Hadrian hadn’t been expecting her to enjoy the evening, but she really, really had.

  A few more deaths and the sword’s true power would be unlocked.

  But first, as ever, she needed to attend to the details.

  Aeliana pulled in the bag she had left secure beneath the sword, since she had no intention of walking through the streets of Cintarra naked or while wearing that ridiculous gown. She donned trousers, a tunic, a jerkin, and boots, the dark soulblade going into a scabbard on her hip.

  There was one more item in the bag, and she lifted it with a smile.

  It was a wooden mask, carved in the shape of a skull and painted crimson.

  The ridiculous skull masks the Red Family liked to wear when killing their victims.

  Aeliana stooped and placed the mask on what was left of Hadrian’s face.

  Yes, that should make quite a sight for the servants when they came to wake Lord Hadrian in the morning.

  Aeliana went out the window and vanished into the night, her mind already plotting her next move.

  She had enjoyed ridding the world of Hadrian Vindon…but she suspected there would be a great many more deaths before the Great Eye opened.

  A good thing she was going to enjoy them.

  ***

  Chapter 11: Shadow Games

  The next morning’s uproar was immense.

  Ridmark was relieved that no harm had come to Accolon during the previous day. He had expected Accolon to come under attack, just not so quickly. Whoever had hired the Red Family had acted with haste.

  Probably Master Cyprian, he thought, but there was of course no way to prove it. Not yet, anyway. Not until Cyprian got desperate enough to act in the open, or he attempted to use dark magic. Then Accolon would have all the justification he needed to destroy the Scepter Bank and disband the Regency Council, assuming the governance of Cintarra himself until Prince Tywall came of age.

  Assuming that Prince Tywall was even still alive, of course.

  But the news of Accolon’s decrees was soon drowned out by something darker.

  Hadrian Vindon had been murdered.

  “It was dark magic that killed him, lord Prince,” said Calliande once the court had gathered in the great hall. Accolon sat on the curule chair, a somber expression on his face. “Of this I am entirely certain. The aura still clings to his body. I ordered his corpse burned to ash, lest he rise as an undead creature.”

  A murmur of unease went through the hall, both from the lords and the commoners. Undead creatures were rare in Cintarra, which had known centuries of peace before the recent upheavals. But in the Northerland and the Wilderland, undead creatures were far more common, remnants of the great wars between the high elves and the dark elves and the urdmordar. And, of course, sometimes a human wizard turned to a dark path and began experimenting with the undead.

  “What manner of dark magic slew Lord Hadrian, Keeper?” said Accolon.

  “An enspelled weapon,” said Calliande. Ridmark thought she looked impressive and commanding in her golden armor, bronze diadem, and green cloak. “Lord Hadrian was killed by a sword wound to the chest. At least, that is where the sword entered his flesh. The weapon sucked away his life.” She hesitated. “It would have been quite painful, but at least it would have been quick.”

  “Can you find this weapon of dark power?” said Accolon.

  “I will try,” said Calliande. “But Cintarra is a large city. I shall search, but it may take some time.”

  “Lord Prince,” said Cyprian, stepping away from the other lords of the Council. “Given this tragedy and the fact that both a dark magic-equipped murderer and assassins of the Red Family are loose in Cintarra, perhaps we should suspend your investigations until…”

  “No,” said Accolon, voice firm. “We will continue. Too much is amiss in Cintarra, and the murder of Lord Hadrian and the presence of the Red Family confirm it. We must act at once to set things right. Keeper, have you any thoughts on who might have killed Lord Hadrian?”

  “I believe that the Drakocenti did it,” said Calliande.

  “The Wraith did it!” snapped Lord Lythan, his voice shrill and his face flushed. “I am certain the Wraith did it. Last night, I was robbed. Someone stole jewels and gold coins from my strong room, and my guards saw the Wraith! Likely the Wraith killed poor Hadrian to create a distraction to cover the theft!”

  “If the Wraith was robbing your mansion last night, my lord Lythan,” said Accolon, “it seems unlikely that he also had time to kill Hadrian Vindon and escape undetected. And was not Hadrian found with a mask of the Red Family upon his face?”

  “I suspect that is a ruse, lord Prince,” said Cyprian, his voice tight. “A calumny meant to sow discord between you and your loyal subjects on the Regency Council.”

  Ridmark knew that Cyprian was a liar and likely part of the Drakocenti, but he didn’t think that the man’s shock was feigned. He hadn’t known that Hadrian was going to be murdered. Did that mean there was discord within the Drakocenti? Or that Cyprian did not command the cult, and someone else had ordered Hadrian’s death?

  “Keeper of Andomhaim, Shield Knight,” said Accolon, “I suspect the Drakocenti are behind Lord Hadrian’s death. As Crown Prince of Andomhaim, I charge you to hunt them down and bring them to light. Once you have found these vile cultists, inform me, and we shall rid Cintarra of them at last.”

  Ridmark and Calliande both bowed.

  “It shall be done, lord Prince,” said Calliande.

  Accolon nodded and gestured to Sir Owain. “Then let us start the main business of the day. Bring in the first knight.”

  With that, Accolon summoned another knight who had enclosed his lands, and Ridmark and Calliande left the great hall, Third following them. Ridmark blinked as he stepped into the warm sunlight of the Palace’s courtyard, adjusting his cloak. It was the warmest day they had seen in Cintarra yet, though it would be cool in the Sh
adow Ways.

  “Do you think the Drakocenti killed Hadrian?” said Third.

  “Yes,” said Calliande.

  “But he was one of them, I’m sure of it,” said Ridmark. “He made the mistake of letting the Wraith embarrass him at the banquet. In short, he had become a problem. The Enlightened of Incariel were not merciful to those who failed, and I can’t imagine the Drakocenti are, either.”

  “Then we’ll keep looking for the source of magic beneath Cintarra?” said Calliande.

  “Aye,” said Ridmark. “If we find it before the Drakocenti, they will come to us.”

  They left the Prince’s Palace, heading for the Western City and the church whose crypts would take them to the dwarven ruins of the Shadow Ways.

  ###

  The morning after she robbed Lythan Radyr, Moriah slept late.

  She wanted to return to the Loyal Man and Helmut that same night, but by the time she left Lythan’s mansion, it was well past midnight, and Moriah was exhausted. For that matter, Helmut was likely in bed. Even the Uncle had to sleep sometime. Moriah had a rented room in the Western City, not far from the Loyal Man. It was a room on the top floor over a tavern, and the landlord thought he was renting it to a journeyman carpenter. Since Moriah made sure the rent was paid on time, he didn’t question the arrangement too closely.

  Moriah let herself into the room, locked the door behind her, dropped her sack of gold and jewels on the floor, flopped onto the bed, and promptly fell asleep.

  Midway through the next morning, she awoke and got dressed. With all the displaced villagers cramming the alleyways and streets of Cintarra, it wasn’t safe for a woman to travel the streets alone (with the possible exception, Moriah thought, of someone like Lady Third), so she dressed as a man. That was easy enough to accomplish. She hid her figure, never quite as full as she might have wished, beneath a loose tunic, baggy trousers, heavy boots, and a steel-studded leather jerkin. A ragged cloak went around her shoulders, her sword and dagger hung on her belt, and a cap concealed the braid of her long red hair. She had considered disguising herself as the man-at-arms of some lord or another but discarded the idea. A lone man-at-arms might have something worth stealing. Right now, she looked like a ragged mercenary one step above a bandit, too poor to have any valuable loot.

  Which, since she had a satchel full of jewels, was quite amusing.

  Moriah hid the gold coins in a secret compartment she had made under the floorboards beneath the bed, and then left the tavern and set out for the Loyal Man. She kept a wary eye around her as she walked, and she noticed that the mood in the city seemed different. Men spoke in hushed voices in the alleys, and Moriah had the impression that something had happened. Perhaps Accolon Pendragon had acted more drastically than she had anticipated. Or maybe the Regency Council had assassinated the Crown Prince with unseemly haste.

  Regardless of the reason, Uncle Helmut would know what had happened.

  She arrived in the halflings’ quarter and stopped before the door to the Loyal Man. The halfling guards seemed more alert today, holding crossbows and watching the streets with wary eyes. They questioned Moriah at length regarding her business, and finally relented, one of the guards going in to speak with the Uncle.

  About five minutes later, they beckoned for Moriah to follow.

  She stooped through the common room and went into Helmut’s workroom. The halfling bowyer sat at his table, scowling at a half-finished crossbow. He looked up and blinked at her, rubbed a hand through his hair, and sighed.

  “Something amiss?” said Moriah. “You seem less than your usual jocular self.”

  “Did you kill Hadrian Vindon?” said Helmut.

  “No,” said Moriah. “I robbed him and left him tied up naked in front of the nobles of Cintarra, but I didn’t kill him.” She paused, and her brain caught up with Helmut’s question. “Wait. Someone killed him?”

  “Last night,” said Helmut, voice grim. “They found his corpse on the floor of his bedroom. No one seems to know exactly what happened. Master Cyprian and the Regency Council blamed you. Hadrian’s corpse was found with a red skull mask, which would implicate the Red Family, but…”

  “But they don’t leave their masks behind when they kill someone,” said Moriah.

  “The Keeper and the Shield Knight were inclined to blame the Drakocenti, and it seems that Prince Accolon agrees,” said Helmut. “But he would, given that the Drakocenti killed your sister.”

  “Aye,” said Moriah, her mind freezing as she remembered Caitrin and Gunther and Delwen. She took a deep breath. “But you’re Uncle Helmut, and Hadrian has…had…halfling servants. You know what really happened.”

  “Somewhat,” said Helmut. He picked up a metal gear and fiddled with it. “His corpse was…withered.”

  “Withered?” said Moriah. “Like it had burned?”

  “No,” said Helmut. “You’ve seen some of the corpses in the catacombs? The old ones that sometimes dry out?” Moriah nodded. “Hadrian looked like that. The first time the fat old scoundrel ever looked slim, I suppose.”

  “What could do that?” said Moriah. “Some kind of magic?”

  “Probably,” said Helmut. “The Keeper said Hadrian was killed by a weapon of dark magic. Likely a sword, because Hadrian had a sword wound in his chest.”

  “I wasn’t expecting that,” said Moriah, wondering who had killed Hadrian. Helmut gestured at a stool, and Moriah sat with a sigh, rubbing her aching shoulders.

  “You didn’t kill him?” said Helmut.

  Moriah scowled. “I told you I didn’t. I wouldn’t lie about that to you, and I’m not an assassin of the Red Family.”

  “Then you and Gunther and Delwen didn’t find some…weapon of sorcery down in the Shadow Ways?” said Helmut. “It’s happened before.”

  “No,” said Moriah. “If I had to guess, I think the Shield Knight and the Keeper are right. One of the Drakocenti killed Hadrian Vindon. They’ve been digging in the Shadow Ways for over a year. God only knows what they’ve found down there. And they would have a good reason to kill him, wouldn’t they? After I accused him and the others of being Drakocenti in front of the Prince and the Keeper and the Shield Knight.”

  “That’s not all the news, either,” said Helmut. “Prince Accolon has been reversing the enclosures.”

  Moriah blinked, surprised. “Has he? I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “Neither was I,” said Helmut. “I thought the Prince was going to either look the other way or accept a bribe to legalize the enclosures. But he’s done neither. Seems like the Drakocenti got on his bad side.”

  “Having someone attempt to assassinate you will do that,” said Moriah.

  “The Drakocenti are going to get desperate,” said Helmut. “You were putting pressure on them. But if Prince Accolon is reversing their enclosures, sooner or later the Drakocenti are going to panic. They already tried to send the Red Family to kill Accolon during court, but his guards put a stop to it.” He gave a grim shake of his head. “It’s like a spring under too much tension. Sooner or later it’s going to snap.”

  “What are you saying?” said Moriah.

  “If you really want to stop the Drakocenti, if you really want vengeance for your sister and Gunther and Delwen, we need hard proof you can bring to Prince Accolon,” said Helmut. “That’s one of two things.”

  “Like what?” said Moriah.

  “Either you need to find Prince Tywall,” said Helmut, “or you need to find what they’re looking for in the Shadow Ways and steal it before they do.”

  Moriah said nothing. She had tried looking for Tywall Gwyrdragon and had failed. She had thought Tywall would be held in the Scepter Bank, but she had not been able to locate the young Prince. During her raids on the domi of the lords of the Council, she had sought for Tywall but hadn’t found him. A few times she had offered bribes to various men-at-arms or seneschals, but still she had found nothing. She had come to believe that the Drakocenti had murdered Tywall Gwyrdragon and
dumped the child’s body in the ocean, that the story about the fever was only a ruse.

  Which meant she had to find whatever the Drakocenti sought in the Shadow Ways.

  “Hell,” muttered Moriah, rubbing her face. Despite sleeping late, she suddenly felt exhausted.

  “Going to the Shadow Ways, aren’t you?” said Helmut.

  “Yes,” said Moriah. “And I need to speed the process up. You can help with that.”

  Helmut frowned. “How?”

  “You have friends everywhere, and the nobles don’t pay too much attention to their halfling servants,” said Moriah. “The Drakocenti are sending teams of men into the Shadow Ways to scout, paying them with the Scepter Bank’s money.”

  Helmut nodded. “What exactly do you want me to do?”

  Moriah grinned. “Why, I want to get hired by one of the Bank’s crews.”

  ***

  Chapter 12: Mother & Daughter

  “Hold fast!” roared Tyrcamber, waving Kyathar over his head, the blade burning with flames. “Hold fast!”

  The line of men-at-arms shifted, raising their spears and swords and casting Shield spells, and the mob of goblins and bloodwolves charged.

  The army of Prince Everard Roland and Duke Chilmar Rigamond had crossed the River Nabia and begun its march into the duchy of Swabathia. The Duke and the Prince planned to march to Castle Valdraxis in the mountains of southern Swabathia. That would force Duke Merovech to defend his stronghold or to withdraw behind his walls. Either they would force the Dragonmaeloch and his host to battle or trap his army within his castle. Since Merovech could take dragon form at will, he could fly away from his stronghold, but he would not abandon it without a fight. Merovech and the Dragon Cult controlled all Swabathia and Temnost, and the pagan gnolls of Monoloch had allied with him as well.

  Even worse, the mountain goblins of Roxaria had come north from their strongholds and allied themselves with Duke Merovech. The mountain goblins were strange and fierce. The forest goblins worshipped their dark elven lords as gods, and the desert goblins of Mourdrech were dominated by the xiatami and their Conciliator priests. But the mountain goblins followed a version of the Path of the Dragon, the text the Theophract had given the Dragon Cult, and they revered anyone who transformed into a Dragonmaeloch as a god. They had rallied to Merovech’s banner in great numbers.