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Dragontiarna: Thieves

Page 23

by Moeller, Jonathan


  He supposed he could leave her that scrap of pride. “Agreed. Good night, Lady Brunhilda.”

  “Good night, Lord Dragontiarna,” said Brunhilda.

  She waddled away as fast as she could manage, Charles following her.

  “You know,” said Angaric a moment later. “I was wrong. It was more entertaining to come to the hospital tents.”

  Tyrcamber sighed. “For God’s sake.”

  ###

  An hour later, Tyrcamber sat against one of the empty hospital wagons with a skin of wine, drinking.

  One of the annoying side effects of his transformation was that Tyrcamber could no longer get drunk, not properly. Something about becoming a Dragontiarna meant that poisons and illnesses burned out of his blood far faster than a normal man. Which meant that he could start to get a pleasant buzz from the wine, but it passed swiftly.

  He would have liked to have gotten drunk.

  Tyrcamber supposed he could have handled his fight with Lady Brunhilda better, but he could not see how. He was tired, and frustrated, and angry, and after seeing men die in battle, watching the petty intrigues of a cruel old woman had been intolerable. Tyrcamber should not have made Brunhilda a target for his anger…but God knew she had all but offered herself up on a silver platter.

  “My lord?” said a woman’s voice.

  Tyrcamber glanced up and saw the thick form of Lady Adalberga standing over him.

  He gestured with the wineskin. “Care to join me?”

  To his surprise, she sat next to him, gathering her skirts beneath her, and then lifted the offered wineskin and took a long drink.

  “That’s not bad for camp wine,” she said, passing it back to him. Her sweet voice and merry eyes seemed an odd contrast with her leathery, ravaged face.

  “Beggars cannot be choosers,” said Tyrcamber.

  “No,” said Adalberga. She hesitated and then plunged ahead. “I think that was very kind, what you did.”

  Tyrcamber snorted. “Terrorizing an old woman? Yes, very kind.”

  “Brunhilda Tetrax is hardly a simple old woman,” said Adalberga. “I’m afraid she’s a vicious old shrew, and she’s always tormented Lady Ruari. It got especially bad after Ruari recovered from the withering plague and lost the ability to bear children. Some of the things I’ve heard her say to Ruari…” She shook her head. “It’s good you stood up for her. It’s about time someone did.”

  “Why does Ruari let her mother speak to her like that?” said Tyrcamber.

  “Why do you let Lord Chilmar command you?” said Adalberga. There was no good answer to that. “They had some sort of horrible fight, years ago. Brunhilda passed out during it – something like a stroke, I think, or a seizure of the heart. She recovered, but Ruari blamed herself. Ever since then, she’s let her mother bully her.” Adalberga sighed. “But you’re right, she shouldn’t. Ruari has the greatest heart of anyone I’ve ever met and can wield the Heal spell with greater skill than anyone else.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” said Tyrcamber.

  “I love Lady Ruari,” said Adalberga, “the way a soldier loves a brave commander, or a vassal loves a kindly liege lord. She saved my life, did you know that? My entire family came down the withering plague. My husband died before Ruari could arrive.” She sighed and kept speaking. “She cured me, though my face was scarred. Not that it matters since I have no wish to remarry. But Ruari saved both my sons. There wasn’t even any scarring on their faces, only a little around their armpits and chest. They are both pages in the Imperial court in Sinderost now, and one day they will marry and have children. All because of Ruari Rigamond. That’s why I’m telling you this, my lord.” She hesitated. “I know you were…gentle with her on the first night, and you haven’t been alone with her since.”

  “Damn it all,” said Tyrcamber, though there was no anger behind the words. “That’s just what I need. If the rumor gets around that we didn’t consummate the marriage, her hag of a mother will try to have it annulled.”

  “No,” said Adalberga. “I would never betray Lady Ruari’s secrets. I just…I think you are the right man for her, my lord. I didn’t expect a Dragontiarna Knight to be kind.”

  “I’m not kind,” said Tyrcamber, and he took another drink of wine.

  Adalberga smiled. “You stood up for Ruari against her mother, didn’t you? See, my lord, I think that’s where many knights go wrong. They mistake kindness for softness. I don’t think you do.” He held out the wineskin, and she took another drink. “Well, I should get back to work. If you will permit me to offer counsel…”

  “If I said no, would that stop you?” said Tyrcamber.

  Adalberga laughed. “Be patient with Ruari. She hates violence. But you have been protecting her. I know she appreciates that.”

  With that, she passed him the wineskin and rose to her feet.

  Tyrcamber drank in silent solitude for another quarter of an hour or so, and then a flicker of blue caught his attention.

  Ruari stood over him.

  She wore the same simple blue dress and leather apron that she had worn during her confrontation with her mother. He could not make out her expression, though her hands kept kneading each other in front of her stomach. Her smooth, flat stomach, which he remembered was above long, strong legs and…

  Tyrcamber pushed aside the thought.

  “My lady,” he said. He hesitated. “Wife.”

  She knelt next to him on the grass and held out her wax tablet. Tyrcamber frowned at it, unable to make out the letters in the dim blue light of the night sky fire, and then worked a minor spell to sheathe his free hand in flames like a torch.

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

  Tyrcamber sighed. “I know. But I will not allow your mother to speak to you like that. She is your mother, I know, I know, you must respect her.” He thought of his own harsh father and Chilmar’s troubled relationship with Tyrcamber’s sister Adalhaid. “But I won’t let her speak to you like that. Or anyone insult you like that.”

  Ruari rubbed out her tablet and wrote another word.

  WHY?

  “Because I swore before God and men to protect you,” said Tyrcamber. “I keep my promises.”

  Ruari stared at him and then stood and wrote something new.

  THANK YOU.

  “You are welcome,” said Tyrcamber. “I…”

  In one smooth motion, she leaned close and kissed him. Tyrcamber blinked in surprise, and he felt a flush of heat go through his body. Ruari straightened up, bowed her head, and hurried away.

  Tyrcamber blinked several times, trying to understand why she had done that.

  To his great surprise, he felt himself smile.

  ***

  Chapter 13: Prepare The Way

  Ridmark braced himself, Oathshield in his right hand, Aegisikon in its shield form on his left arm.

  The ruined dwarven village rose around him.

  Ridmark, Calliande, and Third were somewhere deep within the Shadow Ways, far beneath the surface of Cintarra. They had passed through the human catacombs and the dwarven ruins, pressing their way deeper into the silent corridors with their ancient glowstones and tangled shadows. Three times they had navigated around ancient mechanical traps, the dwarven gears and clockworks still functional despite the passage of millennia. Twice Calliande had disarmed magical traps left by the dwarven stonescribes, glyphs carved into the rock that would summon fire and lightning and ice to kill any intruders.

  And three times they saw groups of recently slain men lying sprawled across the ground.

  The dead men all looked like common thugs or cheaper mercenaries, armored in leather or scraps of chain mail, a motley assortment of weapons lying broken around their hands. But every party had one or two men dressed in finer clothes, long crimson coats and caps with badges of silver or gold.

  Bankers of the Scepter Bank.

  “It seems we found another of Cyprian’s search parties,” Calliande had
said, gazing at the dead men. They had just started to putrefy, but the smell wasn’t yet very bad. There was a lot of dried blood splashed on the polished floors and walls of the dwarven corridors, but there was less flesh on the slain men than Ridmark would have expected.

  Whatever had killed them had been hungry.

  “Urvaalgs, probably,” said Third, gesturing at the ghastly remnants of one of the slain mercenaries. “Perhaps an ursaar. Some of the claw wounds are severe enough.”

  “If there are packs of urvaalgs moving through the Shadow Ways,” said Ridmark, “I am surprised there have been no attacks in the city.” That was a grim thought. Cintarra was packed to overflowing with people from the countryside, and there were only a few dozen Swordbearers and Magistri in the city. If even a single urvaalg got loose into the streets, it would wreak appalling carnage before it was overpowered and slain.

  “Jager said the Shadow Ways open into the Deeps at their lowest levels,” said Third. “It would not surprise me if sometimes urvaalgs or other creatures wander through the Shadow Ways. But since the Scepter Bank is clearly sending large parties of men into the Shadow Ways…”

  “The presence of prey down here would draw urvaalgs,” said Ridmark.

  “Aye,” said Calliande, gazing at the dead banker. “And perhaps something else is drawing them.”

  She used her boot to turn over the dead banker’s arm. There was a faint squishing noise. The banker’s torso and shoulder had been so badly shredded that the arm simply fell off, a fresh odor of rotting meat reaching Ridmark’s nostrils. He grimaced, but Calliande was undaunted. It was sometimes strange to realize that the kindly woman who laughed and played games with her small children was also the ice-blooded Keeper of Andomhaim who could gaze at a grievously wounded man or a rotting corpse without blinking.

  She stooped and pulled up the banker’s sleeve.

  The inside of the pallid forearm had been marked with a peculiar blue tattoo that looked like a stylized representation of a dragon-headed human figure.

  “Drakocenti,” said Ridmark.

  Calliande nodded and stood back up, casting a minor spell. She summoned a sphere of ice, which she melted and used to clean off her hands. “We already knew that the Drakocenti had infiltrated the Scepter Bank. This is just further proof.” She paused and shook her hands dry. “Though maybe we have it backward. Maybe the Drakocenti didn’t infiltrate the bank. Perhaps the bank is just a front for the Drakocenti.”

  “The next time we attend Prince Accolon’s court,” said Third, “perhaps you should summon a shaft of white fire and sweep it through the crowd. It would leave normal humans unhurt, but it would injure anyone tainted with dark magic, such as the Drakocenti.”

  Calliande shook her head. “A good thought, but it wouldn’t work.”

  “It did at the Monastery of St. Bartholomew when we exposed the Drakocenti monks,” said Ridmark.

  “The monk had already summoned his power and was getting ready to strike,” said Calliande. She sighed. “I wish it was that simple. If it was, we could have been done with this business already. But I can’t use the Sight to find the Drakocenti unless they’re using their dark magic, and their tattoos are only visible if they’re drawing dark magic. So unless they are casting a spell, the fire of the Well of Tarlion won’t hurt them.”

  “Clever of them,” said Third.

  “Aye, too clever,” said Ridmark. “I wonder where the Drakocenti learned dark magic of that sophistication.”

  Calliande shrugged. “Tyrcamber said that a dark elven sorcerer called the Theophract founded the Dragon Cult in the Frankish Empire. Perhaps the Drakocenti have a similar patron.”

  “A grim thought,” said Ridmark. “I wish Tyrcamber were here now. I have half a hundred questions I have thought of since the battle of Castarium. Or that I could speak to the Guardian Rilmael he mentioned.”

  Calliande almost frowned. “I’ve had quite enough of Guardians.”

  “Morigna warned you, did she not, of the attack on Castarium?” said Third.

  “Aye, in the final moment before it began,” said Ridmark. “It was sort of a…waking vision. And she looked exhausted. I have not seen her since.”

  “If we want answers, we shall have to find them ourselves,” said Calliande. She pointed with her staff down the pillared dwarven corridor. “The source of power is that way. I think.”

  “Let’s find out,” said Ridmark.

  That had been an hour ago.

  Now he stood in a cavern holding a dwarven village, the sort of small fortified town that the dwarves called a thainkul. It was a long, rectangular chamber, carved from a natural cavern. A central avenue went down the floor, and on either side rose three broad tiers. Blocky houses of stone had been built on the tiers, their fronts adorned with dwarven glyphs and reliefs. Glowstones affixed to the front of the houses sent a pale light over the cavern, and tangled shadows lay everywhere. The air smelled dusty and dry, and utter silence hung over everything.

  But they were not alone.

  “Urvaalgs,” murmured Calliande, her staff held ready before her. “At least six of them, maybe more.”

  “It must be the pack that wiped out the men from the Scepter Bank,” said Ridmark.

  Oathshield shivered in his hand. Urvaalgs could camouflage themselves so well they became all but invisible. Yet his soulblade reacted to the dark magic within the creatures, and Oathshield began to burn with white flame.

  “They’re getting closer,” said Calliande, whose Sight could penetrate the urvaalgs’ power of stealth. “Trying to encircle us. I’ll see if I can force them to attack.”

  “I’ll guard you,” said Ridmark. “Third, you strike when you see fit.”

  She gave a languid nod, Storm and Inferno ready in her hands.

  “Now,” said Calliande, and she drew in a deep breath and struck the end of her staff against the floor.

  White fire flowed down the staff and erupted in a ring that flowed across the ground. The fire passed through Ridmark and Third without harming them. There was a tearing, metallic cry of pain, and suddenly six urvaalgs were visible, stark against the white flames.

  Ridmark had fought urvaalgs many times. They looked like twisted hybrids of wolf and ape, able to run on all fours or their hind legs as it suited them. Their serrated black claws were like daggers, and ropes of greasy black fur hung from their gaunt forms. The eyes over their fang-filled muzzles burned like hot coals, and Ridmark felt the malevolence and hunger in their gazes.

  The urvaalgs loosed their metallic war cries and sprang forward, and both Third and Calliande moved in unison.

  Calliande thrust her staff, and a blast of dazzling white flame burst from the end. It struck the nearest urvaalg and threw the creature dead to the ground, the white fire consuming its flesh. Third vanished in a swirl of blue flame and reappeared behind one of the urvaalgs. Storm sent twisting arcs of lightning through the creature, and then she hammered Inferno down and slew the beast.

  The remaining four urvaalgs charged, and Ridmark rushed to meet them, calling on Oathshield for strength and speed. The soulblade hated creatures of dark magic and had been forged to defend against their power, and the soulblade’s rage came to Ridmark in the form of strength.

  He caught the first urvaalg’s lunge on Aegisikon, and the creature’s talons shrieked against the wood of the shield. Ridmark shoved it back and plunged Oathshield into its neck. White fire burst from the sword and spread into the urvaalg’s corrupted flesh, killing it. A second urvaalg crouched to spring on him, and Calliande killed it with a blast of white fire. Ridmark dispatched another urvaalg, chopping off its head with Oathshield, and Third killed the final creature with a flourish of her golden swords.

  Ridmark lowered Oathshield, breathing hard, but there was no sign of any more foes.

  “I think that’s all of them,” said Calliande. “I can’t see any more with the Sight.”

  “Just as well there were only six,” said Third. “Urva
alg packs in the Deeps can sometimes become larger. Or are controlled by a more powerful creature like an ursaar or an urdhracos.”

  “The wretched things seem to turn up everywhere,” said Calliande.

  “Aye,” said Ridmark. He looked at Third. “Remember when we fought the Sculptor? He boasted that the urvaalgs were his finest creation, that their deadliness was proof of his skill.”

  “In this, at least, he was not wrong,” said Third.

  “There’s another corridor on the far side of this thainkul,” said Calliande. Ridmark saw an ornate stone arch on the far wall, opening into a dark cavern. The cave looked like a natural tunnel instead of one carved from the stone. “The source of magical power is somewhere in that direction.”

  Ridmark frowned. “That looks like an opening into the Deeps.”

  “It might be,” said Third. “The Deeps intersect with the Shadow Ways in several locations, or so Jager says.” She paused. “We have been assuming that the source of power is in the elven ruins. Perhaps it is instead in the upper levels of the Deeps.”

  “Or we might have to traverse the Deeps to get to the elven ruins,” said Calliande. “Assuming we go any further today.”

  Ridmark thought it over. They had been in the Shadow Ways for most of the day. He was tired, but he thought he could press on. Yet before they had fought the urvaalgs, they had overcome two small bands of kobolds, which seemed to swarm through the Shadow Ways like rats. Ridmark suspected that whatever lurked in the elven ruins would be far more dangerous than a band of scavenging kobolds.

  Or perhaps deadlier than a pack of hunting urvaalgs.

  “No,” he said at last. “We can retrace our steps here quickly tomorrow. It should take no more than an hour. We’ll share news with Accolon and Caelmark and Mara and return here.”

  “Good,” said Calliande. “I could sleep down here if I had to, but I’d prefer not to. I suppose I am getting old.”

  Third raised one eyebrow. “I am a thousand years old, and I still would not want to sleep down here.”

 

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