Dragontiarna: Thieves

by Moeller, Jonathan

  They moved through the old catacombs, and then down a hidden stair that led past the dwarven ruins to the abandoned dvargir stronghold. It was a grim, quiet place, carved from the stone and illuminated by crimson glowstones. Bones lay strewn across the floor, orcish, dwarven, and dvargir, the remnants of battles older than Andomhaim. Cyprian had dealt with dvargir mercenaries a few times, though the Great Houses of Khaldurmar no longer maintained an outpost in the Shadow Ways. Just as well, given how the ruthless and treacherous dvargir always managed to find a way to weasel out of their bargains while keeping the letter of the agreement. Cyprian admired their skill, though he preferred to do so from a distance.

  They came to a spiral stair that descended deep into the earth, illuminated by glowing crimson crystals set into the ceiling every so often. The stairs ended in a stone archway that opened in a large natural cavern. Glowing mushrooms dotted the floor and ceiling, and a mirror-like pond filled the central portion of the cavern.

  “This is the Deeps,” said Cyprian, his hand shifting to the hilt of the dagger at his belt.

  “You’ve never visited the Deeps before, Master Cyprian?” said Aeliana. He heard the malicious amusement in her voice and fought down the urge to hit her “But I suppose there are no fools to trick into accepting dodgy loans here.”

  “This way, Master,” said Jacob. At the far end of the cavern was an archway of white stone, a pale gray light shining from within it. “Best move quickly. There are many kobold tracks down here.”

  They crossed the cavern and came to the archway. Beyond was a high, wide corridor of white stone, about twenty feet wide and forty high. Cyprian and the others walked for about a hundred yards until they came to a partial cave-in. Rubble heaped the corridor, rising about three-quarters of the way to the ceiling.

  “Beyond there, Master,” said Jacob. “If we climb up, you can see the chamber beyond.”

  Cyprian nodded and started up the rubble pile. It didn’t look stable, but he had no wish to show any more fear in front of Aeliana than he already had. Still, Aeliana scrambled up the rubble pile as nimbly as a goat, and Cyprian doubted she would have done that if it was unsafe.

  Then he reached the top of the rubble pile, and all his doubts fled at once.

  Through the gap between the rubble and the ceiling, he saw down the corridor and into the next room. The chamber beyond was huge, a vast round room carved from the rock. A lake filled its floor, and from the center of the lake rose a round island constructed of carved white stone blocks. A ring of twenty-seven Dwyrstones rose around the perimeter of the white island, their sides carved with high elven symbols that glowed with pale blue light.

  And in the center of the ring of Dwyrstones was the Great Eye.

  It was a massive ring of silvery metal perhaps thirty yards across. Thousands of symbols had been carved along it, written in the high elven language. Cyprian stared at it for a moment, then touched his right forearm, activating his Mark of the Drakocenti. The symbol of the dragon-headed man shone through his sleeve, and he reached for its dark magic, commanding it to sense the presence of other powers. He felt the Marks on Jacob and his two guards and the dark power of the Herald of Ruin around Aeliana.

  And he felt the immense power radiating from the silvery ring.

  There was no doubt. It was the Great Eye, his path to godhood.

  “At last,” said Cyprian.

  “There is still a great deal to do,” said Aeliana.

  “Entirely correct,” said Cyprian. “We need to get this rubble cleared. There is no way we’ll get all the Drakocenti into the chamber otherwise.”

  He beckoned, and they climbed back down to the floor.

  “How should we proceed, Master?” said Jacob.

  “Hire every man you can,” said Cyprian. “Spend as much as necessary. Money is no longer an obstacle. We need to get that rubble moved as soon as possible.” He rubbed his chin, thinking. “And we need to move Prince Tywall and the Swordbearer down here. The little brat’s blood will be a necessary component for the opening spell, and the Swordbearer will be a good fallback position if anything happens to the Prince.”

  “I will deal with the Shield Knight and the Keeper,” said Aeliana.

  Cyprian blinked. In his excitement, he had forgotten about his foes.

  “How?” said Cyprian.

  Aeliana smiled. It made her look beautiful, but that did not stir any desire within Cyprian. Hers was the beauty of a venomous, deadly thing luring prey to its doom.

  “Leave that to me,” said Aeliana. “In a few days, the Shield Knight and the Keeper will have more urgent problems. And so will all of Cintarra.”

  “Very well,” said Cyprian. Her cold certainty made him uneasy. He didn’t care much what happened to Cintarra once he ascended to godhood, but he did want something to remain of the city so he could rule over it.

  Still, it didn’t matter. Cyprian had come to the end of his quest at last, the mission the Theophract had given him. He would become a dragon god, and he would show the way for the rest of humanity to ascend to immortality and power.

  With him ruling over them, of course.

  “Come,” said Cyprian. “We have a great deal to do.”

  He strode down the corridor towards the natural cavern, his mind already spinning plans.

  ###

  Aeliana followed Cyprian, taking care to keep the contempt from her expression.

  Though it was difficult.

  It amused her how swiftly Cyprian had gone from despondency to elation. A few setbacks and he was ready to despair. He was not the sort of man to whom she would have entrusted the power of a god.

  Of course, the idiot really thought that he was going to become some sort of dragon god. He had utterly failed to divine the true purpose of the Great Eye, as if the ring of Dwyrstones around it was not an obvious hint.

  No matter. Aeliana knew the true function of the Great Eye. She knew the true purpose of the Drakocenti and the Heralds of Ruin.

  She knew the grand design of the Warden, the great plan to bring order to the cosmos at last.

  And, of course, she would have vengeance on Ridmark Arban before everything was done.

  But Cyprian was right. There was a great deal of work to do.

  Aeliana was going to have to kill a lot of people.

  ***

  Chapter 16: A Lost Knight

  The banker embodied everything that Moriah Rhosmor loathed about the Scepter Bank.

  He was stout and smug, his belly straining against the buttons of his red coat. He was also arrogant, as if his ability to count coins had somehow elevated him above the common mass of humanity. Had he walked alone through most of Cintarra, he likely would have been robbed, perhaps even killed in the process. But the banker also had four armed men in the black tabards of the Scepter Bank with him, so he could be as arrogant as he liked.

  And he was offering money, so the crowd in the tavern paid attention.

  Moriah sat against the wall in the common room of the tavern, disguised as another ragged thug or cheap mercenary. The tavern was crowded with the sort of men like the one she was pretending to be, hard men who were not above a little robbery to make money. The banker, who informed them that his name was Master Andrew, stared at the crowd with little effort to hide his distaste for his surroundings. His guards gave his audience wary looks, hands resting near their sword hilts.

  “The Scepter Bank needs men with strong backs and strong arms,” said the banker. “We are clearing a blockage of rubble in the Shadow Ways beneath the Bank that is causing water to pool in our cellars.” That was one of the more creative euphemisms Moriah had heard for the Bank’s search for magical artifacts in the Shadow Ways. “Should you accompany me and put in a full day’s work, you shall receive a silver coin for your efforts.”

  Moriah kept the surprise from her face. That was a generous wage for a day laborer, and the Scepter Bank was not known for open-handedness. For that matter, why were they clearing rub
ble from the Shadow Ways? All their previous expeditions into the underground maze had been under the guise of hunting kobolds for the good of the city.

  Unless they had found the thing they sought, and the corridor was blocked by rubble.

  Moriah knew she needed to get hired on his crew.

  “What about food and tools?” shouted a middle-aged man with scarred arms.

  “A simple meal will be provided, and the Bank has the necessary tools on hand since the work has already begun,” said Master Andrew.

  “Bah,” said another man, turning towards the door. “I don’t want any part of this. You fools follow this fat toad into the darkness if you like.” Master Andrew glared at him. “You’ll regret it when the kobolds are dining on your flesh.”

  The man stalked into the street. Moriah reflected that he was likely smarter than everyone else in the tavern.

  “I’ll go,” said Moriah, getting to her feet and folding her arms over her chest. Master Andrew glanced at her in surprise. “A silver coin’s a fair wage for hauling rocks all day. I’ll do it.”

  More men rose, and soon Master Andrew had hired thirty men. Well, twenty-nine men, and Moriah. A memory of her childhood flashed through her mind, from the time she had abandoned the small Rhosmor household and taken to making her living through her wits and her quick hands. Master Andrew had just committed to spending thirty silver coins. Thirty pieces of silver, was it not? That was what the false apostle Judas had been paid for betraying the Dominus Christus to his foes.

  A coincidence, to be sure, but an ominous one.

  Moriah and the others followed Master Andrew from the taverns, over one of the bridges across the River, and to the Eastern City and the Scepter Bank. The imposing stone edifice of the Bank rose over her like a white cliff as they entered the courtyard, and Moriah felt a flicker of amusement. All her efforts to investigate the Bank, all the times she had broken in and searched for any sign of Prince Tywall or evidence of the Drakocenti, and now she was just strolling in at their invitation.

  Of course, the Bank was well-guarded. Over a score of men in the black tabards of the Bank guarded the courtyard, and more of them watched the interior of the fine house.

  They descended to the cellars, which had been converted into vaults for the Bank’s wealthy clients. Each one of the vaults was closed off by a door of steel bars, and Moriah was amused to see that the bankers had hung curtains over each of the vault doors, no doubt to keep their hired laborers from experiencing fits of greed.

  “Prepare yourselves,” said Master Andrew as they came to a massive steel door at the end of the corridor. “It is a walk of about an hour to the work site.”

  “An hour?” said one of the men. “Just how much water do you get in these cellars?”

  “More than you would think,” said Master Andrew.

  The floor, Moriah noted, was bone-dry.

  The guards opened the steel door, and they descended into the darkness of the Shadow Ways.

  She made sure to memorize their route as they descended deeper, the guards carrying torches. They passed through the human catacombs, and then moved through the dwarven level and veered into the dvargir ruins. Some of the men had been joking and bantering as they walked, but silence descended as they entered the lower levels. Every man of Cintarra knew that danger lurked in the Shadow Ways.

  Moriah had hidden in the dvargir ruins a few times and was surprised when the banker and his guards led them to a spiral stairway she had never seen. Down, down, down it went, and at last it opened into a large natural cavern, the glow of ghost mushrooms providing eerie illumination. Moriah wondered if they were in the Deeps proper, but on the far side of the cavern she saw an archway of white stone illuminated by pale gray light. She heard shouting voices and the ringing of hammers, and a second later a pair of men emerged, carrying a large basket between them. They upended the basket, dumping a pile of loose stone into the cavern.

  “This way, men,” said Master Andrew.

  They crossed the cavern and came to the stone arch. Beyond was a high, wide corridor of pale white stone, strangely solemn and beautiful, and Moriah knew they had entered the ancient elven ruins in the deepest level of the Shadow Ways. Glowing crystals set into the arch of the vaulted ceiling provided light. A hundred yards further down, a partial cave-in had sealed off the corridor. There were already scores of men at work, supervised by a half-dozen bankers and watched by nearly twenty guards in black tabards.

  “Must’ve been a hell of a flood,” muttered one of the men. No one else said anything. It was obvious that whatever was happening here had nothing to do with flooding. It was just as obvious that the smart thing to do was to shut up, finish the work, and take the money.

  “There is, as you can see, a great deal to do,” said Master Andrew. “Let us begin.”

  Moriah and the others joined the teams and set to work. The arrangement was logical enough. The vast pile of stone was mostly made up of smaller chunks of rock, the largest no bigger than Moriah’s head. The Bank had provided shovels, wheelbarrows, and baskets, and a line had formed, with men passing baskets loaded with rubble back down the line until they were dumped into the natural cavern by the dvargir stairs.

  Already the rock pile was dwindling faster than she would have expected.

  Moriah was fitter than many of the men, and a good deal more agile, and soon she had convinced the bankers that she ought to be on top of the treacherous pile, helping to pull the rubble loose. She scrambled to the top with some of the younger and stronger men, helping to work loose the stones.

  Which meant she could look over the pile and into the chamber beyond.

  In all the time she had spent wandering the Shadow Ways, Moriah had never seen anything quite like that.

  It was a huge round chamber with walls of rough rock. A lake filled most of the floor, but a causeway led to a round island built of polished white stone. Twenty-seven menhirs of white stone encircled the island’s perimeter, carved with symbols that gave off an eerie blue light in the gloom.

  In the center of the island rose a metal ring.

  Moriah had no idea what the thing was. It looked like a massive ring of silvery metal about thirty yards across, every inch of its surface carved with symbols like those on the white menhirs. If it had been made of silver, that had to be more than a hundred times the entire amount of silver in Cintarra. Yet the thing had been buried down here for God knows how many years, and the metal was bright and untarnished. It had to be an ancient relic of the high elves, something they had built thousands of years before the founding of Andomhaim.

  But what did it do?

  Everyone said the high elves were not evil. Or, at least, that was what the tales said. In ancient days, one of the Keepers had convinced the high elven archmage Ardrhythain to forge the soulblades and found the Order of the Swordbearers, and the high elves had helped fight off the Frostborn at Tarlion when Moriah had still been a child. She didn’t think the silver ring was a relic of evil, not the way that something like an urvaalg or an urshane would be. But it was immensely powerful, an object of ancient and mighty magic.

  Which meant it definitely was something the Drakocenti should never have.

  But what to do?

  Moriah brooded as she helped work loose rocks and stones from the rubble pile, sweat dripping down her face. She now knew what the Drakocenti had sought in the darkness below Cintarra, and more importantly, she knew how to get back here again. She didn’t even have to use the entrance below the Scepter Bank – there were other paths through the Shadow Ways that would lead to the dvargir ruins.

  But what should she do with the information?

  Moriah couldn’t fight the Drakocenti herself. Half the nobility of Cintarra might live in terror of the Wraith, but the Wraith was based on bluff, misdirection, and careful planning. With the power of the white cloak, she could surprise and assassinate one or two of the Drakocenti, but that would put the rest on their guard. And she might make
a mistake and get herself killed in the process, and her knowledge would die with her.

  She needed help, and she needed to find someone who would listen.

  Preferably someone who would also not hang her as a thief.

  The Shield Knight and the Keeper? Would they listen? Moriah didn’t know. They had fought against the Enlightened of Incariel, but Moriah didn’t know if they would heed her. Ridmark Arban struck her as a hard man, one disinclined to mercy. The Keeper had a reputation for kindness, and perhaps if Moriah spoke to Calliande alone she could make her case. But she didn’t think Calliande Arban would go against her husband’s wishes.

  Maybe the archbishop of Cintarra? Caelmark Arban had been an implacable opponent of the Regency Council and Master Cyprian, and the nobles unhappy with the enclosures had rallied around him. But like his younger brother, the archbishop was a hard man. If Moriah approached him, he would forgive her sins…and then promptly order her hanged for them. No, she would not approach Caelmark Arban.

  Maybe Prince Accolon?

  Moriah did not like that idea at all. Accolon had been her sister’s lover before the Drakocenti had killed her. And while Caitrin and Moriah had not been very close, Moriah had loved her half-sister. Still, perhaps she could use that connection to get Accolon to listen, though she disliked the thought.

  Then again, maybe she was overthinking this. She had the wraithcloak, and the Wraith could go anywhere. If she left anonymous messages and a map with the Shield Knight, the Keeper, and the Crown Prince, perhaps that would spur them to act.

  Or maybe they would ignore the warning.

  Moriah thought on the problem as she worked through the morning, hauling baskets of rubble. She thought about slipping away, but there were too many men in the corridor. Once they halted for lunch, she decided. She would claim that she needed to relieve herself and would head into the natural cavern to answer nature’s call. The metal hexagon of her dwarven armor and the rolled-up wraithcloak were concealed in a pocket her coat, and she could use them to escape.