Dragontiarna: Thieves

by Moeller, Jonathan

  “Do not worry,” said Calliande, her voice soothing. “You’re safe now, Prince. I am the Keeper of Andomhaim, and this is my husband the Shield Knight. We knew you were in danger, and we came to find you.”

  Ridmark pulled the gag out and finished cutting the ropes, and the boy sat up, shaking in fear, tears leaking from his eyes.

  “The Drakocenti,” said Tywall, his voice shaking. “They…the Regency Council…I think…”

  “Fear not, lord Prince,” said Rufinius, his face solemn. “They can no longer hurt you. The Drakocenti have been slain.”

  Tywall looked at them and began to sob tears of relief.

  “God and the saints,” said Moriah. “The poor boy.”

  “Here, lord Prince,” said Rufinius with more gentleness than Ridmark would have expected. He sheathed Starflame and picked up Tywall. “We shall take you to safety. No one will hurt you again.”

  Tywall sniffled and rubbed at his eyes but managed to nod.

  As Rufinius lifted him, both the Dwyrstones and the Great Eye flashed with blue fire. The glow from the ancient relics faded, the spells draining away.

  The Great Eye would not be opened.

  “Where did you find that gauntlet?” said Selene.

  Moriah blinked. “This?” She lifted her right hand, the bronze-colored gauntlet glinting in the fading light. “It was lying on the ground. I think it was originally part of my armor. My friends and I found the cuirass and the helmet in the upper levels of the elven ruins. How the gauntlet ended up down here, I’ll never know.”

  “Perhaps you will find the rest of the armor,” said Third.

  “God, I hope not,” said Moriah. “If I ever have to come to the Shadow Ways again, it will be too soon.” Her mouth twisted. “Though if Prince Accolon changes his mind about that royal pardon, I might have to retreat down here.”

  “You helped stop the Drakocenti and save the Prince of Cintarra,” said Ridmark. “And Accolon keeps his word.” He looked towards the causeway. “Let’s return to the surface and see if Accolon needs help dealing with the Regency Council.”

  ###

  But as it happened, Accolon and Cintarra had much bigger problems than the Regency Council.

  And, Ridmark thought, perhaps all Andomhaim had bigger problems.

  “I don’t know why they attacked,” said Accolon.

  They stood on the edge of the sea harbor, overlooking the quays. Corpses lay everywhere. Most of them were red orcs, but many were human soldiers. When Calliande had realized there was a battle, she had at once gone to start healing wounds, focusing her attention on men who would die without aid. Soon the Magistri of Cintarra were marshaled under her command and put to work healing. Rufinius had handed Tywall over to Sir Owain, who immediately placed a guard around the rightful ruler of Cintarra.

  Tywall Gwyrdragon might have been the legitimate ruler of Cintarra…but Ridmark suspected that Accolon was now the ruler of the city in truth.

  “They must have seized the opportunity,” said Ridmark. “They knew that Cintarra was in turmoil, and so they gambled and tried to seize the city during the chaos.”

  “Aye,” said Accolon. “But how did they know? They couldn’t have had spies in the city. Those red orcs would stand out, and most of the nobles don’t believe they exist.” He scowled. “Didn’t believe, anyway.”

  “I don’t know,” said Ridmark. “We know the Theophract founded both the Drakocenti and the Dragon Cult of the Frankish Empire. Perhaps he is behind the fleet of red orcs as well.”

  Accolon gazed at the corpses. “A fleet. That explains why everyone thought the red orcs were rumors. They must have been raiding the coasts for months and retreating to their ships. They would have killed any witnesses.”

  “That seems likely,” said Ridmark. “There were no spies in the city…but they’ve been learning about us for months. They probably know more about us than we do about them.”

  Accolon nodded. “But how? Where are they coming from? No one can cross the ocean. Well, Connmar Pendragon did, I know, to found Owyllain, but that was an accident. These red orcs must come from a land across the sea. This Heptarchy, whatever it is.”

  “They must have worked out a way to cross the ocean,” said Ridmark.

  “It seems impossible, but the evidence is plain,” said Accolon. He drew in a ragged breath. “Once she and the other Magistri have attended to the wounded, Calliande is going to examine some of the slain orcs and priestesses. Perhaps she can learn where they came from, especially when she speaks with Lady Antenora.”

  “Perhaps she can,” said Ridmark, but he already had a dark suspicion. “Look at this.”

  He pointed with his staff, and Accolon followed him to one of the slain. A priestess lay on the ground, blood too dark to be human dried beneath her. The gaunt, alien face stared up at Ridmark with unblinking eyes.

  With eight unblinking eyes.

  “Eight eyes,” said Accolon. “Like a…”

  “Like a spiderling,” said Ridmark. “The offspring of a female urdmordar and a male human.” He gestured at the dead priestess’s pointed ear, visible beneath the red hair. “But all the spiderlings the men of Andomhaim ever faced were the scions of female urdmordar and human males. I think this is the child of an urdmordar and a dark elf.”

  “The urdmordar,” said Accolon, voice grim.

  “Ardrhythain told me before the end of the Frostborn war that there are lands and kingdoms and empires in this world of which we know nothing,” said Ridmark. “These orcs and spiderlings must be from one of them. Likely the Heptarchy is an empire on another continent ruled by urdmordar.”

  “And they have found a way to cross the ocean to Andomhaim,” said Accolon. “We shall have to be ready to fight them.”

  “We will,” said Ridmark.

  “My lord?”

  Ridmark looked to the side. Sir Owain approached, flanked by a half-dozen men-at-arms in Gwyrdragon colors. Young Prince Tywall walked with them, his eyes wide as he looked at the slain. Ridmark did not want a child so young to see such carnage, but the boy had already seen horrors in the Shadow Ways.

  “Prince Tywall wished to speak with you, my lord,” said Sir Owain.

  “Of course. Prince of Cintarra,” said Accolon.

  “Crown Prince of Andomhaim,” said Tywall, his voice quavering a little. “Thank you for defending my people from evildoers. Sir Owain told me of the battle.”

  “And Lord Ridmark told me of your rescue from the Drakocenti,” said Accolon. “I am pleased you are safe.”

  “Will you help me?” said Tywall, his voice cracking. “God has made me Prince of Cintarra, but I don’t know what to do. There are enemies outside of the city, and evil men within the walls. I do not know how to act as a prince should, and my councilors have all betrayed me. I don’t know how to rule. Can you help me?”

  “Yes,” said Accolon. “I shall.”

  ***

  Chapter 29: The Decrees Of A Prince

  Three days after the battle at the quays and the destruction of the Drakocenti, Prince Tywall and Crown Prince Accolon held court in the great hall of the Palace.

  Niall stood near the dais, wearing a clean tabard over his armor, though his shoulders and legs ached from the effort of the battle. But he couldn’t complain, though. He had come through the fighting unscathed, with no more injury than a few scratches and some bruises. Many, many men had not been as lucky. Niall had seen men who had lost hands, feet, limbs, eyes, and their lives. He had seen men lying dead in their own blood, their brains or their viscera spilled around them.

  He had been very lucky. Or, as Archbishop Caelmark might say, God had more work for Niall yet.

  Niall just hoped it wasn’t more work like the battle at the quays. He was still a little disturbed by how at home he felt in a battle. There had been terror and rage, yes, but fighting felt like something he had been meant to do. He had always known he had a gift for violence, but he had kept it repressed, fearing he might h
urt his neighbors in a burst of fury.

  But, well…the crimson orcs and their strange eight-eyed priestesses had attacked without warning, without cause. As far as Niall knew, no one in Andomhaim had ever visited this strange land called the “Heptarchy,” which meant the red orcs and their pale priestesses had no justification for their attack. And that meant the men of Andomhaim had been right to fight back. Niall had seen Archbishop Caelmark walking among the dying men that Calliande and the Magistri had been unable to heal. The archbishop had quoted from a section of the scriptures called Ecclesiastes as he administered the last rites, saying that there was a time to heal, and a time to take up the sword, and the men should go to God with their souls unburdened by guilt from the battle.

  Niall found it an unsettling experience. He was not used to having the leisure to think about things at any length. Still, he supposed the archbishop was right. There was a time and a place for violence, and in Lord Ridmark’s service, Niall had found it.

  He forced aside his musings and paid attention as Prince Accolon entered the hall, leading young Prince Tywall by the hand. All the Drakocenti had died in the darkness of the Shadow Ways, betrayed by their leader, but the Drakocenti had been far from the only nobles to enclose their lands. Niall supposed one of the embittered nobles might try to assassinate the two princes, or perhaps hire the Red Family to do it.

  Niall would remain vigilant.

  Tywall sat in the curule chair, which seemed ludicrously large for him. In a high, loud voice, clear despite its youthfulness, Tywall declared that the Regency Council had betrayed him and lost his trust and was dissolved. He then asked Accolon to assume the government of Cintarra until he was of age to rule in his own right. Accolon agreed with grave courtesy, and Archbishop Caelmark administered the oath of regency to the Crown Prince.

  Until Tywall came of age in eight years, Accolon Pendragon was now the ruler of Cintarra.

  To Niall’s surprise, Tywall remained in the curule chair. Perhaps the Crown Prince intended to tutor the boy in the business of ruling, which the Regency Council had manifestly failed to do. Accolon summoned Sir Tristan Bregan, and the nervous young noble came forward and bowed low before the dais. At Accolon’s prompting, Sir Tristan recounted his role in the Drakocenti and the Regency Council. The fat young noble showed the burn scar on his arm, emphasizing at length that he had renounced and fled the Drakocenti of his own will. Niall felt only disgust as he looked at Tristan, thinking that men like him had worked so hard to ruin Cintarra. Yet Tristan had turned aside from his path before it was too late, so perhaps he was wiser than the other Drakocenti, who had followed Cyprian to their deaths.

  The Shield Knight and the Keeper came forward next, along with Third, Selene, and Sir Rufinius. Oddly, there was no sign of Moriah Rhosmor. Perhaps the “Wraith” had vanished, fearing that the nobles she had robbed would take vengeance, though surely most of her targets had perished in the chamber of the Great Eye below the city. Ridmark and Calliande told the assembled court of the Drakocenti, and the Great Eye, and how Cyprian had almost been tricked into opening a gateway to another world.

  “It seems clear,” said Accolon, “that the cult of the Drakocenti infiltrated the Regency Council, and that Cyprian of the Scepter Bank deliberately set out to do great harm to both Cintarra and Andomhaim in the false and deluded hope of becoming a god. Therefore, I issue the following decrees. One, that every decree of the Regency Council related to land enclosures is hereby reversed, and all sheep enclosures in the lands subject to the Prince of Cintarra are dissolved. Two, should any nobles refuse to dissolve their enclosures by the end of this month, any sheep left on common village lands are declared common property, free to be used and slaughtered by any who come across them.” A rumble of displeasure went through the lords at that, though they quickly suppressed it. “Third, the Scepter Bank is dissolved. Royal scribes will examine its records, and return any remaining funds to their owners, though it is clear that Cyprian stole a great deal of the money entrusted to his stewardship. Any unclaimed money left in a month will be forfeit to the crown. Fourth, the city of Cintarra and all lands subject to the authority of the Prince of Cintarra are to prepare for a general muster. We can assume that the soldiers of the Heptarchy will return with greater numbers. Cintarra, and perhaps all of Andomhaim, must be ready to face this new threat.”

  With that, Accolon now gave out rewards for valor in battle. He thanked Queen Mara and the Anathgrimm for their help, affirmed the alliance between Andomhaim and Nightmane Forest, and confirmed Mara’s right to occupy the castra outside the Eastern City. At Sir Owain’s recommendation, thirty common men-at-arms who had fought well in the battle were knighted, and given lands taken from the Drakocenti nobles. Niall was now wise enough in the way of the world to see that Accolon was building up a force of men who would be loyal directly to him, and therefore less likely to plot with dissatisfied nobles. Finally, Accolon declared that the Prince’s Palace would host a banquet in a week to celebrate their victory and that all churches in the city were asked to say prayers of thanksgiving for the defeat of the red orcs.

  With that, court ended. A nurse and a pair of men-at-arms escorted an obviously exhausted Tywall from the curule chair. The nobles and merchants filed out, speaking to each other in low voices. Niall supposed it would take them some time to get used to the new order of things.

  “Well,” said Vegetius. “They seem right shaken up.”

  Niall shrugged. “The Regency Council was robbing the city, and they turned out to be cultists, and then the red orcs almost conquered Cintarra. Maybe they should be shaken up.”

  “It can be hard to deal with change, aye,” said Vegetius. He grinned, as if at some private joke. “Well, come on, lad. You’re wanted.”

  “Me?” said Niall. “What did I do?”

  Vegetius gave him an incredulous look. “You don’t even know, do you? Well, come along.”

  Niall followed the decurion from the hall, through a side door, and down a corridor. They came to the Palace’s private chapel, where the Princes of Cintarra worshiped. It was a narrow room, with a few benches for the Prince, his family, and his advisors, and an altar and a dais. To Niall’s surprise, Rhian was there, wearing a new dress, and she looked excited.

  “Aunt?” said Niall. “What’s happening?”

  She smiled at him. “I’m very proud of you, boy. Your uncle and your parents would have been as well, had they been here for this.”

  Niall’s bewilderment increased. “What did I do?”

  “You saved the life of the heir to Andomhaim’s throne twice.”

  Niall turned as Ridmark Arban walked alone into the chapel, that strange wooden staff in his hand, Oathshield hanging at his belt.

  “My lord,” said Niall. “I just…I just did what you told me to do.”

  “Aye, and exceptionally well,” said Ridmark. “It would have been a disaster for Andomhaim if Accolon had been killed in either Castarium or Cintarra. You kept him alive, Niall of Ebor.” He leaned his staff against the wall and drew Oathshield. “So I’m going to reward you. You’re going to be knighted.”

  “What?” said Niall, stunned. “But…but I was just arrested for stealing two sheep…”

  “And a pig,” said Vegetius. “Don’t forget the pig.”

  Rhian’s lips thinned just a little as she looked at the decurion, but she mastered herself.

  “That you did,” said Ridmark. “But, Niall, where do you think nobles came from? Long ago, in times of crisis and war, bold men acted to defend their people and their homes. Sometimes they failed and died, and sometimes they succeeded and became knights and lords. Their descendants at times forget their responsibilities – Hadrian Vindon and the other Drakocenti come to mind – but we need men to fight to defend their homes.”

  “But…but what about Vegetius?” said Niall. “And the other men in your service? They’ve…they’ve been your sworn men longer.”

  Vegetius snorted. “Don’t put this
on me, lad. I’ve a freehold near Castarium, and my sons can be squires if they wish. But I don’t want to be a knight.”

  Ridmark inclined his head. “I won’t force this on you if you do not wish it. But you’re brave, Niall, and your losses have taught you a wisdom that someone like Tristan Bregan won’t ever know. And Prince Accolon needs good men about him. We’re about to see some troubled times. The Heptarchy is coming back. You know that as well as I do. And Cyprian and the Drakocenti are dead, but the Theophract is still out there, and I doubt he’s going to let one setback stop him. I need loyal men with swords in their hands, Niall. Prince Accolon and the realm of Andomhaim need loyal knights.”

  “What…what will happen to my aunt?” said Niall.

  “She’ll be Lady Rhiain,” said Ridmark.

  “God preserve us,” said Rhiain in a quiet voice.

  “And she’ll still run my wife’s household,” said Ridmark. “Except she’ll do it as a lady-in-waiting.”

  “It is an honor, my lord,” said Rhiain in a louder voice. “I saw how many men Lady Calliande healed after the battle. Many men lived who otherwise would have perished. She is a great-hearted and valorous woman, and it is my honor to help her in her work.”

  “As it happens, I agree,” said Ridmark. His attention turned back to Niall. “If you want to remain a man-at-arms in my service, I have no objection. But when the Heptarchy and the Theophract return, or if someone else tries to open the Great Eye, we…”

  “I’ll do it,” said Niall. He swallowed. “My lord. It…I don’t know how to say this. I’m not a man with a clever tongue.”

  “An honest tongue is better than a clever one,” said Ridmark. “Despite what Prince Jager might say.” Vegetius snorted, once, at that. “So be honest.”

  “I…saw what Prince Accolon did,” said Niall. “He reversed all the enclosures and arrested the Drakocenti and the Regency Council. Or tried to, anyway, before Master Cyprian killed them all. The Crown Prince tried to do justice, my lord, and I didn’t think there were any lords left who still cared about justice. And I think you’re right, that those red orcs are coming back someday. If I can help when they do…then I want to do it.”