“Karl Rincimar is most concerned for the honor of his city,” said Tyrcamber. He saw Rincimar watching him with hard eyes.
“What did the Shield discuss with you, if we might ask?” said Quentin.
Tyrcamber shrugged. “Nothing of grave import. He urged us to vigilance, and to keep watch for Michael Gantier, lest he attempt an attack.”
“Sound counsel,” said Quentin.
“Permit an old man to offer counsel, sir knight,” said Vordin. “I would not trust the Shield overmuch, nor his allegiance to the Empire.”
“You suggest that the Shield is a traitor, sir?” said Tyrcamber.
“Certainly not,” said Vordin. “However, it is strange, is it not, that when Rincimar conquered Falconberg, he somehow knew just who the Dragon Cult members were? And somehow every ‘cultist’ he killed was one of his enemies? A most remarkable coincidence.”
“Or,” said Quentin, “one wonders if the Dragon Cult was ever really in Falconberg at all. After all, if the Cult wanted to establish itself in Falconberg, how better than by sending a mercenary warlord to establish himself in Falconberg? He could slaughter his opponents, claiming they were members of the Cult, all while he built up the Cult’s strength in secret. And who would suspect a man who claimed to be so fervently opposed to the Cult, a man who had waded through so much blood?”
Tyrcamber frowned. “Are you saying that the Shield of Falconberg is secretly a member of the Dragon Cult?”
“What?” Vordin looked shocked. “Of course not. Such an accusation would be a serious matter that would require substantial proof. No, we are merely speaking hypothetically, Sir Tyrcamber. I urge you to think upon what we have said.”
With that, Vordin and Quentin both turned and walked back to the aldermen.
“I really dislike burghers,” said Angaric.
Tyrcamber sighed and rubbed his jaw. He was starting to agree. Too many possibilities whirled through his mind. Was Rincimar part of the Dragon Cult, a man so skilled at deception and so ruthless that he had murdered dozens of innocent people to establish his credibility? Or was Rincimar telling the truth, and Vordin and Quentin were part of the Cult?
It was a damned tangle of a problem…and that did not take into account the imminent arrival of the First of Sygalynon. Tyrcamber sighed again and rubbed a hand through his hair, frustrated and alarmed. Rilmael had said that Tyrcamber would stand at the heart of another crisis, and the schemes of the Dragon Cult combined with the arrival of the umbral elves certainly qualified.
A boot tapped against the flagstones, and Tyrcamber turned to see Rilmael standing next to him. A flickering haze still outlined the Guardian’s form, the mark of his obscuring spell.
“Sir Tyrcamber,” said Rilmael. “Do not answer me. No one else will be able to see or hear me save for Master Ruire. I wanted to watch the arrival of the First and guard against any attack.”
Tyrcamber nodded. That seemed like a sound plan. He would warn the Guardian abouta the conversations with the Shield and the aldermen later.
“What are you nodding at?” said Angaric.
“I was agreeing with you,” said Tyrcamber.
Rilmael snorted.
“But I wasn’t talking,” said Angaric.
“Weren’t you?” said Tyrcamber. “I was sure you were saying something.”
Angaric frowned in puzzlement, and then the sound of horns rang out from beyond the walls of Falconberg. It was a strange, wailing, alien note, somehow discordant, a sound not meant to please human ears.
The umbral elves had arrived.
Tyrcamber watched as the guards of the First of Sygalynon entered the Imperial Free City of Falconberg.
A dozen umbral elven warriors rode through the gate, their steeds draped in black cloth. The umbral elves had the same alien, angular features as Rilmael and the other cloak elves. The cloak elves tended to be pale of skin, but the skin of the umbral elves was a uniform gray color, somehow corpse-like, which made them seem even more alien. Their eyes were likewise strange. They were the color of fresh-spilled blood, a solid crimson without iris or pupil or sclera. The gray elves were hairless, and it was only possible to tell the men and the women apart by their figures or their relative heights.
The umbral elven riders wore armor of dark elven steel, the blue color stark against their gray skin and the black draping of their horses. Like their old masters, the umbral elves knew the secrets of forging dark elven steel. They could not produce it in any great quantities, though, and only elite umbral elven warriors and wizards bore armor and weapons forged from the precious metal.
The riders reined up, facing Count Radobertus’s banner and the knights guarding him. Tyrcamber felt the familiar tension of impending battle in his chest, and his hand ached to grip the hilt of his sword or to start summoning power for a spell. The only time he had ever been this close to a group of umbral elves had been during a fight.
Then a dozen more umbral elves rode through the gate, and Tyrcamber beheld Mhyarith, the First of Sygalynon.
She could be no one else. Mhyarith wore a form-fitting robe of black that left her gray arms bare, and her face was a cold mask as she looked over the Market of St. Mark. The First wore a gold collar around her neck, its center adorned with a blue gem that gave off a faint, eerie light. She wore a gauntlet of blue dark elven steel over her left hand, and rings of gold adorned the fingers of her right hand, each one set with a gem of a different color.
Behind her rode an umbral elven woman clad in dark leather, a green cloak slung back from her shoulders. An unstrung longbow was laid across her saddle, and daggers rested in sheaths upon each of her hips. Rings of bronze and gold glittered in her pointed ears. Her blood-colored gaze swept across the Market, and she seemed to meet Tyrcamber’s eyes for a moment.
The First and her guards reined up, and Mhyarith dropped from the saddle. The umbral elves followed suit, as did the woman in the green cloak. The First strode forward, flanked by her guards, and stopped a dozen paces from the Chancellor and the Master.
For a long, long moment, Mhyarith and Radobertus stared at each other. Then at precisely the same time, they both offered bows of identical shallow depth, almost like two knights offering a greeting before a duel.
“Mhyarith, First of Sygalynon,” said Radobertus in Latin. “In the name of Roland, the seventh of his name, the Emperor of the Franks, I bid you greeting and welcome you to the Emperor’s city of Falconberg.”
“Thank you, Lord Chancellor,” said Mhyarith. Her voice was a throaty rasp, but somehow melodious and feminine. “It is strange to stand here. Humans have been our bitter foes ever since your first Emperor founded the city of Sinderost and the accursed Guardian of Cathair Kaldran taught you to defend yourselves from the Malison.”
Tyrcamber glanced at Rilmael, but the Guardian gave no reaction. He wondered how the umbral elves would react if they knew that their ancient enemy stood hidden among them and decided he would be better off not knowing.
“And it is strange to speak with you, First,” said Radobertus. “We have fought many wars with both the Republic of Sygalynon and the other umbral elven realms.”
“Indeed,” said Mhyarith. “But while bitter foes might never become friends, they can at least acknowledge reality and set aside their differences in the face of a greater foe. Do you know why the umbral elves broke from the dark elves, Count Radobertus?”
“It is my understanding that the umbral elves were once the commoners of the dark elves,” said Radobertus. “After the dark elven princes suffered defeats at the hands of the cloak elves and the Guardian, your ancestors rebelled against the dark elven nobles and carved out your own realms.”
That was the diplomatic way of putting it. The umbral elves had indeed broken away from the dark elven lords, but not entirely. The Dragon Imperator, the ruler of the dark elves, and the dark elven princes had finally accepted the independence of the umbral elves after a bitter civil war, but the umbral elves had remained as the D
ragon Imperator’s vassals. Many of the umbral elves still served in the Valedictor’s armies. The Valedictor styled himself as the Dragon Imperator’s heir and had demanded that the umbral elves of Sygalynon send their army to his side.
They had so far refused. Which was why the First and the Chancellor were here.
“An incomplete account, but true enough,” said Mhyarith. “The umbral elves value our freedom above all else. Especially our freedom from the incompetence and backstabbing of the dark elven nobles. Unexpectedly, your Empire has given us more freedom than we have ever experienced before.”
“Have we, First?” said Radobertus, raising his eyebrows in polite surprise. “May I ask how?”
“Your Empire overthrew and slew the Dragon Imperator,” said Mhyarith. “One of your warriors became a Dragontiarna and killed him. The Dragon Imperator’s death shattered his realm, and gave us more freedom than we have experienced in our entire history.” Her thin mouth twisted. “And now the Valedictor sits in Urd Mythruin and thinks to take his slain master’s place. He would have us submit to him, but we will submit to no one. Which leads us, I think, to the point of this discussion.”
“If the umbral elves will leave the Empire in peace,” said Radobertus, “we will be more than happy to leave the elves of Sygalynon to their freedom.”
“Terms will have to be discussed,” said Mhyarith, her tone imperious once more. “There are disputes over lands and borders that belong rightfully to Sygalynon.”
“And lands that belong rightfully to the Empire,” said Radobertus with smooth politeness. “We have much to discuss.”
“Indeed,” said Mhyarith. “I suggest we begin at once.”
“Of course,” said Radobertus. “A meal has been prepared for you at Falcon Hall, the chief building of this city. Guest lodgings suitable for your rank and those of your escort are there as well. We shall…”
Tyrcamber listened with half an ear as Radobertus detailed a tentative schedule for the next few days. He found himself watching the umbral elves. They all looked watchful, but the umbral elven woman in the green cloak seemed the most vigilant of all. Again, her gaze met Tyrcamber’s, and she smirked as if amused by his attention.
Rilmael’s head turned to the left, gazing to the north. A deep frown went over the Guardian’s bearded face, and his hand tightened against his dragon-headed staff. Tyrcamber followed his gaze, wondering what Rilmael had noticed. There was a stable and a horse dealer on the north side of the market, selling mounts to travelers coming to the city. Next to the stable was an inn called the Dusty Merchant, a proud building of whitewashed brick and timber standing four stories tall. Tyrcamber vaguely recalled Angaric recommending the inn during his monologue on the various amenities available in the city.
“Tyrcamber,” said Rilmael, and he shifted his staff to his left hand and drew his sword with his right. The blade was forged from the steel of the cloak elves, a metal that looked like gold but was stronger and sharper than normal steel. “Warn the others. The muridachs are about to attack.”
“Muridachs?” said Tyrcamber.
Angaric gave him a startled look.
“Do it now,” said Rilmael. “Right now.”
Tyrcamber hesitated for a second. A wave of self-consciousness went through him. He had been at many formal occasions in his life, both as a page and a squire and later as a knight of the Order, but he had never made a public scene at any of them. Yet Rilmael had never led him wrong before, and his counsel had averted disaster several times.
“To arms!” shouted Tyrcamber at the top of his lungs. “To arms, to arms!” Angaric’s jaw dropped open, and hundreds of pairs of eyes swung towards him. Ruire looked startled, and Radobertus looked furious. Mhyarith’s expression was a cold mask, but the umbral elven woman in the green cloak looked around, her hands moving in a blur as she strung her bow. “The muridachs are in the city. To arms! They will attack both humans and umbral elves! To arms!”
“What the devil is this bloody nonsense?” said Radobertus. “Are…”
The door to the Dusty Merchant burst open, and muridach warriors rushed out, swords and axes in hand, their black eyes red-glazed, their battle cries ringing over the square.
More muridachs appeared on the roof of the inn, and the shutters of the windows swung to reveal muridachs armed with crossbows.
The market exploded into chaos and blood.
Rincimar and Ruire both began shouting orders, drawing their swords and casting spells. The First barked a command to her guards, and the umbral elven warriors moved around her with fluid grace, swords in their right hands, spells crackling around their left. The Falconberg militia and the serjeants of the Order of Embers charged into the fray, and Tyrcamber joined them.
Their task was to defend the Imperial Chancellor, and Tyrcamber ran to put himself between the Chancellor and the charging muridachs, Angaric and Rilmael running after him. Angaric gestured and cast a spell, and a stream of fire ripped from his left hand and slashed into a band of muridachs. His spell cut five of the muridachs in half at the waist, and the creatures collapsed to the flagstones, the smell of burned flesh and muridach fur flooding into Tyrcamber’s nostrils.
A muridach lunged at him, and Tyrcamber snapped his sword up in guard. The muridach’s blade clanged against his sword, and he swept his weapon around the muridach’s defense and drove the point home into the ratman’s throat. Dark blood spurted over the blue sword, and Tyrcamber ripped the weapon free. Another muridach lunged at him, and Tyrcamber deflected the sweep of an axe and lashed his sword down. The blade ripped across the muridach’s leg, and the ratman stumbled with a bellow. Tyrcamber brought his sword down with a two-handed chop onto the back of the muridach’s neck, and the creature fell dead.
He wrenched his sword free from the muridach’s spine with a ghastly crackling noise and turned back to the fight just in time to see Rilmael attack. The Guardian wasn’t using his magic lest he draw the attention of the umbral elves, but that also meant the muridachs couldn’t see through his obscuring spell. Rilmael used that to good effect, his sword landing killing blows on the ratmen. Or he tripped the muridachs with his staff, staggering them and letting the serjeants and the militiamen strike them.
A deep voice boomed over the market, shouting commands in the muridach tongue. Tyrcamber looked up and saw Tynrogaul standing on the roof of the inn, his huge axe in hand, magic crackling around his left hand. The muridach leader was snarling out commands to his warriors. Tyrcamber summoned magical power and worked a spell, hurling a Lance of elemental fire at the muridach leader. Tynrogaul made a negligent gesture and cast a spell of his own, a Shield of hazy blue light appearing before him. Tyrcamber’s Lance struck the Shield, as did two other Lance spells, but Tynrogaul’s will held against the attack.
That was disturbing. Tyrcamber wasn’t as strong as Angaric, but he was still powerful for a human, and he had hit the muridach leader with everything he had. Tynrogaul had been able to deflect that, and two other Lance spells at the same time.
That didn’t bode well.
“To me!” Rincimar’s voice roared over the battle like a thunderclap. “To me, men of Falconberg! To me, men of the Order!”
Whatever else could have been said about Karl Rincimar, the man fought like a demon. Muridach after muridach fell to his blade, and lightning snarled around his free hand as he flung Lance spells into the ratmen. The militia of Falconberg rallied around him, throwing themselves into the battle, though the aldermen hung back, casting Lance spells with frightened expressions. Sigurd stood with them, and her snarl of fury as she cast Lance spells of her own was a mirror of her uncle’s.
“They’re coming from the inn!” Ruire’s voice boomed over the market. “Surround the inn! Cover all the exits! Don’t let the muridachs out.” Rudolf shouted the same commands to the serjeants, and the soldiers advanced towards the inn, killing with every step. Tyrcamber cut down another muridach and glanced at the inn’s roof. Tynrogaul still stood there
, gesturing as he cast spells. A flicker of motion caught Tyrcamber’s eye, and he saw an arrow sprout from the throat of a muridach crossbowman in the upper windows. He risked a look to the side and saw the umbral elven woman in the green cloak unleashing arrow after arrow from her longbow, killing the crossbowmen with methodical efficiency.
All at once the momentum of the battle changed. Tynrogaul shouted a command and disappeared into the roof of the inn, and the remaining muridach warriors whirled and retreated into the Dusty Merchant. Tyrcamber cut down another muridach as the ratman tried to flee, but the rest of the creatures withdrew into the inn.
A sudden silence fell over the market, broken only by the groans of the wounded.
The fighting in the square was over, but Tyrcamber knew the battle had just begun.
***
Chapter 5: Muridachs
“How the devil did they get into the city?” said Radobertus, his anger plain.
The Chancellor, Ruire, and the Shield had gathered to discuss how to proceed. Militiamen and serjeants surrounded the Dusty Merchant, crossbows pointed at the inn’s windows. If the muridachs tried to break out of the inn, they would be met with sword and bow.
The First joined them. Tyrcamber could tell the human leaders were uneasy about her presence, but the muridachs had not discriminated between humans and umbral elves. The umbral elven woman in the green cloak stood near the First, her crimson eyes watchful. Tyrcamber suspected the woman in the green cloak was either the First’s advisor or her bodyguard. He wondered if they were related, but the features of the umbral elves all looked so alien that Tyrcamber could not pick out a family resemblance.
Rilmael stood a few paces away, unseen by everyone except Tyrcamber and presumably Ruire. He had not used his magic in the fight but still had cut down a dozen muridach warriors. The Guardian possessed powerful magic, but he was wise enough not to rely upon it as his only weapon.
“They probably tunneled into the sewers, maybe the ruins of the old city,” said Rincimar, his voice hard. The Shield had taken command of the militiamen and roused the city to arms. The gates had been closed, and patrols sent through the streets. “Likely they dug into the city, and they happened to come up beneath the Dusty Merchant Inn.” He scowled and rubbed his jaw. “So far we’ve had no reports of muridachs elsewhere in the city, and they are no trace of them by the river docks or the harbor.”
Malison: Dragon Umbra Page 8
