“A damned tangle,” said Angaric. “I don’t need to make sense of it, and neither do you.”
“I thought you enjoyed puzzles,” said Tyrcamber.
“But when a puzzle is someone else’s responsibility, why not let them solve it?” said Angaric. “It’s the Master’s and the Chancellor’s task to figure out these deep matters. We just keep them alive while they do it. And you need something to take your mind off it…”
“Don’t suggest the brothel,” said Tyrcamber.
“I suggest the brothel,” said Angaric. “Clearly you have some frustrations that you need to work off. Since you haven’t managed to seduce Sigurd Rincimar yet.”
Tyrcamber sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “For God’s sake.” He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. “I thought you were going to seduce her.”
“You convinced me it was a bad idea, remember?” said Angaric. “Besides, she clearly has her eye on you, Sir Tyrcamber.”
“She wants a wealthy and powerful husband who can support her once her uncle dies,” said Tyrcamber. “A knight of the Order of Embers is hardly a viable candidate.”
“At least until you become one of the preceptors or the Master,” said Angaric. Tyrcamber raised his eyebrows. “I’m quite content with my station in life. You’re not, though. You’ll keep pushing, and pushing, and pushing until you either get yourself killed in battle or elected Master.”
“God forbid,” said Tyrcamber.
“Besides, I doubt Sigurd is looking for a husband just now,” said Angaric. “Perhaps just a chance to…hmm, work off some frustrations before we depart.”
“I find talking with you a frustrating experience,” said Tyrcamber. “You ought to have been a monk and spent your life in a scriptorium, you enjoy debate enough.”
“I do,” said Angaric, “but given that I just invited you to a brothel, perhaps you can see the flaw in that argument.”
“Good point,” said Tyrcamber, and then fell silent when he saw Rilmael walking towards them. The Guardian stopped before the doors to Falcon Hall and then gestured with his staff. Angaric blinked a few times, and then looked off into the distance, his expression distracted.
“For the next few moments,” said Rilmael, “we shall be able to converse without our bold Sir Angaric noticing.”
“What did you do to him?” said Tyrcamber. Angaric showed no sign that he noticed Tyrcamber had spoken.
“Nothing harmful,” said Rilmael. “He will be lost in thought for a minute or two.”
“You ought to have created the illusion of a beautiful woman smiling at him,” said Tyrcamber. “The city could have burned down around us, and he wouldn’t have noticed.”
“I wanted to distract him, not cause him to abandon his post,” said Rilmael with a laugh. His expression sobered. “The Escheator has departed. A dark elven lord that powerful would have a difficult time hiding from my Sight, and he has made no effort to conceal himself. He is flying straight back to Urd Mythruin.”
Tyrcamber frowned. “It’s a long journey from Urd Mythruin to Falconberg, even on the back of a dragon. He came all this way to…what? Threaten the First? To deliver a message?”
“I do think he came here to deliver a message,” said Rilmael, “but not to the First, and not to us.”
“Who, then?” said Tyrcamber, and then the grim answer came to him. “The Dragon Cult.”
“Or the muridachs,” said Rilmael, “or Michael Gantier, or some other player in this shadowy game that we haven’t yet encountered.”
“Then the Escheator’s appearance was their signal to act,” said Tyrcamber. He took a look around the square, fearing that hidden enemies would appear at any moment.
“The Escheator himself may not have even known of his role in this plan,” said Rilmael. “But I am certain that our enemies shall strike today.”
“Have you found any trace of dark magic within the city?” said Tyrcamber. “Or of the Dragon Cult?”
“None,” said Rilmael. “I am certain that they are here, but they have disguised themselves so well I cannot find them.” He let out a sigh that was half-weary, half-annoyed. “And finding anything in a city full of human users of magic is difficult in the extreme. Someone is casting a spell at every moment of every day in a city the size of Falconberg. Had I possessed greater skill with the Sight, I could perhaps have managed it, but I failed.”
Tyrcamber could probably claim to know Rilmael better than most men of the Empire, but it was still shocking to hear the Guardian admit failure. Rilmael was a legendary figure in the Empire, spoken of in the same tones as the first Emperor Roland and the great Dragontiarna of old. Rilmael might have been a cloak elf and a wizard of great power, but he was still a man. And right now, he was a tired, frustrated man.
“And had we all possessed greater wit, we might have discovered the truth, but we didn’t,” said Tyrcamber. “The important question is what we shall do now.”
Rilmael nodded. “Quite right. I think all we can do is remain vigilant. I will stay with the Chancellor and the First. If the Dragon Cult plans to assassinate them, hopefully I can intercept any attack. Remain watchful, Sir Tyrcamber. If you need any assistance, I shall be in the hall with Radobertus and Mhyarith.”
Tyrcamber nodded, and Rilmael opened one of the doors to the hall, slipped inside, and closed it behind him. Angaric shook himself and looked around in confusion.
“Did you say something?” said Angaric.
“No, I don’t think so,” said Tyrcamber.
“Hmm.” Angaric did not look satisfied, but he shook his head. “What was I saying? Oh, yes, you need to burn off some frustration.”
“Something like that, yes,” said Tyrcamber, hoping that Angaric hadn’t lost the memory of their previous conversation. Otherwise, they would have to repeat it all over again.
“I think,” said Angaric, “that you need…wait.”
He fell silent, and Tyrcamber saw another figure crossing the square, a dark-clad woman that the burghers gave a wide birth. It was Charanis, and she strode towards Tyrcamber with a grim expression on her alien features.
“Sir Tyrcamber, Sir Angaric,” said Charanis.
“Battle mage,” said Tyrcamber with a polite bow.
“I may need your assistance,” said Charanis. “Perhaps the matter is nothing, but it may be grave enough to require immediate action.”
“If we can be of assistance, we shall be glad to help,” said Tyrcamber.
“Have you not wondered about the purpose of the muridach attacks?” said Charanis. “The one you faced at Tolbiac, and the attack launched through the city’s sewers on the day the First arrived?”
“Sir Angaric and I were just speculating about that,” said Tyrcamber.
“And the Escheator,” said Charanis. For an instant, she sounded almost haunted. “I know the Escheator.”
“Do you?” said Tyrcamber. “Personally, I mean?”
“Yes,” said Charanis, her voice growing distant. “In ancient days, before you or Sir Angaric had yet been born. When the umbral elves of Sygalynon still marched beneath the banner of the Dragon Imperator, before the last Dragontiarna destroyed him. The Escheator was one of the chief captains of the Dragon Imperator, one of his most trusted commanders. Like all dark elves, the Escheator was addicted to cruelty…but he was not a fool. He could hold his dark appetites in check. And he never did anything without reason. Why did he come here and depart at once? Simply to taunt the First?”
“If the dark elves are addicted to cruelty, perhaps he did it to mock the First,” said Angaric.
“But cruelty is most enjoyable when the victim is powerless to fight back,” said Charanis. “The Escheator’s words were a taunt, not cruelty, and an empty taunt at that. The only reason I can think for the Escheator to come here was to create a distraction.”
“A distraction,” repeated Tyrcamber, some idea stirring dimly in his mind. “That was why the muridachs attacked us at Tolbiac. So G
antier would have a chance to escape with whatever relic he took from that tomb.”
“And Tynrogaul’s attack on the Market of St. Mark and the Escheator’s taunts were likewise a distraction,” said Charanis.
“But a distraction from what?” said Angaric.
“I resolved to discover that,” said Charanis. “I descended into the sewers to investigate, and I found muridach tracks.”
“Would not there be ample muridach tracks from Tynrogaul’s attack?” said Tyrcamber.
Her blood-colored eyes met his. “These are new tracks. They were made in the four days since the battle in the market. And they go into areas of the sewers and the ruins that the muridachs would not have traversed to reach the Dusty Merchant Inn.”
Tyrcamber felt a chill. “Are you certain?”
“Entirely,” said Charanis. “I know how to track, Sir Tyrcamber. Those footprints were not there four days ago.”
“Did not the Shield post guards in the sewers?” said Angaric.
Charanis’s thin lips twisted with disgust. “He did. And they were most vigilant about patrolling the vault and the tunnel that led to the cellar of the Dusty Merchant. But they have not deviated from that route. I suspect they fear the darkness below the city and are hesitant about venturing into it for dread of what they might find.”
“You said you wanted our help,” said Tyrcamber. “What must we do?”
“Come with me to the sewers,” said Charanis. “You both fought well during the battle in the market, and I do not want to follow the trail of the muridachs alone. If I am killed, someone must survive to carry word back to the First and to your lords.”
“Perhaps we should get more help,” said Tyrcamber.
“That will take time,” said Charanis. “We would need to convince your Master and the First to act, and perhaps the Shield. Then soldiers will be gathered and organized. By the time all that is arranged, we might run out of time. Better instead that we act as scouts and bring more information back. That way, if the human Dragon Cult or the muridachs or the Escheator’s minions or some other force are preparing to strike, we can bring our full strength to bear.”
Angaric hesitated. “Can we move from our post without leave?”
“In an emergency, we can, yes,” said Tyrcamber. He looked around and pointed at the southern wing of Falcon Hall. “I think serjeant-captain Rudolf is in there. Go tell him that we need two serjeants to take our places here. He’s also to send a man to find Master Ruire – I think he’s at the eastern gate – and to tell him that Charanis has spotted muridachs in the sewers and we’ve gone to investigate.”
“But she hasn’t spotted muridachs,” said Angaric. He still did not look convinced. “She spotted their tracks.”
“Tracks which were not there four days ago,” said Charanis.
Tyrcamber hesitated. Did he trust Charanis? Not particularly. He found her philosophy of the strong ruling the weak to be repugnant, and he knew that the umbral elves of Sygalynon were only considering making peace with the Empire because of their loathing of the Valedictor. Yet she had been honest with him. Harshly so, even.
“We cannot take the risk that she is wrong,” said Tyrcamber. “Go, quickly.”
Angaric might have been a lecherous braggart who was far too fond of the sound of his own voice, but he knew his business. He nodded and turned, running into the southern wing of Falcon Hall. Charanis watched him go, and then looked back to Tyrcamber.
“Thank you for believing me,” said Charanis, her voice quiet. “I know trust between my kindred and yours is not easy.”
“It isn’t,” said Tyrcamber. “I think you are the only umbral elf with whom I’ve ever had a civil conversation.”
“Well,” said Charanis. “I am considered strange by many of my peers.”
Tyrcamber blinked and then laughed. Charanis smiled, briefly.
“And I do believe you,” said Tyrcamber. “I have seen plots of this nature before.” He decided not to mention that Rilmael had warned him. “I have the feeling we are on the edge of some great catastrophe. Perhaps we can yet avert it if we act quickly.”
“Let us hope,” said Charanis. “Maybe your God and Dominus Christus will favor us if we act boldly.”
The door to the southern wing opened, and Angaric returned, three serjeants trailing after him. Two of them took up station by the doors to the main hall, while the third started running for the eastern gate.
“Master Ruire was on the eastern wall,” said Angaric. “The serjeant will find him there.”
Tyrcamber nodded. “Then let’s go.”
***
Chapter 8: Bones of the Dragon
Tyrcamber climbed down the iron rungs of the ladder and then dropped onto the damp floor of the brickwork tunnel. Angaric came next, wheezing a little as he hauled his bulk down the ladder. Charanis followed him, landing with silent, fluid grace.
“You know,” said Angaric, looking around the gloomy tunnel, “I didn’t join the Order of Embers to spend all my time crawling through the sewers of an Imperial Free City.”
“Why did you join the Order of Embers, Sir Angaric?” said Charanis, stringing her bow.
“To serve and defend the Empire, of course,” said Angaric. “And since I was defending the people of the Empire, to sample the women of as many different regions of the Empire as possible.”
“For God’s sake,” said Tyrcamber.
Fortunately, Charanis remained unoffended. “Perhaps you should consult with an experienced physician, Sir Angaric. An inflamed mating instinct can be a symptom of several different serious disorders.”
“I assure you I am both healthy and vigorous in all respects,” said Angaric.
“That will come in handy if we encounter any muridachs,” said Charanis.
Angaric blinked as if unsure if she was making fun of him or not.
“Which way?” said Tyrcamber, looking up and down the tunnel. It smelled of rot and decay, though the floor was dry. There were no footprints on the layer of silt coating the ground.
“There,” said Charanis, pointing to the right. “We shall need some light.”
“I can arrange that,” said Angaric, and he gestured to summon a floating ball of harsh yellow-orange light. It looked like firelight, but it did not flicker.
“That will draw the eyes of any muridachs,” said Tyrcamber.
“It shall,” said Charanis. “But their noses are sensitive enough that they might smell us first. But we can take them unawares if we are careful. Come.”
Tyrcamber drew his sword and walked side-by-side with Charanis down the tunnel, Angaric bringing up the back with his light so it would not shine into their eyes. They walked in silence, save for the crunch of Tyrcamber’s and Angaric’s boots against the floor. Charanis made no sound whatsoever as she moved, and she was so quiet that Tyrcamber wondered if she was using a spell of air magic to mask her footfalls.
Charanis led them to an intersection, turned to the left, and then turned left again. Tyrcamber tried to keep track of their progress, but it was difficult. He hoped that Charanis was not leading them into a trap. Perhaps she had decided to kill them both for inscrutable reasons of her own, but Tyrcamber thought that unlikely. What would she possibly gain from it?
“Here,” said Charanis, coming to a stop as the tunnel led to another intersection. Her voice was a soft rasp in the gloom of the sewers. “You can see the footprints here.”
Angaric shone his light on the floor of the tunnel. There was the usual layer of dried silt and mud on the ground, and the footprints of the muridachs were as clear as letters upon a page. Some of the muridachs wore boots, and others went barefoot, leaving their distinctive clawed tracks in the sediment.
“A dozen of them, looks like,” said Angaric.
“Perhaps,” said Charanis. “The footprints are all jumbled together, so it is difficult to tell. But there were at least a dozen, and perhaps as many as twenty. And I am entirely certain these tracks were not
here four days ago.”
“Do you know where the footprints lead?” said Tyrcamber.
“I do not,” said Charanis. “I claim no false modesty for my skills in battle, but even I would have trouble fighting twenty muridachs at once. Which is why I went for help.”
“Sensible,” said Tyrcamber. He frowned at the tracks. “I think we should follow those footprints for as long as we can, and then return to the surface to warn the others.”
“Agreed,” said Charanis. She pointed at the ceiling, and in the distance, Tyrcamber saw the faint light leaking from an iron grate. “Fortunately, there are many of those drains. It should not be difficult to return to the surface. Sir Angaric, can you make your light dimmer?”
“Aye,” said Angaric, and he frowned. The light grew fainter and changed hue from a harsh flame color to a dim crimson. “Red is better for preserving night vision.”
“Let us proceed,” said Charanis. “Only speak when necessary. Sound can travel an unexpectedly long distance while underground.”
She beckoned, and they walked down the tunnel, following the tracks of the muridachs. Tyrcamber watched the shadows, his hand tight against his sword hilt, his mind ready to summon magic. But nothing moved in the shadowy darkness, and no sounds came to his ear.
Then the tunnel changed.
The walls and ceiling had been built of brick but shifted to massive blocks of rough-hewn stone. The floor changed from a gentle slope to a surface of hard, flat stone blocks. It didn’t look like a sewer. It looked like the cellar of a massive castle or some other large building. Tyrcamber suspected they had left the sewers and come to the ruins of the old city, the first city that had been burned before the modern city of Falconberg had been rebuilt atop the ruins. Niches rested in the walls, holding long-dead skeletons draped in crumbling burial shrouds. Was this place a long-forgotten catacomb? Some of the cities and towns of the Empire buried their dead in catacombs, and perhaps Falconberg had done so in the deeps of time.
The gallery ended in a wall of stone, the muridach tracks continuing in the dust of the floor. A narrow wooden door rested in the wall, built of thick oak planks bound in rusting iron. The door had once been locked, but the lock had been blasted away by multiple Lance spells, a common technique used by thieves of the Imperial Free Cities.
Malison: Dragon Umbra Page 12
