The white stone in the center of the forum was glowing. All the symbols cut into its sides shone with blue light, and arcs of blue lightning leaped up and down its sides.
“What’s happening?” said Ridmark.
The second man-at-arms stiffened. “I…I don’t know, my lord. It was quiet all night, and then the stone starting glowing, and I saw the woman there, touching the stone…”
“Woman?” said Ridmark. “What woman?”
“There,” said the man-at-arms, pointing. “She’s running!”
Ridmark spotted a slender figure running from the stone and towards one of the alleys next to the Salty Fish Inn, a dark cloak streaming behind her. The cowl shifted back as she ran, and Ridmark caught a glimpse of blond hair in the harsh blue light.
Blond hair. Suddenly he knew, with the utmost certainty, that the woman was the mysterious Aeliana.
“What did she do?” said Ridmark.
“I don’t know,” said the man-at-arms. “I saw her touching the stone, and her arm was glowing with blue fire. Like she was casting a spell. And then…”
An arc of blue lightning stabbed upward, lashing at the sky.
And it ripped the sky open.
Ridmark stared in astonishment. A ragged tear hung in the air a hundred feet over the forum, and through it, Ridmark saw a landscape of grass and trees. He also saw the sky over those trees, and somehow it was burning, filled with yellow-orange fire. The heat of the flames ought to have incinerated everything, but the trees and the grass looked quite untroubled.
“What the bloody hell is that?” said Vegetius.
“I don’t know,” said Ridmark.
“It looks like one of the gates you opened with the Sword of the Dragon Knight,” said Caius, “the gates you can open now with Oathshield.”
“But who is opening them?” said Ridmark. He had assumed that Aeliana was simply a clever thief. Clearly, she was more than that. “And where is it going? I’ve never seen a place with the sky on fire. We…” He stopped himself. Speculation was pointless, and he turned to the man-at-arms. “Run to the keep and get Lady Calliande and Lady Antenora. I don’t care if you have to wake them, but tell them what is going on and get them here now.” It was possible they were both awake. Antenora did not sleep all that much, and the surge of magical power might have triggered Calliande’s Sight and awakened her.
“My lord,” said the man-at-arms, and he sprinted down the stairs and towards the keep.
“We need to sound the alarm, my lord,” said Vegetius. “For the entire town, I mean. If that rip in the air is some sort of magic portal, then God only knows what’s about to pop out of it.”
“It’s a hundred feet in the air,” said Kharlacht. “Anyone steps through that, they’re going to burst like a peach under a horse’s hoof.”
No sooner had the last word left his mouth then a metallic scream rang out, and a large green shape burst from the floating gate and shot over the town, its leathery wings unfolding.
“What the hell is that?” said Vegetius, alarm in his tone for the first time. “A wyvern?”
“Not a wyvern,” said Ridmark, drawing Oathshield. “A dragon.”
He had seen dragons during the siege of Urd Maelwyn and the terrible battle for Cathair Animus three years ago in Owyllain. The dark elven lord called the Confessor had summoned them from a distant world and bound them to his will, using the creatures as steeds and war beasts. The Confessor had possessed only a handful of the creatures, but he hadn’t needed more than that. Just one dragon was a terrible foe. Thousands of soldiers had died in the breath of the Confessor’s dragons before the creatures had been shot down.
This dragon was smaller than the ones the Confessor had bound, perhaps no more than twenty-five feet from tail to snout. Its scales were a deep green color, almost the color of orcish skin, and its black wings stretched on either side of its body. White fangs glimmered in its mouth, and both its forelimbs and hindlegs had fingers equipped with sword-like claws. A strange figure rode on the back of the dragon. The figure wore chain mail and a cloak, and Ridmark caught a glimpse of gray skin and blood-colored eyes.
Ridmark expected the dragon to attack the castra, but instead, the beast banked to the north, circling over the town.
“A scout,” said Ridmark. “He’s looking over the town before he attacks.”
“There are no siege engines here, no ballistae,” said Caius. “Could Calliande defend against the creature?”
“She can,” said Ridmark, glancing towards the doors to the keep and the great hall. “And she has the magic to bring it down, especially if Antenora helps her. But…”
Another arc of lightning ripped from the glowing white stone. It passed through the curtain wall as if the stone were no more than mist and struck the ground halfway between the gate and the great hall. A plume of blue fire shot from the impact, faded, and twisted into another rip in the air, another one of these strange wild gates.
A gate, Ridmark noted, that was inside the wall.
A pair of creatures came through the gate.
He had never seen anything like them. The creatures each stood about five and a half feet tall, about the height of Caius, though not nearly as broad. Their skins were a sickly sort of blue, and they had pointed ears, lean faces, and shocks of greasy black hair. Their eyes were a venomous yellow with black, vertical pupils, and needle-like fangs filled their mouths while black claws tipped their fingers. The creatures wore chain mail and leather, and one of them carried a sword and a shield while the second held a crossbow.
“What the devil?” said Vegetius.
Ridmark stared at the two creatures, and then recognition came.
“Goblins,” he said, voice grim. “They’re called goblins, and they come from some other world.” Calliande had encountered goblins within the Durance of the Sovereign in Urd Maelwyn. The unstable magic of that twisted place had opened gates to other worlds, pulling their kindreds into the prison of the Durance. The goblins had been one such kindred. “They…look out!”
The goblin with the crossbow raised its weapon and pulled the trigger. Ridmark dodged, as did the others, and the quarrel hissed past, struck the battlements, and tumbled into the forum. More goblins started to emerge from the wild gate, some of them equipped with swords and shields, others with crossbows.
“Take them!” shouted Ridmark, lifting Oathshield, wishing he had his armor and Aegisikon with him. This was clearly an attack, and if the goblins seized the castra, Castarium would fall in a short time. And if this was the advance force for an invasion, Castarium would make a strong base for the foe.
Ridmark didn’t know what was going on, but he knew he could not let Castarium fall.
He raced down the stairs, Oathshield in hand, and the others followed him. The goblins saw them approaching and started trying to form themselves into a defensive line, swordsmen in front, crossbowmen in the rear. The crossbows tracked towards him, and Ridmark charged, drawing on Oathshield for speed. Strength flooded through his link to the soulblade, and a half-dozen crossbow quarrels skipped off the flagstones where Ridmark had been standing a moment before.
Then he sprinted around the end of their line and started killing.
Oathshield flashed in his hand as he struck. The sword had been made of a strange blue metal that Ridmark had never seen before or since, and the weapon bore two soulstones, one in the pommel, one in the tang. Both soulstones only gave off a pale white glow, and the blade did not burst into white flames. Whatever was happening, it didn’t involve dark magic. Oathshield had been forged to slay creatures of dark magic, foes immune to steel and wood, but it worked just fine against foes of flesh and blood.
Which Ridmark proved when he chopped Oathshield with all his strength and the soulblade’s power behind it, and he took off a goblin crossbowman’s head. The head rolled away, the ragged stump of the neck spurting blue-black blood, and the creature collapsed to the ground. Ridmark killed two more in rapid succession be
fore the goblins reacted, and they threw aside their crossbows and drew short swords. He parried three swings, Oathshield ringing in his grasp, his shoulders and hands aching with the effort. The goblins were stronger than they looked.
Then the others charged with a roar into the battle. Kharlacht swept his greatsword of dark elven steel in a massive two-handed blow, and he cut a goblin in half. Caius waded into the fray with his mace of bronze-colored dwarven steel, crushing skulls with heavy blows. Before he had been a friar and a bishop, he had been a warrior of Khald Tormen, and his skills had not waned during his years of service to the church. Vegetius and the men-at-arms had their shields, and they used them to ward off goblin blows, steel ringing against the thick wood.
Ridmark drew on Oathshield for strength and speed, and he killed and killed, dancing around the blows of the goblins as he slew them. The Swordbearers were the most powerful warriors in the forces of Andomhaim, and whatever the goblins had expected, it was clear they hadn’t anticipated facing a Knight of the Soulblade. The creatures began to fall back towards the rip in the air, though more goblins poured through the strange gate.
A yell came to Ridmark’s ears, a flash of white light before his eye, and he glanced to the side to see Valmark Arban crash into the goblins, Hopesinger rising and falling. Behind him, Sir Longinus led the men-at-arms, and the soldiers attacked. The tide of the battle swung in Ridmark’s favor, and the goblins fell back towards the gate.
Their retreat turned into a rout a few moments later when a fist-sized sphere of flame soared over Ridmark’s head and landed in the middle of the retreating goblins. The sphere exploded in a howling bloom of fire, and a dozen goblins fell dead to the ground. That was enough for the surviving creatures, who turned and fled into the gate, vanishing into the forest Ridmark saw on the other side.
A forest, he noted, that had the same burning sky he had seen in the floating gate over the forum.
He glanced towards the great hall and saw Calliande and Antenora approaching. Both women had donned their traveling clothes in haste, and Antenora’s black staff smoldered with the elemental fire she had just cast at the goblins.
“Ridmark,” said Calliande. “You’re safe.” There was relief in her voice, and her expression shifted to the calm mien of the Keeper. “What’s going on?”
“I was hoping you knew,” said Ridmark. “The stone in the forum started glowing, and it spat out arcs of blue lightning. The lightning opened a portal in the air over the forum, and a dragon flew out.” Her blue eyes widened at that. “Another bolt struck here, and the goblins emerged and attacked.”
“Keeper,” said Antenora, gazing at the rip in the air. “This is a world gate.”
“A world gate?” said Calliande, staring at the portal, her eyes taking on the hazy cast they did when using the Sight. “How? It’s not possible. A world gate requires an immense concentration of magical power. They can’t just appear out of nowhere…no, that’s not right, is it? Spontaneous world gates can form at random. That was how humanity came to this world in the first place. And random world gates could open inside the Durance.”
“The Durance was innately magical,” said Ridmark.
“So is this world, just less so,” said Calliande. “But I don’t understand how this gate can exist. It shouldn’t be possible.”
“But it should be easy enough to close,” said Antenora. Something rattled against the flagstones, and Ridmark glanced to the side. He saw his brother Valmark approach, wiping the bluish-black goblin blood from Hopesinger with a cloak torn from one of their slain foes. “Either the Keeper or I could do it, with a spell of dispelling empowered by the Well of Tarlion, though it would be something of an effort. Or a Swordbearer could thrust a soulblade into the gate while calling upon its power to protect from magic. That would collapse the gate with very little effort.”
“Wait,” said Ridmark. “When we destroyed the world gate of the Frostborn, the resultant explosion leveled several large hills. If we close this gate, will it destroy Castarium?”
Antenora shook her head. “The amount of power flowing through this rift is insufficient for any level of destruction. If you thrust your soulblade into the gate, the energies involved will simply unravel and drain away.” She hesitated, looked to the north, and then back at him. “And I think this gate is anchored to that stone in the forum. If you close this rift, the power will simply drain back into that stone.”
“And that stone could open another gate at any time?” said Ridmark.
“Probably,” said Antenora.
“My lord,” said Sir Longinus, “if these rifts can open inside the town walls, then we need to hasten and rouse the watchmen.”
“Agreed,” said Ridmark. First, they needed to secure the castra. “I’ll close this gate.” He looked at Calliande. “Then you and Antenora can look at that stone. See if you can figure out what’s causing this and how to stop it.”
Calliande nodded and then pointed at one of the men-at-arms. “You. Run to Lord Ridmark’s room, take his armor and his staff, and get back here as quick as you can. No, don’t argue. Go!” Calliande could be commanding when she wanted, and the man-at-arms took off at a run.
Ridmark listed with half an ear and stepped in front of the rift. He felt the power of the gate beating against his face like the heat from a forge, though it wasn’t a thing of dark magic. Oathshield did not stir in his grasp. Through the gate, he saw what looked like a meadow inside a forest, or perhaps a plain dotted with small clumps of trees. It didn’t look all that different from countless other forests he had traveled through over the years.
But he had never seen a sky like that. It seemed to be on fire, filled with a sheet of rippling yellow-orange flame. Ridmark had seen a fiery sunset or two in his life, but never anything like this. It had to be magical in origin. Yet despite his curiosity, he wasn’t going to walk through the gate to investigate, and he certainly wasn’t going to send Calliande or Antenora through. For that matter, he was sure there were more of those goblin creatures on the other side of the gate, and he wanted to close it before they could come through and attack.
He lifted Oathshield in both hands, called upon the soulblade’s power to defend from magical attack, and thrust the sword into the rift.
There was a loud snarling noise, like thunder but quieter, and Oathshield shuddered in Ridmark’s hands, the blade flashing with white fire. Blue flame shimmered through the gate, and it seemed to fold and turn on itself. Then it flashed and vanished entirely, leaving nothing but some scorch marks on the ground and a few wisps of smoke drifting through the air. Ridmark lowered Oathshield and took a deep breath.
“What about that rift in the air over the forum?” said Ridmark. “Can you close that?”
“I will start preparing the spell,” said Antenora. “We…”
In unison, both Antenora and Calliande looked towards the north. At the exact same time, there was another flash of blue fire from the forum, and an arc of azure lightning shot through the walls and stabbed into the castra. Another blue glow came from around the curve of the keep’s drum tower.
“Ridmark!” said Calliande. “Another rift just opened! I think it’s in the stables…”
A tearing metallic scream rang out, drowning out the rest of her sentence.
Ridmark looked up just in time to see the green dragon land atop the keep, its talons rasping against the battlements as it perched there. The dragon’s serpentine neck drew back, and then its mouth shot forward, jaws yawning wide. Ridmark expected searing flame to erupt from the dragon’s mouth.
Instead, a roiling plume of thick green smoke shot from the dragon’s jaws, a vile chemical stink filling the air.
***
Chapter 9: Dragon Rage
Calliande Arban was two and a half centuries old. Admittedly, she had been asleep for much of that time, but for the years she had been awake, she had seen battle after battle, and the memories were etched into her mind like letters carved into stone. The
last few years had been some of the most peaceful of her life, but quiet and motherhood had not dulled her instincts. If anything, those instincts had a new ferocity to them. Her daughter and one of her sons were inside the keep, and if anyone tried to hurt them, Calliande would tear their attackers apart.
And she had the power to back up that rage.
The green plume of thick fog shot towards them, and a dozen thoughts flashed through Calliande’s mind in the space between two heartbeats.
The Sight showed her the aura of magical power around the green dragon. It was the same twisted, mighty aura she had seen around the Confessor’s dragons in Owyllain. The logical conclusion was that the green dragon had come from the same world as the Confessor’s dragons, that the rift Ridmark had closed had led to the dragons’ home world.
Which in turn meant that the goblins and dragons came from the same world, but that was something to consider later.
All the Confessor’s dragons had breathed powerful flame. Calliande had never considered that a dragon could breathe anything other than fire. But the chemical stink coming to her nostrils was a familiar one. It was the smell of acid, and spells of earth magic could conjure acidic mists.
And that let her know how to defend against the dragon’s acidic breath.
Calliande shouted and thrust her staff overhead, and the end erupted with brilliant white light. She drew on the power of the Well of Tarlion, fusing it with the mantle of the Keeper of Andomhaim, and a dome of translucent white light appeared overhead. The dragon’s plume of green fog struck the dome and spattered against it, vanishing into nothingness. But before it did, Calliande saw how some of the mist brushed the side of the keep, carving feathery grooves into the stones. If the acidic breath could do that to stone, it would melt flesh like butter in a blacksmith’s forge.
Antenora thrust her staff, and a cone of flame erupted from its end. The fire lashed into the sky and raked along the dragon perched atop the keep. Scales melted and scorched in the fury of her magic, the fire reaching into the creature’s flesh. The dragon let out a metallic scream, and Antenora shifted her aim to let the fire rip across the strange gray-skinned elf. Except the elf cast a spell, and translucent half-dome of pale blue light appeared before the elf, deflecting the gout of flame. Calliande had seen a spell like that before. The goblins she had fought inside the Durance had all used magic, and many of them had cast that shielding spell. She just had time to wonder why none of the goblins they had just killed had used magic. Perhaps there hadn’t been time to summon magic before Ridmark and the others had attacked.
Dragontiarna: Knights Page 13
