Dragontiarna: Knights

by Moeller, Jonathan

  He shot a quick look at Valmark, trying to see if there was anything he could do, but he already knew that it was too late. Ridmark had seen death a thousand different times on a hundred different battlefields, and he knew that his brother had been dead before he hit the ground. His first thought was that he couldn’t let Calliande see Valmark like this. She had always been fonder of his brothers than he had ever been. His second, entirely nonsensical thought was that Valmark had been wearing his armor and he had not, but Ridmark had survived. War was often random.

  His third and much more urgent thought was that the battle wasn’t over yet, and if he stood here staring at his slain brother, he likely would not stay alive much longer.

  Ridmark hacked his way through two more goblins and then stood before the glowing rift. Through the rift, he saw a dense forest and a sky that burned. Ridmark wasn’t sure if it was the same forest that he had seen earlier, but it looked similar. He also saw more goblins rushing through the trees, along with dozens more of those hulking armored giants. Having a gate in the courtyard was like a breach in the castra’s curtain wall. The enemy would pour through and overwhelm the stronghold.

  But this gate was easier to repair than a breach in the curtain wall, at least for Ridmark.

  The area was clear around him for the moment, and Ridmark thrust Oathshield into the rift. The soulblade chimed in his hands, and the soulstones worked into the weapon flashed, the blade flaring with white fire. The blue fire dancing along the edges of the rift vanished, and the gate collapsed into itself, vanishing as if it had never been.

  But the slain goblins scattered across the courtyard were ample proof of the rift’s presence.

  Ridmark lifted Oathshield and shot a look around, deciding where to move next. His men were cutting down the remaining goblins. One of the goblins turned, and then the creature’s head exploded in a spray of embers and ashes. That meant Antenora was joining the battle, and Ridmark looked to the north and saw his wife and her apprentice approaching. Calliande would likely start healing the wounded, while Antenora called her fire to strike down their foes.

  A grunt of pain came to his ears from inside the stables.

  Someone was fighting in there.

  Ridmark looked into the gloom of the stables and glimpsed a pair of goblins driving back a man armed with a sword and dagger. One of his men-at-arms must have been forced into the stables and was about to fall to superior numbers. Ridmark hadn’t been able to save Valmark, but perhaps he could save this soldier.

  He charged into the stables, Oathshield leading, drawing on the soulblade for strength and power. The stable master Titus lay motionless on the ground, his tunic soaked with blood. There were several dead goblins nearby, all of them slain by sword wounds. The two remaining goblins attacked a man in rough clothes, a young man who fought with vigor, albeit with clumsy skill…

  Niall?

  Ridmark saw all that in an instant, and then he attacked. Oathshield took off the head of the goblin on the left, and the creature’s headless corpse fell to the earth. The strange odor of the goblin’s blood set the horses to a fresh round of whinnying and kicking. The second goblin turned to face the new threat, and Niall killed it with a quick thrust of his sword. A short sword, Ridmark noted, that he must have taken from one of the dead goblins.

  Niall met his eye, and to his astonishment, the young man looked…sheepish. Even embarrassed. Like he had been caught doing something inappropriate.

  “My lord,” he said. “I’m sorry. The goblins killed Titus, and then they tried to kill me, and I didn’t, I didn’t know what to do, so I…”

  Ridmark came to a decision.

  “Stop talking and follow me,” said Ridmark, turning towards the entrance.

  “But…but the horses,” said Niall. “I’m supposed to look after the horses…”

  “The horses are faring better than we are,” said Ridmark. “The town is under attack from goblins…”

  “Goblins?” said Niall. “Those blue devils?”

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. “And I need every man who can carry a sword.” He turned towards the courtyard. “Now stop talking and follow me.”

  “My lord,” said Niall, and he hurried after Ridmark.

  The fighting was over by the time Ridmark reached the courtyard. Three of his men-at-arms were dead, which was better than he expected. Calliande and Antenora were busy healing the men who had been wounded. Six men had taken wounds of varying severity, and several of them would have died if not for the aid of the healing magic of the Keeper of Andomhaim.

  Calliande turned at his approach, and he saw the pain in her eyes. “Ridmark. Valmark…”

  “Aye,” said Ridmark, voice grim. “That armored creature. He got too close to it. The axe took off his head. It was over before he even knew what was happening.”

  “His soulblade,” said Antenora, holding up a sheathed sword. “We will likely have need of it shortly.”

  “Thank you,” said Ridmark, looking at Valmark’s headless corpse again. His brother had never wed. Valmark had been the sort of man who had never settled down, one who had traveled the realm carrying out the duties of a Swordbearer. There had been women, but only short-term companions, but never a wife or even a mistress he had cared about as much as Accolon had clearly cared about Caitrin Rhosmor. Ridmark supposed it was a mercy there were no wife or children to inform of Valmark’s death.

  A very, very small mercy.

  “I am sorry,” said Calliande. “I know you were not close, but…”

  “He was a valiant knight, and died bravely,” said Ridmark. “If we wish to keep more men from dying, we must hasten.” He took a deep breath, trying to put his thoughts in order. “We have to act now. Do you know how many more of those gates have opened?”

  “There are at least two more in the town, north of here,” said Calliande. “Antenora and I already closed that one floating over the forum. And another one just opened in the monastery.”

  “The monastery?” said Ridmark, alarmed. This day had already been dire enough, with the possibility of getting much worse. But if the heir to the throne of Andomhaim was killed by the goblins, the consequences for the realm would be catastrophic.

  “And there is at least one more outside the walls to the north,” said Antenora. “The forum stone is empowering them somehow. I am not certain how.”

  “Damn it,” said Ridmark. “All right. We’ve got to close those rifts right now, and we also need to keep the stone in the forum from opening any further gates.” He came to a decision. “My soulblade can close the rifts, but I can’t stop whatever is happening inside the stone. Calliande and Antenora, you stay in the forum and try to dispel whatever the stone is doing. I will head for the monastery and close the rifts on the way.”

  “Alone?” said Calliande with a frown.

  “No,” said Ridmark. “I’ll take Kharlacht and Caius with me.”

  “All this noise should have awakened my men by now,” said Kharlacht. “We can bring a dozen warriors of Rhaluusk with us.”

  “I’ll go with you as well,” said Calliande. Ridmark started to object, but she talked right over him. “I have the Sight, and I can warn you if another rift opens inside the town. If another gate appears and you’re not warned of it, you could get caught between two enemy forces. And Antenora knows more lore than I do. She has a better chance of unlocking the secrets of the stone.”

  “Very well,” said Ridmark. He wanted to keep Calliande away from the fighting, where it was safe, but if that stone kept opening more rifts, nowhere in the town was safe. “Kharlacht, get your warriors ready. We’re going into the forum in another five minutes. Vegetius, take six men, and stay with Lady Antenora, keep her safe as she studies the stone. Sir Longinus, rouse every fighting man we have and hold the castra. Antenora will be able to warn you if any more rifts open inside the curtain wall, but I don’t want the goblins getting inside the castra the old-fashioned way.”

  “My lord,” said Lo
nginus, and he began shouting instructions. Kharlacht ran towards the barracks, where his warriors were housed and likely already arming themselves.

  “This reminds me of the siege of Dun Licinia,” murmured Caius, shaking goblin brains from his mace, “where we all met.”

  “Perhaps,” said Ridmark. He didn’t like the comparison. He had first met Kharlacht and Caius and Calliande near Dun Licinia, but that town didn’t exist anymore. The Frostborn had built a mighty citadel over its ruins, and now the khaldjari held the citadel as their own fortress, defending themselves from both the men of Andomhaim and the medvarth tribes that held half the Northerland. “But when the Mhalekite orcs attacked the town, they had to use ladders. They couldn’t open magical gates to take themselves inside.”

  “No,” said Caius. “But you didn’t have Oathshield back then, either.”

  “Lady Calliande,” shouted a man-at-arms. Ridmark glanced at the man and saw that he carried a bundle in a gray cloak wrapped around a staff.

  “Give that to Lord Ridmark,” said Calliande.

  Ridmark took the bundle. It was his elven cloak, his dark elven armor, and his magical staff Aegisikon. Ridmark donned the armor in haste, the cuirass of blue plates falling to his knees, and slung the cloak over his shoulders. He took the familiar length of Aegisikon in his left hand and Oathshield in his right.

  “I shall keep Hopesinger with me for now,” said Antenora.

  “Wait,” said Ridmark. An idea started to flicker at the edges of his mind. If Prince Accolon was still alive… “Give it to me.”

  “As you wish,” said Antenora, and she passed him the sheathed soulblade. Ridmark slung it over his baldric, the hilt rising over his left shoulder.

  “My lord?” said an uncertain voice.

  Ridmark glanced back and saw Niall standing amidst the slain goblins, sword and dagger still in hand.

  “Should…should I go back to the stables?” said Niall.

  Ridmark remembered the dead goblins strewn across the stable floor. Old Titus had been a sour curmudgeon, but he had known his business, and he had taken good care of the castra’s horses. He had not, however, been a fighter.

  Which meant that Niall had taken those goblins down by himself.

  He would have died in another few moments if Ridmark had not arrived, but he had still killed those goblins. The story of the attack on the road…the men of Ebor had agreed that Niall had handled himself well.

  Where the devil had he learned to fight like that?

  But his movements had been untutored, rough, like looking at a gemstone before it had been cut. Some men were born with a natural talent for fighting. Ridmark had been one of them. When he had first held a practice sword as a boy a long time ago, it had felt right, as if he had just started what he had been born to do.

  As it turned out, that feeling had been right.

  “Vegetius,” said Ridmark.

  “My lord?”

  “Take Niall to the barracks and get him some armor, a shield, and something other than a goblin sword,” said Ridmark.

  Niall blinked in surprise. Vegetius raised his eyebrows.

  “My lord?” said Vegetius again.

  “We’re going to need every sword before this is done,” said Ridmark.

  “Aye,” said Vegetius.

  “Thank you, my lord,” said Niall. The earnestness in his voice was almost unbearable.

  “Don’t make me regret this,” said Ridmark.

  “And don’t cut off your own damned foot,” said Vegetius. “Come on, boy, move it.”

  They ran for the barracks.

  “Are you sure about that?” said Calliande.

  “No,” said Ridmark. “But he’s got some talent for fighting.” He looked at his brother’s corpse. Perhaps it was a mercy he wasn’t sure where Valmark’s head had ended up. “And war spares neither the strong nor the defenseless. If Niall of Ebor has it within him to fight to defend his people, then he shall have the chance.”

  ***

  Chapter 12: Duty

  Five minutes later, the castra’s gate opened, and Ridmark strode into the forum.

  He half-expected goblins and armored giants to fill the space, but the forum was empty. The reason for that was clear enough. The strange white menhir in the center of the forum, the menhir that had stood there since before Castarium had been founded or humans had come to this world, glowed with blue fire. The symbols carved into its sides shone with a harsh azure glow, and arcs of blue lightning crawled up and down its length.

  “God and the saints,” murmured Calliande. “How did we not see it before? The stone shines like a beacon now.”

  “The power was sleeping,” said Antenora, her voiced cool and detached, the way it became when she was thinking hard about something. “The stone seems to be alive in the same fashion as a soulstone. It was dormant, but something awakened it.”

  Something? Ridmark remembered the sight of Aeliana sprinting from the stone to vanish into the alley. Somehow, he doubted that she had just happened to be standing next to the stone when it woke up.

  He glanced back at the others. Caius and Kharlacht followed him, weapons in hand. A dozen Rhaluuskan orcs accompanied Kharlacht, ready to carry out the orders of their headman. They were all young, strong orcish men, armored in chain mail and armed with steel axes or maces. All the orcs had a reddish gleam in their black eyes, the fury of their orcish blood rising to the forefront. Orcs rejoiced in battle in a way that only a few humans did, but Ridmark was glad of it now.

  There would be fighting enough to sate even an orcish appetite before this day was done.

  “Let’s go,” said Ridmark. “Vegetius.”

  “I shall begin examining the stone at once,” said Antenora. “I think I can stop it from opening any more rifts, at least for now.”

  “Good,” said Ridmark.

  “We’ll make sure no harm comes to her, my lord,” said Vegetius.

  “I don’t doubt it,” said Ridmark.

  He beckoned with Aegisikon, and Calliande came to his side. Kharlacht, Caius, and the orcish warriors followed. Niall stayed close to Ridmark. Vegetius had found him a coat of studded leather armor that fit well enough, along with a round wooden shield and a longsword. The boy looked nervous, but there was a steely glint in his blue eyes that belied that. Whatever else Niall might have been, he was not a coward.

  “The first gate is that way,” said Calliande, pointing with her staff. “If we turn west past the cathedral, and then head north, we will be almost there.”

  Ridmark consulted his mental map of Castarium. “That would be the street of the blacksmiths, on the western side of the town.” Both fishing boats and canvas sails tended to catch fire easily, which was why the street of the smiths was on the far side of Castarium from the harbor and the workshops of the shipwrights with their rolls of canvas and barrels of tar.

  “Well, at least someone has sounded the alarm already,” said Caius. The cathedral’s bells were ringing, along with those of every other church in Castarium. “Hopefully, the town’s militia will have taken up arms, and be ready to defend themselves.”

  “Let us hope,” said Ridmark, and he led the way past the massive stone church.

  ###

  Niall gripped his sword in loose fingers, the unfamiliar weight of the shield on his left arm.

  He wasn’t sure why Lord Ridmark had given him a sword and shield and armor. Perhaps Lord Ridmark himself did not even know. Niall had never possessed any ambitions to be a soldier. A few of the angrier men of Ebor had spoken of armed revolt, of reclaiming their lands from their greedy lords through sword and spear, but Niall had never agreed with them. He remembered the day he had lost his temper, the day that he had almost beaten another boy to death. Had he continued, he knew, he would have killed the boy, would have punched him until his head split open like a melon.

  That was what war would be like, the blood and the crying. Niall had known that he had a gift for violence, and since that day,
he had always taken care to keep his temper under control, for fear of what he might do if it was unleashed. He had wanted only to tend to his uncle’s farm and become the sort of man his aunt could take pride in.

  But those creatures, those goblins, had attacked without any provocation. They had killed several of the castra’s men, and they had killed Lord Ridmark’s brother, the other Swordbearer. (Niall was embarrassed that he could not recall the man’s name.) He had heard stories of what the pagan orcs or the dvargir did to their defeated foes, and he knew the goblins do the same to Castarium if they won.

  Niall would not let them win, not if he could help it.

  He remembered a sermon that a traveling friar had preached in Ebor’s church when he had been a boy. The friar had talked about a man from the scriptures who had been a king upon Old Earth, a man named Solomon. Solomon had taken pagan wives who had turned his heart away from God, but before that, he had been the wisest man on Earth. Old King Solomon, the friar had preached, had said that there was a time for all things, a time to laugh and a time to mourn, a time to plant and a time to harvest.

  And there was a time to heal and a time to kill.

  Niall did not claim to be wise, but he was pretty sure that the killing time had come.

  He jogged after the others as the Shield Knight and the Keeper hurried through the streets of Castarium. The Keeper was telling the orcish warriors what to expect, how the goblin creatures could use magic. Lord Ridmark was giving commands to every townsman in sight, telling them to arm themselves if they served in the town’s militia, or to barricade themselves in their homes if they were not. No one paid much attention to Niall. He knew the orcish warriors did not take him seriously, but he could not blame them for that.

  It was up to Niall to prove worthy of the trust that Lord Ridmark had put in him.

  They turned a corner and came to the street of blacksmiths. A score of blacksmiths’ workshops, all of them larger than the one in Ebor, lined the street. Some of them had large double doors to allow horses to enter for shoeing or wagons for repair. Niall suspected that each of the blacksmiths specialized – one in swords, one in armor, another in wagon wheels.