Dragontiarna: Knights

by Moeller, Jonathan

  That couldn’t be good.

  “My lord!” said one of the scouts, reining up.

  “Report,” said Ridmark. “What have you seen?”

  “A large force of goblins coming out of the gate to the north, my lord,” said the scout. “At least a thousand strong, maybe more, and two hundred of those giants.”

  Ridmark bit back a curse. Twelve hundred? With all his men-at-arms and every militiaman in Castarium, he could likely muster five hundred men, and many of those would be too young or too old to fight well. He could hold Castarium for a while with that many, but there was no way he could face a thousand goblins and two hundred giants in an open battle.

  “And there is more, my lord,” said the scout. “There is a red dragon with them, flying overhead. A man in blue armor is riding the dragon.”

  Ridmark shared a look with Calliande. Dark elven armor looked blue. Ridmark wore dark elven armor he had taken from the armories of Urd Morlemoch. Did that mean a dark elf was riding the red dragon? Ridmark supposed it was possible there were dark elves on the world beyond the rifts. In ancient days, the dark elves had opened gates to other worlds and summoned their kindreds to use as soldiers and slaves. There was nothing to stop some of the dark elves from deciding they would be better off carving out their own kingdoms on these other worlds. In fact, knowing the treacherous nature of dark elves, it was all but certain.

  “Then we need to return to the town,” said Ridmark. “Now. We will have to ready ourselves for a siege. Vegetius!”

  “My lord,” said Vegetius.

  “Are we ready to march?” said Ridmark.

  “We are,” said Vegetius. “We’re returning to Castarium?”

  “Aye,” said Ridmark, glancing to the north. He glimpsed a red shape circling over the horizon and knew that it was the distant form of the red dragon. “Right now. It seems we have to prepare for a siege.”

  They turned and marched to the south, and a short time later they rode and walked through the gate of Castarium, anxious women and children watching from the windows of the houses.

  Ridmark gave the commands to ready Castarium for a siege.

  ###

  Some part of Accolon Pendragon’s mind pointed out that he really should have taken command of the defense of Castarium.

  He was the crown prince of Andomhaim, the heir to the realm, and one day he would take his father’s place as the High King. Then it would be Accolon’s responsibility to defend the realm from invaders, to protect the High Kingdom from pagan orcs and dark elves and worse things. One day Accolon would have to command armies in battle, would have to compel loyalty and obedience from the proud lords of Andomhaim.

  But Ridmark took command of the town he had sworn to protect, and Accolon found himself swept along in the Shield Knight’s wake.

  It felt natural to obey Ridmark Arban. For one thing, Accolon had been his squire back during the Frostborn war, and he had obeyed Ridmark then. For another, Ridmark all but radiated command. He knew exactly what he was doing, and men leaped to obey him. All of Ridmark’s commands were good ones. Every man able to fight was armed and equipped, and a schedule of watchmen set upon the walls. Every house was commanded to keep buckets of water on hand, both for drinking and to stop any fires the attackers might start with catapults. Calliande used her magic to send a telepathic message to the Magistri in Tarlion, and Antenora did the same to the Magistri at the seat of Dux Tormark in Castra Arban. Both Calliande and Antenora received responses, and Accolon knew that his father and Dux Tormark were coming with knights and men-at-arms.

  They just had to hold Castarium until then.

  But Accolon had to admit that seemed chancy at best.

  Ridmark had a core of competent, reliable men-at-arms and knights to hold the castra. But the war against the Frostborn hadn’t touched Taliand, and it had been a long, long time since an enemy had threatened Castarium. Some of the militia had marched with Arandar Pendragon against the Frostborn, but that had been over a decade ago. They had enough food and water, and Ridmark was more than willing to seize the larders of the monks of St. Bartholomew’s if it came to it, but Accolon didn’t think the townsmen were ready to face a siege. It was just as well that the fishing boats could still put out the sea, that the enemy didn’t appear to possess any ships. That, at least, kept the fear of starvation at bay.

  Still, Accolon had to admit they had advantages. They had the Shield Knight, and the Keeper and her apprentice. They had Lord Kharlacht and his orcish warriors, all of whom seemed mad for battle. Bishop Caius was only one man, but his counsel was wise. And not all of the town’s defenders were timid. That young man from Ebor, the one who had been at the center of the abbot’s dispute with Lord Ridmark, he was unskilled, but he was a hell of a natural fighter. If someone gave him some training, he would be a terror with a sword.

  And, Accolon was willing to concede, he was an advantage as well, now that he was a Swordbearer. He felt unworthy of the honor, unworthy to bear the soulblade that a valiant warrior like Valmark Arban had carried for so long. Yet as Ridmark had said, Accolon was here, and he had a duty to defend Castarium. The people of Castarium were his people, and one day Accolon would be their High King. And as Caius said, while no true son of the church could doubt the effectiveness of prayer, God had given Accolon a strong back and good sword arm. To refuse to use them when they were needed would be to spurn God’s gifts and throw them back in his face.

  And if the soulblade Hopesinger made Accolon more effective in battle…well, he would not spurn that, either.

  He stayed close to Ridmark as the Shield Knight strode up and down the ramparts of the wall, making sure everything was to his satisfaction. Calliande and Antenora went to the forum before the castra, trying to find a way to break the spells upon the stone and close the gates. If they could do that, those thousand goblins would still be a formidable force, but they would be unable to summon any reinforcements from their native world. In time they would be overwhelmed.

  Accolon just hoped Castarium could hold until then.

  He wondered what Caitrin would have said to see him with a soulblade. He wondered what his father would say.

  “Accolon,” said Ridmark.

  “Aye?” said Accolon, shaking off his dark thoughts.

  He stood with Ridmark on the ramparts over the gate, watching the fields to the north. So far, the enemy had not approached the town, but Accolon knew that would not last. Over the last two hours, there had been a steady stream of terrified villagers and fishermen approaching the town, begging admittance. Goblin raiding parties were loose in the surrounding countryside, burning and pillaging. Accolon wondered how many more villagers had fallen to goblin swords before the rest had escaped.

  “I want you to go to the eastern side of the northern wall and take command there,” said Ridmark. “Make sure the men are organized and that the archers have enough arrows. If I need you here, I’ll send a runner. Until then, take command of the eastern section.”

  Accolon hesitated. “If…you think I’m ready…”

  Ridmark snorted. “You commanded men well enough at the battle of Cathair Animus.”

  “Aye,” said Accolon. He wanted to say that had been before Caitrin, but he stopped himself with a wave of disgust. God and the saints, had grief and guilt unmanned him so? The people of Castarium needed a Swordbearer now, not a man mourning for his lover and her unborn child.

  To his surprise, Ridmark smiled. “Don’t worry. When you’re High King one day, you can give me orders to your heart’s content and repay me for this. But until then, I need someone reliable to take command of the eastern section, and that’s you. Go.”

  Accolon nodded, turned, and jogged along the rampart, coming to the eastern section of the wall. He found everything in good order. While the militiamen of Castarium might have been unused to war, they were at least taking the threat seriously. Accolon made sure that there were enough arrows, and he gently rebuked a few men who were more intere
sted in gossip than in keeping watch. That, at least, was no difficulty. The plumes of black smoke rising on the horizon made it easy to keep the men focused on the danger at hand.

  Satisfied that everything was ready, he turned and found himself looking at a young man in leather armor with steel rivets, a sword at his belt and a shield slung over his back. He had vivid blue eyes and a ragged shock of brown hair that had been cut unevenly. He was about seven or eight years Accolon’s junior, perhaps not yet twenty, and looking to the north with an intent expression. Somehow, he sensed Accolon’s attention, and he turned and bowed.

  “My lord,” he said, speaking Latin with a noticeable Cintarran accent. “Can I do anything for you?”

  “What’s your name?” said Accolon, curious. This was the man Abbot Caldorman had been so angry about, the man who had stolen the two sheep and the pig. Accolon had thought the abbot’s rage unseemly, but he had been too consumed with guilt at the time to give it much thought.

  “Niall, my lord,” said the man. “Niall of Ebor.” He shifted, uneasily. “I…uh…I’m not sure who you are, my lord.”

  “Accolon Pendragon.”

  Niall’s eyes widened. “Oh! I…” He offered a swift bow. “I am pleased to meet you, my lord. Your Highness?” He winced. “My aunt never told me how to greet a prince.”

  “The same way a wise man greets anyone else, I suppose,” said Accolon. “With politeness.”

  Niall laughed. “My aunt says things like that.”

  “She seems a wise woman,” said Accolon.

  “Oh, she is, my lord, she is,” said Niall. “And kindly, too. After my parents died, she and my uncle took me in. Then after my uncle died, she and I have kept the farm going.”

  “I’m sorry for your losses,” said Accolon. “My own mother died when my sister and I were young.”

  “I am sorry for that, my lord,” said Niall. “We can hope that they are in glory with the Dominus Christus.”

  “Aye,” said Accolon. “What happened to your farm? We are a long way from Cintarra and Ebor.”

  Niall started to give him a puzzled look, then stopped himself. “Well…our village was on the benefice of a knight. One day he started to put up fences around our fields. He said he could make more money selling wool to the merchants of Cintarra than he could from our crops. He sent his men-at-arms to guard the fences, so there was nothing we could do about it.” Niall shrugged. “We decided to go to Tarlion. We had heard that the lords of the Northerland were accepting settlers, so we would go there. Lord Ridmark said he would write a letter for us, so we should be able to settle there. Or…well, the others would, at least.”

  Accolon frowned. “Why will you not go with your neighbors? I am not caught up on the news. I have been…distracted.” There was an understatement.

  “I stole two sheep and a pig from the monastery,” said Niall. “My aunt was sick, and she needed better food. I took the animals and said I would work until the debt was paid. But the abbot didn’t like that, and he wanted the praefectus to have me hanged. When we brought the matter to Lord Ridmark, he paid for the animals, and said I would work for him until the debt was paid.” Niall snorted. “I thought I would be looking after horses and scrubbing floors, not fighting blue-skinned devils from another world, but truly no man can see the future.”

  “Truly,” said Accolon, troubled by what Niall had told him. “For a farmer from the valley of the River Cintarra, you fight well.”

  Niall shifted. He looked a little ashamed. “Well…I’ve always been good at fighting, my lord. When I was a boy, I used to have a terrible temper. I’d get into fights, and I’d win them. Then one day, I almost beat another boy half to death. After that, I’ve tried to stay out of fights. And I did, for the most part.” He shrugged again. “But it takes two to fight, and the other man gets a voice in the decision, aye? I didn’t start the fight, but those blue devils did.”

  “That they did,” said Accolon. “I saw you fight at the monastery when the goblins were trying to kill me. Thank you for your aid, Niall of Ebor. If you and Lord Ridmark had not come along when you did, they would have killed me.”

  Niall grinned. “I can’t take credit for that, my lord. I just followed Lord Ridmark and did what he did.”

  “He’s good at getting people to follow him,” said Accolon. He took a deep breath. “It was not right that you were driven from your lands. A lord has the right to do what he wishes with his land…but his tenants have rights as well. Your lord violated both custom and the law when he evicted you to raise sheep. When this is over,” if they survived, of course, “I will speak to my father and ask that he look into the matter.”

  Niall blinked several times and then bowed. “Thank you, my lord. Can I be honest?”

  “I insist on it,” said Accolon. Too often, people flattered him and lied to him.

  “Lord Ridmark was the first noble who helped us,” said Niall. “Until then, every other noble we met told us to get off his lands. And if you can help us…that would be a great thing, my lord.”

  “You helped save my life,” said Accolon. “It is the least I can do.”

  “Can I still be honest?” said Niall. Accolon nodded again. “If your father the High King, God save him, starts looking into matters in Cintarra, he might find all kinds of things he doesn’t like. The men of Ebor are not the only ones who have been forced off their lands. It’s happened to lots of others. And if I can still be honest, it’s because of the Regency Council and the Scepter Bank. They’re greedy and cruel, and they care more for money than for the people of Cintarra and the Prince’s lands. I’d wager they’re telling all kinds of lies to Prince Tywall, that he doesn’t know how his advisors are robbing his people. In fact, if your father sends someone to investigate the problems, it wouldn’t surprise me if the Regency Council sends an assassin of the Red Family after the man.”

  “Well,” said Accolon at last, “we shall see about that. Lord Ridmark had assassins of the Red Family after him before, and he beat them all.”

  Niall’s eyes widened. “I’d heard that! They said that the false king Tarrabus Carhaine and Lord Ridmark both loved the same woman, but she chose Ridmark and Tarrabus never forgave him. So, he sent assassins after Lord Ridmark.”

  “Something like that,” said Accolon. The truth was a little more complex, but Niall’s version was mostly accurate.

  Yet Niall’s words still disturbed him. Just what was happening in Cintarra?

  A memory flashed through Accolon’s mind, of a conversation he had overheard between Ridmark and Calliande. Ridmark had said that he should not have let Tarrabus banish him from the realm after the defeat of Mhalek at Dun Licinia, that he should have looked past his grief to see deeper. If Ridmark had not spent five years in the Wilderland, then perhaps much of the evil Tarrabus Carhaine worked later might have been averted.

  Had Accolon made the same mistake?

  Had he been so wrapped up in his own grief that he had failed to see the dangers right in front of him, the storm brewing in Cintarra? And his grief would have distracted his father. Might Arandar have failed to realize the growing troubles in Cintarra?

  “Caitrin,” murmured Accolon, frowning. “Caitrin was from Cintarra.”

  “I don’t know the name, my lord,” said Niall. “But lots of girls in Cintarra are named Caitrin. It’s a common name there.”

  “Caitrin Rhosmor,” said Accolon. “She was…she was a woman I met. She mentioned a few times…she said that the Master of the Scepter Bank was a greedy and cruel man. I didn’t pay enough attention at the time. Maybe I should have.” He looked Niall in the eye. “Thank you, Niall of Ebor. Kings and lords always need men to speak frankly to them.”

  Niall grinned. “Well, I’m good at that. My aunt says I’m a little too good.”

  Accolon laughed and then saw a man-at-arms running towards him.

  “Prince Accolon?” said the soldier.

  “Aye?” said Accolon.

  “Lord Ridma
rk requests you at the gate,” said the man-at-arms.

  Accolon nodded. “I’ll come at once.” He turned and clapped Niall on the shoulder. “Good fortune, Niall of Ebor. God be with you.”

  “And you, my lord,” said Niall.

  Accolon jogged after the man-at-arms and came to the rampart over the gate. Ridmark was there, along with Kharlacht, Caius, Sir Longinus, and Vegetius. Calliande and Antenora had joined them, and both sorceresses looked alarmed.

  “What’s wrong?” said Accolon, glancing to the north. He didn’t see the enemy approaching the town.

  “Antenora?” said Ridmark.

  “The Keeper and I strengthened and reinforced the ward around the stone in the forum,” said Antenora. “Unfortunately, we were not in time. Too much power built up, and another rift is going to open at any second.”

  Accolon frowned. “Do we know where?”

  “No,” said Calliande. “It will be on land somewhere within three or four miles of the stone, but where, we cannot say…”

  Even as she spoke, an arc of blue lightning rose from the town and shot past the wall. It struck the ground about fifteen yards in front of the gates, and one of the rifts appeared, shimmering with blue fire. Through the rift, Accolon saw a stone wall and something that looked like a courtyard.

  “That’s not a forest,” said Accolon.

  “Unless I’m mistaken,” said Ridmark, “that looks like the interior courtyard of a castra.”

  “We had better close it at once,” said Kharlacht.

  “Maybe not yet,” said Ridmark. He turned. “Vegetius, call the archers to the ramparts. If any enemies come through the rift, we can shoot them immediately, save ourselves the trouble later.” He rubbed his jaw. “We’ll give it an hour. If nothing comes through by then, we’ll close the rift.”

  They waited. The archers took position on the ramparts, ready to rain arrows down on anything that came through the rift.