Dragontiarna: Knights

by Moeller, Jonathan

  Hulderic stared at him and let out a long sigh.

  “Very well,” he said. “You’ve convinced me. And who am I to refuse the word of a Dragontiarna Knight?”

  “Besides,” said Angaric with a grin, “if the Signifier takes Castarium, the first thing he’s going to do with his new power is kill the Duke who took Castle Grimnir from him.”

  “Damnation,” muttered Hulderic. “That is something to consider.” He let out an irritated breath and glared at Tyrcamber. “Fine. We will march through the gate to Castarium at once. But if we all get killed or stranded on this other world, you’re the one who’s going to have to explain the mess to your father.”

  Duke Chilmar Rigamond, Tyrcamber reflected, was probably the most feared and respected lord in the Empire. But he was not loved, not even a little bit. Which was probably why he had not managed to force the election of his favored candidate to the Imperial throne.

  “If we are defeated, my lord,” said Tyrcamber, “I think my father will be the least of our worries.”

  ###

  “Do you think we can trust him?” said Calliande to Ridmark.

  Accolon waited with the Shield Knight and the Keeper as the forces of Castarium issued from the town and formed up. They had only a few horsemen, mostly knights sworn to the Comes of Castarium. They had far more footmen, though most of them were militia who drilled in the town’s forum once a month and kept their armor and weapons on hand for emergencies. They would fight fiercely enough in defense of their homes, but Accolon did not think they would last long against the goblins.

  Or against the armored giants, the creatures that Tyrcamber had called ogres.

  “Tyrcamber?” said Ridmark. “Aye, I think we can. He struck me as an honest man.” He hesitated. “His followers and allies might not be so honest, and we’ll have to make sure they don’t try to seize the town.”

  Calliande frowned. “Would they be so foolish? If they seized the town, they would be a long way from home and surrounded by powerful enemies. There is no way they could hold it.”

  “They wouldn’t need to hold it,” said Ridmark. “They could just sack and loot it, and then they would head home all the richer for it.” He shook his head. “But the Signifier would destroy us both, and God only knows what kind of evil he could wreak if he gets his hands on that menhir. No, I think the men of this Frankish Empire will stand with us against the Signifier, if only because they fear him.”

  “Tyrcamber,” said Accolon, a thought coming to him.

  Both Ridmark and Calliande looked at him. So did Kharlacht, Caius, Vegetius, and Sir Longinus.

  “What about him?” said Calliande, her voice gentle.

  “He reminds me a little of my father,” said Accolon. “Or perhaps you, Lord Ridmark. Someone who didn’t want power or authority, but had it thrust upon him by circumstance or necessity.”

  “Aye, I got that impression as well,” said Calliande. “And whatever the rank of the men of his army, I think Tyrcamber is the one in command. Sir Olivier gave the impression that Duke Hulderic is too frightened of Tyrcamber to cross him.”

  “Siegebreaker,” mused Caius. “I wonder how he got that name.”

  Kharlacht grunted. “Presumably, by breaking a siege.”

  “I wonder if that is how Sir Tyrcamber gained his authority,” said Caius. “He did not like it when Sir Olivier called him that, as if the memory pained him.”

  “Power often comes at a price,” said Ridmark.

  Accolon started to say something else and then heard boots rasping against the ground. He turned and saw Bishop Belasco hurrying towards them, flanked by two older priests. The bishop had laid aside his finery for a simple black cassock, his skullcap and ring the only signs of his rank.

  “Lord Ridmark,” said Belasco. “I thought I should tell you myself.” He stopped and sucked in a few breaths, sweat glittering on his broad brow. “The cathedral is ready to serve as a hospital, should the need arise. Also, as you commanded, I have organized groups of the town’s women and prepared supplies of water. Should these dragon creatures set anything ablaze, we will be ready to quench the fires.”

  “Good,” said Ridmark. “I am hoping to keep the fighting away from the town, but nothing is certain in war.”

  “We must trust to the mercy of God,” said Belasco. He hesitated. “Also…I have spoken with Abbot Caldorman.”

  Ridmark scowled. “More complaints, I suppose?”

  “Some,” admitted Belasco, “but a pleasant surprise. The abbot and the monks have come forth from their cloister and have volunteered to do whatever work they can. It seems the abbot realized that both the monastery and the town are in danger and is willing to do whatever he can to aid in the defense.”

  “I see,” said Ridmark, startled. Accolon shared his surprise. Abbot Caldorman had seemed so unworldly, so indifferent to the cares and worries of life that distracted a man from God. That was one of the reasons why Accolon had chosen to come to the Monastery of St. Bartholomew. “Perhaps the goblins attacking the monastery awakened him to the danger.”

  Belasco snorted. “Yes, the danger of having the crown prince hacked apart inside his courtyard. Ah…no offense intended, Prince Accolon.”

  “None taken,” said Accolon, troubled. Was that why the abbot had decided to aid the town with his resources? Fear of looking bad in front of the High King and the archbishop of Tarlion? Accolon found that disturbing. He had hoped the abbot was different than the men who had sought his favor ever since he had become crown prince, but perhaps he had been wrong.

  “We are in no position to turn away help,” said Ridmark. “We…”

  Blue light flashed around the rift, and three horsemen emerged. Tyrcamber rode the center horse, his face solemn, his golden eyes watchful. On his right rode a stout, black-bearded knight in chain mail and a crimson surcoat, his expression amused. On his left was a thin knight in black armor with an ascetic cast to his face. Tyrcamber spotted them and turned his mount, and the other knights followed.

  “Lord Ridmark,” said Tyrcamber. “May I present Sir Angaric Medraut, Knight of the Order of Embers, and Sir Daniel Tremund, Knight of the Order of the Third Eye?” He made the rest of the introductions quickly. “Duke Hulderic Grimnir and Lord Nakhrakh of Culachar are following us shortly.”

  “Then the Duke agreed to aid us?” said Ridmark.

  “Aye,” Tyrcamber. “The men of the Empire, the gnolls of Culachar, and the men of Andomhaim shall stand together against the Signifier.”

  Gnolls? Accolon wondered what gnolls were.

  Even as the thought crossed Accolon’s mind, the first soldiers began to march through the rift, some of them gaping in astonishment at the sky.

  ***

  Chapter 18: Armies

  Being a soldier, Niall had discovered, involved a great deal of hurrying up, and then standing around and doing nothing.

  When the friendly soldiers began marching through the rift, both Sir Longinus and Vegetius began shouting orders. Lord Ridmark, the golden knight, and one of the foreign nobles with a bushy beard had a brief conference, with Ridmark and the golden knight doing most of the talking, and they seemed to agree on a plan of battle. Most of the men (and those strange dog-headed creatures called gnolls) of the Empire would form up in the center, blocking the road to the town. The horsemen they possessed, both from Castarium and the Empire, would gather on the left wing of the army. Ridmark’s men-at-arms and militia would make up the right wing, and soldiers from the Order of Embers and the Order of Iron (whatever they were) would make up the reserve, ready to reinforce any group of the army that found itself hard-pressed. Lord Ridmark, the Keeper, Prince Accolon, and Lady Antenora would be on the right, along with the golden knight and the foreign nobles.

  It was odd to think of another nation of mankind. For most of Niall’s life, the High Kingdom of Andomhaim had been the only nation of humanity in this world. Then a few years ago, the gate to Owyllain had opened. That had been a strange
thought, but Niall hadn’t considered it very much. The realm of Owyllain was ruled by a Pendragon High King, just like Andomhaim, and that seemed right and proper. Besides, Niall had no intention of ever going to Owyllain, or ever traveling farther from Ebor than the city of Cintarra.

  But that had been before the enclosures had gone up, before the red orcs and Rhiain’s illness.

  And in the last day, Niall had seen goblins and ogres and a dragon, along with more magic than he had in the rest of his life combined. Once, when he had been a boy, a pair of Magistri and their guards traveling to Cintarra had stopped in Ebor to offer to heal wounds, and that had been the entire extent of magic that Niall had seen.

  Strange how things could change so much in a single day.

  Niall stood with the rest of the militiamen on the right, facing to the north. The plumes of smoke had begun to fade, though they still stained the sky. Horsemen had been riding back and forth to confer with Lord Ridmark, and Niall realized that they were scouts. They had been sent to track the Signifier’s host, and Niall understood that the enemy was coming soon.

  He shifted his grip on the shield strapped to his left arm. The unfamiliar weight made his arm sore, and the weight of his armor left an ache in his shoulders and back. Niall would not lay them aside, though, and he was grateful for the ache. He knew he wasn’t a Swordbearer like Lord Ridmark, able to stride into the enemy and slay them with every step. He wasn’t even a particularly gifted swordsman. Niall simply had a knack for fighting, but not much experience, and if he didn’t keep his shield up and his eyes open, he was going to end up dead. He didn’t want to end up dead, but he especially didn’t want to leave his aunt Rhiain alone in the world with no family.

  As if his thoughts had conjured his aunt, her voice rang in his ears.

  “Niall? Niall, lad, there you are.”

  He saw his aunt walking towards him. For the last hour, women and children had been running back and forth from the gate to the town. Lord Ridmark had allowed them to come out and bring food and water to their husbands and fathers. Niall wondered how much work it took to keep an army fed and watered while on the march and decided that he really didn’t want to know.

  But if he lived through today, he was probably going to find out.

  Rhiain stopped before him, holding a waterskin and a loaf of bread. “Here you are. Thought you had better get something to eat and drink before the fighting starts.” Her voice was brisk, efficient, the way it was when she was frightened and didn’t want him to notice.

  But he always noticed.

  “Thank you,” said Niall. He wasn’t all that hungry, but his throat was bone dry, and he probably ought to have some food. He took a bite of the bread, chewed and swallowed, and washed it down with a generous swallow of the mixed wine in the waterskin. The bread tasted a bit like fish, but everything in Castarium tasted like fish, and food was food. “How did you get…”

  “The bread, you mean?” said Rhiain. A smile went over her face. “Well, I became one of those daring master thieves like we heard about in Cintarra. Like that Wraith fellow who has been robbing the rich merchants.”

  Niall snorted. “Aye, and I’m the Prince of Cintarra.”

  “Lord Ridmark ordered that the militia and men-at-arms receive food if there was time,” said Rhiain. “He doesn’t seem like the sort of man anyone disobeys. Though it is good to see the entire town working together.” She sighed. “We never saw that sort of thing in Cintarra. Even half the men of Ebor left us before we came here.”

  “No,” said Niall. “But it took the attack of a dragon, a dark elf, and an army of goblins to make the men of Castarium pull together. Perhaps it will take something similar in Cintarra.”

  “I hope not,” said Rhiain. “Wars are terrible things.” A shadow of worry went over her features before she mastered herself. “Still, it would serve some of those greedy merchants and lordlings right if some goblin king came and took all their ill-gotten gold. Ah, but I should not talk this way, not on the eve of battle.” She drew in a deep breath. “I will pray for you, Niall. Be careful and come back to me.”

  “I will, aunt,” said Niall. He hoped he could keep that promise. Perhaps men throughout the army were making that same promise even now. “Thank you.”

  “I wonder,” said Rhiain. “Do…”

  Trumpets rang out, and the gates to the town swung open.

  “That’s the signal for the women and children to return,” said Rhiain. “The scouts must have seen the enemy coming.” She gave Niall a grave look, though a muscle kept jumping near her eye. “I expect you will conduct yourself as a man should.”

  “I will,” said Niall.

  He watched his aunt stride back to the town, her back straight. He hoped he would be able to see her again, that she wouldn’t lose yet another kinsman on this day.

  “Niall of Ebor!”

  Niall blinked and saw Vegetius jogging towards him, the older man’s face set in a scowl. “Decurion?”

  “Come with me,” said Vegetius. “Lord Ridmark wants to speak with you.”

  “Me?” said Niall, but he knew better than to backtalk or ask questions. He nodded and followed the decurion. He spotted Lord Ridmark standing with the Keeper and several of the foreign nobles. The nobles of the Empire tended to wear their beards much longer than the lords of Andomhaim, who preferred short beards or went clean-shaven. The golden-eyed knight considered Niall, and he felt an involuntary chill under those eyes. Tyrcamber Rigamond, they said his name was, but Niall wondered if Sir Tyrcamber was really human at all.

  “My lord?” said Vegetius. “I’ve got him for you.”

  “Good,” said Ridmark, turning towards Niall. “Come with me, Niall of Ebor. I have a task for you.”

  “Of course,” said Niall. He followed the Shield Knight perhaps a dozen yards from the others, far enough that they wouldn’t be overheard. “What will you have me do, my lord? If it is in my power, I will do it.”

  “I want you to stay close to Prince Accolon in the battle,” said Ridmark. “Keep watch over him.”

  “Keep watch?” said Niall. “But…begging your pardon, my lord. He’s a Swordbearer. He doesn’t need my help.”

  A grimace went over Ridmark’s face. “You’ve heard of Prince Accolon’s…bereavement?”

  That was one way to put it. From what Niall had heard, Prince Accolon had taken up with a score of different women and fathered bastards on all of them. It was an ill omen for the future, Rhiain had said, to have a prince who was so lecherous, and one day all those women would birth bastards would vie for the throne and plunge Andomhaim into civil war. One of the Prince’s lovers, the rumors said, had killed herself in grief when Accolon had spurned her. Likely that was the Caitlin Rhosmor that the prince had mentioned. Niall found those wild accounts hard to reconcile with the quiet, grim man he saw in Accolon Pendragon, but people were often surprising.

  “My aunt says it’s a sin to gossip,” said Niall.

  “So that’s a yes, then,” said Ridmark in a dry voice. His tone grew somber again. “A woman the prince cared about slew herself, and Accolon blames himself. He is the heir to the throne, and if he is slain, it will be a disaster for the realm. And in his grief, he might do something reckless. I want you to watch his back. If Accolon Pendragon comes out of this battle alive, Niall of Ebor, I will hold your debt to me discharged, and you may go wherever you wish.”

  Niall blinked. “Truly?”

  “Aye, you will have done both me and the realm of Andomhaim a great service,” said Ridmark. “I warn you this will be dangerous. A Swordbearer must go where the fighting is the hottest. Yet you seem to have an instinct for violence, Niall…and you are not a fool. You are wiser than I was at your age. I will not command you, but…”

  “I’ll do it,” said Niall at once. Another lord might have had Niall executed, and then flogged the people of Ebor and sent them on their way with warnings to never return. Ridmark had spared Niall’s life and offered to help
the villagers of Ebor find a new home.

  “Thank you,” said Ridmark. “Don’t tell anyone of this conversation. Go find Prince Accolon and tell him that I bade you to act as his squire for the battle. If he knows I commanded you to watch over him, he might refuse and send you away.”

  Niall nodded, understanding. “I will do as you command.”

  “Go,” said Ridmark. “And may God and good fortune go with you.”

  “And you, my lord,” said Niall. He bowed, turned, and jogged back to where he had spotted Prince Accolon. The prince stood with Lord Kharlacht and Bishop Caius, speaking in low voices, and they turned at his approach.

  “Ah, Niall of Ebor,” said Caius. “I am pleased that you have come unscathed through our battles so far.”

  “So am I, my lord,” said Niall, and the other men laughed. “Lord prince, Lord Ridmark said I should be your squire for the battle.”

  Accolon frowned. “A squire? I’m sure I don’t need one. Did he say why?”

  Niall didn’t know what to say. He didn’t like to lie. “He…just said you should have a squire.”

  “Likely it is because of the men of the Empire,” said Caius, frowning. Niall realized that the dwarven bishop understood the reason, even if Accolon did not. “Prince Accolon is of royal blood, so he ought to have a squire. Best to preserve the dignity of the House of Pendragon before foreigners, even if we are all on the same side.”

  Accolon frowned at that but nodded in understanding. “I didn’t think of that. My father always gets annoyed with the pomp and ceremony of kingship.”

  “But he does it anyway,” pointed out Caius, “for such things are necessary tools for kings. My own brother King Axazamar would agree, but he likewise uses ceremony when the situation requires.” He paused. “I think I shall accompany you as well, lord Prince.”

  Accolon laughed. “Two bodyguards.”

  “I did promise your father I would help look after you.”