At least for now.
“A strange story,” said Hulderic. “If I had not lived it myself, I would not have believed the tale.”
“Many have had such experiences since the Valedictor invaded the Empire, my lord,” said Tyrcamber.
“I suppose,” said Hulderic. “Still, I wonder. Was this a freak happening, a chance occurrence, or part of some larger design?”
“It seems like a chance occurrence,” said Tyrcamber, “save for the presence of these Drakocenti cultists in Andomhaim.” Hulderic spat upon the ground. “Their doctrines seemed similar to those of the Dragon Cult, and their symbol is the same.”
Tyrcamber wondered if the Theophract had somehow traveled to Andomhaim and founded the Drakocenti in the same way that he had created the Dragon Cult within the Empire.
“Damned cultists,” said Hulderic. “I hope Count Ridmark hangs the lot of them when he digs them out of their holes.” He grunted. “Well, he has his problems, we have ours. Who knows? We will likely never see Andomhaim again, and we must attend to our own difficulties. You are leaving tomorrow?”
“Aye,” said Tyrcamber. “I am taking the contingents from the Order of Embers and the Order of Iron, along with the gnoll mercenaries, and am marching back to Sinderost. My father and the loyalist Dukes need to hear of our victory at Castle Grimnir. And with Valstrasia liberated, no doubt our soldiers will be needed elsewhere. Perhaps the Dukes will move against the traitorous Duke Merovech and the Dragon Cult next, or the Fallen Order.”
Hulderic nodded. “Tell your father that I will come with my forces as soon as Valstrasia has been put to order. We must elect a new Emperor to sit upon the Imperial throne, and soon.” He smiled. “But first, you have a happier duty to attend to, do you not?”
“Aye,” said Tyrcamber. He repressed the urge to sigh. “I suppose I do.”
Hulderic grinned. “My congratulations to you, sir. Try not to wear out your new bride on the first night, eh?”
Tyrcamber said nothing. He knew his father had found a wife for him, and he wondered again who his father hated enough to inflict a Dragontiarna husband upon her.
But Tyrcamber had his duty, and a marriage alliance between the noble houses of Chalons and Carnost would help defend the Empire.
Tyrcamber bade Duke Hulderic farewell and turned his horse towards the broken gate to rejoin his men.
***
Chapter 24: The High King
Five days after the fall of the Signifier, the forces of both High King Arandar Pendragon and Dux Tormark Arban of Taliand arrived at Castarium. Arandar had brought a thousand knights and two thousand footmen, and Tormark had called five hundred knights and a thousand footmen to his side. Both the High King and the Dux had Magistri and Swordbearers with them, and together their combined force would have been enough to smash the Signifier’s forces.
But by the time they had arrived, Castarium would have been ashes if not for the help of the men of the Empire.
Ridmark hosted the High King and his eldest brother in the great hall of the castra, along with their chief lords and knights, and Ridmark told them what had happened, about the rifts, the men of the Empire, Valmark’s death, the treachery of the abbot and the Drakocenti, and the final battle outside the walls of the town. The High King and the nobles listened in grave silence, interrupting from time to time with questions. Though despite the new threat to his realm, Arandar looked relieved.
Likely the sight of Accolon no longer wearing a monk’s robe was a welcome one.
“God and the saints, Ridmark,” said Tormark once the tale was done. Ridmark’s eldest brother looked a great deal like him, with the same blue eyes and graying black hair. Tormark outweighed him by a good eighty or ninety pounds, a margin that seemed to increase with each passing year. The Dux of Taliand had no one to check his tendency towards gluttony, and Tormark’s dinners at Castra Arban were the stuff of legend. “You seem to find trouble wherever you go.”
“I don’t seek it out,” said Ridmark. “It always seems to find me.”
“It is well that you were here,” said Arandar. “Had you and Calliande been elsewhere, the town of Castarium would have been destroyed, my son slain, and a dark elven lord would have taken the castra as his own personal stronghold.” He paced a few steps, frowning. The High King of Andomhaim looked a great deal like his son, but his face was more lined, his hair grayer, his posture wearier. “When I asked you to take this benefice as its Comes, it was to help keep the stability and order of the realm. Little did I imagine that it would prove so significant.” He smiled a little. “Though as your brother said, perhaps I should not have been surprised.”
“What is to be done with the monastery and its lands?” said Tormark. “Caldorman was an apostate and a traitor, and many of the other monks might be as well.”
“I have tested them, Lord Tormark,” said Calliande. “None of the others bore the mark that Prince Accolon and Niall saw upon Caldorman and Simon.”
“Nevertheless, some of the monks will likely be at least sympathetic to the Drakocenti,” said Tormark. “You know what monastic houses are like. No one has any secrets from anyone within those walls. The abbot’s officers might all have been Drakocenti, but at least some of the monks might have known what was going on.”
Calliande had no answer for that. Tormark’s argument was a good one.
“The archbishop of Tarlion has authority over the monastery, he will have to act,” said Arandar. “If you or I dissolved the monastery and seized its lands, we would have a conflict with the church, and if a new threat is coming, we can ill-afford that.” He tapped his fingers against the pommel of Excalibur, which hung at his belt. “I will have the archbishop send his men to question everyone in the monastery thoroughly and go over their records. Or perhaps I can convince him to put the monastery under the authority of Bishop Belasco of Castarium.”
“He would enjoy that,” said Ridmark. “He has something of a grudge against the Monastery of St. Bartholomew.”
“A deserved one,” said Accolon. “I think the more urgent question is what we are going to do about the Drakocenti and Cintarra.” He faced the High King. “Father, I am your son, so I shall speak bluntly, as a son should to his father. I think we have allowed matters in Cintarra to stand unchallenged for far too long.” Niall watched the prince, his expression intent over his new blue surcoat with Ridmark’s silver shield sigil. “I know the Prince of Cintarra has long had authority over the city, an authority the High Kings respected. I know that the Regency Council has been ruling in young Prince Tywall’s name. But there are abuses in Cintarra that have gone unchecked for too long. Perhaps the lords of Cintarra have the legal right to drive their commoners from their land…”
“They do not,” said Arandar. “Not without the approval of the Prince of Cintarra himself. A detail I’m sure the Regency Council has overlooked. Or obtained from a child Prince without explaining the matter.”
“But these sheep enclosures are causing too much harm to the High Kingdom,” said Accolon. “Cintarra is in disarray, and how will it raise an army in defense of itself or the realm? What if another rift opens and more goblins attack? Or if these mysterious red orcs are the vanguard of an advancing army from the Deeps? Cintarra would not be able to defend itself.” His voice hardened. “And it seems that the corruption and greed in Cintarra have opened it to darker evils. The Drakocenti monks almost certainly fled west to Cintarra. Abbot Caldorman transferred much of the monastery’s wealth to the Scepter Bank of Cintarra. The Keeper saw that the Dwyrstone was linked to something in Cintarra.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Lady Caitrin Rhosmor was a Cintarran noblewoman. Again and again, the signs point to Cintarra. There is something wrong there, father, and we must act.”
“I agree,” said Arandar. He took a deep breath. “Which is why I am sending you to investigate.”
Accolon blinked. “Me?”
“Yes, you,” said Arandar. “It is past time you took a more active ha
nd in governing the realm, Accolon. I understood your grief…but I thought you shouldn’t blame yourself for what happened.”
“It seems you were right,” said Accolon. He sighed. “More right than you knew.”
“I will not force you to do this,” said Arandar. “But I think you should. And you will have more motivation than most to uncover the truth.”
Accolon gave a sharp nod. “I will do it, father. I will go to Cintarra, set right what has gone wrong there…and root out the Drakocenti before they can harm the realm the way the Enlightened of Incariel did.”
“Good,” said Arandar. “Before you go, I will prepare documents giving you full royal authority in Cintarra, invoking my rights as the overlord of Prince Tywall. You will have the authority to investigate anyone you chose, seize the lands of any noble you wish, and dismiss any members of the Regency Council. You can dismiss all of them if you choose.”
“They may not surrender their power willingly,” said Ridmark.
“No, my friend,” said Arandar. “Which is why I would like you to go with him.”
“I suppose I walked into that one,” said Ridmark, and the men and women in the hall laughed. But he had suspected Arandar would propose something like this, and Ridmark was more than willing to accompany Accolon. Ridmark, too, wanted to get to the bottom of this mystery.
“I’m afraid that will come with more titles,” said Arandar. “I will name you the magister militum of the knights and men-at-arms I will send with Accolon, for I intend to send a strong force with him to back up his authority.” He looked at Calliande. “Keeper, if you would accompany them, I would be grateful. If there is dark magic in Cintarra, you have the best chance of defeating it.”
Calliande smiled. “That is true, lord King. And a wife should not be separated from her husband. I would go with Lord Ridmark in any event.”
“Then if it is all decided,” said Ridmark, “we will leave tomorrow.”
###
Accolon stood outside the town, where the battle had been fought days before. It was just as well Tyrcamber’s gnollish allies enjoyed carrion so much. The creatures had devoured most of the slain goblins and ogres, and the remaining corpses had been burned with relatively little effort.
Once again, the fields outside of Castarium had been transformed into a bustling army camp. Accolon would go to Cintarra with a thousand men-at-arms and five hundred knights. It was a strong force, and hopefully, it would be enough to compel the Regency Council to comply with his demands.
Accolon intended to make a great many demands.
His father had always attempted to rule justly, and Accolon had seen the strain of that on Arandar Pendragon, the cost it exacted from him. Something within Accolon had always recoiled from the necessary harshness, but that part of him had died when Caldorman had gloated about Caitrin’s murder. It was hard for a king to do what was necessary to secure justice in his realm.
But the consequences of a failure to enforce justice were much worse.
The men of Ebor, driven from their lands.
The monastery of St. Bartholomew, a nest of corruption and Drakocenti cultists.
Caitrin hanging from the ceiling of her room, her tongue bulging over her swollen lips. Once, that memory had brought Accolon grief and guilt. Now it brought him grief and rage. He hadn’t driven her to suicide. Had Caldorman not killed her, she might now still be at his side, and he would hold his bastard child in his arms.
His firstborn. Or the child that would have been his firstborn.
Accolon realized that he had been desperate to avenge Caitrin, but he had blamed himself, so he had punished himself by going to the monastery.
But that had all been for nothing.
Or maybe it had been a necessary pilgrimage, similar to how the Dominus Christus had spent forty days and forty nights in the desert to be tempted by the Adversary. Because Accolon had come here to show penance for his sins, and he had learned the truth at great cost. Caitrin had been murdered, and it was up to Accolon to bring justice to Cintarra.
Then and there, Accolon made a vow to himself. He would not run from his responsibilities ever again. And when the time came to administer justice, he would do so to the best of his ability.
Perhaps when he returned from Cintarra, he would ask his father to find him a wife. It was past time for Accolon to start fathering legitimate children who could inherit if he died.
It was another responsibility.
He heard boots rasp against the ground and turned.
Calliande Arban walked towards him, wearing her green tunic and cloak, the worn staff of the Keeper in her right hand.
“Lady Calliande,” said Accolon with an incline of his head. “Are you looking for me?”
“Not on purpose,” said Calliande. “One of Tormark’s knights fell from his horse and broke his leg, and the Dux asked me to heal him.”
“Very politely, I imagine,” said Accolon.
Calliande laughed. “Ridmark’s brothers all like me better than they like him for some reason. Well, I suppose they all expected him to get killed in the Wilderland, not return to Andomhaim and get married.” She sighed. “It was hard for Ridmark to tell Tormark of poor Valmark’s death. Sir Valmark deserved better.”
“At least it was quick,” said Accolon, though he knew that was cold comfort.
“Aye,” said Calliande. “And how are you, lord Prince?”
“I am well,” said Accolon.
“Are you really?”
Accolon blinked. “That’s a…rather direct question.”
“It is. But I am the Keeper, and it is the Keeper’s task to advise the High King of Andomhaim about matters of magic,” said Calliande. “If I am still alive when your father passes to the side of the Dominus Christus, then one day I will advise you. And you just had an encounter with dark magic.”
“I did,” said Accolon. “And I am…” He thought about it. “I am angry. If the Drakocenti are responsible for Caitrin’s death, I will see them brought low for it. And if the Drakocenti are fomenting discord in Cintarra as Lord Ridmark fears, then I will see them destroyed utterly.” He shook his head. “The Enlightened of Incariel almost slew my father and me before anyone ever thought we would have a path to the throne. I will not allow the Drakocenti to harm the realm as the Enlightened did.”
“Then you no longer blame yourself for her death?” said Calliande.
“No,” said Accolon, unable to decide if he should be annoyed at the question or not.
“I ask because I understand,” said Calliande, voice quiet. “You remember what I was like after my daughter died.” Accolon nodded. After Joanna’s death, Calliande had seemed like a pale, gaunt shadow of herself, not the vigorous woman who stood before him now. “There was nothing I could have done to save Joanna. Nothing anyone could have done. But I still blamed myself. I don’t think there is anything that anyone could have done to save Caitrin. How could we defend ourselves from a foe we didn’t even know existed?”
“No, I don’t blame myself,” said Accolon. “She died because of me, because she was close to me…but that lies with the Drakocenti, not me. I blame them. And to cleanse their evil from the realm, I am going to find them.” He drew a deep breath. “I have wasted enough time in meaningless self-recrimination.”
“Good,” said Calliande. “I am glad to hear it.”
“How many High Kings have you advised, my lady?” said Accolon.
Calliande blinked. “Counting your father and grandfather? Ah…four, all told.”
Accolon smiled. “Then I hope that one day, I have the privilege of being the fifth.”
###
That evening Calliande was wearied from multiple healings, so Ridmark decided to take Rhoanna and Joachim for a walk so his wife could rest.
They walked along the ramparts of the castra’s outer wall, looking towards the southern sea. The sun slipped away to the west, painting the waters red. The nurse Lucilla followed, in case the children had
any needs.
“Sea!” said Rhoanna in his arms, pointing at the water.
“It’s not the sea,” said Joachim with an air of gracious superiority. “It’s called the ocean.”
“Both words are correct,” said Ridmark.
“Sea,” said Rhoanna with some satisfaction.
“Did you really kill the dragon, Father?” said Joachim.
“No,” said Ridmark. “Sir Tyrcamber did that.” He didn’t want to talk about the battle with his children, but they knew what had happened. If anything, they would hear about it from the servants. So, he had told Joachim a very condensed version of what had happened.
“Dragon,” said Rhoanna, her voice solemn.
Ridmark blinked, a memory swimming to the surface of his mind. After he had heard the petitions in the great hall, after he had spared Niall (which had turned out to be an excellent decision), Rhoanna had come running to him. She had talked about a dragon and pointed at the top of the keep.
At precisely the location where the green dragon had briefly landed during the battle in the courtyard.
Ridmark looked at his daughter. She gazed back up at him with deep, innocent blue eyes. He realized he would fight a thousand battles like the one outside Castarium if that was what it took to keep her and Joachim and Gareth safe.
“Father,” she said.
“Yes?” Ridmark said.
She looked so serious. “Red sword.”
“A red sword?” said Ridmark.
“Red sword,” repeated Rhoanna, and then she yawned, closed her eyes, and rested her head against his shoulder.
“Why is she talking about a red sword?” said Joachim.
“I don’t know,” said Ridmark.
Calliande was certain Rhoanna was showing no signs of magical ability.
Dragontiarna: Knights Page 32
