Dragontiarna

by Jonathan Moeller

  DRAGONTIARNA: LEGIONS

  Jonathan Moeller

  ***

  Description

  Ridmark Arban is the Shield Knight, and he has long been the defender of Andomhaim from dark magic.

  But now the realm is under attack from both the sinister Dragon Cult and the brutal legions of the Heptarchy.

  And the orcish warlord Agravhask, greatest of the Heralds of Ruin, leads the Heptarchy's invasion.

  Unless Ridmark gathers all his allies, Andomhaim will fall to Agravhask's iron fist...

  ***

  Dragontiarna: Legions

  Copyright 2020 by Jonathan Moeller.

  Smashwords Edition.

  Cover design by Clarissa Yeo.

  Ebook edition published May 2020.

  All Rights Reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.

  ***

  A brief author’s note

  At the end of this book, you will find a Glossary of Characters and a Glossary of Locations listing all the major characters and locations in this book.

  A map of the realm of Andomhaim is available on the author’s website at this link (http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=4487).

  A map of the Empire is available on the author's website at this link (https://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=10514).

  ***

  Chapter 1: Enemy Of My Enemy

  Eighty-five days after it began, eighty-five days after the day in the Year of Our Lord 1491 when the sky ripped open and the dragons returned, Ridmark Arban rode north along the eastern bank of the River Cintarra.

  Ridmark had traveled alone for much of his life. He had spent years wandering through the Wilderland, partly to seek for the deadly secret of the Frostborn, partly to get himself killed in atonement for the death of his first wife Aelia, though it hadn’t worked out that way in the end. During those years, he had traveled on foot, carrying his meager possessions in a pack. Now he rode one of his own horses from his stable at Castarium, with his equipment slung in the saddlebags.

  Nor did he travel alone.

  For one, his wife Calliande rode next to him. She wore the golden armor they had taken from Cathair Selenias, her green cloak flung back from her shoulders. Her hair, almost the same color as the armor, had been bound in a thick braid that hung down her back. She had her staff tucked into her right stirrup, holding it like a knight’s lance. Her blue eyes were distant, hazy. On another woman, such an expression might have meant that she was lost in thought. For Calliande, it showed that she was drawing on the power of the Sight to watch for foes.

  Ridmark had traveled alone with Calliande a few times in the thirteen years he had known her and the eleven they had been married, but more often than not, they had traveled in the company of others.

  Right now, they rode with the gathering army of the realm of Andomhaim.

  The road north along the eastern bank of the River Cintarra was full. Horsemen in the colors of the duxarchates of Calvus and Caertigris and soldiers wearing the red dragon sigil of the Pendragons rode north. Some of the riders were knights who had squires attending them, while others were common men-at-arms, recruited into the service of the various lords and knights. To the east of the road, horsemen cantered through the grass, couriers delivering messages. The road was so clogged that it was quicker for the couriers to avoid it entirely.

  “God and the saints,” said Sir Gavin of the Northerland. “It seems you had quite a battle.”

  Calliande blinked several times, coming out of her trance, and looked back at their companions. Ridmark followed suit. After the battle of Rhudlan, Crown Prince Accolon and Queen Mara had given Ridmark command of a force of royal men-at-arms and Anathgrimm warriors. Ridmark had seized Cynan’s Tower, a castra on the island in the middle of the River Cintarra, and held it against the forces of Merovech Valdraxis and the Dragon Cult. An army could only cross the River Cintarra in three places – the great bridges in the city of Cintarra itself, the ferries near the town of Rhudlan, and the island of Cynan’s Tower. Archbishop Caelmark held the walls of Cintarra, and Accolon himself guarded Rhudlan, and it had fallen to Ridmark to defend Cynan’s Tower.

  He had done so. The battles had been sharp and bloody…but not nearly as bad as Ridmark had feared. He had half-expected the entire army of the Dragon Cult to force a crossing, or for Merovech Valdraxis and Aeliana Carhaine to show up in person and attack. Even with the Dragon Cult’s new Mhorite allies, the enemy hadn’t pushed nearly as hard as Ridmark expected. With the High King’s army arriving in force, Merovech had pulled back the bulk of his forces to his stronghold at Castra Melidern.

  Ridmark was not sure why, and he didn’t like not knowing.

  “Aye, we did, my lord,” said Sir Niall of Ebor.

  The chief knights and commanders of Ridmark’s small force rode with him. Sir Niall of Ebor was about twenty, with sweat-matted blond hair and bloodshot blue eyes. When Ridmark had met him in Castarium, there had been a sort of honest guilelessness to the young man. Niall had stolen some animals from the Monastery of St. Bartholomew to feed his ailing aunt and then had reported his crime to the monks. Niall had almost been executed for his trouble, but he had been in the courtyard of Castarium’s castra when the Dwyrstone rift opened, and Niall had proven his worth repeatedly in the battles since.

  Yet it had not come without cost. The guileless look had vanished from Niall’s face, and he looked haunted by what he had seen.

  Ridmark understood. He had seen enough wonders and terrors for a dozen lifetimes.

  Behind him rode Rhiain, Niall’s aunt. She was the Lady Rhiain now as the aunt of a knight, though of the lowest rank of nobility. Rhiain served as Calliande’s lady-in-waiting. She had decided that Calliande’s wishes were second only to a command from God Himself and set about enforcing Calliande’s will with polite yet iron-handed efficiency.

  Sir Ricatus Eborium, Niall’s former lord, rode next to the young knight. Sir Ricatus was middle-aged, lean, and tough, a perpetually sour look to his face. Ridmark did not like him, but Ricatus had proven to be a skilled warrior and tactician, and it would have been far harder to hold Cynan’s Tower without his help.

  The other two commanders of Ridmark’s force were elsewhere. Hhazakar, centurion of the Anathgrimm, marched with his warriors. The Anathgrimm did not like horses, though they rode them at need, and given how heavy the spiny orcs were, horses were not all that fond of them either. There was no trace of Warlord Shalmathrak and his ghost orc rangers, though given their powers of invisibility, that was unsurprising. Likely the ghost orcs had decided to keep some distance from the host of Andomhaim. The alliance between the Shaluuskan orcs and the Crown Prince was a new and fragile thing, and centuries of enmity threatened to disrupt it.

  “And I thought things were turbulent in the Northerland,” said Gavin. He was a vigorous Swordbearer in his late twenties, strong and fit, with brown eyes and curly brown hair. Gavin wore chain mail beneath a surcoat adorned with the white hart sigil of Dux Constantine Licinius of the Northerland, and the soulblade Truthseeker hung in a scabbard at his hip. Ridmark remembered when Gavin had first carried that sword out of the ancient citadel of Urd Morlemoch.

  The stronghold of the Warden…and the true power behind the Dragon Cult and the Heralds of Ruin.

  “How so?” said Calliande.

  “The medvarth tribes are rai
ding into the Northerland again,” said Gavin, “and a chieftain of the Qazaluuskan orcs think the omens decree it is a good time to attack Andomhaim.”

  “He is not wrong, husband,” said Antenora, Gavin’s wife and Calliande’s apprentice, the heir to the mantle of the Keeper of Andomhaim. She had thick black hair and deep blue eyes and looked about Gavin’s age, which was remarkable given that she had seen fifteen centuries or so. “The full strength of the realm will be needed to defeat the Dragon Cult. The medvarth and Qazaluuskan tribes may see an opportunity.”

  Gavin shook his head. “Dux Constantine couldn’t bring all his men south. He had to leave some to garrison Castra Marcaine and the other strongholds of the Northerland.”

  “We could have used those men, Swordbearer,” said Ricatus. He spoke more respectfully to Gavin than Ridmark would have expected, but Gavin was a Swordbearer, one of the Knights of the Order of the Soulblade. Ricatus felt disdain for nearly everyone but was careful to hide it in the presence of his social equals or superiors.

  “Aye,” said Gavin, “but it’s difficult to get men to fight when their homes might be burned in their absence.”

  “Many men of Cintarra have lost their homes,” said Ricatus. “My own benefice of Ebor, for example.”

  “Yes,” said Niall, something flashing in his eyes, “how regrettable that your sheep are no longer able to graze upon the farmland you enclosed from the freeholders.”

  A smile went over Ricatus’s hard face. “I acted within my rights and the law, Sir Niall. If you found the law disagreeable, that is no concern of mine.”

  “Given how much the enclosures weakened Cintarra,” said Niall, “perhaps you should have been concerned.”

  “Nor is the law always just,” said Rhiain. Ricatus scowled. “In the scriptures, it was the law to bow down and worship the great golden image of King Nebuchadnezzar, and…”

  “Yes, thank you, your opinion of the great affairs of the realm is always most welcome,” said Ricatus.

  Rhiain, Ricatus, and Niall all started to speak at once. Ridmark drew breath to stop the argument before it spiraled out of control, but Calliande beat him to it.

  “Given that the Dragon Cult now holds Ebor,” said Calliande, “likely Ricatus’s sheep have been slaughtered to feed Merovech’s army, and Ebor has been given to one of the knights of the Dragon Cult.”

  “That is true,” said Niall. He looked a little chagrined. Ricatus only seemed annoyed, but he scowled and turned a sour look in the direction of the river.

  “Lady Calliande is right,” said Rhiain.

  “You agree with the Keeper, my lady?” said Ricatus, still scowling at the river. “I will try not to fall from my horse in shock.”

  “There is no point in arguing over Ebor,” said Rhiain, “given that the Dragon Cult holds it, and most of the western bank of the River Cintarra.”

  “But not for long,” said Gavin. “The gathered army of the High King can break the Cult, seize Castra Melidern, and then Lady Calliande can close the last gate to this…other world, the Frankish Empire.”

  “Aye,” said Ridmark. Talking of the Frankish Empire, as it always did, sent his thoughts turning to Third and Selene. They had fallen through the Great Eye, and its magic would have deposited them in the Frankish Empire. Ridmark hoped they were safe, wherever they were. Still, if anyone could survive in an alien land, it would be Third and Selene. And if Tyrcamber Rigamond found them, he would offer aid. Though from what Ridmark had gathered, the Frankish Empire was at least as large as Andomhaim, maybe even larger than Andomhaim and Owyllain put together. The odds of two women finding one man in such a large realm were quite small.

  He hoped Third and Selene could find their way home before Calliande and the Magistri closed the gate at Castra Melidern.

  Assuming, of course, that the army of Andomhaim could overcome Merovech and the Dragon Cult.

  “Congratulations, by the way, on your knighthood, Sir Niall,” said Antenora. Embarrassment flickered over Niall’s face. The grim lessons of war hadn’t yet driven all the guilelessness from him. “You have come a long way since Castarium.”

  “Lord Ridmark saw fit to knight me,” said Niall.

  Calliande smiled. “Aren’t you going to tell her why?” She grinned at Antenora. “Niall saved Accolon’s life for a second time when the Heptarchy orcs tried to storm the harbor of Cintarra. And he helped Sir Rufinius hold Rhudlan against the Dragon Cult. If not for him, Comes Lhanwyn would have joined Merovech and brought Rhudlan over in the bargain.”

  Niall swallowed and looked at the pommel of his saddle. Ridmark wasn’t entirely sure what had happened at Rhudlan, but he gathered that Lhanwyn’s daughter Pompeia had seduced Niall to control him. That hadn’t worked, so instead, Pompeia had poisoned him and opened the gates to the enemy. In the resultant battle, Niall had killed Lhanwyn, and Pompeia had been slain by goblin arrows. Her death seemed to be one of the ghosts that haunted Niall.

  He would get over it in time, Ridmark judged. What Niall really needed was to find another woman, one without Pompeia’s malicious heart, to wash away the memory of the Comes’s traitorous daughter. Ridmark supposed that problem would take care of itself eventually. Niall was brave, well-respected, and friends with the Crown Prince. Likely some young noblewoman or merchant’s daughter would set her sights upon him before too much longer. Given that Niall was Ridmark’s vassal, he could help the young knight find a wife.

  Or he could just have Calliande do it – she had arranged any number of successful marriages during her years as the Keeper, and if anyone could find Niall a wife, she could.

  Assuming Niall did not fall in the battles to come.

  “Those are bold deeds, sir,” said Gavin.

  Niall shrugged, still embarrassed. “I just tried to keep my head, sir knight, and was surprised that I survived.”

  “It always feels that way after a battle,” said Gavin.

  Ricatus smirked, turning his gaze from the river. “Are you going to tell Sir Gavin what they call you for it, Sir Niall? Sir Niall Lordsbane, because he killed both an abbot and the Comes of Castarium. Best take care around him, my lord Gavin. Perhaps it is not safe for nobles to be near the Lordsbane.”

  Niall sighed. “I didn’t ask for anyone to call me that.”

  “And Comes Lhanwyn was a vile blackguard who betrayed both the Crown Prince and the Dominus Christus to join the Dragon Cult,” said Rhiain. “He got what he deserved.”

  “That he did,” said Ricatus. “Stupidity often brings its own bitter reward, does it not?”

  Ricatus was less concerned that Comes Lhanwyn had betrayed Accolon than how foolishly Lhanwyn had gone about it. Which was another reason that Ridmark did not completely trust him.

  “I will ride back and speak with Hhazakar and the Anathgrimm,” said Ridmark. Best to get Niall away from Ricatus before the older knight provoked him into a fight. Ricatus could control himself well enough in the face of the enemy, but without an immediate foe, his tendency towards abrasive arrogance reasserted itself. “We should…”

  He fell silent. A man-at-arms in the green and white of Dux Constantine rode towards them, looking up and down the column. He spotted Ridmark and fell in alongside them.

  “Lord Shield Knight, Sir Gavin,” said the soldier. “I come from Dux Constantine. He sends his compliments and asks that you speak with him.”

  “Of course,” said Ridmark. “Where is the Dux?”

  “About two miles further north along the road,” said the rider.

  Ridmark nodded. “We’ll speak with the Dux as soon as we can. Please let him know we are coming.”

  The rider offered a quick bow from the saddle, turned his horse, and rode off to the south, no doubt to deliver more messages.

  “It seems the Dux wishes your counsel again, husband,” said Antenora.

  Gavin laughed. “Or he wants to reminisce with Lord Ridmark. They’ve known each other since long before you and I ever met.”

  “O
r before Ridmark and I ever met,” said Calliande with a smile.

  Ridmark repressed a sigh, feeling his age. He had, indeed, known Constantine Licinius for a long time. Constantine had been a page and then a squire when Ridmark had been a Swordbearer at old Dux Gareth’s court. Ridmark had married Constantine’s sister Aelia.

  Constantine’s other sister Imaria had tried to kill Ridmark repeatedly.

  He glanced at Calliande and felt a little foolish. She was far older than he was, though she had been locked in magical sleep for most of those two and a half centuries. And Antenora was fifteen centuries old. Third had seen a thousand years or more…

  As always, Ridmark felt a mixture of worry and regret when he thought of Third, but he pushed the thought aside. He could do nothing to help Third and Selene now. And the bald fact was that Third and Selene were probably better able to look after themselves than nearly anyone else Ridmark had ever met.

  “This way,” said Ridmark.

  He steered his horse off the road, Calliande, Niall, Gavin, Antenora, and Rhiain following. Sir Ricatus came as well. Ridmark would have preferred that Ricatus remain behind, but he had no good reason to forbid the knight from coming. Perhaps Ricatus thought he could get a benefice out of Constantine. It was well-known that the Northerland was surrounded by foes to the north and the east, and Dux Constantine would welcome any man willing to wield a sword and hold lands against the medvarth tribes, the bone orcs, and the khaldjari. Perhaps if Ricatus transferred his allegiance to Dux Constantine, he would cease to be Ridmark’s problem. Though Ridmark could not do that to his former brother-in-law.

  They rode north along the line of the road. Ridmark urged his horse to a canter, and the animal responded with enthusiasm. Perhaps the horse was frustrated as well by the plodding pace. Ridmark noted the various banners and sigils he saw. It was an encouraging sign. The High King could summon the nobles of Andomhaim for battle, but not all the nobles would answer the call, some finding excuses to remain at home.