Dragontiarna

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Then we can expect another to bear the sword?” said Chilmar. He scowled. “No doubt this new bearer will rush to the side of Theudeuric.”

  “Or to Merovech and the Dragon Cult in Andomhaim,” said Third. “Though at our last meeting, Theudeuric almost slew me with Shadowruin. Perhaps if we meet again, things will turn out differently.”

  “Let us hope so,” said Everard. “But your tidings are good, Guardian. The aid of the cloak elves and a new Dragontiarna Knight. Glad tidings indeed.”

  “Good news it may be,” said Chilmar, “but it does not change our strategy. Once you are crowned Emperor, we must march north to destroy the Fallen Order.”

  The discussion turned to plans for the coronation. Soon the Dukes of the Empire would gather in the great hall of the Imperial Palace. Each Duke would cast his vote, and Chilmar had ensured that the Dukes would all vote for Everard. Then Everard and the nobles would proceed to the Imperial Cathedral, where the bishop of the city would anoint Everard with holy oil and place the crown upon his head. There would be a feast of celebration, and once the feast was over, the army would march north to Corbrast and Castle Aginwulf, where the Order of Blood had established itself.

  “The Emperor’s council is dining tonight to settle plans for the coronation,” said Chilmar. “The Dukes shall attend with their chief Counts, along with the five Masters of the Imperial Orders. I should like you to attend as well, Guardian.”

  Rilmael inclined his head. “As always, the Emperors of the Franks shall have my counsel.” He smiled. “A habit of eight centuries is a hard one to break.”

  Chilmar barked his harsh laugh. “Ha! I imagine so.” He looked at Tyrcamber. “I have no right to command Dragontiarna Knights, but I would like you and Lady Ruari there as well. Prince Everard shall be the Emperor, and so if you are seen supporting him, that will help keep the Dukes in line.”

  “We will be there,” said Tyrcamber.

  “Lady Third,” said Everard. “Traditionally, the Dragontiarna Knights have always been sworn to the Emperor of the Franks. But I know that your allegiance is already to your sister and the High King of Andomhaim, and I would not ask you to foreswear it…”

  “My first loyalty is to my friends and my homeland,” said Third. “But if you wish, I will swear an oath to do whatever I can to defend the Empire, so long as it does not threaten Andomhaim or my sister’s realm.”

  Chilmar grunted. “Some knights and lesser counts accept fiefs from multiple lords. Some get away with it, at least until their liege lords go to war against each other.”

  Selene grinned. “But Andomhaim and the Frankish Empire are on different worlds. The odds of the High King and the Emperor going to war are quite low. Especially given that we all have so many more dangerous enemies close to home.”

  “And if there is a war between the Emperor and the High King, I will put a stop to it. Two great realms of mankind should not be foes, not when they have so many other powerful enemies,” said Third. Her voice was quiet, without bravado or boasting, which made the promise all the more effective. “But I do not think it will be likely. It is hard enough to sustain a war across a river or an ocean. A war across the vast gulfs between worlds through a magical gate? Far harder.”

  “The Empire will be grateful for any aid that you can render,” said Everard. “Go and rest. Chilmar, they shall be guests at your mansion?” The Duke of Chalons nodded. “Rest and refresh yourselves from your journey, my friends. We shall see you tonight at the feast.”

  With that, the audience was over, and they walked through the great hall and back into the wide courtyard of the Imperial Palace.

  “Well,” said Angaric. “That was refreshing.”

  “How so?” said Tyrcamber.

  The squires and pages converged on them, leading their horses.

  “To see the Guardian of Cathair Kaldran bearing good news,” said Angaric.

  Rilmael snorted. “If I am associated with bad news, sir knight, it is because I come when I am needed. But I see your point. The alliance with Cathair Kaldran and a new Dragontiarna Knight is nothing but good news for the Empire.” He rubbed his jaw. “Though I wish I could have destroyed Ghostruin, or at least had time to examine it.”

  “In his cunning, the Theophract prepared to reclaim the sword,” said Third. “He knew that Solthalis would likely perish but would do great harm to his own people before he fell.”

  “Aye, the poor damned fool,” said Rilmael. Solthalis had been in love with Daalna, the High Captain of the Rangers of Cathair Kaldran. Yet he had waited for her to love him, rather than attempting to win her heart, and his love had festered into madness. Tyrcamber could not understand such passivity, but nonetheless felt a flicker of pity for the man.

  Not that it would have stayed his hand from striking down Solthalis. The former Sentinel of Cathair Kaldran had killed a lot of innocent people.

  “But even if I could not have destroyed Ghostruin, I would have liked to examine it,” said Rilmael. “The sword was too powerful.”

  “What do you mean?” said Tyrcamber.

  “High elven soulblades are weapons of defense against dark magic,” said Rilmael. “I know their limits. Ghostruin channeled far greater dark magic than should have been possible.”

  “The Keeper said the Warden forged the corrupted soulblades,” said Third, “and the Warden is a wizard of tremendous might.”

  “Aye, that is my fear,” said Rilmael. “That the Warden imbued the dark soulblades with powers we do not understand.”

  “Then we’ll just have to kill Master Theudeuric,” said Selene, “and you can examine Shadowruin at leisure.”

  “You have a very direct approach to problems, my lady,” said Angaric.

  “I find the direct approach is often the best,” said Selene. “We…”

  “Sir Tyrcamber! Sir Tyrcamber!”

  Tyrcamber turned his head. A squire rode towards him, swaying in the saddle. The squire was a gangly boy of about twelve or thirteen, wearing a red surcoat adorned with the stylized image of a castle tower perched on a cliff. Tyrcamber had seen the sigil before somewhere among the nobles of the Empire, but he could not place it.

  “Aye, lad?” said Tyrcamber. “What is it?”

  “My master the Count Niamar of Eichenfel sends his greetings, Sir Tyrcamber,” said the squire. His voice cracked on the last word. The poor boy seemed to be nervous in the presence of three Dragontiarna Knights and the Guardian of Cathair Kaldran. “He and the Countess Sigurd humbly ask for your counsel concerning a matter of the Order of Blood.”

  “The Countess Sigurd?” said Tyrcamber and then recalled where he had seen the sigil before.

  It had been years ago, on the eve of the Valedictor’s invasion, when Tyrcamber had still been a knight of the Order of Embers. Though with the tangle of memory the Chamber of the Sight had left inside his head, it felt like thousands of years ago, which was why he had not remembered it at once. The umbral elves of Sygalynon had been bitter enemies of the Valedictor and had made peace with the Empire rather than join the Valedictor’s army. Tyrcamber and some knights of the Order of Embers had escorted the Imperial Chancellor to the city of Falconberg, where he had negotiated the treaty with the First of Sygalynon. But during the negotiations, a chapter of the Dragon Cult had kidnapped the daughter of the Shield of Falconberg, and Tyrcamber, Angaric, and Rilmael had rescued her.

  And though Tyrcamber had never told Angaric, he had spent a very enjoyable night with Sigurd Rincimar before they left the next day. Tyrcamber had never expected to see her again, and Sigurd had wound up marrying Niamar Eichenfel, the second most powerful nobleman in Ribaria after Duke Cormarl Scuinar himself.

  Why would Sigurd and her husband want to talk to Tyrcamber about the Fallen Order?

  “Very well,” said Tyrcamber. “I will speak with Count Niamar.” He looked at the others. “I think you should go and rest. I’ll let you know if Count Niamar has anything of importance to say.”

 
; “You seem dubious,” said Selene.

  “This might be some petty intrigue about the Free Cities,” said Tyrcamber. “You and Lady Third are not from the Empire, so you may not know the history. The Imperial Free Cities are sworn only to the Emperor, and the local Dukes and Counts have no authority over them.”

  “Which the Dukes and Counts do not appreciate?” said Third.

  Tyrcamber started to answer, but Angaric spoke first. It was more amusing than annoying. Angaric loved history and never passed a chance to lecture on the topic.

  “Precisely so, my lady,” said Angaric. “Duke Cormarl especially hates the Imperial Free City of Falconberg, because its merchants are wealthy, and he cannot touch their trade since they send most of their cargoes by sea. The chief magistrate of Falconberg is called the Shield, and some years ago, his daughter Sigurd married Count Niamar of Eichenfel. Niamar is a vassal of Duke Cormarl, but they hate each other. I think Niamar married Sigurd simply to annoy Duke Cormarl…and to let the merchant traffic of Falconberg pass through his lands without hindrance.”

  “So the free city of Falconberg and Count Niamar are essentially allied against Niamar’s overlord Duke Cormarl,” said Third. “That is what Cormarl was complaining about to Prince Everard and Duke Chilmar.”

  “Correct,” said Angaric. “But before the Valedictor’s invasion began, Sir Tyrcamber, the Guardian, and I were in Falconberg. Through daring and valor, we wound up saving the future Countess Sigurd from the Dragon Cult, who wanted to use her blood in a ritual to destroy the city.” Angaric grinned at Ruari. “Sigurd was quite grateful, especially to Sir Tyrcamber. I daresay our Sir Tyrcamber could have swept Sigurd off her feet…but, fortunately, Sir Tyrcamber had a far greater beauty waiting in his future.”

  “For God’s sake,” sighed Tyrcamber.

  Ruari raised an eyebrow and wrote on her tablet, turning it to face Angaric.

  YOU NEED TO WORK ON YOUR FLATTERY.

  “This might be a squabble between lords,” said Selene. “Or Niamar might have information about the Fallen Order…and Cormarl is refusing to let him share it with Prince Everard. But since you saved Sigurd’s life, they can talk to you directly.”

  “Yes,” said Tyrcamber. He took a deep breath. “I will speak with Count Niamar.”

  “Go,” said Rilmael. “We’ll await you at Duke Chilmar’s mansion.”

  “I’d like you to come with me,” said Tyrcamber to Ruari, and she nodded. She was good at reading people, and she might notice something that escaped his attention. For that matter, Tyrcamber did not want to meet a former lover without his wife present. Likely it was vanity that he worried Sigurd might want to resume their former relationship, but Tyrcamber was one of the most powerful men in the Empire. After his transformation and the defeat of the Valedictor, not a few noblewomen had made subtle hints that they would be happy to become a Dragontiarna Knight’s mistress. Some of the hints had been less than subtle. Tyrcamber had stayed away from them all, too shaken by the horror of his transformation to take another lover.

  Then his father had insisted that he marry Ruari Tetrax…and everything had changed.

  “I will come as well,” announced Angaric. He grinned behind his bushy beard. “I am sure that the Countess shall be pleased to greet one of her rescuers.”

  “Don’t try to seduce her,” said Tyrcamber. “The last thing the Empire needs is a conflict between the Order of Embers and a powerful lord because you tried to bed his wife.” During the fight against the Dragon Cult in Falconberg, Sigurd had been chained naked to a dragon skull. Afterward, Angaric had expounded at tedious length to Tyrcamber upon the excellence of Sigurd’s body. At various times Angaric had attempted to devise an objective system for measuring the physical beauty of women, and Sigurd had ranked high on all his potential metrics.

  Fortunately, Angaric had been wise enough not to mention any of that within earshot of Sigurd’s father or the Master of the Order of Embers.

  “I shall be the soul of courtesy,” said Angaric. “Besides, I believe the Countess has borne two or three children by now. For all we know she has become fat and toad-like.”

  Ruari lifted her tablet and tapped her previous message, which she had not yet erased.

  Selene laughed. “Lady Ruari makes an excellent point, Sir Angaric. I think I shall come with you.” She grinned. “I have some experience with political intrigue, and perhaps meeting a former urdhracos from another world will frighten the Count and his wife into honesty.” She considered. “Though two Dragontiarna Knights might do that as well.”

  In a flash of insight, Tyrcamber realized that wasn’t Selene’s main reason. She wanted to give Rilmael and Third some time alone before the feast. Selene was oddly protective of Third, which Tyrcamber supposed was the mark of a good friend.

  “Of course,” said Tyrcamber. “We shall be glad of the company.” He turned to Rilmael and Third. “I will see you at my father’s mansion.”

  Rilmael inclined his head. “I will be interested to hear what Count Niamar says. I think it may be important.”

  Tyrcamber frowned. “The Sight told you that?”

  “No. A suspicion,” said Rilmael. “But after eight centuries of watching the Empire, I have learned to trust my suspicions. We will see you tonight.”

  With that, he and Third mounted their horses and rode off.

  Ruari wrote a new message on her tablet and turned it to face Selene.

  YOU WANTED TO GIVE THEM SOME TIME ALONE, DIDN’T YOU?

  Selene’s mad grin returned. “I can’t get much by you, can I? I think of it as watching over a pair of young lovers.” She paused. “Though even if you added all our ages together, we would still be younger than Third by a substantial margin. Anyway, we…”

  “You are a good and loyal friend, my lady,” said Tyrcamber, hoping to circumvent one of Selene’s rambling speeches before it really got going. The squire was looking at them with befuddlement. “Please, lead the way to Count Niamar’s house. We shall speak with him at once.”

  “Thank you, Lord Dragontiarna,” said the boy with obvious relief. “This way.”

  Tyrcamber, Ruari, Angaric, and Selene mounted their horses, and they followed the squire. They rode from the Square of the Empire and through the Old City. Sinderost, both the Old City and the New, was land held directly by the Emperor. But over the centuries, the Emperor had given out some of the mansions of the Old City to various prominent nobles, and holding such a house was considered a great honor. Tyrcamber’s father held once such mansion, and Tyrcamber usually stayed there when he was in the Imperial capital. Once he would have considered the mansion’s comforts unbecoming a knight, but he was old enough now to appreciate comfort when he found it.

  Niamar Eichenfel was one of the more prominent Counts in the Empire. While his mansion wasn’t nearly as grand as Chilmar Rigamond’s, it was nonetheless a substantial house. It stood three stories tall within a small courtyard that had been converted entirely to a garden. Tyrcamber wondered who had lived here originally in the ancient days of Cathair Sindar. Perhaps Rilmael would know.

  “Please wait here, my lords and ladies,” said the squire. “I will tell the Count that you are here.”

  He dismounted and jogged into the house. A short time later, more squires and pages emerged to take the horses. One of them led Tyrcamber and the others around the house to the rear courtyard. It had been laid out as a pleasant garden, with stone benches facing a small pool. Flowering bushes ringed the garden, standing tall enough to block portions of the sky fire. Though the battle-hardened part of Tyrcamber’s mind noted that the bushes would make a superb cover for assassins.

  Two men and a woman waited for them.

  The first man was about Tyrcamber’s age, maybe four or five years older. He wore a fine mantle and tunic over trousers and riding boots, the tunic adorned with the stylized cliff and tower sigil. His beard had been trimmed in the fashion favored by the merchants of the western Imperial Free Cities, and his lon
g black hair had been bound in a tail. This had to be Count Niamar, the lord of Eichenfel.

  Tyrcamber recognized the second man at once. Karl Rincimar was the Shield of Falconberg, the chief leader of the city, and he had ruled there ever since his mercenary company had seized control of Falconberg. He had changed little since Tyrcamber had escorted the Imperial Chancellor to Falconberg. Rincimar was a hard-faced man with a mane of graying black hair and icy blue eyes. He wore simple chain mail and leather boots, a sword with a well-worn hilt hanging at his belt.

  Sigurd Eichenfel, formerly Sigurd Rincimar, stood on her husband’s right arm, watching Tyrcamber.

  Angaric’s joke that she had swelled into toad-like immensity after two or three children had proven inaccurate. Her face was a little fuller than Tyrcamber remembered, with some fine lines starting around her mouth and eyes, but she was still a striking woman. Her long black hair had been braided in an intricate style, and she wore a rich gown of red and black that somehow evoked the colors of her husband’s house.

  “My lord,” announced the squire with a bow. “May I present Sir Tyrcamber Rigamond, his wife the lady Ruari Rigamond, Sir Angaric Medraut of the Order of Embers, and…ah…”

  Panic went over the boy’s face had he realized he didn’t know Selene’s name.

  “The Lady Selene of Nightmane Forest in Andomhaim,” supplied Tyrcamber.

  “Thank you,” said Niamar to the squire. “You may go.”

  The boy bowed and all but fled from the garden.

  “Sir Tyrcamber Rigamond,” said Niamar. His voice was dry and quiet, with a faint sardonic quality to it. “When my wife told me that she knew the Empire’s first Dragontiarna Knight in decades, I was astonished.” Tyrcamber wondered how much Sigurd had told Niamar about him and decided that he really didn’t want to know. “Yet here you are in the flesh.”

  “It’s been a long road from Falconberg, hasn’t it?” said Rincimar in his gruff voice.

  “It has,” said Tyrcamber. “A long road with many battles, and many years of war.”