Dragontiarna

by Jonathan Moeller

  He led his horse onto the bank and looked around. The ground here was still a wasteland of charred earth and blackened bone, though in places weeds poked through the soil. Tyrcamber had burned much of the land along the bank. The undead warriors of the Fallen Order had been able to walk along the bottom of the river to attack Sinderost’s walls, having no need to breathe. Ruari had countered that by using her dragon breath to freeze the river, pinning the undead in the ice, and Tyrcamber had immolated the undead soldiers trapped on the western bank. During that fight, Third had dueled Theudeuric. She had almost killed him, but her magic had manifested and thrown her off-guard, allowing Theudeuric to deal a mortal wound to her. If Rilmael hadn’t taken her to the Chamber of the Sight on Guardian’s Isle, she would have died.

  Tyrcamber glanced at her. Third’s face was almost always a calm mask, save in battle when her eyes grew fierce, or when she looked at Rilmael, which softened her expression a little. Right now, her face was distant. Perhaps she remembered whatever she had suffered in the Chamber of the Sight.

  He understood.

  “I must say,” said Selene, looking at the charred landscape. “You Dragontiarna Knights can certainly deal out destruction.”

  Her remark had been directed at Tyrcamber, but Angaric answered.

  “Quite correct, my lady,” said Angaric. “Throughout the Empire’s history, we have never had more than a few Dragontiarna Knights. But their power has been decisive in defending the Empire from our foes. If not for the Dragontiarna Knights, the Empire would have fallen to the Dragon Imperator or perhaps the xiatami long ago.”

  “And it was Rilmael who taught us the Seven Spells,” said Tyrcamber. “The fools of the Dragon Cult and the Fallen Order might think that Rilmael only used us as a shield for Cathair Kaldran, but without his help, our enemies would have destroyed us long ago.”

  “I think he has often been misunderstood across the millennia,” said Third. “I fear that is the cost of a very long life. Acting for the greater good sometimes means allowing your actions to be misunderstood in the present.”

  “Like commanding men in battle,” said Tyrcamber. “The soldiers may not like it when their commander makes a hard decision, but it could save their lives before the battle.”

  “I am but a simple man,” said Angaric. “Such matters of profound philosophy are beyond my comprehension.”

  “Though that will not stop you from talking about them,” said Selene.

  “Very true,” said Angaric. He pointed. “Turn to the west here. The fortifications are about a half-mile that way.”

  Tyrcamber nodded, and they rode to the west. Soon they left the ashes and soot behind, riding through the high grasses. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the harsh yellow-orange light of the sky fire shone over the landscape. The weather was warm, though a cool breeze blew up from the south.

  All in all, it would have been a lovely day for a ride. When had been the last time Tyrcamber had ridden anywhere for the simple pleasure of it? Years ago, certainly. Maybe even been before he had joined the Order of Embers, when Corswain had still been alive, and they had gotten into trouble together.

  Would the rakish young knight Tyrcamber had been even recognize the grim Dragontiarna warrior that he had become?

  Probably not, Tyrcamber thought. But it hadn’t been for nothing. The Valedictor had been defeated. The Empire was about to be reunified under a new Emperor. And Tyrcamber had Ruari in his life now, and he had never thought he would love a woman as he loved her.

  Still, the Empire was about to be reunited under Prince Everard, but the war wasn’t over. Tyrcamber urged himself to vigilance as they rode west. Soon enough, the earthworks came into sight.

  They were a singularly unimpressive sight.

  Tyrcamber had been involved in numerous sieges, so he knew what to expect. The undead soldiers of the Fallen Order had started digging a long trench, using the excavated earth to raise a defensive wall. Yet the Knights of Blood had abandoned the siege, leaving their earthworks unfinished. When Tyrcamber had been a boy at Castle Rigamond, moles had been the bane of the farmers near the castle. The earthworks reminded Tyrcamber of a field dug up by moles, though on a larger scale.

  They reined up a hundred yards away and gazed at the piles of dirt.

  “Well,” said Selene. “That hardly seems formidable.”

  Third shook her head. “The Fallen Order did not have a chance to finish their construction. But I agree. There is nothing worth defending here. I would say Count Niamar and the men of Falconberg encountered wraiths by chance…”

  “But wraiths are some of the more powerful undead of the Fallen Order,” said Tyrcamber. “Theudeuric and Duchess Rosalyn wouldn’t waste them on a patrol.”

  “And muridachs don’t come this far south often,” said Angaric. “Not unless they have a good reason.”

  “Come,” said Tyrcamber. “Let’s leave the horses here and proceed on foot. The ground is so uneven that one of the horses might snap a leg if we’re unlucky.”

  They dismounted and tied their horses to the branches of some nearby low trees. Tyrcamber led the way into the half-built earthworks, and he cast the Sense spell, seeking for the presence of magical auras. At once, he felt the auras around Third’s swords and Selene’s axe, but no other magical items were nearby. Of course, the Sense spell would do nothing to warn him about a muridach lurking behind a bush with a crossbow.

  As if she had read his thoughts, Third stooped and ran a hand over the ground.

  “What is it?” said Tyrcamber.

  “Muridach fur,” said Third, turning her hand. He saw several long dark hairs against her fingers. “And numerous tracks.”

  Tyrcamber did see muridach tracks, now that she had pointed it out. Most of his time as a knight had been spent campaigning against goblins, ogres, and gnolls, so he was well-familiar with their tracks, from the smaller footprints of goblins to the heavier tread of ogres. But he had fought muridachs often enough to recognize their footprints. Sometimes the muridachs more boots shaped to fit their paw-like feet, but often they went barefoot, leaving the distinctive marks of their claws upon the soil.

  “A lot of muridachs,” said Tyrcamber, drawing Kyathar. The crystalline blade glinted in the light of the sky fire. “Can you tell how recently they were here?”

  “Within the last few days,” said Third. She looked at Angaric. “When was the last time it rained?”

  “Hmm,” said Angaric, thinking back. “Four days, I believe.”

  “They were here somewhere in the last four days,” said Third. She rolled the muridach hair against her fingers and then tossed it aside. “Likely sooner. Else these hairs would have blown away some time ago.”

  “You’re the better scout, you should take the lead,” said Tyrcamber. “Angaric, stay behind me. If we run into any muridachs, we’ll need you to strike them with your magic.” Angaric nodded and stepped back, flexing his fingers. Third reached over her shoulders and drew her twin longswords, Storm and Inferno. In battle, she could call forth the swords’ power, sheathing one sword in lighting, the other in elemental flame.

  “This way,” said Third.

  Tyrcamber, Selene, and Angaric followed Third. She moved with fluid grace. She also moved in absolute silence, which was a remarkable feat. From time to time, Third glanced to the side, almost as if wanting to make a remark to someone who was not there, but she kept moving.

  The muridachs’ trail led south, past the various ditches and holes of the half-completed earthworks. Tyrcamber surveyed the ground, an odd thought occurring to him. The undead soldiers had indeed dug a ditch and piled the dirt in a low earthwork wall. Except behind the wall, they had excavated holes almost at random, like the moles in the fields near Castle Rigamond all those years ago. But the moles had been looking for food and a place to burrow.

  “It’s like they were looking for something,” said Tyrcamber.

  “But what?” said Angaric. “There’s nothing out here.
Well, there should be fields and small villages, but the farms have been abandoned and the villagers living inside the walls of Sinderost since the Valedictor’s siege.”

  “I do not know,” said Third. “I think…”

  She came to an abrupt halt, her swords coming up in guard.

  “Do you hear that?” said Selene.

  “Hear what?” said Tyrcamber.

  “Our ears are likely keener than yours,” said Third. “I hear muridach voices ahead. Very faintly. That direction.”

  She pointed with one of her swords. About thirty yards ahead rose a large mound of dirt. Either the undead soldiers had piled the earth from their excavations there, or else they had dug a really large hole. A few strands of grass had just started to poke themselves through the heap of dirt.

  “They must be behind that hill,” murmured Selene.

  “Wait here,” said Third. “I will scout ahead.”

  She stepped forward, blue light shining in her eyes and veins, and vanished in a pulse of blue fire. A heartbeat later, she reappeared at the foot of the hill in a crouch and began circling around its base. Tyrcamber watched as she went out of sight around the edge of the hill.

  A few seconds later, blue fire swirled in front of him, and Third reappeared.

  “Muridachs,” she said. “About thirty. The Fallen Order dug a large trench behind that hill, and the muridachs are clustered there. They have chain mail and swords.”

  “God and the saints,” said Angaric, exasperated. “How the hell did they get so close to Sinderost? All the lords have sent out patrols, and the Order of the Griffin has been overflying the countryside.”

  “The muridachs can be stealthy,” said Selene.

  “Not that stealthy,” said Third. “Something strange is happening. I think we should question them.”

  “I don’t speak the muridach tongue,” said Tyrcamber.

  “Nor do I,” admitted Angaric.

  Selene grinned. “I do.”

  “You do?” said Angaric. “Then you are as clever as you are lovely. Where did you learn such an uncouth language?”

  “Well,” said Selene, “I used to be the assassin of an order of orcish warlocks who worshipped a dark elven lord as a god, and he...”

  “We may be pressed for time,” said Third. “I suggest you tell the full story later. This way.”

  They walked towards the hill and circled around it, and the muridachs came into sight.

  As Third had said, the ground opened into a large rectangular hole, its sides sloped. It almost looked like the Fallen Order had started digging the foundations and cellar for a building and given up halfway through. Thirty muridachs stood clustered in the hole, and they appeared to be arguing. Tyrcamber felt a wave of revulsion as he looked at the creatures. He didn’t have any particular problem with rats, but the muridachs looked dangerous. The ratmen stood about five and a half feet tall. They had mostly human-shaped bodies, but their heads looked like those of giant rats, with beady black eyes and chisel-shaped teeth. Their fur was various shades of black or reddish-brown, and thick pink tails coiled behind them. The creatures’ smell, a musky, rotten odor, hit Tyrcamber like a slap to the face.

  The muridachs were so focused on their argument they hadn’t noticed the newcomers. Foolish of them. Had Tyrcamber wished to attack, he could have killed them all with a spell of fire. But Third was right. Something strange was happening, and they needed more information.

  “I will attempt to ask them for a parley,” said Selene.

  They stepped to the edge of the hole, and Selene raised her voice, shouting in the harsh language of the muridachs.

  The ratmen whirled to look up at her. Selene finished her speech, smiled, and held out a hand.

  As one, the ratmen charged, some of them brandishing swords, others hanging back to cast spells.

  “I think they decline the parley,” said Selene, and she and Angaric began casting spells.

  “Try to take one alive!” said Third, and she leaped forward, disappearing in a swirl of blue flame. She reappeared among the muridachs hanging back to cast spells and killed two of them with swift blows of her blades.

  Tyrcamber leveled Kyathar, using the ancient sword as a focus for his power, and sent a surge of magic through it. The Fire Stream spell burst from the blade, and he swept it before him, cutting a half-dozen muridachs in half, smoking chunks of their bodies falling to the ground. Angaric hurled Lance spells with power and precision, each blast of magical fire killing a muridach. Silver light shivered around Selene, and suddenly a dozen illusionary duplicates of her charged the muridachs, each one brandishing a sword and axe. The muridachs faltered at the sudden sight of so many new enemies, and Tyrcamber waded into them. He cast the Shield spell, the disk of flame attaching itself to his left bracer. Muridach after muridach fell to Kyathar’s blade, and the weapons of the ratmen disintegrated when they touched his Shield spell.

  In short order, the fight was over, dead muridachs and smoking pieces of dead muridachs lying scattered across the ground.

  Two of the creatures had more or less mortal wounds but were still alive, and Selene started questioning them. The muridachs seemed disinclined to answer, instead shouting threats in their native language. The effort proved too much for them, and both muridachs died soon after.

  “Did you learn anything?” said Angaric.

  “Not much, but something,” said Selene. “They’re allied with the Fallen Order, I know that much. And the second one kept saying the obelisks would kill us all.”

  “Obelisks?” said Tyrcamber, disturbed. “Rincimar said the Knight of Blood he killed kept shouting about obelisks.”

  “Do the muridachs build obelisks here? They don’t back on our homeworld,” said Selene. “What gods do the muridachs here worship?”

  “I don’t really know,” said Tyrcamber. He looked at Angaric, who shrugged.

  “Not much is known about muridach religion,” said Angaric. “The muridach cities under the northern mountains haven’t been interested in trading with the men of the Empire. They do have priests of something they call the Lord of Carrion…”

  “The muridachs back in Owyllain worshipped the same god,” said Selene. “Well, they worshipped many gods, but the Lord of Carrion was their chief. They would sometimes sacrifice slaves and other muridachs to him, and they believed he sends bounties of carrion for them to consume. Their priests were usually powerful necromancers.”

  “The ratmen might build obelisks in their cities,” said Tyrcamber. “And their priests are sometimes necromancers. Blood-empowered magic isn’t subject to the Malison, so like the priests of the xiatami, the muridach priests use necromancy. I suppose that might make the basis for an alliance, but the Fallen Order wants mankind to rule all other kindreds…”

  “Look at this,” said Third, pointing at the ground.

  She moved to the center of the hole, and Tyrcamber walked to join her, Selene and Angaric trailing after him. A large square of wood lay in the dirt, an iron ring in its center.

  No. Not a square. A trapdoor. And to judge from the raw state of the planks, it had been placed there recently.

  “What the hell?” said Angaric. “Were the muridachs digging tunnels?”

  “And maybe they wanted to tunnel right into Sinderost,” said Tyrcamber. “We had better see what’s down there.”

  He grasped the iron ring with his free hand and pulled the trapdoor open. He expected to see a dark earthen tunnel, like something from a mine.

  Tyrcamber did not expect to see a drop of a hundred feet into a pillared hall of white stone, a faint crimson glow shining from the depths.

  The four of them stared into the pillared hall.

  “The muridachs didn’t build that,” said Angaric.

  “No,” said Tyrcamber. “That hall looks elven, or…”

  “Dark elven,” said Third, her voice grim. “One moment.”

  She disappeared in the usual swirl of blue fire, and Tyrcamber saw her rea
ppear next to one of the columns in the hall. Third scrutinized it for a moment, nodded to herself, and traveled back to the surface.

  “Those were dark elven reliefs on the pillars,” said Third, “and there is a great deal of muridach hair down there. I think we had better talk to your father and the Guardian right away.”

  ***

  Chapter 10: The Guardian’s Flight

  Morigna was almost out of time.

  As the invasion fleet drew closer to Cintarra, her Sight had darkened. She saw the potential futures narrowing, and every one of them involved blood and fire sweeping across Andomhaim like a storm. Morigna had to do something, and she had to do it soon. Or else the Heptarchy attack would take Andomhaim unawares, and the realm would be destroyed between Agravhask’s hammer and Merovech’s anvil.

  She had to do something. Anything. Something to divert or at least slow the disaster hurtling towards Andomhaim.

  Morigna settled on killing Agravhask.

  He was the driving force behind the great army. All the priestesses of the Seven Temples wanted to invade Andomhaim and harvest more souls for their various goddesses. But the priestesses squabbled constantly and were incapable of working together without a higher authority to compel cooperation. Mayascora fancied herself Agravhask’s equal in skill and insight and believed she should have commanded the invasion. Morigna knew that the High Priestess deluded herself. If Mayascora had taken command, the fleet would never have left the Heptarchy, much less seized the Isle of Kordain.

  Morigna wondered if she could turn the priestesses against Agravhask but dismissed that idea as unrealistic. All the priestesses hated the Warlord, but their fear of him was stronger than their hatred. Much stronger. The business with Mythkhar and the wineskins was only Mayascora’s latest ploy to discredit Agravhask. It had been one of her better stratagems, and Agravhask had still turned it back on her with ease.