Malison: Dragon War Read online

  MALISON: DRAGON WAR

  Jonathan Moeller

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  Description

  Sir Tyrcamber Rigamond swore to defend the Empire, but the Empire is about to fall to the goblin hordes commanded by the malignant dark elven lord known as the Valedictor.

  The fate of the Empire lies in Tyrcamber's hands, and he will have only one chance to save mankind from enslavement at the hands of the dark elves.

  And that chance will cost Tyrcamber more than he can bear to pay...

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  Malison: Dragon War

  Copyright 2019 by Jonathan Moeller.

  Smashwords Edition.

  Cover image copyright istockphoto.com | Credit:peepo Stock photo ID:888759688.

  Ebook edition published July 2019.

  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.

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  Chapter 1: The Siege of Sinderost

  The goblin hordes of the Valedictor surged towards the walls of Sinderost, and Tyrcamber Rigamond fought for his life.

  He stood on the northern wall of Sinderost. On any other day, it would have been a beautiful sight. To the west, he saw the River Nabia, and to the east, he saw the River Bellex as it continued its long slow path to the southern sea. North stretched the road leading to the northern duchies of Valstrasia and Corbrast, at least until the Valedictor’s armies had laid them waste, and small villages and freeholds dotted the road. It was a hot, clear day, the sky fire bright overhead, and it should have been a pleasant sight.

  But tens of thousands of goblin warriors surged towards the wall of Sinderost in yet another attack.

  The Valedictor had launched his invasion on the day that the Chancellor of the Empire and the First of the Republic of Sygalynon had agreed to remain neutral. In the two years since the full might of the Empire had been engaged in battles against the hordes pouring out of the goblin wastes.

  And the armies of the Empire had lost.

  The duchies of Talgothica and Carnost had fallen entirely to the Valedictor, their castles overrun, their populations enslaved. Half of Mourdrech had been overrun, and the forces of Duke Faramund Berengar had fallen back to Tamisa. Armies of goblins and ogres had crossed the River Bellex and conquered the entirety of Valstrasia, drawing closer to the Imperial capital of Sinderost.

  The rest of the Empire was crumbling. Rumors spread that the Dragon Cult had seized control of various towns and castles and was preparing to summon hordes of dragons. Or that the Fallen Order had risen from the dust of the past and was marching to aid the Valedictor with hordes of the undead.

  Two years after the Valedictor’s invasion, the forces of the five Imperial Orders and the Emperor’s armies had been driven back to the walls of Sinderost. For three weeks the city had held strong against the invaders, but Tyrcamber was not sure how much longer that would last.

  At the moment, he wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to last.

  Another goblin scrambled over the siege ladder and leaped onto the rampart, brandishing its sword. The creature stood about five feet tall, thin and wiry, though with muscles like bundles of steel wires beneath its blue skin. Pointed ears rose through its mane of greasy black hair, and its venomous yellow eyes fixed on Tyrcamber. Its lips pulled back from its needle-like teeth in a snarl, and black claws tipped the fingers that grasped the hilt of its sword.

  All that flashed through Tyrcamber’s mind in an instant.

  Then he met the creature’s attack, leading with his shield. The goblin’s sword flashed up but rebounded from the shield’s solid oak. Tyrcamber nonetheless felt the blow travel up his arm. The goblins, despite their smaller stature, were still strong. The goblin raised its sword to strike again, and Tyrcamber bashed it across the face with his shield. The creature stumbled, and before it could recover, Tyrcamber attacked with his sword of dark elven steel. The razor-sharp blade opened the goblin’s throat, and the creature fell dead against the battlements, its blue blood staining the gray stone.

  There were so many dead goblins already atop the ramparts…but countless thousands more outside the walls of Sinderost. Another goblin started to clamber over the siege ladder and onto the ramparts, but this time Tyrcamber was ready. He drew on his magic, ignoring the dark shadows of the Malison that danced at the edges of his mind, and thrust out his shield hand, opening his fist. A Lance spell of elemental flame leaped from his fingers and struck the goblin in the head. There was a sizzling sound, a hideous smell of burned meat, and the goblin fell backward off the ladder.

  And for a moment, just a moment, the ladder was clear. Tyrcamber saw the ladder shudder as more goblins started to climb up, but they had an instant in which to act.

  “Sir Daniel!” shouted Tyrcamber. “Now!”

  To Tyrcamber’s right and left men struggled against the goblins on the ramparts of Sinderost. This section of the wall had been assigned to the serjeants of the Order of Embers, but the chaos of the fighting and the sheer force of the goblin assault had brought reinforcements to the ramparts. Men-at-arms in the colors of Duke Chilmar Rigamond and the Duke of Valstrasia struggled alongside the serjeants in the red tabards of the Order of Embers.

  A knight in plate armor stepped forward, a black surcoat hanging to his knees, a bloodied sword in his right hand. A stylized sigil of a human eye adorned the center of his surcoat. Beneath his helmet, his face was pale and pinched-looking, as if the knight did not often eat enough. He had sharp black eyes, but as he raised his free hand, Sir Daniel Tremund’s eyes glowed white.

  The Knight of the Order of the Third Eye cast one of his Order’s secret spells, and invisible force seized the top of the siege ladder. The ladder wavered for a second in Sir Daniel’s telekinetic grip and then toppled backward. Tyrcamber heard an enraged screech from the goblins at the base of the ladder, followed by a crash as it struck the earth.

  But there were still three ladders against this section of wall, and more goblins rushed up them.

  Another roar came to Tyrcamber’s ears, louder this time.

  He turned towards a siege ladder propped against the battlements twenty yards to the west and saw the ogre haul itself up.

  The ogres of Malgrist stood eight or nine feet tall, their skin a grayish-green color, their arms and legs like tree trunks, their shoulders far broader than those of humans. This ogre wore steel ring mail and a helmet, and in its hand carried a huge war axe with an iron blade. Two of the nearby men-at-arms stabbed spears at the creature, but the ogre leaped forward, deflecting the spearheads with a sweep of its axe, and it landed with enough force that Tyrcamber felt the ramparts vibrate beneath his boots.

  The ogre bellowed and swung its axe again, and the two spearmen fell dead, their heads rolling off the ramparts to fall into the city below, blood spurting from the stumps of their necks. Behind the ogre, more goblins clambered up the ladder. Tyrcamber feared the ogre would seize a foothold on the wall, a strong point that would allow the goblins and the muridachs in the Valedictor’s host to take more of the ramparts.

  If that happened, the defense on the outer wall would fail.

  “To me!” shouted Tyrcamber, running towards the ogre. “To me!”

  He cast a spell as he ran, pointing his sword. Another wave of fatigue rolled through his weary mind, the dark shadows of the Malison dancing at the edge of his consciousness. Ty
rcamber shoved the shadows aside and summoned power to work the Lance spell, and a burst of fire leaped from his sword and struck the ogre in the chest. The creature staggered back with a growl, smoke rising from the wound, and Tyrcamber cast again. This time the ogre worked a spell of its own, and a hazy blue Shield appeared in front of it. Tyrcamber’s Lance shattered against the Shield, but by then he was close enough to attack. His sword blurred up, the tip aiming for the ogre’s throat. The ogre snarled and snapped its axe up, and Tyrcamber's blade clanged off the heavy weapon. His sword of dark elven steel left a gleaming scratch in the axe’s blade.

  The ogre roared and hammered its weapon at Tyrcamber, and he danced to the side. The axe struck the gray stones of the battlement in a spray of sparks, and Tyrcamber thrust his sword. The tip of his blade opened a gleaming wound in the ogre’s right arm, and the creature roared again, its flat black eyes filled with rage as it raised the axe for another strike.

  Sir Daniel shouted, and invisible force seized the ogre and shoved it against the battlements. Tyrcamber surged forward, grasped his sword hilt in both hands, and drove the weapon up, angling it for the ogre’s throat. The blade plunged into the creature’s neck, and the greenish slime of its blood burst from the wound. The ogre’s roar of fury dwindled into a bubbling gurgle, and the creature slumped against the rampart.

  “The ladder,” said Tyrcamber. Daniel’s eyes still glowed white in his gaunt face. “Quickly.”

  “I will need help,” said Daniel, his voice a hoarse whisper that Tyrcamber could scarce hear over the roar of the battle. “I have expended much of my strength.”

  Tyrcamber nodded and shouted a command, and the nearby men-at-arms rushed to join him. He grasped the ladder’s hooked top and began pushing, trying to heave the heavy construction of wood and iron away from the battlements. He felt the wood shuddering as more goblins scrambled up the rungs, and his muscles strained. They got the ladder a few feet away from the battlements, but the weight of the goblins below began to push it back.

  Daniel gestured, casting a spell, and invisible force hammered into the ladder. The top splintered, and the ladder fell backward to land on the corpse-strewn ground below. Tyrcamber paused, breathing hard, sweat trickling down his face from beneath his helmet. His shoulders and arms and knees ached, and he wanted to sit down, maybe lie down, and rest until he caught his breath.

  But another roar came to his ears, and his head snapped to the west. He looked just in time to see another pair of ogres heave themselves over a siege ladder and leap onto the ramparts, swinging their massive war axes. Men-at-arms fell dead beneath their furious attack, and behind the ogres, more goblins hastened up. Once again the creatures were in danger of establishing a strong point on the wall, and if that happened, the men of the Empire would lose the northern wall of the New City of Sinderost, and they would have to fall back to the Old City.

  “To me!” shouted Tyrcamber, lifting his bloody sword. “Charge!”

  He rushed forward, the men-at-arms following him, and cast a spell as he ran. Elemental fire erupted from his blade as he worked the Sword spell, sheathing his weapon in deadly magic. One of the ogres turned towards him, and Tyrcamber attacked, stabbing his burning sword. He caught the ogre in the throat, and the blade ripped through the greenish-gray flesh with a sizzling noise. The second ogre roared and chopped its axe, and Tyrcamber dodged. He didn’t quite get out of the way, and the edge of the axe clipped his chest. His chain mail held against the edge, but the impact threw him backward, and he hit the battlements, the breath exploding from his lungs, his sword falling from his numbed fingers. The ogre raised its axe for the kill, and Tyrcamber dragged power through his fatigued mind and worked the Lance spell. He didn’t have time to put much power into the spell, but it did strike the ogre in the right shoulder with a burst of flame. The creature staggered, and then three serjeants in the crimson tabards of the Order of Embers overwhelmed the ogre, swords rising and falling.

  “The ladder!” said Tyrcamber, snatching his sword and ramming it back into his scabbard. He saw the ladder vibrating as more goblins rushed towards the ramparts. “Quickly!”

  He tried to shove the ladder back, and some of the serjeants and men-at-arms rushed to follow suit. Daniel cast another spell, his eyes flashing white, and a burst of telekinetic force pushed the ladder. For a second it stood vertical, wobbling as the goblins tried to keep their balance, and then it tumbled backward with a crash, crushing the goblins beneath it. Tyrcamber and the serjeants killed the remaining goblins, and he caught his breath and looked around.

  The ramparts were clear of foes, and it looked like the massive wave of the goblin attack had been driven back. Dead and dying goblins and broken siege ladders littered the ground outside the city. Yet the slain goblins were but a drop in the bucket in the vast horde the Valedictor had gathered, and already Tyrcamber saw another attack forming up outside the Valedictor’s siege camps, with goblins carrying more siege ladders.

  “We shall face another attack soon,” said Daniel.

  “Aye,” said Tyrcamber. He pulled off his helmet, raked a hand through his sweat-sodden hair, and then donned the helmet again. “All right. Watch for the ladders, and gather the men to repulse them. We can’t let them get a foothold on the wall, and…”

  A thunderclap boomed from the city behind them.

  Tyrcamber turned in surprise. The cloak elves had built and then abandoned what would become the Old City of Sinderost in ancient days, and the Old City was filled with the soaring towers and broad domes the cloak elves preferred in their architecture. The first Emperor Roland and his followers had taken refuge there when they had come to this world. As the Empire had grown, Sinderost had expanded, and the New City was now four times as large as the Old, filled with houses built of stone and brick and wood in the human style. A large market lay before the northern gate, flanked by a tavern and inn on the eastern side and a stone church on the west. Men-at-arms and serjeants filled the square, the reserve companies for the wall, and Tyrcamber spotted his father’s banner.

  With Duke Chilmar stood the Guardian Rilmael, and he cast a spell.

  Again, a thunderclap rang out, and the sky fire roiled overhead, seeming to ripple and fold. The air shuddered, and fireballs rained from the sky, dozens of them. The spheres of flame looked liquid, trailing thick black smoke as they fell, and they struck the ground outside the wall and exploded, spraying fire and molten earth in all directions. The rain of fire ripped through the charging masses of goblins and ogres, killing hundreds of the creatures and turning their siege ladders into smoking kindling.

  The sound of it, the roar of the explosions and the howl of the flames, was titanic.

  That was enough for the goblins and the ogres. The entire mass of the attack on the northern wall collapsed, retreating in disorganized haste towards their siege camps. Tyrcamber watched them, his shield ready in case the goblins fired a few arrows as they retreated, but it looked like the attack had been broken.

  For now.

  “I wonder what took the Guardian so long,” said Tyrcamber.

  He was talking to himself, but Daniel answered anyway.

  “The Guardian was gathering power during the entire assault,” said the Knight of the Third Eye. “Likely it took that long to prepare the spell.”

  Tyrcamber started to draw breath to answer, and then a blast of trumpets rang out from the square. It was the call to assembly for the Knights of the Order of Embers and the other Imperial Orders. It seemed that Duke Chilmar wanted to launch a sortie against the retreating goblins. The enemy would be in disarray until they recovered from the failed assault, and this was their chance to hurt the Valedictor’s army as much as possible before the dark elven lord launched his next attack.

  No matter how tired Tyrcamber was.

  “I must go,” said Tyrcamber to Daniel. “Take command here until I return.”

  Daniel nodded, and Tyrcamber sheathed his sword and jogged for the stairs. He descended to t
he streets, turned hard through an alley, and ran to the northern square.

  It seethed with activity as squires brought horses forth from the stables and knights jumped into their saddles. Tyrcamber spotted Ruire, master of the Order of Embers, barking orders to a pair of preceptors. Near him Sir Angaric Medraut swung into his saddle, muttering to himself, his face flushed with effort behind his bushy beard.

  “Form up!” Duke Chilmar’s hoarse voice rang over the square. “Knights of the Orders of Embers and Iron, form up! Strike at the enemy and do as much damage as you can. But do not venture too far into the enemy host and return when we sound the recall. No point in getting yourselves killed uselessly today.”

  “Knights of Embers!” shouted Master Ruire. The Mater of the Order was a balding man with a scarred face, still hale and vigorous despite his advancing years. “We shall ride for the nearest siege camp. Prepare to cast the Fire Torrent spell. We shall burn as much of the enemy’s supplies and tents as we can before the recall sounds.” He turned and gave some more commands to the preceptors near him, and then raised his voice again. “We will ride as soon as the Order of the Griffin strikes.”

  They did not wait long. About two minutes later, a shadow fell over the square, and piercing shrieks filled Tyrcamber’s ears. He looked up to see a score of griffins fly overhead, their white wings and golden, lion-like bodies outlined against the sky fire. With them came a dozen massive brown, hawk-like birds, each one ridden by a Knight of the Griffin. The giant birds were called stormhawks, and they were deadly weapons in a battle.

  The trumpets rang again, the northern gate opened, and the horsemen issued forth. They left the city at a trot, forming up in into a broad line among the dead goblins outside the wall. A mass of goblins and muridachs and ogres seethed before them in a chaotic mass, trying to reform their lines after the failed attack. The stormhawks and the griffins soared overhead, and one of the knights sounded a trumpet. The dozen stormhawks let out a battle shriek and spread their wings.