Malison: Dragon Umbra Read online

  “Is that why you still use necromancy and dark magic as the dark elves do?” said Tyrcamber.

  Charanis’s mouth twisted, and Tyrcamber had the impression he had touched a sore point. “Not all of us do. Any umbral elf may practice any school of magic he or she wishes, so long as they pay the price. But dark magic…the price is too high. Too much use of dark magic induces mutations and insanity. The magic of the elements is drawn from the very nature of this world, but dark magic is drawn from the lightless void between worlds. It is alien to the nature of living things. Even the umbral elves.”

  “And the dark elves?” said Tyrcamber.

  “Fools,” said Charanis with disdain. “They thought to make themselves masters of their world. Instead, they summoned the spider-demons and made themselves into slaves and exiles. The Dragon Imperator thought to make this world into his kingdom, and he was slain by your Emperor and your Dragontiarna knights.”

  “The dark elves also believed in the power of strength,” said Tyrcamber. “Perhaps you should not follow in their example.”

  Charanis blinked at him and then grinned. She seemed pleased by the point. Tyrcamber had met very few people who genuinely enjoyed debates, and Charanis seemed like one of them. Perhaps he ought to introduce her to Angaric, and they could spend hours arguing about obscure points of history and philosophy. “Ah, but the dark elves loved cruelty. They worshipped the shadow of Incariel in exchange for power, but it twisted them in the process. The dark elves are addicted to cruelty, crave it the way a drunkard is enslaved to wine. We are not afflicted with such madness. Perhaps we seem mad to you, Sir Tyrcamber, in our quest for strength. But we are not quite as mad as the dark elves.”

  “Given that you intend to remain neutral in our war with the Valedictor,” said Tyrcamber, “I cannot argue.”

  Charanis opened her mouth to say something else and then frowned, her head tilting to the side.

  “Do you hear that?” she said.

  “Hear what?” said Tyrcamber.

  Then he heard it himself. A faint roaring noise. It was quiet, so quiet that he could barely make it out, but he heard it through the thick stone walls of Falcon Hall. For a moment he could not place it, and then the recognition clicked, accompanied by a surge of alarm.

  “There’s a dragon flying over the city,” said Tyrcamber.

  “Come,” said Charanis. “We must investigate at once.”

  Tyrcamber hesitated. His instructions from the Master were to guard the meeting in Falcon Hall. But neither the Chancellor nor the First had arrived yet, and if a dragon was attacking the city, remaining inside a building was one of the worst places to be.

  Buildings burned too easily.

  He followed Charanis as she strode for the doors to Cathedral Square.

  “You, you, you, with me,” said Tyrcamber to some of the serjeants. “The rest of you, stay here and guard the hall.”

  The soldiers moved to his side, and Charanis threw open the doors, and they strode into Cathedral Square.

  The dragon flew overhead just as they stepped outside, its shadow flowing over the market square.

  It was a vast beast, nearly sixty or seventy feet long from its fanged jaws to the tip of its spiny tail. It was armored in black scales the color of a lightless night, and its white fangs and claws were stark against the dark scales. Its eyes glowed golden in its enormous head, and its great black wings spread out on either side of it.

  A dark elf rode the dragon’s back.

  The dragon flew high enough over the city that Tyrcamber could not get a good look at its rider, but he recognized the distinctive blue armor and winged helm of a dark elven noble. A great crimson cloak flared out behind the dark elven lord as he flew, and Tyrcamber caught a glimpse of a black staff in the dark elf’s armored hand.

  The dragon roared again, circling over the towers of the cathedral, and then flew towards the east.

  Charanis frowned, her bow in hand. “The creature is not attacking.”

  The wail of horns rose from the city, loud and insistent. Likely it was the signal for the militia to rouse themselves and prepare for a dragon attack. Dragons were powerful, but they were not invincible. Enough arrows or Lance spells could bring down a dragon, especially when wielded by a disciplined force like the serjeants of the Order of Embers. The dragon and the dark elven lord upon its back could do a great deal of damage to the city, but in the end, the men of Falconberg would bring it down.

  “No,” said Tyrcamber. “It seems unlikely for a dark elven lord to expose himself to danger like this.”

  “Agreed,” said Charanis, and her crimson eyes narrowed. “I know that lord. I think it is the Escheator.”

  “Is it?” said Tyrcamber. He had heard the name. The Escheator was one of the Valedictor’s vassals, a dark elven lord who had chosen (or been compelled) to follow the Valedictor’s attempt to rebuild the power of the Dragon Imperator. The dark elves never gave their real names to other kindreds and were known by the cruel nicknames they gave to each other. The Valedictor had gained his title because he had once been the Dragon Imperator’s seneschal, remaining behind to guard Urd Mythruin while his master went on campaign, and so the other dark elves had given him the title Valedictor because he was always saying farewell to the Dragon Imperator’s army as it marched.

  The Escheator had gained his title because he was a necromancer. He liked to collect the prominent dead of other kindreds – great wizards, warriors, kings, and lords – and raise them as his servants. Usually, necromancers preferred to rely upon numbers, raising countless minor undead. The Escheator instead raised a few undead of great power, and his spells allowed his undead creatures to retain the memories and skills they had possessed in life.

  But why was he here? The last Tyrcamber had heard, the Valedictor and his followers were still at Urd Mythruin in the Wastes, gathering a great host for their planned attack on the Empire. Had the Valedictor gotten an army this far west? No, that would have been impossible. The Valedictor’s host couldn’t have gotten to Falconberg without first overrunning half the Empire. Likely the Escheator had flown a dragon across the Empire to come here.

  But why?

  Tyrcamber and Charanis stood staring at the sky, but the dragon and the Escheator did not return.

  “Did he fly away?” said Tyrcamber, baffled.

  “Perhaps,” said Charanis. “I am uncertain. Maybe he was scouting the city for an attack…”

  A blare of trumpets rang out to the east.

  “I think that is calling the militia to the city’s eastern gate,” said Tyrcamber.

  “We should investigate,” said Charanis. “It…”

  She fell silent and looked at Falcon Hall. The First emerged in her dark robe, flanked by a half-dozen umbral elven warriors in blue armor.

  “Battle mage,” said Mhyarith. “I am told the Escheator has been sighted?”

  “Yes, First,” said Charanis, her tone more respectful than usual. “I saw him a few moments ago, flying on a dragon over the city.”

  Again, the trumpets rang out from the east.

  “It seems we are about to come under attack,” said Mhyarith.

  “Perhaps,” said Mhyarith. “We…”

  “First of Sygalynon!”

  Tyrcamber turned his head and saw a militiaman running into the square, his green tabard stirring from the wind of his passage.

  “Yes, what is it?” said the First as the militiaman came to a panting halt in front of her. “You have a message for me?”

  “The Shield, the Master of the Order of Embers, and the Chancellor ask that you come to the eastern gate at once,” said the soldier, catching his breath. “It seems the Escheator is asking for you.”

  “For me?” said Mhyarith, startled, and then her alien features hardened with anger. “It seems the Valedictor does not approve of our actions. Very well, I shall come.”

  “Permit my men and me to escort you, First,” said Tyrcamber at once. If the Escheator wante
d to kill Mhyarith to force Sygalynon into war with the Empire, using his dragon as a distraction while an assassin struck might well work.

  “Very well, Sir Tyrcamber,” said Mhyarith. “But let us hasten!”

  They moved through the city at a quick walk. Around them, Tyrcamber heard ordered alarm as militia soldiers with heavy crossbows rushed to their stations. He saw men on rooftops, ready to hurl ballista bolts and Lance spells at the dragon should it pass over the city again. Tyrcamber remembered the tight-packed wooden tenements and shuddered. If the dragon unleashed its fiery breath into those tenements, thousands of people might die.

  But he saw neither fire nor violence as they hurried into the Market of St. Mark.

  Soldiers, both militiamen and serjeants, rushed into position. Some of the militiamen dragged carts. The carts held small ballistas mounted on swivels, able to be aimed and fired quickly to pin dragon wings. The messenger led them across the square to the rampart, and Tyrcamber and the others climbed the stairs to the battlements.

  Rincimar, Lord Radobertus, and Master Ruire stood there. Tyrcamber spotted Rilmael standing with them, unseen within his obscuring spell. Beyond the ramparts, several hundred yards to the east, Tyrcamber saw that the great black dragon had landed across the road. The Escheator had been smart enough to put his dragon down out of range of any siege engines or missiles from the walls. A well-aimed Lance spell could hit the dragon, but the Escheator would have ample time to ready his defenses.

  “First Mhyarith,” said Count Radobertus. “Thank you for coming. The Escheator has been…”

  “Come forth!” The voice boomed out of the sky, driven to a titanic volume through magic. Tyrcamber felt a terrible chill as he heard that voice. The voice of a dark elf was music and beauty, but there was terrible malice within those melodious tones. “I demand that the First of the umbral elves of Sygalynon come forth and answer for her treachery!”

  The Escheator had spoken his demand in Latin. There was a pause, and then he said the same thing in the Frankish tongue.

  “He has been repeating the same demand over and over,” said Radobertus.

  “Is he alone?” said Mhyarith. “There are no soldiers with him?”

  “As far as we can determine, he is alone,” said Ruire. “It would have been impossible to get an army this far west without anyone noticing. Had the Escheator a host with him, we would see the smoke of dozens of burning villages on the horizon.”

  “None of our patrols have reported anything unusual,” said Rincimar, his voice grim.

  The Escheator’s voice boomed out again, repeating his demands.

  “Surely you are not thinking of going out to him?” said Charanis. “He is treacherous and will kill you.”

  “Certainly not,” said Mhyarith. “I am not so foolish. But let us see what he wants.”

  She worked a spell, silver light glimmering around her fingers, and stepped to the battlements. “Escheator! I, Mhyarith, the First of Sygalynon, am here! What is your business with me?”

  Her voice rolled out like a thunderclap. There was a pause, and then the Escheator answered her.

  “You have committed treachery against our lord the Valedictor,” said the dark elf. Even across the distance of hundreds of yards, Tyrcamber felt the weight of the Escheator’s gaze. “You have turned your back upon your lawful lords to consort with human vermin. Depart the human city at once and bring Sygalynon under the authority of the Valedictor, and you shall be forgiven.”

  Mhyarith’s scornful laugh rang out. “And by what right do you make these claims? We followed the Dragon Imperator, but the Dragon Imperator is slain. The Valedictor thinks to mimic his dead master and claim the throne of Urd Mythruin, but he is but the Dragon Imperator’s pale shadow.” The scorn in her voice intensified. “And you are but the lackey of a pretender.”

  Tyrcamber shifted and glanced at Rilmael, who remained motionless. Should Myarith provoke the Escheator into a fight, he was glad that the Guardian was here. If the Escheator attacked, they would win in the end, but the dragon’s fire would do appalling damage to the city. Perhaps Rilmael’s power could hold back some of the dragon’s fury.

  “And you are rebels who have revolted against your lawful lord,” said the Escheator. “You thought to make yourself a realm, and instead you have spent half your time warring against each other, and in desperation, you now seek to ally with the pitiful human apes. Yet it is not too late. The Valedictor is willing to extend forgiveness and mercy. Return to your true allegiance, and the Valedictor shall welcome you back.”

  “A likely story,” said Mhyarith. “We followed the dark elves for millennia. And what did we gain from our service? Naught but death and ruin! The Dragon Imperator could not overcome Cathair Kaldran and the wretched Guardian. He could not even overcome the xiatami priests, and then a human Dragontiarna slew him. If the Dragon Imperator could not defeat these foes, the Valedictor will have no chance. If the Valedictor wants to walk the same path to ruin, let him! But we shall not join him.”

  “Do not be a fool, First,” said the Escheator. “You stand on the edge of victory or destruction.”

  “And what destruction shall you bring, Escheator?” said the First. “You have come with one dragon. Attack, and you shall be destroyed. Even if you brought some of your rotting pets, you shall still be overcome.”

  “Then hear the judgment of the Valedictor, First of Sygalynon,” said the Escheator. “You shall perish in flames. The city of Falconberg, for the crime of hosting you and your treachery, shall burn with you. And when the Empire falls, when the Valedictor’s hosts march from Urd Mythruin, we shall burn Sygalynon to ashes. Every single umbral elf shall be put to the sword, and your wretched kindred shall be remembered only as fools and traitors. Think upon this when you die.”

  His dragon roared and spat out a plume of flame, and its wings unfolded, and the creature leaped into the air, spiraling upward. Tyrcamber tensed, expecting the Escheator to attack the city walls. If he struck at once, perhaps his dragon could burn Mhyarith where she stood. Tyrcamber drew on his magic, preparing himself for battle. He saw Rilmael tense, his staff grasped in both hands. If the Escheator attacked, would Rilmael reveal himself? That might drive Mhyarith and the umbral elves to a rage, knowing that their ancient enemy had been among them the entire time.

  But the black dragon banked and flew away to the east, stark against the harsh light of the sky fire. Tyrcamber waited with the others, but the Escheator’s dragon soon vanished from sight and did not return.

  No other foes presented themselves.

  Whatever doom the Escheator planned for Falconberg, it seemed it would not fall today.

  ***

  Chapter 7: A Hidden Path

  The rest of the morning passed in wary tension.

  Once it became clear that the Escheator had departed, the First and the Chancellor returned to Falcon Hall to resume their deliberations. The Escheator’s visit had added new tension to their already urgent discussions, and Ruire thought that Radobertus and Mhyarith would come to an accord today.

  Tyrcamber hoped that the Master was right, that the negotiations would conclude soon and that Mhyarith could return to Sygalynon. A growing tension gnawed at Tyrcamber, and he had the creeping feeling that they were standing on the edge of some great catastrophe. Maybe the feeling came from overwound nerves. The mystery of the Dragon Cult and Tynrogaul’s strange attacks had been wearing on Tyrcamber’s mind, and the Escheator’s abrupt arrival and departure had worried him further. Perhaps that had been the Escheator’s goal, to sow fear and discord between the Empire and the umbral elves.

  Still. Urd Mythruin to Falconberg was a long flight just for the Escheator to spout some empty threats before departing.

  Maybe the threats were not so empty.

  Or maybe Tyrcamber’s imagination was running away with itself.

  Yet he had felt the same in Tongur before the traitorous Sir Marchoc had tried to open the gates to the goblins, and the se
nse of impending disaster would not leave him.

  “You look troubled,” said Angaric.

  “That’s because I am,” said Tyrcamber.

  He stood with Angaric near the doors to Falcon Hall. The doors had been sealed, the First and the Chancellor meeting alone with a few bodyguards to discuss the final phases of the treaty between the Empire and the Republic. With luck, they would conclude soon, and the First would be on the road back to Sygalynon tomorrow.

  Which meant if there was going to be trouble, it would be today. Perhaps at any moment.

  Angaric gave a placid shrug. “I was sure when the Escheator and his dragon showed up, we were going to have a battle. That the muridachs were going to come boiling out of the sewers, or charge at the wall. But I suppose the Escheator came here to bully the First into supporting the Valedictor.”

  “Do you believe that?” said Tyrcamber, watching the burghers going about their business in Cathedral Square. The First of the umbral elves and the Chancellor of the Empire might be meeting to decide the fate of nations, but life still went on in Falconberg. Women shopped at merchant stalls, and carts and horsemen moved through the streets. Tyrcamber supposed that the people of the city were perfectly aware that war might come at any moment but worrying about that would not pay their rent or feed their children.

  “No, not really,” said Angaric. “The dark elves and the muridachs are playing some game with us. My guess is that the Valedictor has a secret agreement with Kurphylon, and he ordered the muridachs to attack the umbral elves. So Tynrogaul showed up and attacked.”

  “That makes sense,” conceded Tyrcamber, “but why was Tynrogaul at Tolbiac? And what was Michael Gantier doing there?”

  “The muridachs might have decided to kill the Chancellor since he was meeting with the First,” said Angaric. “And Gantier might be just some treasure hunter looking for trouble.”

  “He found it,” said Tyrcamber, remembering the aura of dark magic he had sensed beneath the hill.