Malison: Dragon Umbra Page 14

  A half-dozen women in servants’ livery sat against the wall, their hands tied behind their backs and their ankles bound together, gags in their mouths. Their eyes went wide when they saw Tyrcamber and Angaric and went even wider when they saw Charanis.

  “Wait a moment,” murmured Tyrcamber. “Perhaps we can learn something useful.”

  He crossed to the nearest captive, a wiry-looking woman of about forty. Her gray eyes met his, and he saw the fear and mingled hope there.

  “I’m going to take your gag out,” said Tyrcamber. “There are enemies nearby. As you value your life, don’t scream.”

  He bent and pulled out the gag. The woman let out a shuddering gasp.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Did the Shield send you? He must know about the ratmen!”

  “Where are we?” said Tyrcamber.

  The woman blinked in surprise. “The…the mansion of the Shield of Falconberg, Karl Rincimar.”

  Tyrcamber grimaced. Had Rincimar been part of the Dragon Cult all along?

  “What happened here?” said Charanis. “Speak.”

  The gray-eyed woman flinched, gazing at Charanis with obvious fear.

  “What’s your name?” said Tyrcamber.

  “Emma, sir knight,” said the woman.

  “What happened here, Emma?” said Tyrcamber. “Tell me.”

  “I don’t know,” said Emma. “We were working to prepare the evening meal when the ratmen burst in from the great hall. I thought they would kill us, but they tied us up and left. Then they carried…something up from the cellar.”

  “A dragon’s skull?” said Tyrcamber.

  “Aye,” said Emma. “It was a frightful thing. I had never seen anything that looked so evil. The ratmen and some human rogues carried it into the house. Then you came up from the cellar.”

  “That door,” said Tyrcamber, jerking his head at the door on the left. “Does it go outside?”

  “To the alley, sir,” said Emma.

  “Angaric,” said Tyrcamber. “Check it. I’m going to start cutting them loose.”

  Angaric nodded and hurried across the kitchen, while Tyrcamber used his sword to slice through the ropes binding the cooks. Charanis watched the door leading into the house. The women scrambled to their feet while Angaric opened the door a few inches and peered through it.

  “It’s clear,” said Angaric.

  “All right,” said Tyrcamber to the women. “Listen to me, all of you. I am Sir Tyrcamber Rigamond, a knight of the Order of Embers. You’re going to go through the alley door, and then three of you will go to Falcon Hall, and the other three of you will go to the chapterhouse of the Order of Embers. Run as fast as your legs can carry you. Once you get there, tell the guards that the muridachs have seized control of the Shield’s house and are preparing to launch an attack on the city. Use my name if they won’t listen. Go now, and run!”

  The women didn’t hesitate. They filed through the alley door, and Tyrcamber heard the slap of their feet against the cobblestones as they ran. Angaric closed the door behind them.

  “Any particular reason we’re not following them?” said Angaric.

  “I want to have a look around,” said Tyrcamber. “If we can find that skull, it will be helpful.” He looked at Charanis. “And you said it takes the blood of an innocent victim to activate the skull.”

  “It does,” said Charanis. “I am uncertain of the specific type of victim, though. Perhaps someone particularly strong in magic. Or perhaps a virgin.” She smirked at Angaric. “Which, as we have established, is not you, Sir Angaric.”

  He smirked back. “And what of you, dark maiden of Sygalynon?”

  She didn’t actually have eyebrows, but if she had, she would have raised one. “I haven’t been a maiden since before you were born, Sir Angaric.”

  “That,” said Tyrcamber, “is more than I wanted to know.” Her white grin flashed in her gray face. “But if none of us are virgins, perhaps we can save one from dying upon that damned skull. Let’s go.”

  He crossed to the right-hand door and eased it open. Beyond he saw a narrow servants’ hallway paneled in dark wood, doors lining it on either side. The corridor terminated in a half-open door twenty yards away, and through it, Tyrcamber glimpsed the wide space of a dining hall and heard voices raised in argument. He eased down the corridor, sword ready, the voices growing clearer. If he got close enough, he could peer through the door and into the hall…

  “Tyrcamber,” whispered Charanis.

  He looked at her as she stopped and opened a door. Beyond it was a narrow flight of stairs.

  “Balcony,” she said.

  He grasped her intent at once. If the dining hall had a balcony, they could use it to overlook the hall, take the measure of their enemies, and then retreat to provide counsel to the Master and the Shield. Or maybe just the Master, if Karl Rincimar was part of the Dragon Cult. Tyrcamber could not make up his mind. Rincimar had been a bitter enemy of the Dragon Cult, and perhaps the cultists had decided to use his mansion as a means of petty revenge.

  Or maybe Rincimar really was a follower of the cult as Vordin and Quentin had hinted.

  Tyrcamber climbed the stairs one cautious step at a time, Angaric and Charanis following him. The stairs made more noise than he would have liked, but hopefully, the creak of stressed wood would not be audible in the dining hall. The steps ended in a narrow door, and Tyrcamber slipped through it.

  He found himself in a wooden balcony overlooking a wide dining hall. The hall was the size of a good-sized church, with a gleaming marble floor and polished wooden pillars supporting a vaulted ceiling. Rincimar had not let himself go to fat since he had seized Falconberg, but he appeared to have enjoyed his wealth nonetheless. The tables and the chairs in the dining hall had been shoved under the balconies, creating a broad, empty space.

  The dragon’s skull sat on the dais, filling the hall with its bloody glow.

  Tyrcamber’s breath hissed through his clenched teeth as he crept towards the balcony railing.

  Heinrich Vordin and Philip Quentin stood before the skull, the red light washing over their crimson robes. Both men wore identical amulets around their necks, an iron figurine of a human body with a dragon’s head, the symbol of the Dragon Cult. Michael Gantier and Tynrogaul stood at the foot of the dais, glowering at each other. Yet they did not offer insults, probably because the Theophract waited at the base of a pillar a short distance from the dais, shrouded in his dark cloak, both hands grasping his strange black staff. Muridach warriors and human rogues stood throughout the hall, watching the dragon skull on the dais.

  “My lord Theophract,” said Vordin. “I have been waiting for this moment for a long, long time.”

  “Indeed, you have,” said the Theophract. “When Karl Rincimar purged the Path of the Dragon from Falconberg, he slew most of your brothers and sisters. But you, Heinrich Vordin, and you, Philip Quentin, you were cunning. You hid your true allegiances, and you mouthed the pious words to the Dominus Christus and the Emperor, but in your hearts, you remained loyal to the Path of the Dragon, to the truth that I have revealed to humanity.” He gestured with one armored hand. “For the Path of the Dragon leads in the end to godhood. For you are the worthiest, the strongest of humanity, and you shall cast off your mortality to become gods.”

  Tyrcamber’s mouth twisted. He had heard the Theophract give a similar speech to Dietrich Normand’s followers in the catacombs of Tamisa.

  “And here is the instrument of your ascension,” said the Theophract, gesturing at the glowing dragon skull. “This weapon will harvest the life forces of the humans of Falconberg, and it will bestow that strength upon you. With that power, you will both transform. You, Heinrich Vordin, and you, Philip Quentin, shall ascend to become Dragonmaeloch.”

  Tyrcamber’s jaw clenched. Fighting one Dragonmaeloch had been bad enough. Fighting two of them at once would destroy Falconberg. At least it would have if the Theophract had not been planning to kill everyone in the city wi
th that skull.

  “And you,” said the Theophract, his snarling mask turning to take in Gantier’s rogues and Tynrogaul’s warriors. “Should you remain loyal, you will rise high in the new order that these two Dragonmaeloch shall create.”

  That was a lie. If Vordin and Quentin transformed, they would start destroying everything around them. In time, they would master themselves long enough to gather armies and start a campaign of pillage and conquest, but they would kill everyone around them first. No doubt the Theophract had failed to mention that.

  “We’ve seen enough,” breathed Charanis. “Let’s get out of here and find your lords. They must strike at once.”

  Tyrcamber nodded. The combined forces of the Order of Embers and the Falconberg militia would be enough to overwhelm Gantier’s mercenaries and the muridachs. The Theophract, though…perhaps Rilmael would be able to counter his power. Tyrcamber wondered if Karl Rincimar was still alive to take command of his soldiers, or if Quentin and Vordin had murdered him.

  He started to turn back towards the stairs, and then the hall doors banged open below.

  “Now,” said Theophract. “We begin.”

  A torrent of furious invective came to Tyrcamber’s ears, a woman’s voice raised in fury.

  Two muridach warriors came into sight, dragging Sigurd Rincimar between them. Her hair was disheveled, and her gown torn, a bruise on her right cheek. Her eyes blazed with rage, and her teeth were bared in a snarl.

  “You miserable traitors!” she shrieked at Quentin and Vordin as the muridachs dragged her towards the skull. “My uncle will have your heads! You will drown in your blood! I will watch you die as…”

  Quentin let out a long laugh. “Ah, I’ve looked forward to this day, you arrogant bitch. Your up-jumped thug of an uncle and his haughty niece with her false courtesies. Your father and your uncle did us a great deal of harm. Well, today we shall have our vengeance.” He leered at her, his thick face seeming to glow with satisfaction. “You should have married me when you had the chance.”

  Sigurd sneered at him. “Better that I die than marry a dragon-kissing cultist like you, Philip.” She let out a mocking laugh. “Though if we had wed, I would have been smothered beneath your suet. Assuming your manhood isn’t as limp and as flabby as the rest of…”

  Quentin snarled and slapped her across the face, and Sigurd’s head snapped to the side.

  “Enough,” said the Theophract. “Prepare her.”

  Four more muridachs moved forward and began ripping at Sigurd’s clothing. She fought in their grasp, shouting threats and cursing, but soon the muridachs stripped her naked. They wrestled her onto the dais and bent her backward over the dragon’s skull, chaining her wrists and ankles to the jawbone.

  “You are fair to look upon indeed,” said Quentin. “A pity we never wed.” Sigurd tried to spit at him and missed, every muscle in her body seeming to clench at once as she struggled. “I would have enjoyed breaking your pride and teaching you humility. But your death will serve a far greater purpose than your life ever would have done.”

  “Let us begin the spell,” said Vordin.

  Both men produced daggers from beneath their robes.

  “We have to stop them,” whispered Tyrcamber. “If they kill Sigurd, they’ll activate the weapon.” Both Vordin and Quentin began to chant in the dark elven tongue, ghostly blue fire dancing around the blades of their daggers.

  “It will not take them long,” said Angaric, gesturing as he worked the Sense spell. “In another minute or two they will have summoned the necessary power.”

  “I will shoot one of the aldermen,” said Charanis. “That should distract them. We will have to hold out until help can arrive.”

  “Aye,” said Tyrcamber, but he knew that would be an enormous gamble. Would they be able to survive until the Master arrived with reinforcements?

  He looked down and saw the Theophract staring at them.

  The dark elven sorcerer had sensed their presence. Perhaps he had detected Angaric’s Sense spell.

  “Intruders!” shouted the Theophract.

  He thrust his staff forward, and the balcony exploded around Tyrcamber.

  ***

  Chapter 10: Swords & Spells

  The railing exploded into a rain of a thousand wooden shards, and Tyrcamber threw himself backward, arm raised to shield his face. Angaric remained where he was and cast the Shield spell, and the resultant Shield was large enough to cover him, Tyrcamber, and Charanis all at once. Charanis likewise did not dodge, but snapped her bow up, drew back the string, and released all in the space of a single heartbeat.

  Her arrow stabbed through the hall and plunged into the chest of Philip Quentin, who staggered backward and collapsed with a scream, disappearing from sight behind the dragon skull. Charanis’s next arrow hurtled towards Heinrich Vordin, who had quicker wits than Quentin. Vordin cast a Shield spell, and the arrow splintered against it. Charanis did not hesitate but pivoted and released a third shot.

  The Theophract made no move to dodge as his arrow flew towards her.

  At the last possible instant, something that looked like a tentacle of shadows cracked like a whip from the staff and intercepted the arrow. The shaft splintered and clattered against the polished floor at the Theophract’s feet.

  Tyrcamber straightened up, calling power for a Lance spell. Both Gantier and Tynrogaul bellowed orders, and their warriors drew weapons or started spells.

  “Tyrcamber!” shouted Sigurd from the dragon skull. “Quentin and Vordin are traitors! They’re cultists, and they let Gantier and Tynrogaul into the city! They…”

  “Tyrcamber Rigamond,” said the Theophract.

  His voice was quiet, but it seemed to slice through the noise in the hall like a glass knife, and silence fell as the muridachs and the humans looked towards the Theophract.

  “I remember you,” said the Theophract. “You were at Tamisa, in the ruins of the old city. You’re one of the Guardian’s little pets. How much the worse for you. Those the Guardian ‘aids’ find their feet upon a path that leads inevitably to their doom. Your entire Empire is the Guardian’s shield, and you know it not.”

  “All men die,” said Tyrcamber, looking at the Theophract.

  “Yes, they do,” said the Theophract, inclining his masked head like a swordsman acknowledging an opponent in the final moment before a duel. “And some sooner than others. You will find this a mercy, considering what might have befallen if you had heeded the Guardian’s counsel. Kill them!”

  The muridachs charged forward with a yell, as did the human soldiers. Some of the muridachs and the human rogues began casting spells. Vordin remained near the dragon skull and Sigurd, holding his Shield spell in place. Tyrcamber just had time to feel a flicker of contempt for the man’s cowardice, and then he started a Lance spell, intending to blast the Theophract where he stood.

  But Angaric was faster.

  The stocky knight yelled like a man attempting to lift a great weight and thrust his free hand forward. Blinding white light flared around his hand, and then a stream of brilliant molten fire leaped from his palm. It was the Fire Torrent spell, one of the secret spells of the Order of Embers, but cast with far greater power than Tyrcamber could manage.

  The shaft of brilliant flame swept across the hall like a sword stroke as Angaric swung his hand, and the fire ripped into the muridachs and the human rogues. A half a dozen humans and seven or eight muridachs died at once, sliced in half by the mighty spell. Angaric released the spell and started another, sweat pouring off his face.

  “Keep them off me!” said Angaric.

  Charanis cast a spell of her own, raised her bow, and started shooting. The spell she used seemed like a variant of the Sword spell, which charged blades with magical power. Instead of her sword, she charged her bow, and her arrowheads sparked and flared with lightning. When her shafts struck home, arcs of lightning exploded out, stunning and shocking the nearby muridachs and humans.

  Yet the human
rogues raced for the stairs to the balcony. The muridachs didn’t bother with the stairs. With their sharp claws, they scaled the wooden pillars to the shattered railing and then charged at Angaric and Charanis as they rained fire and steel and lightning on their foes.

  Tyrcamber leaped to meet the muridachs, his sword exploding with elemental fire in his hand. Even as he held the Sword spell, he cast the Armor spell as well, sheathing himself in elemental flames. He crashed into the advancing muridachs, and the creatures cringed back from his fire. Tyrcamber killed three of them in rapid succession, and then a Lance spell from Angaric killed a fourth as it prepared to spring on him.

  Yet there were too many muridachs, and Tyrcamber found himself forced back. The ratmen cast Armor spells of their own, sheathing themselves in crackling lighting or shells of purple light, and Tyrcamber had to switch to the defensive. Steel rang on steel as he parried and blocked, trying to keep the muridach blades at bay. Charanis fired three more arrows at point-blank range in rapid succession, the lightning rippling through the muridachs. Then she cast aside her bow and drew both daggers from her belt, the blades crackling with fresh lightning, and sprang at the muridachs.

  A roar sounded from behind him, and Tyrcamber risked a look back just long enough to see Gantier’s rogues scrambling up the stairs. He was baffled that it had taken so long for them to arrive, but time always seemed so much slower in a battle. Likely it had been no more than a minute. Tyrcamber realized that he could not fight both the muridachs and Gantier’s men at the same time, at least not for very long.

  Angaric whirled and cast another of the Order’s secret spells. The Fire Wall spell created a curtain of elemental flame, and Angaric’s spell sealed off the door to the stairs, blocking it with crackling fire. Even from a distance, Tyrcamber felt the heat of the flames beating against him. Unfortunately, the wooden paneling near the door began to burn, and the flames spread to the planks of the balcony.

  “You idiot!” snarled Charanis, one of her daggers ripping open the throat of a muridach. “You’ll burn us all!”