Malison: Dragon Umbra Page 6

  Inside the hall was dim, only one of the hearths lit. Master Ruire stood in the light of the hearth, his face grave, and next to him stood…

  Tyrcamber faltered for a step.

  A cloak elf stood next to the Master.

  The elves of Cathair Kaldran usually wore a long gray cloak, hence their name, and this elf was no different. Beneath the gray cloak, he wore weather-beaten traveling clothes – a leather jerkin, trousers, and heavy boots stained with dust. His eyes were a harsh shade of silver, and gray streaked his close-cropped beard and dark hair. A longsword hung in a scabbard at his belt.

  In his right hand, he carried a staff of reddish-gold, its top shaped into a roaring dragon’s head.

  The cloak elf was Rilmael, the Guardian of Cathair Kaldran, and where he went, trouble followed.

  Or, more accurately, he went where the trouble was about to begin.

  Tyrcamber had fought alongside him twice before, and he had almost been slain both times.

  He took a deep breath and offered a bow. “Lord Guardian.”

  ***

  Chapter 3: The Guardian

  “Sir Tyrcamber,” said Rilmael. His voice was quiet and solemn. “It has been two years, has it not?”

  “Aye, two years since Tamisa and the Dragonmaeloch,” said Tyrcamber, remembering that terrible battle in the courtyard of his brother-in-law’s castle. The Dragon Cult and the traitorous Sir Dietrich Normand had conspired to hand the city over to the xiatami and transform Dietrich himself into a Dragonmaeloch, a dragon immune to magical enslavement. Dietrich and the Cult had nearly achieved their goal, and they had almost killed Tyrcamber’s sister and his nephews in the process.

  Dietrich had been defeated, and Tyrcamber had dealt the blow that had slain the Dragonmaeloch. But by God and the saints and the apostles, it had been close, and a lot of men had died in the battle. The following campaign against the xiatami had seemed almost easy by comparison.

  Tyrcamber offered a brief, silent prayer to God, hoping that whatever evil had brought the Guardian to Falconberg might be easily defeated.

  But he doubted it would be easy.

  “The Guardian says that you are already acquainted, Sir Tyrcamber,” said Ruire.

  “Aye, my lord,” said Tyrcamber. “We met at the siege of Tongur, when the Valedictor began his war on the Empire. And three years later during the xiatami attack on Mourdrech. The Dragon Cult tried to hand the city over the xiatami.”

  “The Guardian likewise says you acquitted yourself well during those affairs,” said Ruire.

  Tyrcamber let out a long breath. “I tried to do my duty as best as I could, my lord.”

  “That is all any man of the Empire or any knight of the Order can do, Sir Tyrcamber,” said Ruire. “I will be blunt. Usually, this is a matter I would only discuss with the preceptors or the other high officers of the Order, but Rilmael requested your aid. And, if the Dragon Cult is indeed hidden within Falconberg, then we need to keep the Guardian’s presence a secret.” He scowled. “Too often the Cult’s treachery has caused great harm. Men will commit great evil in the hope of becoming immortal dragon gods.”

  “You know why I have come to Falconberg, Sir Tyrcamber?” said Rilmael.

  “No, but I can guess,” said Tyrcamber. “The Sight showed you a vision of ruin that will befall if you do not act.”

  Rilmael nodded. “The Sight is often an imprecise guide, and the shadows of the future are ever shifting and changing. But I did see a vision of great clarity. I saw that Falconberg would be destroyed in fire, and if Falconberg was destroyed, the Empire would fall, and the Valedictor would triumph.”

  “Based on what we saw of Michael Gantier,” said Ruire, “and what the Shield told us, it seems clear that the Dragon Cult is involved in this matter in some way.”

  “What precisely did you see at Tolbiac, Sir Tyrcamber?” said Rilmael.

  Tyrcamber sketched out what he had seen in the opened tomb below the ruined dark elven tower. Rilmael listened without interrupting, his face grave.

  “Millennia ago,” said Rilmael once Tyrcamber had finished, “these lands were ruled by the dark elves. In time, the dark elven princes warred against each other and destroyed themselves, long before humans came here. But before the dark elven princes fell, there were rumors that they had created a weapon of great power.”

  “What manner of weapon?” said Tyrcamber.

  “A weapon wrought of dragon bone.”

  Tyrcamber blinked. “Dragon bone? Is that even possible? When a dragon is killed, it reverts to its original form.” He remembered the misshapen dragon he had killed outside the gates of Tongur, how it had shrunk down to the form of a naked peasant woman who had lost control of her magic and succumbed to the Malison.

  That had been five years ago, and he still regretted it.

  No, regret wasn’t the right word. The woman had become a dragon, and she would either have gone on a murderous rampage or been enslaved by one of the dark elven nobles, probably the Valedictor himself or one of his lieutenants. Tyrcamber had put the woman out of her misery when he killed her and saved the lives of all the victims she would have claimed across the centuries.

  Yet he still wished it had ended differently…and he still remembered how her body had shrunk back into its human form. There would have been no time to extract dragon bone before her body had returned to its original shape.

  “The bone has to be extracted while the dragon is still alive,” said Rilmael.

  “That sounds ghastly,” said Tyrcamber.

  “It is,” said Rilmael. “It is also exceedingly difficult. Dragons are easily enslaved by spells of dark magic, but sufficient pain overrides those spells and causes them to go berserk. Additionally, a dragon can die of massive blood loss during the extraction, and then the dragon shrinks to its original form. Nevertheless, it has been done a few times, and dragon bone is charged with immense amounts of magical power. Weapons of terrible strength have been created using dragon bone, the sort of weapons that decide the fate of empires.”

  “And the dark elves might have left such a weapon near Falconberg,” said Tyrcamber.

  “It is a possibility,” said Rilmael, “and it would also explain the potential for destruction I saw within the future of the city.”

  “And the timing could not be worse,” said Ruire. “The First of the umbral elves and her guards will be arriving soon to negotiate with Count Radobertus. The umbral elves, male and female both, elect the First, and she has no choice but to bend to the will of the entire nation. If the First is attacked or killed while she is visiting Falconberg, either she or her successor will have no choice but to attack the Empire. Almost certainly the Valedictor will draw the umbral elves of Sygalynon into his control, and the Empire will face war on another front.”

  “My lord,” said Tyrcamber. “Mistress Sigurd and I spoke in Falcon Hall…”

  “I saw that,” said Ruire. “I urge caution around her. She likes to play the witless girl, but her mind is just as sharp as her uncle’s.”

  “She told me that Karl Rincimar was a mercenary commander who seized control of the city,” said Tyrcamber. “She said the Dragon Cult was secretly ruling Falconberg and murdered her parents, but her uncle defeated them and executed the cult.”

  “Her account was true,” said Ruire. “It was quite a scandal at the time, and half the nobles of the Empire wanted Rincimar executed, and Falconberg placed under a different Shield or beneath the control of Duke Cormarl. The Emperor refused and confirmed Rincimar as the Shield. I am surprised you didn’t hear more about it.”

  “I was still a squire at Sinderost at the time, my lord,” said Tyrcamber. “I heard of some trouble in Falconberg, but I didn’t pay much attention.” He had considered the affairs of an Imperial Free City beneath the attention of the son of a duke, and Corswain Scuinar had complained frequently about the perfidy and greed of the burghers.

  “The Emperor acted on my counsel,” said Rilmael, “for I was the
one who urged Karl Rincimar to strike.”

  “Did you, lord Guardian?” said Ruire, raising his eyebrows. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Given my reputation,” said Rilmael in a dry voice, “it is often wise to keep my involvement in the affairs of the Empire a secret. Also, the less my enemies know about my movements, the better. But the chapter of the Dragon Cult within Falconberg was old and well-established, and increasingly influential. Rincimar burned them out and uprooted them, but he may have missed a few.”

  “Then the Dragon Cult waited for an opportunity to act,” said Tyrcamber, “and the visit of the First has given it to them.”

  Rilmael nodded. “Most probably.”

  Ruire hesitated and then spoke. “It is also possible the leaders of the Dragon Cult have directed it to act.”

  “You mean the Theophract, my lord?” said Tyrcamber.

  The Master blinked. “You know of this? The Theophract is a secret known only to the Emperor and the high officers of the Imperial Orders.”

  “I met him, my lord,” said Tyrcamber.

  “More than that,” said Rilmael. “Sir Tyrcamber faced the Theophract in battle in the catacombs below Tamisa. It was hard to keep the Theophract’s existence secret from Sir Tyrcamber after that.”

  “I would imagine so,” said Ruire.

  “I believe the Theophract suspected there is a weapon of dragon bone hidden near Falconberg for some time,” said Rilmael. “He has made efforts to find it, but he never located it. I think he instructed the chapter of the cult in Falconberg to find the weapon, but the Shield destroyed them. Based on what you have told me, Master Ruire, it is possible that Gantier was hired by the cult to find the weapon. Or he joined the cult himself and sought the weapon out.”

  “Then perhaps Gantier took the weapon from Falconberg,” said Tyrcamber.

  “Perhaps,” said Ruire, “but unlikely. The Dragon Cult knows this is a good moment to strike. I cannot imagine the Theophract will let an opportunity like this pass by.”

  “Could you use the Sight to find the weapon?” said Tyrcamber.

  “I would have to know precisely what manner of weapon it is first,” said Rilmael. “But it would be difficult to find anything within Falconberg. Over a hundred thousand humans live in this city, and all of them can use magic. Most of them use magic every day – casting the Lance spell with elemental flame to start a hearth fire, or with elemental ice to preserve food, or casting the Heal spell on injuries and illness. So many humans gathered in one place create so many ripples in the currents of magic that finding anything shall be difficult.”

  “Then what can we do?” said Ruire. “We can hardly search from house to house and cellar to cellar. We don’t have enough men for that, even if we use the city’s militia, and Rincimar would never support it. Even if he agreed, the aldermen would sabotage our efforts.”

  “Searching the city would be futile,” agreed Rilmael. “For that matter, both the sewers and the catacombs beneath Falconberg are quite extensive. The weapon might be hidden beneath the city.”

  Tyrcamber groaned before he stopped himself. “More catacombs?”

  “Quite a few,” said Rilmael. “The muridachs razed and destroyed the city of Falconberg four hundred years ago during the First Dragontiarna War. Later the city was rebuilt over the ruins. Before humans even came to this land, there was a dark elven city on this site…”

  “And some of the ruins are still buried under Falconberg,” said Tyrcamber.

  “I’m afraid so,” said Rilmael.

  “Rincimar should have maps of the tunnels,” said Ruire. “When he seized control of the city, I understand he destroyed several cult shrines in the catacombs.”

  “He will have maps,” said Rilmael, “but I doubt he was able to map the entirety of the passageways.”

  “Is the Shield telling the truth?” said Tyrcamber.

  “What do you mean?” said Ruire.

  Tyrcamber took a deep breath. “Perhaps Karl Rincimar is part of the cult.”

  “That seems unlikely, given that he destroyed Falconberg’s cult chapter,” said Rilmael.

  Ruire looked troubled. “But the Empire has seen such treacherous betrayals several times in its history. And the Dragon Cultists are ruthless. If the Shield was a cultist, he would not hesitate to murder his fellows to advance himself.”

  “Aye,” said Tyrcamber, remembering how Dietrich Normand had been willing to sacrifice his fellow cultists to become a Dragonmaeloch.

  “I suggest that we take great caution,” said Rilmael. “Using the weapon to assassinate the First is a logical course of action for the cult. Once the umbral elves arrive, they will proceed directly from the gate to Cathedral Square and Falcon Hall. We must guard the First for the entirety of her stay in the city.”

  “We would have to do that in any event,” said Ruire. “Since the First is our guest, the Empire’s honor depends upon making sure she departs Falconberg safely.”

  “What if she is attacked on the road?” said Tyrcamber.

  “That would be regrettable, and it might cause problems with Sygalynon,” said Ruire, “but it would not incite a war. The roads are perilous at the best of times, and she will not be the Empire’s guest until Count Radobertus formally greets her in the Market of St. Mark. And given how vicious the internal politics of the umbral elves are, it is possible the First will be assassinated on the road anyway.”

  “Not this First,” said Rilmael. “It is uncommon for a woman to be elected First of Sygalynon, and Mhyarith of the umbral elves is both a wizard of power and a leader of exceptional ruthlessness. Which may work to our advantage. She will be very difficult to take unawares.”

  “We will need all the advantages we can gather,” said Ruire.

  “Will you tell Count Radobertus of this, my lord?” said Tyrcamber.

  “I shall,” said Ruire, “but no one else.” His hard eyes turned to Tyrcamber. “And you will not tell anyone else of this conversation, Sir Tyrcamber, nor mention the Guardian’s presence.”

  “I will remain silent, my lord,” said Tyrcamber. “I fear I have learned what it means to keep a secret.” He looked at the Guardian. “If I can ask, what will you do?”

  “I shall remain among the men of the Order,” said Rilmael, “and keep watch.”

  Tyrcamber frowned. “It shall be rather difficult for you to stay out of sight.”

  “I can use a spell of obscuring to make myself unnoticeable,” said Rilmael.

  Tyrcamber blinked. “Invisibility?” He had heard that some of the Knights of the Griffin knew spells of air magic to make themselves unseen.

  Rilmael smiled. “That takes too much power and concentration. No, my spell will simply make me unremarkable. No one will notice me, save for you. I will not be able to use any magic while I am obscured, but I can use the Sight.”

  “That will be a great advantage,” said Tyrcamber. If the Cult tried to employ some ancient weapon of dragon bone and dark magic, likely it would be rather noticeable. “What should I do, my lord?”

  “Whatever duties you are assigned,” said Ruire. “But remain watchful. You’ve had experience with the Dragon Cult, so you know how they think. If you see anything suspicious, report to me at once.” He gestured at the door. “In the meantime, I shall bid you good night, Sir Tyrcamber. Tomorrow, I think, we shall undertake patrols through the city’s streets, to ensure that we are seen. Perhaps that will draw out any Dragon Cultists.”

  “Perhaps,” said Tyrcamber, though he doubted it.

  “I shall walk you out, Sir Tyrcamber,” said Rilmael. “I want to take a look around the city.”

  “Do as you think best, lord Guardian,” said Ruire. “If you will excuse me, I need to speak with the preceptor.”

  He strode to the door leading to the kitchens at the back end of the hall. Rilmael beckoned, and Tyrcamber walked with him to the main doors. The Guardian tapped the end of his staff against the floor, and it flashed with gray light. Rilmael see
med to blur and shift around the edges, almost as if his image was just out of focus.

  “The obscuring spell?” said Tyrcamber.

  “Aye,” said Rilmael. “I have shaped it so you can see through it. But anyone else who sees me will simply forget that I am there.”

  “Useful spell,” said Tyrcamber. “I suppose if you get tired of the office of Guardian, you could become a master thief instead.”

  He pushed open the door and stepped into the courtyard. Night had fallen, and the sheet of fire that filled the sky had shifted from harsh yellow-orange to cold, pale blue. Dim blue light covered the courtyard of the chapterhouse in thick shadows. A flash of memory went through Tyrcamber. He had stood with the Guardian under the night sky fire at Tongur and at Tamisa, and Rilmael had warned him of things to come.

  “You think after fifteen thousand years I would be used to it,” murmured Rilmael, glancing at the sky, “but it still sometimes surprises me.”

  “What’s that?” said Tyrcamber.

  “The sky fire,” said Rilmael.

  Tyrcamber turned a wary eye towards the sky, half-expecting to see dragons descending towards Falconberg. “What about it?”

  “How strange it is,” said Rilmael. “You’re used to it, of course, but you were born here. On the world where I was born, the sun rose in the east every morning. A single point of fire that filled the sky with light and heat.”

  “What a peculiar thought,” said Tyrcamber. “What happened at night? Did the sun…go out? Or did it dim?”

  “It set in the west and vanished beneath the horizon,” said Rilmael. “Our sun was a great sphere of burning flame, so vast it is hard to imagine.” He made a circling motion with his free hand. “The world orbited it in a circle, which created the illusion that the sun was moving through the sky when the world was, in fact, the object moving.”

  “Huh,” said Tyrcamber. He supposed that made sense. Though it was still a damned strange idea. “So why does your old world have a sun, and ours has a sky fire?”

  “Our world does have a sun,” said Rilmael, “but the sky fire blocks it from view.”