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    Malison: Dragon Curse
    Malison: Dragon Curse
    Malison: Dragon Curse
    Ebook168 pages3 hours

    Malison: Dragon Curse

    By Jonathan Moeller

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    About this ebook

    The histories of Old Earth record that in the Year of Our Lord 778, Charlemagne’s rearguard under the command of Count Roland of the Breton March was ambushed and slain to a man.

    But Roland and his men were drawn through a magical gate, to a new and strange world of magic and deadly creatures. A world where every man, no matter what his estate or rank, no matter how poor or common or rich and influential, was born with the power of magic.

    But the magic of this world carries a deadly curse, and the price for abusing its power is ruinous.

    This, then, is the story of the kingdom they built, and the knight who would decide its fate.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJonathan Moeller
    Release dateFeb 4, 2019
    ISBN9780463062067
    Author

    Jonathan Moeller

    Standing over six feet tall, Jonathan Moeller has the piercing blue eyes of a Conan of Cimmeria, the bronze-colored hair of a Visigothic warrior-king, and the stern visage of a captain of men, none of which are useful in his career as a computer repairman, alas.He has written the "Demonsouled" trilogy of sword-and-sorcery novels, and continues to write the "Ghosts" sequence about assassin and spy Caina Amalas, the "$0.99 Beginner's Guide" series of computer books, and numerous other works.Visit his website at:http://www.jonathanmoeller.comVisit his technology blog at:http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/screed

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      Book preview

      Malison - Jonathan Moeller

      MALISON: DRAGON CURSE

      Jonathan Moeller

      ***

      Description

      The histories of Old Earth record that in the Year of Our Lord 778, Charlemagne’s rearguard under the command of Count Roland of the Breton March was ambushed and slain to a man.

      But Roland and his men were drawn through a magical gate, to a new and strange world of magic and deadly creatures. A world where every man, no matter what his estate or rank, no matter how poor or common or rich and influential, was born with the power of magic.

      But the magic of this world carries a deadly curse, and the price for abusing its power is ruinous.

      This, then, is the story of the kingdom they built, and the knight who would decide its fate.

      ***

      Malison: Dragon Curse

      Copyright 2018 by Jonathan Moeller.

      Smashwords Edition.

      Cover image copyright istockphoto.com | Yuri_Arcurs.

      Ebook edition published November 2018.

      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.

      ***

      A Brief Author's Note

      A map of the Empire and its neighbors may be found on the author's website at this link (https://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=10514).

      ***

      Prologue: The Song of Roland

      Long ago, the survivors of Arthur Pendragon’s realm fled through a magical gate to a new world, a world of magic and strange creatures. In this new world they raised the mighty kingdom of Andomhaim, and for a thousand years, their descendants strove against powers and wielders of dark magic.

      But there are other worlds and other paths between them.

      In the Year of Our Lord 778, the army of Charlemagne passed through the Pyrene Mountains. The histories of Old Earth record that Charlemagne’s rearguard under the command of Count Roland of the Breton March was ambushed and slain to a man.

      But Roland and his men were drawn through another magical gate, to a new and strange world of magic and deadly creatures. A world where every man, no matter what his estate or rank, no matter how poor or common or rich and influential, was born with the power of magic.

      But the magic of this world carries a deadly curse, and the price for abusing its power is ruinous.

      This, then, is the story of the kingdom they built, and the knight who would decide its fate.

      ***

      Chapter 1: Umbral

      The sky was burning.

      But that was all right. The sky always burned here.

      Tyrcamber had once met a monk who claimed that the ancient chronicles said that the sky on Old Earth had been blue. Odd thought, that. It didn’t seem proper. Perhaps the sky on Old Earth really had been blue, or maybe it was simply a fanciful tale. Here, though, on the world where Tyrcamber’s ancestors had settled, the sky burned a harsh orange-yellow at day, the light fading to a dim blue at night. To judge from the brightness of the sky fire overhead, it was just before noon. A little while longer, Tyrcamber judged, and he could stop for a brief rest and a midday meal.

      Meanwhile, he was content to enjoy the ride. It was two weeks after his nineteenth birthday, and it was a fine spring day, the weather not too hot.

      Even better, he was on his way to a battle.

      His horse moved at a canter along the ancient road through the trees. His father had instructed him to reach the town of Tongur in haste, and Tyrcamber had obeyed, alternating between walking his horse and urging the beast to a canter. Another few moments, he decided, and he would stop and let the horse rest. And rest for himself would be pleasant, though he would never admit that to anyone.

      But a short rest. His father the Duke of Chalons had commanded him to ride in haste to join the defense of Tongur, and Sir Tyrcamber Rigamond would obey. He was a knight of the Empire, and his ancestors had come to this world with the first Emperor Roland seven hundred years ago. Ever since they had fought the goblins and the xiatami and the muridachs and the gnolls and the ogres and other kindreds to secure mankind’s place in this new world, and Tyrcamber’s lineage included great lords and knights who had won mighty victories for the Empire.

      Tyrcamber could do no less. He vowed to himself that he would do no less, that one day he would return home to Castle Rigamond with honor and renown enough to exceed his brothers and impress his sister.

      His stomach rumbled a little.

      Well. Maybe he would win honor and renown after he had eaten something.

      Tyrcamber brought his horse to a halt, swung down from the saddle, and took a moment to brush the animal down, checking that no stones had gotten lodged in the hooves. A good knight ought to tend to his horse before he tended to himself. Tyrcamber should have had a squire to do this for him, but he hadn’t been given one before he left Castle Rigamond. Perhaps he could find one of suitable birth at Tongur.

      He fed the horse a carrot, and then produced some bread from his saddlebags, eating as he sipped mixed wine from the waterskin that hung from his saddle. His eyes wandered over the trees as he ate, watching for any signs of enemies. This close to the River Bellex, there shouldn’t be any goblin tribes moving through the forest.

      Then again, a goblin host was moving against Tongur, so it was wise to stay on his guard.

      Tyrcamber had just finished his bread when he caught a flicker of motion in the trees.

      He remained casual, hooking his waterskin back to his horse’s saddle, but his hand strayed to his sword hilt, and he reached for the fire of his magic. It could be nothing. It could be only a deer, or perhaps a squirrel. On the other hand, it could be a goblin. And packs of urvaalgs sometimes ranged this far west, prowling out of the ancient Wastes and into the forests of the eastern Empire…

      Even as the thought crossed his mind, a goblin emerged from the trees and stepped onto the road, its yellow eyes fixed on him.

      The creature was a little over five feet tall and wore good-quality leather armor and a green cloak. Its enormous eyes were a venomous yellow, and its white fangs and claws were stark against its blue skin. Pointed ears rose into a ragged mass of greasy black hair, and the creature also had a short sword of steel at its belt.

      Tyrcamber braced himself, his right hand inching towards his sword hilt, his left flexing as he prepared to summon magic. Goblins had been the enemy of mankind ever since the men of the first Emperor Roland had been brought to this world. Partly it was because the goblins had been the vassals of both the umbral elves and the dark elven nobles.

      Partly it was because goblins seemed to find humans delicious.

      Greetings, said Tyrcamber in the goblin tongue. I wish to pass through in peace. But if you hinder me, I shall strike you down.

      The goblin stared at him, and Tyrcamber took a few steps to the left, away from his horse. Like mankind, goblins could use magic, and they usually manifested abilities with the magic of elemental water.

      And they rarely attacked alone.

      Human, rasped the goblin. It had a deep voice. Give us your horse, and we shall let you pass.

      Us? That would be a problem.

      I think not, said Tyrcamber. I will depart now. Hinder me, and…

      He caught the blur of motion over his shoulder because he had been expecting it.

      Tyrcamber whirled, calling his magic as he did. Another goblin stepped from behind a tree trunk, raising a short bow in its hands, an arrow set to the string. Tyrcamber dodged, casting a spell as he did. He used one of the Seven Spells that every child of the Empire learned, specifically the Shield spell. Harsh yellow-orange light blazed from his fingers, and a dome of fiery light appeared before him. The arrow hissed from the bow and struck the shield. Tyrcamber’s talents lay with the magic of elemental fire, and his Shield spell reflected that. The arrow’s shaft burst into flames as it struck his shield, and the arrow splintered apart, the arrowhead glittering as it flipped through the air.

      The goblin snarled and started to draw another arrow from its quiver, but Tyrcamber released his Shield and sprinted forward, his sword singing from its scabbard. The goblin cast aside its bow and reached for its own sword, but Tyrcamber was faster. He slashed his blade across the goblin’s throat in a spray of yellow blood, and the creature gagged and fell to its knees, dying.

      Tyrcamber whirled in time to see the goblin on the road cast a spell. As he expected, the goblin had power with elemental water, and cast the Lance spell, hurling a glittering shard of ice at him. He cast his Shield again, and his magic proved stronger, the shard of ice flashing to steam as it struck his Shield. The goblin began another spell, and Tyrcamber summoned more magical power, casting the Lance spell himself. A shaft of fire leaped from his free hand and hurtled towards the goblin, and the creature sprang to the side, the Lance blasting a fist-sized crater in the dirt of the road.

      As it dodged, Tyrcamber charged, his sword coming up, the blade flashing as it reflected the light of the burning sky. He swung, and the goblin parried, the blades clanging together. The goblin stumbled, and Tyrcamber whipped his sword back and drove the point forward, plunging the blade into the goblin’s chest. The creature staggered, and Tyrcamber ripped his sword free and stabbed again.

      This time the goblin collapsed to the road and did not move again.

      Tyrcamber stepped back, breathing hard, and felt the Malison stir in his mind.

      It was always there after he used magic, a shadow that threatened to consume him. Too much, and his control would snap, and the Dragon Curse would devour him. Yet he had not used enough magic to seriously exhaust himself, and it was easy to push back the Malison. Tyrcamber took a few deep breaths, and his mind cleared. The shadow of the Malison faded from his mind.

      He walked to his horse and calmed the beast, which was frightened by the rotten smell of goblin blood. As he did, he frowned at the goblin corpses, thinking. Those two goblins had obviously been scouts. Bad luck to blunder into them. (Though considering that he had killed them, maybe the ill fortune had been theirs.) Was a goblin warband moving through this part of Chalons? Tyrcamber was still a day south of Tongur. Another goblin warband could be moving to attack the town.

      Or perhaps the goblin attack was larger than his father had feared, and the goblin tribes of the Wastes were preparing to attack the Empire in large numbers.

      The thought did not disturb Tyrcamber. If anything, it made him eager. He was a knight of the Frankish Empire, and he was ready to face anything. And perhaps there was an opportunity here. He was his father’s youngest son, and since his five older brothers and his sister were all in good health, Tyrcamber stood little chance of inheriting the title to any lands. While he would not object to receiving lands of his own, he really wanted to join one of the Imperial Orders, the five orders of knights sworn directly to the Emperor himself. The Imperial Orders were the greatest warriors and the most powerful wizards of the Empire, and they had stood at the forefront of the defense of the Frankish nation in the long wars against the goblins and the xiatami and the Dragon Imperator himself.

      Perhaps if Tyrcamber distinguished himself in the coming battle, he would be invited to join one of the Orders. Preferably the Knights of Embers, the masters of

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