The Balance of Power (Godsland Series: Books Four, Five, and Six)

by Rathbone, Brian

  Rastas appeared on the trail ahead, looking annoyed that Allette had ruined their game.

  "How long have you been watching us?" Allette asked, embarrassed.

  "The whole time," Thundegar said, and Allette flushed. "You do remember what I sent you after, don't you?"

  "Yes, sir," Allette said, and she turned to go, but then she stopped and spun to face him, unable to keep her curiosity under control. "Why do you stay here?" she asked before he could walk away.

  "Where would I go?"

  There was pain in his words, more pain than Allette had been prepared for, and she asked no more. Instead, she reached down and picked at a nearby cluster of leaves, eyes open and senses engaged. Rastas crouched beside a nearby tree, nearly blending in. Allette gave him a playful look, and he wiggled his rear end before leaping out to get her. When he reached her, the cat sprang into the air and kicked off of her thighs with his powerful hind legs.

  Thundegar shook his head. "Crazy cat."

  "What kind of cat is he?"

  "Cloud cat," he said. "This is the only place they live, and only high up where the clouds are closer. Down lower is the domain of the bigger predators."

  "Like wolves."

  "Wolves, indeed, and bigger cats and snakes and a host of things you don't want to run into. That's just in the forest; below, in the Jaga, there're more things that'll kill you than those that won't. Up here it's wet, but there is much less chance of being eaten while you sleep."

  That thought made Allette shudder.

  "That's why I grew the fence. I needed a sturdy, permanent barrier to keep the big predators out. Everything grows fast here, especially if you give it light. It took a lot of work, and I nearly killed myself a half dozen times, but I managed."

  "Where did you live while this place grew?"

  The silence hung for a while, and Thundegar looked as if he were reliving painful memories. "Here and there," he finally said. "This is far more manageable. And most of the critters respect my boundaries. Rastas can handle small trespassers, and the two of us can handle most others. Sometimes, though, all you can do is hide."

  The last part was said in almost a whisper, and it frightened Allette more than anything else.

  "If the black dragons ever come, hide in the water," Thundegar blurted a moment later. "Don't try to fight them. Just run. The river is south of here or west. They don't come often, but I wanted to make sure you knew what to do."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Stop. Dig these two plants up by their roots. Don't break the root."

  Allette handed him the brimleaf, as he called it. The plants to which he pointed were unfriendly looking with long, pointy stalks that appeared to have a knife's edge. Wanting to avoid those edges, Allette wrapped her hands around the base.

  "That's it," Thundegar said. "Squeeze them together and mind the edges. That's it. Now work it side to side. Easy . . . easy . . ."

  It was difficult not to snap at the man while she struggled, but Allette kept her mouth shut and worked the dangerous stalks back and forth. There was a snap that she felt in her hands, and the stalks came free with a suddenness she hadn't been expecting. Thundegar jumped back, making certain to stay clear of the needlelike points.

  "Sorry," Allette said, but he said nothing. Setting the first aside, Allette wrapped her hands carefully around the second plant, again being extra careful around the stalks. Visions of the sharp plants severing her flesh kept running through her mind, and she took extra care. After wiggling it back and forth, she felt a similar snap, but this time she was prepared for it, and Thundegar didn't have to take evasive action. Rastas watched from nearby, looking bored.

  "Watch," Thundegar said. Using the flat of his palm, he pressed down on the stalks, just above the root. He took out his knife and cut straight down just past his hand. "Up and down," he said. "Side to side is a good way to end up with bloody fingers. Understand?"

  Allette nodded and he handed her the knife once he'd finished separating stalk from root. It was tougher cutting than it looked, and Allette grunted with the effort. Normally she would have drawn the knife backward as she cut, but Thundegar's warning was fresh. Soon she had her own root cut free. "That was a lot of work for something that doesn't look very tasty."

  "Perhaps," Thundegar said as he turned and moved back toward his home.

  His home, not her home. He'd taken her in, but this was not where she belonged. This would never be her home, she told herself. Someday she would make it back to her ship, and her father would be there, and everything would be as it should. It was a meager hope, but it took root and drove her forward.

  Rastas bolted past her as they approached the glade and was the first there. He crouched down and moved into the glade as if there could be any manner of predator waiting, and Allette knew it to be true, which made it all the more frightening to watch. But then Rastas was back and bouncing sideways at them with his ears pinned.

  "Get in there, you crazy cat," Thundegar said, but Allette knew the man would be lost without his companion. The two of them made an effective team, and she was just there to make things awkward. These two had a rhythm, a routine that worked for them, and she could only imagine how disrupting her presence must be. Not for the first time, she was grateful for Thundegar and Rastas.

  "Thank you," she said, a catch in her voice.

  "For what?"

  "For everything," she said. "For taking care of me when I was sick, and feeding me, and teaching me, everything."

  Thundegar just nodded and opened the door to the house. When Allette caught his eye and made it clear she expected an answer, he sighed. "I didn't do anything that any other wouldn't've done in my place."

  "You and I both know that's not true," Allette said. "There may be others who would act as you have, and those are good people. You, Thundegar, are a good man."

  Thundegar just nodded his head slowly. "Thank you."

  After washing the roots, Thundegar put them in a shallow layer of water that boiled in his pan. "A pot would be better," he said, "but we'll eat good anyway. We just have to keep turning these. Slice us up some bulbroot and whickleaf."

  Allette did as he asked, trying to fall into a rhythm, to be a functioning part of this household and not just a drag on their resources. If she were to stay here, she would need to find her place. Thundegar knew this, of course, and that was why he'd sent her and Rastas out to forage. She wasn't ready yet, and that was why he had shadowed them. It burned her pride, but she was certainly glad she hadn't been bitten in the face by a wood viper. Thundegar was better off keeping her from getting hurt than trying to nurse her wounds. She flushed deeply with those thoughts.

  "This place isn't meant for people," he said, as if reading her mind. "This place belongs to everything else. The Heights and the Midlands might be ruled by men, but the Cloud Forest and the Jaga are ruled by everything else. Those who venture in are as welcome as a roach in the lord chancellor's chambers. Do you understand?"

  "Yes," Allette said. "It's like the sea."

  Thundegar gave her a confused look.

  "People aren't meant to be there, and it's a constant struggle to stay alive. One wrong move, and it's over."

  "I think you're starting to get it," Thundegar said. "I built this fortress so that I might have a defensible position, so that I could defend myself from the ceaseless and unpredictable attacks. You saw for yourself; there can be no respite, there can be no rest here. I'm tired."

  Guilt rose anew to the fore of Allette's many complex feelings, and she knew she had made things worse for Thundegar. He was stretched to his limit, and she was an even greater burden.

  "But with you," Thundegar said, "with you, we have a chance. You and Rastas and I can accomplish more than Rastas and I alone." On his unspoken command, Allette added the ingredients she'd chopped to the pan, and Thundegar sliced the now much softer roots and sprinkled on some seasoning. Then he pulled the pan from the flames and placed it on the slate table. "Here," he said,
handing her a pointed wood implement with a slight hook at the sharpened tip. He grabbed another like it and skewered a slice of root that was browned around the edges.

  Allette looked for a piece that was cooked about as much, the pan was thick and cooled slowly, and the roots continued to cook even as they ate. Grinning like fools, they devoured the buttery roots, and Allette had to admit that they were well worth the effort, and perhaps even the risk of bloodshed.

  With a full belly, Allette moved toward her sleeping spot on the stone floor.

  "Sleep in the hammock," Thundegar said. "Rastas won't mind. He sleeps with you anyway, and you're going to need your rest."

  "Why is that?" Allette asked with a yawn, wondering what task he would have for her, and looking forward to the challenge.

  "Because tomorrow we leave for the Midlands."

  Chapter 8

  Like rain from a clear blue sky, power can come unexpected.

  --Pelivor, flightmaster

  * * *

  The shining sun belied the struggles of the night before, making them seem as if they were but a dream. The Arghast gathered on the sandy southern shoreline of the Godfist gave evidence enough. Sinjin and the others were saddened by the loss of life, but they took great pride in the Wind clan members they had rescued. The Dragon's Wing had never borne such a load, but it was a mostly gratifying haul.

  Halmsa of the Wind clan mourned the losses heavily, blaming himself; that much was clear from his posture and expression. The news of the death of Sinjin's parents weighed on the man even further. "You have a very good boat," Halmsa said to Fasha. "Thank you. Our boats were not as good."

  An understatement, perhaps.

  "Where were you going?" Benjin asked.

  "To the land of our fathers," Halmsa said, "to the place of dragons."

  Sinjin still couldn't believe it. Halmsa had dragon eggs. They were not as large as Sinjin would have guessed, and he couldn't count how many there were, but it was more than a handful. Dragon eggs. Feral dragon eggs? They had to be, Sinjin realized. The regent queen was dead.

  "Where did you get those eggs?" Sinjin asked, and everyone turned to look at him. He'd been silent for much of the journey and had participated little in the discussions on what to do next. He'd been listening and thinking.

  "They came to me in a vision," Halmsa said.

  "You dreamed and when you awoke, you had dragon eggs?" Sinjin asked, incredulous.

  "No," Halmsa said. "They came to me in a vision, on the top of a big rock, so when awake, I climbed the big rock and I waited. They tested my patience, and I nearly left, but she came to me in the night of my despair, all black and cold, and something else. She gave me the eggs, just as the vision promised. Now we must go to the place of dragons, but our boats are not good like yours."

  "You got these eggs from a feral dragon?" Sinjin asked.

  "Yes," Halmsa said.

  Benjin and Fasha both took a step backward.

  "No fear," Halmsa said. "These are not feral dragons. These are our children. If I do not fail them, they will rule the skies. It has been foretold. I must not fail our children."

  Despite his words, Sinjin and others eyed the dragon eggs with a great deal more anxiety than they had initially.

  "What did this dragon look like?" Sinjin asked.

  "Big," Halmsa said, and he thought about it for a moment. "Biggest feral I ever saw. Old too. Looked like she'd been in a lot of fights. Wings were ragged and torn. And smart. Looked like she knew things I didn't--many things."

  A strange feeling stirred in Sinjin's gut; suspicion, fear, and even a little hope followed. Still, he was far from certain; feral dragons often looked alike, and they were known for their fighting, even among themselves. Any number of feral dragons could fit Halmsa's description, and Sinjin realized that he was pulling hope from little solid proof, but still part of him thought it could be the feral queen that had crashed into the Inland Sea along with Kyrien and his mother. If the feral queen had survived, then there was the chance that Kyrien survived, and perhaps if Kyrien was alive, he would have found a way to save Sinjin's mother . . . perhaps. Either way, Halmsa seemed determined to take his people to the Firstland. At least Sinjin assumed it was the Firstland that the Arghast referred to; again, he lacked sufficient evidence to be certain. He'd always been taught to act only on known facts and not on hearsay and assumptions, but at the moment, he had little besides assumptions.

  Since truth wasn't likely to present itself to him of its own volition, he would need to seek it out.

  "Could you show them how to build and sail a proper ship?" he asked Benjin.

  Benjin looked doubtful and cast a questioning gaze at Wendel.

  "I could teach them, given time," Sinjin's grandfather said. "Are your people willing to work and learn?"

  "The Dragon clan will do anything to get our children to the place of dragons."

  "I thought you were the leader of the Wind clan," Sinjin said.

  The assembled Arghast issued a low murmur, and it looked as if some of them were praying.

  Then Halmsa spoke. "Do not speak of them, for they are gone. We are the Dragon clan."

  Feeling foolish for asking, Sinjin flushed. "I'm sorry," he said.

  "No sorry," Halmsa said. "The Dragon clan owes you everything. We will repay you; we will. I give my word as clan chief."

  Sinjin's grandfather walked to his side. "This is more about your life than mine, m'boy. I'm an old man, and I've lived a full life. You've everything ahead of you. What is it that you want?"

  "Peace," Sinjin said. A long silence followed, and finally Sinjin coughed and gave a different answer. "I'd love to go home, but I don't want to make things worse."

  "Perhaps we should send a message to Trinda," Wendel said. "Do you have any concessions you want to request?"

  It didn't take long for Sinjin to decide. "Only this," he said, "I want the people to know that I've come back, and anyone who wants to join me should be allowed to do so. If this concession is granted, then I'll not contest Trinda's right to Dragonhold. I'll take my people and go."

  Perhaps all those boring lessons his parents had forced on him had done some good after all, he thought, though the bigger part of him wondered what in the world he was doing. He had nowhere to go, nothing to offer anyone except the opportunity to leave the safety of Dragonhold. Still, he knew Durin would come and Uncle Chase. That alone would make his world a better place, and he knew he could count on Uncle Chase to give him good advice. And to have his friend at his side would make everything else easier to bear.

  "So it's settled," Benjin said. "Wendel, Jensen, Jessub, and I will disembark with the Arghast near the foothills, where we can get to good wood. Fasha will sail the rest of you to the harbor. Are you sure you don't want to stay with us, Sinjin? It may be safer."

  "I don't think Trinda is going to try to kill me," Sinjin said. "And I want to be there when Durin and Uncle Chase come."

  "I know they'll come if they're able," Benjin said, and Sinjin's grandfather nodded his head in agreement.

  "Don't get yourself set on this working out a certain way," Wendel said. "Chase loves you, and Durin has been your faithful companion. If they don't come, know that there's a reason.

  "Yes, sir," Sinjin said.

  Tacking into a steady wind, the Dragon's Wing sailed along the coast of the Godfist. Benjin and Fasha were unwilling to risk the lives of so many with flight. Pelivor assured him that he and Gwen could fly the ship with the Arghast aboard, at least for a short distance, but Benjin still objected.

  "I know how the Arghast are when it comes to flying," Benjin said. "I don't want any of them jumping overboard while we were in the air just to see if they can fly."

  Fasha nodded in agreement.

  "All this flying has ruined me; I must admit," Benjin said after a time. "Is it me, or does traditional sailing now seem dreadfully slow?"

  Fasha gave him a hard look. "Flying the ship is cheating in almost every wa
y. Sailing is still a superior mode of travel. Or perhaps you think you could swim faster?"

  Bowing to his wife, Benjin accepted defeat.

  * * *

  Harborton was a strange mixture of destruction and construction. Blackened and charred buildings stood beside the new, bright and stark. This was what healing looked like, Sinjin admitted, and knowing that Trinda was behind it came as something of a shock. He'd heard that her rule was fair and just, yet he had wondered at her motives. Perhaps she was just lulling everyone until she was ready to reveal her true plans. For the moment, there was nothing for Sinjin to do but wait. He'd watched Pelivor go with a mixture of anxiety and jealousy. Still, it made sense to use him since almost no one on the Godfist knew him, and thus, he had no grudges against him, and he had power a plenty to take care of himself. Sinjin appreciated Pelivor's volunteering to go, but that didn't change the fact that he wished he could have gone himself.

  He was home, yet he would not even get to see the place where he grew up, the place that meant everything to him, his mother, his family. His mother had brought life back to Dragonhold; Trinda was little more than an opportunist, and he was nothing more than a coward. A braver man would've gone himself.

  Another thing that bothered Sinjin was the act that Trinda had put on during all the time she'd spent within Dragonhold. Always she had played the slow-witted dolt. Always she had used her child's form to make everyone think she was harmless. Now they knew the truth; she was anything but, and she had known all along, of that assumption Sinjin was almost certain. How could she not have known? And even if she hadn't, how could she plan her takeover of Dragonhold so quickly? The thoughts nagged at Sinjin, and he began to pace. He said nothing to those aboard, and people stepped out of his way when he passed, the look on his face making it clear that he didn't want to talk.