A Balance Broken (Dragonsoul Saga)

by Hartke, J. T.

  The conscious part won. “Help!” Leaping to his feet, Tallen dashed out the door. “Help! I need the watch. Someone help!” He ran out of the maze of warehouses, his calls at last catching the attention of a guardsman.

  “What’s going on here?” A man in maroon livery with a heavy cudgel and short sword trotted in his direction. “It’s early in the day to be shouting so.”

  “They are dead!” Tallen blurted. “I found their bodies. Hurry!”

  The guardsman’s face grew more serious, and he motioned for Tallen to lead on.

  Drawing a deep breath, he jogged back toward the warehouse. The guardsman followed close behind. Once inside, the man lifted a gauntleted hand over his mouth as he leaned over, retching against the smell and sight. Tallen could not look. He walked back to the door, gasping for fresh air. Dropping to his bottom in the street, tears welled within his eyes.

  “Stay right here.” The guardsman exited the building, his face pale. “I will bring the watch sergeant.”

  Tallen sat there in a daze, sobbing. His thoughts tumbled down a dozen avenues. “How could this have happened?”

  He did not wait long before the guardsman returned with his sergeant and two other members of the watch. The sergeant walked into the warehouse, gone for only a moment. When he returned, a grim expression filled his face.

  “Easy there lad.” The man spoke in soft tones, his hand patting Tallen’s shoulder. “Did you know them?”

  “Yes sir.” Tallen cleared his throat and wiped his cheeks with a sleeve. “It is Ardric Haesby and …” Tallen could barely bring himself to say her name. “…Jennette Morton. I’m Tallen Westar. I know them from the inn.”

  The guardsmen almost choked in shock at Ardric’s name.

  “Ardric? Are you certain?” The sergeant’s voice quivered. At Tallen’s nod, he pointed to one of the guardsmen. “Get the captain.” The man ran off at top speed. “Lad, you’ll have to stay here for the time being.”

  Eternity passed in those moments while Tallen remained in his seat. His head rested in his hands. He stared at the gravel, tracing every edge of the stone in his mind. He could not accept reality.

  “Bring more guards!” Tallen heard a voice shout. “I want this entire district closed off. Where is Westar?” Captain Artur Haesby swung his arms about frantically, sending a half dozen guardsmen in every direction. “I want to see them.” He stormed into the warehouse.

  Tallen heard the cry of anguish that shrieked from the empty building. One like it echoed in his own heart. The steps sounded swift when they came back out.

  The captain’s voice strained, a snarl of anger upon his lips. “Take Westar into custody. He had a history with the girl.” His velvet gloved finger pointed at Tallen. “He has motive.”

  Tallen hung his head in his hands, barely noticing the bustle around him. This is almost fitting. Just when I begin to think being jilted was a good thing…

  He did not struggle at all when the guards took him in hand. His heart grew numb, the walk to the jail a blur to his memory. Only when the cell door slammed behind him did he come to his senses. He collapsed to the dirty straw mattress in the corner.

  Evening crept through the window before they allowed Glynn to visit him.

  “Burn them in the Flames!” He grabbed Tallen’s hand through the bars. “I’ve been here for hours.” A haggard expression hung on his face. “Linsay and Dawne are here too, but they only let me come back here. The family barrister is drawing up a petition for the Baron, but his lordship is in Gavanor.” Glynn took a deep breath and clamped Tallen’s hand tighter. “We will get you out of here.”

  “I hope so,” Tallen said, tears threatening. “I did not do this, Glynn. You saw me last night at the inn.” He squeezed his brother’s hand with desperation. “You gave them my alibi, right?”

  Glynn reached through with his other hand to grab Tallen’s shoulder. “You don’t have to tell me. Of course you didn’t do this. I told the sergeant at the desk that you were right next to me from before sundown until the wee hours.” Glynn looked over his shoulder, brows drawn down in a scowl. “That sergeant even had the guts to admit that he might agree with me, but he has to follow his captain’s orders. That bastard should have no jurisdiction. His son is one of the victims!”

  Tallen did not sleep throughout the long and lonely night. He remained on the edge of tears. At least they put me in a solitary cell. Who knows what kind of characters they have in the common lock up?

  When morning slipped through the watch house windows, Tallen’s stomach grumbled with ferocity. The stale bread and cup of water that came to his cell were welcome. The sergeant who first arrived on the scene delivered it. The man slipped a piece of jerky onto the tray.

  “For all the extras you’ve slipped in my meals before,” he said with a sad smile.

  I knew I had seen him before. Sergeant…Dougliss?? “Thanks,” Tallen whispered.

  Even the extra jerky did not help for long. By noon, his stomach called for more. I wonder if bread is all they ever serve here?

  A sudden commotion erupted from the outer room. He heard raised voices – voices that sounded used to being raised. Several had a ring of familiarity about them. A few dog barks were followed by a low growl. Tallen stood up from his pallet when the door opened with a bang.

  “I told you there is no way this young man did the crime!” Tallen recognized the gruff voice from their encounter a few weeks ago. He would never forget the stare that had accompanied it. “The timeline is impossible. The people at the inn would have seen blood on him without a doubt. I have observed what little of the scene your men left untrampled. To be frank, it looks more like orc work than anything.”

  “Joz!” shouted a second familiar voice. “There is no certainty regarding that!”

  The gruff voice paused before it replied. “Fair enough Boris, but it is obvious the Westar lad did not commit the murder.”

  “We have no disagreement on that issue.”

  When they entered the room, the Bluecloaks brought a wave of sudden hope to Tallen’s heart. I never thought I’d be glad to see that mage again. The soldiers brightened the room, pristine compared to the filth in which he had spent the night. The two faces above the cloaks were even more welcome.

  “Open the door, Captain Haesby,” the mustachioed Bluecloak ordered. “The young man did not kill your son. Since different weapons were used, there had to be multiple assailants.”

  “And the killers were trained warriors.” The gray-eyed mage returned his stare to Tallen. “Which he obviously is not.”

  “But he had to be one of them! He had accomplices!” Ardric’s father cried without much heart in his words. His crestfallen look reminded Tallen of the pain in his own chest. He handed the key to the mage, who stepped toward the door.

  Leaping to his feet, Tallen’s dry voice croaked. “Thank you, sir.”

  “We’ll see if you thank me in the end.” The mage laughed an odd chuckle. He waved his hand once the door was open. “Come on lad.”

  Ardric’s father looked at Tallen with sour scorn. He walked to the man. “I am sorry about Ardric, sir. I would never have meant him any harm. I—”

  “Begone, boy,” he spat. “I’ll hear none of your words.”

  Tallen nodded his head and stepped out the door.

  Glynn and Dawne both waited in the outer room. Dawne tackled him with a hug. His brother slapped him on the back, a bright smile upon his face.

  “Told you I’d get you out! Lucky these gentlemen showed up on their way back east to have some of your stew.”

  Tallen gulped behind his smile. “I’ll make some fresh for you right away, sirs.”

  The mage lifted an eyebrow. “Enjoy your kitchen. It will be your last night there for a long while.”

  Sobering his tone, Tallen cocked his head. “What do you mean? I j
ust got free”

  Glynn’s smile faded, and Dawne squeezed him harder.

  The mage’s grin widened. “You’ll be coming with us. And you’re mine to train until you leave for the Isle of Wizards.”

  Tallen’s heart thumped in his throat. He wondered if it pounded out of fear or excitement. “Why?”

  The mage inclined his head. “You are definitely a Dreamer. That often brings a great deal more with it. Strength in the Aspect of Psoul usually means strength in one or more of the others.”

  “Oh, Tallen!” Dawne cried into his chest.

  The general turned that predator gaze on him again, sinking Tallen’s heart even further. He replaced it with a smile, almost hidden behind his untrimmed mustache – a smile that gave Tallen hope. “My name is Earl Boris Mourne.” The general nodded his head and stretched out his hand. “My men will tell you that I don’t stand on formality, so you may call me Boris.”

  The mage slapped leather gloves against his hip. “My name is Magus Joslyn Britt. You will address me as Magus Britt.” He gestured toward the door. “By the way, if you intend on serving us a stew tonight, you had better get to it. We leave at dawn tomorrow.”

  And the Paladin Farina laid her hands upon Danewid. Her power closed his grievous wounds, drawing him back from death. They kissed one last time, before he drew his flaming sword and returned to the battle.

  — “A Legend of Forbidden Love” by Mardon Transton

  The mist spraying from one of the dozen falls forming Crystal Lake exhilarated Tomas Harte. He climbed along the slick, mossy rock at its edge. Spring brought warmth earlier than usual this year. Once he reached the top of the little lip of stone, Tomas looked out over the plain of Harlong. Harte Castle rose on a hill not half a mile away. He turned to his left and gazed upon the vast stretch of the Northwood. It folded in green waves all the way into the Dragonscale Mountains looming beyond.

  Tomas watched the spray plummet to the wide, clear water below. The Crystal Lake earned its name, filled by a dozen streams that tumbled down from the tallest peaks of the Dragonscales. The snowmelt, remaining cold when it reached the lower plain, flowed onward to Crystalport and the Green Bay.

  I find real peace only in my family home. Too bad I am the last of us. He reached his hands into the shower of water, cupped them, and pulled the sweet coolness to his lips. The minerals from the crisp mountain water danced on his tongue. Tomas pulled in a deep draught, the tattooed sigil on the back of his right hand glittering in the sunlight, when he shook off the remaining drops of water. The pearlescent half of his paladin’s mark shimmered against the coal black half. It reminded him of why he hid in this beautiful desolation.

  He sighed in futility. “The High Elder is not the only power in the Temple.”

  Tomas remembered the brisk autumn day last year when he had entered the High Elder’s private study at the Cathedral. He had watched the entire Isle prepare for winter’s arrival while awaiting the last ship home to Harlong. Varon Hastrian bundled himself in his heavy robes and stoked the fire with fresh pine. The fat man looked no more than a pile of laundry sitting in a wide, comfortable chair near the flames.

  The elder pushed pursed lips out from his jowls. “Will you spend winter upon the Isle, Brother Tomas?”

  Removing his gloves, Tomas draped them through his swordbelt. “I had considered returning to the capital. I am the only paladin in Gannon right now.”

  The elder steepled chubby fingers in front of his squat nose. “Do you intend to take your family seat upon the Common Council? It has been years since you sat there.”

  Tomas warmed his fingers at the fire. “I made the decision long ago that my vows as a Paladin of Balance superseded my role on the council. I have offered to name a proxy to speak for the people of Harlong.”

  Shaking his head, the elder waved a single finger at Tomas. “The Common Council is not for common people, despite its name. You know the law states that a proxy must be a member of the ruling house.” Hastrian reached to the tray on his side table. It held a dozen pickled baby eels. Their green skin glittered in the firelight. The black and white robed man slurped one down with a slight giggle.

  “You really should try one.” He gestured toward the tray. “They are quite spectacular.”

  “Thank you, elder, no.” Tomas straightened his leather cuirass with a sharp, downward tug. “Speaking of the council—I know that the rules of the priestly order are less…stringent…than those of the paladins, but do you think it appropriate for any ordained member of the Temple of Balance to sit upon the High Council? Especially one so exalted as…” Tomas swallowed. “…the High Elder. When you took the Lord Magister’s seat, did you not see how you threaten to shift the Balance yourself?”

  Hastrian swallowed another eel. He did not seem to notice that the liquor spilled out the corner of his mouth and ran down his flabby chin. “I did not take the Lord Magister’s seat. King Arathan offered it to me. The Lord Magister willingly stepped down to the Common Council. The vacancy he took had sat there for years, much like your own position.”

  Tomas’ beard itched in frustration, despite the fact he kept it neatly trimmed. “The Druidess left the council because she felt the imbalance even before I did. She chose to hide. I choose to meet it.”

  “Hah!” The elder slurped another eel, this one juiced with a lemon. He gulped it down with a ravenous smile, before wiping his face on a sleeve. “The Druidess is a fool. Let her rot in the Deepwood. You should not be a fool. You should take your seat on the Commons in support of the Temple. Work with me to build our future along with that of Gannon.” His smile widened, spreading wrinkles of fat across his jowls and neck. “This imbalance you say you feel…” The elder did not fool Tomas with his false sincerity. “…would it not behoove you to fight it with me from the next tier of the royal dais? You could bring a great deal of wisdom to the entire council.”

  Shaking his head, Tomas turned his back on the High Elder. “You do not understand. It is the Temple’s very involvement in Gannon’s rule that threatens the Balance. Too much Order can be as harmful to the Balance as too much Chaos. It is not the place of the Temple to rule the people.” He shook his head. “We offer them wisdom, perhaps give them justice, but we do not command. I will have no part in it.” Tomas stalked out of the High Elder’s study.

  He had given the ship captain a hefty purse to take him directly to Crystalport. His ride up the Crystal River had brought back more memories. The winter that followed was cold, but the hearths of Harte Castle kindled bright and cheery fires. Now, however, the inevitable arrival of spring brought sequestered thoughts back to Tomas’ mind.

  “I cannot hide here forever,” he said to the waterfalls. They answered with nothing but babble.

  If only father had known his youngest son would be forced to inherit. He would never have made me take my vows. Then I could fairly sit on the council seat for the people of Harlong. I could fight the elder and his cronies. “But I will not compromise my vows,” he called out to the oblivious torrents surrounding him. “I swore to maintain the Balance, not skew it to any particular advantage—not even my own.” Tomas sighed, allowing his emotions to boil off into the cascade. “Not even my own people…” He focused on the rainbow formed under the noonday sun by the mists, using the techniques of his order to calm his mind and spirit. “One cannot fight Fire with Fire…”

  Winds that whipped down from the Dragonscales remained his only answer from the world. With one last draught of the fresh, mountain water, he descended from the pinnacle. His hands grasped the slippery rock with the certainty of having climbed here many times before, seeking solace and center to his being.

  A loud snort greeted him when he returned to the lake’s edge. Fireheart trotted over, his gray coat still somewhat thick from winter’s chill. The stallion nudged Tomas with a wide muzzle.

  “I wish I had oats for you, old
boy.” Tomas scratched the horse’s head. “We’ll get you fed back at the castle.” He pulled his swordbelt from the saddle horn and slipped it around his waist. Steelsheen’s weight felt reassuring on his hip.

  With a quick hop into the saddle, he guided Fireheart toward Harte Castle. The stallion made good time, eager for spring exercise.

  Tomas caught the scent of blossoms still clinging to the cherry and apple trees in the old orchard where he had played as a child. Summer is the most beautiful season in Harlong. Perhaps I will stay here with my people. They need me as much as anyone does. Fireheart tromped across the drawbridge before he knew it, so distracted were his thoughts. He looked down and smiled at the large swirls moving over the surface of the moat. It would not hurt my own inner Balance to spend a little time with a fishing pole.

  Inside the central courtyard, Tomas dismounted, and with a good pat of Fireheart’s withers, he passed the reins to his groom. The young man bowed and led the stallion off toward the stable. Before Tomas climbed the steps to the inner keep, a woman with a pinched face and her hair pulled into a tight, white bun greeted him with a sniff.

  “Did Milord enjoy his morning ride?”

  Tomas tugged off his gauntlets. “It served its purpose, Manifred.”

  “These are the preliminary lists of planted fields and what the farmers have sown in them,” she said, handing him a sheaf of papers and pulling a stylus from her hair bun. “There is also a list of fallow plots. The remaining documents list the likely lumbering areas for this summer, as well as estimates of animal reproduction.”

  Tomas groaned. He missed his older brothers often, but seldom so much as when the details of running Harlong required his eye. “Must I?” He smiled at the crease in the woman’s forehead and reached for the papers. “I will take them with me to my study and go over them in detail, Mani. Please send up a lunch.”

  Her frown lessened. “Of course, Milord. Just be certain to initial each page as you finish it.”