A Balance Broken (Dragonsoul Saga)

by Hartke, J. T.

  Tucking the sheaf under his arm, Tomas chuckled. He trotted up the last few steps to the front doors. Inside stretched the great hall of his fathers, though it was not so large by modern Gannonite standards. Only because it is older than all of their buildings. My ancestors remained during the Exile. My ancestor knelt to the Navigator upon his return…all in the name of peace.

  Twisting the steel band on his finger, he trotted up the staircase to his private floor. The Harte signet ring carried more centuries upon it than the castle. One of Tomas’ ancestors had etched words upon it in a language that predated Common Tongue, a human derivation of ancient Elvish. Copus Eptu—Face Facts.

  “Grandfather,” he had asked as a child after a visit by one of the Snowbourne Barons, “why does our family not have a motto like that of House Darax? Strong as Stone. Ours seems weak by comparison.”

  His grandfather had laughed. The old Lord Harte had been a jovial man, unlike Tomas’ aloof father. “I’d like to see Baron Maydon punch the walls of Harte Castle. Then we would see just how ‘Strong as Stone’ his fist really is.” The old man’s face sharpened. He cupped his grandson’s shoulders. “Facing facts means accepting reality, even when you don’t want to believe it. It means knowing when you can fight, or – like Roman Harte did four centuries ago – knowing when you cannot. He was outnumbered a thousand to one when Aravath the Navigator turned his eyes northward.”

  The memory tasted bittersweet, as did most thoughts of Tomas’ long lost family.

  Slipping off the leather cuirass, he walked down a long, windowed hall overlooking the courtyard. A line of doors on his left led to several rooms reserved for the members of House Harte. Most sat empty, with sheet-covered furnishings. Tomas had not entered some of those rooms since his eldest brother died with his entire family during the Bloody Flux.

  If only I had been here at the time… Ten years I have ruled this house. Ten years it has ruled me. I love it, but I am chained to it.

  One of the last doors opened into his study. He basked in the wave of nostalgia that washed over him as he entered. When he was a child, this room had been his father’s private refuge. Tomas draped his cuirass over the leather sofa, and then hung his steel on the back of a chair. The warm smell of books and centuries of good pipe smoke calmed his nerves.

  “Perhaps I will remain in my homeland for the summer.” Tomas gazed out the wavy glass windows onto the slate roof of the great hall. “The Balance knows I have paperwork to keep me busy.” He tossed the sheaf of parchment onto his grandfather’s desk and sat down. “I trust that Mani knows what she is doing. She’s been doing it since I was a child.”

  However, his sense of duty would not allow him to simply sign each page. Tomas took the time to skim the first few. Before long, their content trapped his inquisitive mind in a twisting maze of numbers and facts. He was engrossed in a report concerning the new piglet population when a knock came at his door. His stomach growled a reply before his mouth could.

  “Please, come in.”

  The girl who brought the platter in had been born on the castle grounds. She gave a quick curtsey before entering the room.

  “Thank you, Denna.” Tomas gave her a generous smile. “You may place it on the desk and go get your own lunch.”

  The girl set the tray of roast beef, brown bread, and spring radishes on the table. Curtsying again before turning to leave, she flashed a smile and closed the study door behind her.

  Tomas smeared a daub of mustard onto the bread and followed it with a large slice of the peppered beef. He turned the pages with one hand and held his sandwich with the other. Soon the entire meal disappeared, though he had not yet read half the papers. Steeling himself with a deep, refreshing swig from the mug of ale, he dived into the rest of the sheaf.

  By the time he initialed the last page, the sun had set a deep orange through the windows behind him. He placed the goose quill pen into its stand and gazed at the fiery heavens through glass so aged that the panes thinned at their tops.

  “At least that is done.” He rose from the leather chair, soft with age. He caressed its back, remembering the many generations who had sat there.

  My vows are not of chastity, but I may take no wife, and I will not leave a bastard that must fight to inherit from me. He shook his head. “Perhaps that is my only choice,” he admitted aloud.

  Perhaps a meal and a good night’s rest will help me lose this melancholy.

  Buckling his sword belt around his waist, Tomas descended the stairs to the great hall. The banner of House Harte, a pale green stag on a violet field, hung above the front table. Next to it draped the black and white circle of his order, split by a sinuous line. A dot of each color nested in the other half. Reminders that there are no absolutes.

  He wandered into the kitchens, where the household servants and soldiers ate. The smell of roasted pork and herbed potatoes put his mouth to watering. He served himself at the counter just like any other soldier. Translucent onions smothering his plate, Tomas headed for a table where a laughing squad of young guards sat. They scrambled to their feet when he approached, each straightening his purple tunic and saluting.

  “At ease, lads. It’s a small castle. I’m just here for supper too.”

  The soldiers seated themselves, with nods and sheepish grins aimed at their lord. Tomas placed himself at the end of the table and dug in.

  He looked at one of the now silent men. “You mind passing the bread?” The soldier scooped it to him with military precision. “Thank you, corporal.” Tomas tore a roll in half and dipped it into the onion gravy. “You know,” he mumbled around the bread. “You are allowed to tell jokes when I’m here.” Tomas grinned. “Just not bad ones.”

  The corporal who passed the breadbasket snorted a stifled laugh. His sergeant, not much older than him, scowled.

  Tomas pointed his roll at the man who laughed. “Do you know a good joke, Corporal Dibbs?”

  The sergeant spoke up before the corporal could. “If he does know a joke, Milord, it is no doubt a bad one.”

  Dibbs smile faded as he ducked his head. “Indeed, Milord. The only jokes I know are bad ones.”

  Tomas curled his lip into a rueful smile. “That is a shame. You should learn some good ones before next we break bread.”

  Dibbs saluted. “I will endeavor, sir.”

  The men spoke through the rest of the meal, but in hushed tones. Tomas exchanged a few more words with them, before he rose and returned his empty plate.

  “Good night, sir,” the corporal called with a nod of respect.

  Tomas winked. “Have a good night, lads.”

  Picking up a lit candle, Tomas climbed the stairs back to his study. The shadows of a nearly moonless night hung within. Lighting the oil lamp on the desk, he adjusted the brass valve so it brightened the room enough to read. The book on his desk had called to him all day. The Beginnings of Balance concerned the earliest history of his order. Midnight closed in when he finally place the aged green ribbon back into the spine of the tome.

  Rising from his chair, Tomas passed through the side door to his bedchamber. He removed his boots first and sat on a mat in the center of the room. With a deep breath to settle his mind, he entered the trance of his order.

  Tomas reached out with his life force and sensed the energies surrounding him. Inside the castle walls, he discerned the servants and soldiers, bright flames of life, each separate and identifiable. The horses in the stable blazed as well, Fireheart in particular. Outside the walls, Tomas sensed the vast ocean of life within the forest. Wolves and bears, complex and intelligent, hunted through the background noise of their prey. Even a few of the eldest trees stood out in Tomas’ mind. Villages dotted the Northwood, each a small island of human sparks in the sea of wilderness.

  Brother Mardon laughed at me when I told him that one day I would reach twenty miles with my senses. If only he w
ere still alive today.

  Tomas, about to abandon his trance, stirred. A disturbance leaped into his perception – a sudden spike in fear tore along the edge of his range. Behind it burned a deep, frothing anger, one he recognized from expeditions many years before.

  “Orcs!”

  Jumping to his feet, Tomas gathered his boots and pulled them on, hopping on one leg into the study. He grabbed Steelsheen from the back of his chair and belted it tight, snatching his cuirass as he left. He ran down the hall, taking the stairs two steps at a time.

  “Awake! Awaken Harte Castle! Orcs raid the Northwood!”

  By the time he reached the bottom step, the keep bustled with activity. The officer of the watch greeted him at the front door.

  “Shall I wake the captain, sir?” A single star gleamed from the man’s collar.

  “Do so, Lieutenant! Then gather a platoon of cavalry to ride out immediately. Garrettown is under attack as we speak.”

  The officer saluted before dashing away. Every resident of Harte Castle knew their lord’s paladin powers.

  Wondering if he needed his chainmail, Tomas stuffed his head through the cuirass. “This will have to do,” he whispered to himself.

  “Milord?” asked a guard standing at the ready.

  “Never mind…” Tomas noticed the two bronze discs. “…Corporal Dibbs…” Tomas laughed. “The Balance sometimes tells us its own jokes, does it not, Corporal?”

  “At least we got a good dinner first, sir,” the man said with a salute, “if you’ll allow me the honor of joining you.”

  “Get a horse, Dibbs.” A stableboy brought Fireheart out from his stall, and Tomas leaped into the saddle. He waited while the platoon gathered around him, reaching out with his senses. At last the patrol was mounted, some armed with crossbows and most carrying torches. “We ride for Garrettown,” he shouted above the stamp of horses. “Orcs already attack there. We must make haste!”

  They dashed out into the night, thundering across the drawbridge. Tomas heard it clank shut as they made their way down along the edge of the woods. Ahead lay the logging road that led toward the hamlets dotting the Northwood. He led the charge along the sparse gravel, Fireheart’s sure hooves making good time in the faint torchlight. Garrettown nestled deep in the forest, and dawn hid only a couple of hours away.

  Fires dotted the village when they reined in at the edge of the hamlet’s clearing. Thatch and log huts burned. Dark shapes ran through the orange light glinting off their steel.

  Tomas twisted to look back at his soldiers. They wore worried frowns. “Stay together. We may be outnumbered, but we have them by surprise.” Pulling Steelsheen from its scabbard, he embraced the power of the paladins, and blue-white flame surged along the blade. Lifting it high into the night, the sword burst forth with the brightness of his strength. The soldiers about him cheered. All knew rumor of their lord’s power, but very few had ever seen it in full glory.

  “With me!”

  Fireheart reared up and launched his body toward the burning homes, the other horses following close behind. The ardent light of Steelsheen clashed eerily against the russet glow of the fires. The black shapes clarified into armored orcs, their red eyes dancing in the mixed light. Some carried loot from the houses. Others fed on slaughtered livestock.

  Tomas yelled with fury as his men rode them down. Crossbow bolts skewered by surprise those that stepped out of burning buildings. His teeth gritted, Tomas swung Steelsheen in wide burning arcs, cutting down his enemies. He focused his emotions into a stream of power, focused on his sword. The flames brightened, and the steel within glowed white-hot. He urged Fireheart forward.

  One orc stood his ground, his face curled in a vicious snarl. Thick yellow fangs protruded from his jaw, and a wide scimitar reflected the light of Steelsheen and the burning village. Tomas answered his challenge, and his first blow was met with a resounding clang. Blue fire scattered along with sparks of ordinary orc steel. Tomas swung again as Fireheart danced to one side, maneuvering on his own to create an opening in the attacker’s guard.

  Tomas caught the orc’s eyes darting toward the movement of his men. He took the opening, lashing out with Steelsheen in an arc of blue-white flame. The steel collar protecting the orc’s neck split like butter under the blade’s razor edge. The head bounced twice along the ground before the body knew it was dead.

  Other orcs felt the steel of his soldiers’ swords as they ran from the burning fires of a Tomas’ weapon. Once his eyes caught the scattered bodies of the inhabitants of Garrettown, his valiant rage took over, clearing his mind of all but battle. Dozens fell before Steelsheen. Fireheart took down his share as well with steel shod hooves.

  They dashed back and forth along the small central street of the hamlet, cutting down the enemy where they stood and fought, or running them down from behind when they ran. Tomas kept his rage under a tight leash. The heat of it flowed into his weapon, fanning its fires and draining his emotions, allowing him to concentrate on the battle surrounding him. With his anger drained by feeding his fires, Tomas thoughts danced with clarity, noticing every movement of the battle. Blood sprayed across his face with another swing, but he took no heed. The flames of Steelsheen danced in the night.

  Quiet descended on the village with a sudden finality. Tomas heard only the shouts of a few of his men above the crackle of flame. He bounded from Fireheart’s saddle. One of the orcs struggled to crawl into the forest. From the trail of blood left behind, Tomas doubted he would make it much farther. He reached down to roll the weakened warrior over. The guts squeezing between the orc’s claws caused even Tomas to grimace. It would take a great deal of will to move at all with that wound, much less hold it in. It is far beyond my power to heal.

  “Why do you roam my lands, orc?” Tomas held Steelsheen aloft, casting its light down upon the dying warrior. “I will give you the gift of death by the Fires if you answer me.”

  The orc attempted a laugh, spitting up blood. “We don’t want your land, human fool.” In the white light of his sword, Tomas caught the deep crimson running down the orc’s chin. “You will taste the power that comes. Then we will take all lands from you.” He cried out in agony, and Tomas gave him peace.

  He searched the body of the orc, but found nothing of interest in his pockets. Tomas did notice the tattoo on the warrior’s neck, however – a hammerhead shark.

  “So.” His voice hid beneath the crackle of fire. “The Shark Clan has turned to raiding beyond the Dragon’s Teeth this year. That has not happened for decades.”

  “Sir,” a voice called from behind him. Tomas turned to see Corporal Dibbs limping, his face smudged with soot and blood. “We found about two dozen villagers hidden within a grove of spreading pines. They appear to be the only survivors.” A mix of pride and pain washed over his face. “We lost Barend and Cloyne – both good fellows.”

  Extinguishing Steelsheen with a release of his power, Tomas caught a glimpse of the sunrise over the trees. “Stand close, Corporal. Watch over me.” He sat down to enter a trance and reach out with his life force, stretching his senses. He felt no more anger, only the daytime life of the forest awakening around him.

  “Gather the men and the survivors.” Tomas stood. “We will all ride for Harte Castle.”

  As his riders bustled about, Tomas wandered among the corpses of the orcs, seeking a sign of their purpose. He noticed their gear shone with sharp edges and good maintenance. None wore chainmail – each equipped more for stealth and a long journey than a simple raid. Tomas shifted a body.

  “A Boar Clan tattoo?” He leaned in close, and the bristling pig with curling tusks popped out in bright red against the fallen warrior’s greenish skin. “Boris would not believe this. Shark and Boar working together.” Tomas jogged back to Fireheart, his mind working through the potential dangers. I must take this to the King, myself.

  The return t
rip took quite a bit longer than the ride out. Everyone stumbled along in exhaustion by the time Harte Castle peaked out of the trees ahead. Tomas sighed in relief once the portcullis had dropped and the gatekeepers raised the drawbridge behind them. More soldiers drilled in the courtyard and marched along the walls and ramparts. Local townsfolk already gathered within the safety of the castle, many bringing their livestock and supplies with them.

  Manifred Adella jogged over with her usual dignity. Captain Jondon Maycrest ran without heed to his pride.

  “What are your orders, Milord?” Captain Maycrest saluted. “Were you successful in Garrettown?”

  “For some.” Tomas tossed his leg over the saddle horn and slid to the ground. “Many were killed, including two of our soldiers. I want you to start extensive patrols of the Northwood. If you see any sign of incursions, bring in the inhabitants of the forest hamlets.” He took a swig from a cup of water offered him. “Thank you, Denna. Some bread and meat would be nice, too.” She curtsied and stepped away before he added, “And prepare a pack of travel provisions for me, one that will last a journey of several weeks.”

  “You will leave us, Milord?” Manifred deepened her eternal frown. “In an hour of such need?”

  “I must, Mani.” Tomas steeled himself against his sinking heart. He lifted his gaze in resolve. “I have hidden here for too long. There is far more at stake than just Harlong. I must return to the capital with this news of orc incursions. Any other messenger would go unheeded.”

  He turned to Captain Maycrest. “Send messages to the Duke of Wellsfield and warn the Barons of Snowbourne Fork. In the meantime, begin recruitment. Start with the survivors of Garrettown. Scout the Northwood in force. Use the safety of the castle if you encounter numbers.” He shifted his gaze to Manifred. Her steady face settled him in his decision. “Use the closed rooms if you need them. I must go to Daynon. You will rule in my stead – you do it anyway. Maycrest has command of the soldiers, but you run Harlong.” Tomas placed his hands upon her shoulders. “Protect it for me. I leave to protect the entire kingdom, maybe even the Balance itself.”