A Balance Broken (Dragonsoul Saga)

by Hartke, J. T.

  A laugh escaped his lips at the idea, drawing looks from some of the other dwarves gathered round the seat of their king. Heat rose in Darve’s cheeks and ears. He bowed his head in apology.

  “Twenty-one carcasses have been gathered of the lesser beasts,” General Weldrin continued over the slight interruption. “Five of the large ones fell, including two downed by the guards of Northtower.” He inclined his head in Darve’s direction.

  “Thank you, General.” Darve offered a bow. “If only we could have killed more.”

  Weldrin nodded in return. His rare, trimmed beard had faded to white where a scar ran down his cheek. “Another beast fell over the forest village of Bearburough.” He waved toward a fair-haired maid that tried her best to hide behind a group of dwarves dressed in foresting leathers. “Tilli Broadoak, a young huntress of the woods, placed a single shaft in its eye when it passed over the village in the dark. A shot blessed by the Earth itself.”

  King Berik II rested on the carved throne, his chin upon his fist. He gazed out over the assembled lords with an unfocused stare, despite the rare gravity of the situation. “Then I shall name her Tilli Dragonslayer. Let all men know her deeds.”

  Weldrin paused long enough to allow the applause to die down. The flush of color on the huntress’ face made Darve reappraise what he had at first thought a rather plain girl. If she were in the right dress instead of those leathers…and those golden curls done up by a good maidservant…

  The general cleared his throat before continuing. “Many of our forces did not do so well. We lost near seven hundred soldiers.” A soft gasp rustled through the crowd. “However, reports from Stone Town are that civilian casualties remained light. Quick reaction to the warning bells and Earth’s blessings be praised.”

  “That is not the case, however, in Wood Town!” Tribune Adaron Shipborne swept from the far corner to the front of the assembly, his white robe of office rippling. “Thousands are believed dead – thousands more homeless and injured. Some of the fires still burn!”

  Another noble stepped forward. Darve sniffed in derision at Lord Rockcastle. His family is old and rich, but he is a fool.

  “Tell me then, Tribune,” Rockcastle said, his hands tucked in his belt, “where are these ruffians of Wood Town to go? Are we to take them into our own homes?” He looked about at his peers as if it were an absurd suggestion.

  “That would be a good start, Lord Rockcastle.” The Tribune’s sharp blue eyes fixed him. “Your considerable mansions would house a great many.”

  “Yes, but it would take a decade to get the stench out.” Rockcastle laughed, slapping his thighs.

  A large percentage of the nobles chuckled as well. Others stared at Rockcastle, their expressions incensed. Darve counted himself among the latter. The Tribune looked ready to explode.

  “Your disrespect for the people of this nation is disgusting, My Lord.” The Tribune’s lips curled into a sneer of derision for the noble. He pointed toward the exit of the hall. “They still die out there while you joke at their expense. Likely the only stench you could smell in Wood Town today is burning timber and flesh.”

  Rockcastle stepped back, his fist raised as if to strike the Tribune.

  “Enough!” Berik waved a languid hand in the air. The young king still maintained his disinterested gaze.

  Apparently, the shouting bothers his ruminations. He inherited too early. It was a bad omen for any prince, when King Karedon died in that rockslide.

  Tribune Adaron dropped the suppressed rage from his features and focused on his monarch. “I do have a far more constructive solution, Your Majesty. Perhaps we could open the Magnum Room along the eastern face. It has more than enough space to temporarily shelter thousands, along with easy access to emergency food stores.” Adaron raised his hand toward the mountain piled on top of them. “They would also be in a place of safety, should the enemy return.”

  Scattered applause erupted from some of the dwarven nobility. General Weldrin also clapped his thick hands. Darve knew that Weldrin had joined the army from the dock fronts of Wood Town. His own heart stirred, and Darve slapped his hands together too.

  “Fairly suggested, Tribune Adaron.” The king yawned. “I tire of these reports. We must see to action.” Berik cast his eyes over the crowd. “Refugees shall be allowed within the Magnum Room. Your office, dear Tribune, shall pay for their needs in care and blankets. I will grant them food from my private store. I am a king with a heart for his people.”

  Berik rose and turned to the general. “See that there are sufficient troops to ensure security. I don’t want a riot breaking out where I plan on holding this year’s Midwinter Ball.” The king stretched and looked over his shoulder at the throne. “Damned thing is even harder than it looks.”

  An aghast murmur rippled through the crowd. The king seemed not to notice. However, Darve lifted an eyebrow when he caught the hint of a smile crossing the lips both the king and Adaron.

  Am I the only one who saw? Darve cast his gaze about the room. He bowed with the rest of the crowd when the king strode to the edge of the throne’s platform. If stories be true, then ‘twas Berik who found Adaron near the docks of Wood Town as children. Berik was a daring child who often snuck out of his father’s palace. But current gossip says that the twain have fallen out since Berik took the throne. Perhaps the gossip is not so true.

  “Maester Northtower.” The king stepped down from his dais. “Would you join me on my ride to the palace? I wish to thank you personally for your family’s vigilance. If only all of our defenses had been so prepared.”

  Another murmur passed the nobles, curdling Darve’s stomach. Few have ever been invited to ride with the king in his private lift!

  Darve bowed, his nose nearly touching the rough stone floor. “I am honored beyond words, Majesty.” He straightened and lifted one hand. “Let me also add that House Northtower will donate ten thousand gold marks to the Tribune, so that we might aid his cause for the people.”

  Adaron bowed to Darve, his sandy beard tucked behind one forearm.

  “Well and good, lords.” The king gestured toward the rear of the hall. “I believe we have a lift to catch. Maester, if you would come?”

  “Of course, Your Majesty.” Darve trotted to join the king as he marched to the edge of the cavern. A gold inlaid brass carriage awaited there, suspended on long iron chains that disappeared far above. A guard swung the intricate mesh door open, and the king stepped through, motioning for Darve to follow.

  He climbed on board. When the soldier moved to join them, Berik held up his hand. “Follow with the others. I wish to speak with Maester Northtower alone.”

  Shock crossed the guard’s face. “Your Majesty…” he stammered, “…I am to stay at your side.”

  Berik frowned. “The shaft is sealed in solid rock from here until it arrives at the palace. I should be safe from attack.”

  The guard’s bright eyes searched Darve, a skeptical wrinkle forming on his brow. “But…”

  With an insulted huff the king placed his fists on his hips. “Maester Northtower is a hero of my kingdom. I will have no such attitude from a soldier on my guard. His family has stood with the dwarves of the Rock for a millennium. Even if they were not first born among us, generations of Northtowers have been since.” The king slammed the door of the carriage. “Report to garrison duty. Some time in the forest will remind you how good palace service is.”

  The crestfallen guard ducked his head. “Yes, Your Majesty. Forgive my improper and impertinent words.” He turned to Darve. “And please forgive my reticence as well, Maester Northtower. I did not mean to impugn you personally.”

  Darve shook his head. “I do not take offense, soldier. You only wish to protect your king.” He nodded toward the pedestrian exit. “Seek out the Northtower garrison. Tell Master Sergeant Marrax Redarm that I sent you.”

  The so
ldier saluted and bowed his head. “Thank you, Maester.”

  Smooth and graceful, the carriage lifted into the colossal openness of the cavern. The chains did not jingle or jerk hauling their burden upward. Darve pulled in deep breaths seeing the gypsum ceiling rush out of the darkness.

  That hole is way too small for this carriage! He could not help clamping his eyes shut when the rock engulfed them. A moment later, he opened his lids to see a smiling king, his face lit only by the twin oil lamps built into the brass construction.

  “The first time rattles everyone.” Berik’s eyes reflected the lamplight and his kind smile. “I wanted an excuse for privacy.” The king pursed his lips. “As your family cannot seek the throne, I fear you are one of the few in my court I can trust.”

  He cleared his throat. The smile shifted from uncertainty, back to kindness. “I have a mission for you that might well save our people from destruction far greater than that wrought upon us last eve.” The king’s eyes sharpened. The vapid child sitting on the throne disappeared. Instead, a ruler had taken that child’s place in the confident stare. “You must go to the humans of Gannon and inform them of this attack. You have some of our most extensive connections with the nobility of their kingdom. Your trade deals have made many of them almost as rich as they have made us.”

  Darve swallowed. The passing stone discomfited him, but his senses had begun to adjust. “I thank you for the compliment, Majesty.”

  King Berik smiled again. Darve weakly returned the expression, his stomach still doing short flips.

  “You earned it, Northtower, in more ways than one.” The king stepped closer to Darve, lowering his tone. “You must warn the humans to look to the north. Too long have we ignored the orcs and the dark powers they are capable of stirring. I have many plans for our people, Maester Northtower – plans I think you might approve of – but chaos in the Northlands can only hinder our success.”

  Darve bowed his head. “I will carry your message to the humans at once, Your Majesty. I have extensive relations within Gavanor. I will go to Duke Aginor first.”

  The king raised a finger. “I also want you to take someone with you. Someone I believe fate has blessed. This Tilli Dragonslayer, the girl from Bearburough.” Berik shook his head. “A shot in the dark that slew a big one…”

  Darve ducked his head. “Of course, Your Majesty. If she can slay a dragon, she can join my travelling party any day.” He wobbled when the pressure in the shaft adjusted. A duct, built into the wall to allow fresh air to enter, passed with dizzying speed.

  “We are half way up the mountain now.” Berik gazed upward at the taut chains still disappearing into darkness. “After you have spoken with Duke Aginor, I want you to travel on to visit the ‘Old King’ in his capital at Daynon.” Berik chuckled. The idea of an old king being less than a century in age amused Darve as well. “Arathan is the military power in this part of Tarmor. Only Gannon has the strength to stand against an enemy that can gather a flight of dragons.”

  “Do you think the humans have the mettle?” Darve cocked a dubious eyebrow. “I know the men of Gannon as well as any dwarf, I suppose. They are fair traders. And they have a stout heart in battle, I’ll grant.” He shook his head. “But humans have a hard time standing up until they have no other choice. By then, it is often too late.”

  Berik sighed, and his smile slipped. “We shall see, I suppose. Perhaps there are a few among them with the courage to do what needs to be done.”

  “Placed with the Grace of the Balance in the year 96 A.R. by the Royal Hand of Prince Gelron, Grandson of the Navigator.”

  — Cornerstone carving, Citadel of Gavanor

  The pepper is right, but something is missing…

  Tallen stopped stirring and reached into the bag he had brought with him from the Gryphon. Tucked in the back, behind a wooden saltcellar, hid a pouch of thyme. He crushed a sprig of the dried herb into the stewpot, and its fragrant bouquet wafted out when it hit the steaming soup. The spoon glistened as he mixed it in, careful to watch that the campfire did not get too hot.

  The big sergeant sniffed the air. “Damn, I’m gonna like travelling with a good innkeeper. I’m also glad I found those turtles today.” The wolfhound sat immediately beside him, a strand of drool running from the corner of his mouth.

  Tallen took a sip from the spoon and looked up. “You certainly appear to have the lead in our little competition now, Sergeant Hall. I think this might just beat the doe Corporal Magrudy shot two days ago.”

  Magrudy huffed from where he sat on a large root. “Only because you’re here to cook it. That doe was succulent. Turtle takes a very fine hand to even make it edible.”

  Tallen tilted his head, thinking of the way the fresh venison had melted on his tongue. “You have a point there. It was delicious.”

  “I believe Boris and I are the final judges.” Magus Joslyn Britt folded his arms across his barrel chest. “Whoever hunts down the best animal for Tallen to cook on the road to Gavanor stays with the officers at Lilly’s Pad in Bridgedale – that was the proposed wager.”

  Settling himself near the fire, Boris lifted one of his black eyebrows. “A fair prize in any contest.”

  Tallen avoided direct stares from the Bluecloak officers. He hasn’t watched me like the Magus, but I still see his gaze from time to time. At least the soldiers adopted me as a little brother – once I told them about Jaerd.

  “It’s ready.” He scooped out generous portions of the turtle stew to each soldier, saving the choice bits of meat from the back of the shell and upper leg to give to the judges. Brawny cocked his head and stared at Tallen with huge, brown eyes, until he scooped out an extra bowl for the hound. Boris tore into the stew with a piece of day old bread purchased in one of the small towns along the River Road. Magus Britt took more time with his dinner, sampling first the soup alone, then a spoonful with meat. Even his stony face softened with delight, if only for a split second. Then he was all Battlemage again.

  “Delicious,” Boris proclaimed, wiping the bowl clean and popping the bread into his mouth. “Winner.”

  “I have not made my decision yet,” Magus Britt mumbled around another bite.

  “He’s right though.” Corporal Magrudy had nearly finished with his bowl. “It is better than the venison.”

  The mage nodded in grudging agreement. Brawny scoured his wooden dish with a fat tongue.

  Sergeant Hall drained his bowl as if it were a teacup. He motioned for Tallen to refill it. “I knew we would make a hell of a team, lad.” The corners of the man’s eyes crinkled when he laughed. “You’ll stay with us at the Pad too, if I have to pay for it from my own purse.”

  The man’s huge hand smacked Tallen on the shoulder. The pat did not send him reeling as expected. It only rattled his jaw. If the calluses on those hands came from that battle-axe, he has seen a lot of action.

  “His captain will pay the tab.” Boris waved his bowl for more. “Only he must cook for us every night in camp until we get there.”

  Tallen’s face sank, and the Bluecloaks guffawed with laughter.

  Snorting around a stifled chuckle Boris held up his hand. “Fear not, lad. The inns get much closer together east of Gavanor.”

  Setting an empty bowl aside, Magus Britt rose to his feet. “Come on Tallen,” he said with a huff of breath. “Time for you to meditate with me.”

  Tallen stood up, leaving his unemptied bowl upon the ground. The soldiers swarmed toward it, scrapping at what remained within the pot. Hiding his smile, Tallen followed the Battlemage off to the edge of the firelight where the camp met prairie grass.

  “I’ve not done much teaching.” Magus Britt laid his dog’s head staff to one side. “However I was taught once myself. I still remember some of those days.” The two of them sat down facing each other with legs folded. Magus Britt spread his red-trimmed cloak neatly underneath him. “Dra
w in deep breaths. Breathing is a key part of this exercise.”

  Tallen closed his eyes and concentrated on inhaling and exhaling, deep and steady.

  “In through the nose,” the mage droned, “out through the mouth.” Tallen heard the mage’s breath in time with his. “Do you see the colors again?”

  “Yes. They flutter about in my mind, circling each other.”

  “How many colors do you see?”

  Tallen heard an odd, tentative tone in the mage’s question. “Several. Blue and red, definitely. Yellow and green too, I think.” He paused, finding concentration difficult. He stiffened his resolve and focused his mind. “It is all overshadowed by a…a dusky grayish light.” Tallen frowned behind his closed eyes. “It makes them hard to distinguish.”

  The Battlemage remained silent while Tallen centered his thoughts. He focused on those colors, their lights dancing in his head. They became almost physical, as if he could touch them. His senses reached.

  “Not yet!” the mage snapped. “You must first learn control. You may well have access to all four elemental Aspects, although I have never heard of such a thing in modern times. Open your eyes.”

  Tallen obeyed and saw that Magus Britt stood over him. He hopped to his feet.

  “You should not reach for the Aspects, not until I have taught you more.” The mage’s voice held more than a hint of warning. “Your strength may be very great, Tallen. I cannot tell for certain. Varana may be the only one who can. She is the only wizard I know of who has access to all the elemental Aspects of magic.” His brow knitted further. “However, she is no Dreamer. I only know of one still alive, and he is not likely to be anywhere close to the Isle of Wizards.”