A Balance Broken (Dragonsoul Saga) (14 page)

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

T
he 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. “Draw 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.”

The mage’s words deepened Tallen’s concern. He already felt a great deal of pressure weighing upon him. Jennette’s death, his night in jail, and the intensity of their travel, all put a great strain on his emotions. He felt stretched tight, covering a hidden wave of despair that might overwhelm him if he faced it. The promise of direct tutelage under the Elf sorceress of legend did not settle his nerves any further.
The books I’ve read say that she has helped to shape history since the Cataclysm. Many of the stories do not end well for those who encounter her.

The mage interrupted his thoughts. “So, ask your one question.”

Tallen abandoned the labyrinth his mind wandered and tried to focus.
I have to make my nightly question count.
“Have you ever been to the Dreamrealm yourself?” he blurted without knowing quite why.

The mage snorted. “Once, a long time before you were born. An erstwhile friend led me there. It takes a Dreamer to escort a normal mage into the Dreamrealm.”

“Who was your friend?”

“Your question is already asked.” Magus Britt turned his head away with fierceness. “You need your rest. We will arrive at Gavanor before noon tomorrow.”

Tallen’s blankets did not offer him enough comfort that night for sleep.

T
he land sloped gently downward across a long, open stretch. There the road split into a trident that stabbed toward three gates in the towering western wall of Gavanor. The wall stretched all the way from the Stonebourne Fork to the banks of the Andon, cutting off the triangle of land between the rivers in which the city lay. Tremendous towers sprang up on both rivers’ edges, over two miles apart. The wall connected them, and a dozen smaller towers stood guard between the gates.

Tallen stared in awe.
To think Jaerd has served here for ten years!

Shading the sun with his hand, Tallen cast his eyes beyond the wall. He could not see much of the city, only a few scattered towers and a slight haze of smoke. In the distance, the duke’s citadel rose on a pinnacle of rock overlooking the confluence of the two rivers. Tallen had heard stories in the great room of the Gryphon, stories that told of how the violent energies of the Cataclysm cast Malador’s Stone out from the Dragonscales when the mountains rose.
I doubt the tales are true, but it does seem odd sticking up from the middle of the prairie.

Boris leaned forward in the saddle of his black stallion. Tallen had learned the hard way that the beast snapped at any human other than the earl who tried to touch it. “We take the northernmost fork. I told Aginor to watch for our return through the Wolfsgate.”

Magus Britt put a heel to his sorrel mare. “Then let’s get there. I look forward to the duke’s hospitality tonight.”

Tallen spurred his old palfrey to follow. His father had purchased the horse just before he died, and Tallen had named him Stew after the animal threw him on his first ride.
Because I threatened to make one of him if he ever did it again. Ever since, he’s been a fine horse
. He patted Stew’s neck. “Might I have time to look for my brother?”

“Possibly.” Magus Britt kept his gaze upon the gate ahead. “We will remain in Gavanor only one night.”

Boris frowned at the Battlemage. “We will make time for you to find your brother. How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”

“Near five years, sir.”

The Bluecloak general nodded. “I will see that he is invited to what will almost certainly be a delightful banquet in our honor.”

“Now you’re talking, Milord,” Sergeant Hall added with a pat of his stomach and a spur of his thick-legged horse.

The road became more crowded with more travelers as they neared the Wolfsgate. Hundreds gathered at each entrance. Boris led his squad around the throng. Brawny stayed close to Sergeant Hall’s stirrup. Only a few annoyed stares followed the Bluecloaks. Most people nodded with respect. One or two old teamsters saluted.

When they reached the gate, the doors leaning back against the stone were fashioned of iron as thick as Tallen’s waist. Artisans had cast each door of the Wolfsgate in half the semblance of a snarling, lupine head. When closed, the complete face stared out at any approaching enemy with baleful eyes.

“They don’t even shut them at night any more,” Corporal Magrudy whispered to Tallen, who stared open-mouthed, “so continuous is the traffic.”

Earl Boris trotted his stallion over to meet the young lieutenant in emerald green questioning the entrants. “I need to see your captain. My men and I are here on urgent kingdom business.”

The lieutenant studied the stars on Boris’ collar before snapping a sharp salute. “If you will wait but a moment, my lord General.” He tapped a corporal. “Get the captain, on the double!”

The man dashed off. Only a few seconds passed before he returned with another green-cloaked man, this one wearing two silver stars. Tallen stared at him for only a moment, before he leaped from Stew’s back.

“Jaerd! It’s you!” He ran forward and embraced the man.

“By the Waters…Tallen?” An astonished look blanketed the soldier’s face, as he tried to salute through his brother’s hug. “What are you doing with…with a Bluecloak elite team?” Jaerd returned the hug with melting reticence. “By the Waters. It
is
you.”

Boris spoke before Tallen could answer his brother. “He travels with us because we required it. Anything further should not be discussed here.”

Tallen could not read his brother’s face, save for the shock. The expression lingered only a moment, and he stood before Tallen with the expressionless mask of an officer of Gavanor. He snapped another, tighter salute to Boris. “Yes, Milord. Allow me to fetch a horse, and I will escort the lot of you directly to the citadel.”

The group followed Jaerd under the shadow of the gates. It took time for Tallen’s eyesight to adjust to the darkness, but he could not hide the smile on his face at greeting his brother. A cool breeze chilled him within the shade under the wall. They passed beneath dozens of murder holes carved into the archway over his head. Tallen sensed the age and weight of the stone. Though he wanted to inspect every passing feature, the presence of his brother distracted much of his attention. A thousand questions bubbled up in his mind.
Boris’ business is serious, much more serious than just retrieving me. Jaerd and I will have time to talk later.