A Balance Broken (Dragonsoul Saga) (2 page)

For Julie, my love and my muse, without whom this would never have happened.

“The Balance shifts as the Balance will. Its opposing forces wax and wane. However, the Balance itself always exists. No matter how Chaos may reign in one place or time, Order will hold its sway elsewhere. Be it across the world, or across the Universe.”

— Volastarun Mardus, “Writings on Opposition”, 414 B.C. (Before Cataclysm)

“Arise, oh people of the Northlands, children of the bristling boar. Arise and seek the fiery stars.”

—Boar Clan traditional

S
lar watched the cold, ebon water of the Galesh River churn past. Its dark hue matched his mood.

His humor held far less cheer than it did a week ago, before the Boar Clan patrol marched out from under the solid gates of Blackstone. Slar had thought this a final foray into clan territory before the Winter Gathering—a pleasant trot through the late autumn countryside. Continuing the journey, however, brought a solid knot of worry into his gut. It burned deep within, an anxiety he had never felt before, even at the approach of battle.

Put away your worry, old woman! Neither Bear nor Wolf would raid this far south during this season.
His thoughts turned toward his sons.
I will see them soon enough – when the clan seeks shelter at Blackstone.
His eyes searched the leaden sky, seeing only a horizon that matched his heart.
Looks like we will have a long winter together as it is.

“Storm gathering behind us, Captain,” Sergeant Radgred grumbled in a low tone as he walked past Slar. The veteran stalked toward the tight circle of warriors resting nearby. “Up, you dogs! We’re on to Sourbay!”

The squad gathered within moments, the squeak and clink of leather on metal the only sounds they made. With a wave of Radgred’s arm, the patrol set off again. Their mail rang with the rhythm of their march as they exited the small copse of trees in which they had taken their afternoon rest.

After about a mile, Slar leapt atop a lichen-crusted boulder, his nail-shod boots scrambling for purchase against the stone. Looking back to scan the westward horizon, the burning knot in his gut sank even further. He squinted against the wind that howled along the northern slopes of the Dragonscale Mountains. The last of the sun hid behind purplish clouds, heavy with the first snow of winter. They hugged the rocky, conifer-covered slopes, hiding the eternal white of impassable peaks.

Slar signaled to the column some distance down the worn, ancient road. “We had better make double time, Sergeant!”

Radgred looked back. “Aye, Captain!” For a fraction of a second, the sergeant’s face sank at the sight of the storm. His expression shifted to grim determination before he smacked the shoulder of one of the warriors. “You heard the Captain.
Move
!”

Slar scanned the landscape from his perch. Ahead, a small stream trickled down from the Dragonscales, its clear flow carving a narrow gorge before it tumbled into the Galesh. He jumped down from the boulder, wincing at a creak in his knees that had not been there a year ago. He ignored the protesting cartilage and the sourness lingering in his stomach and sprinted to the front of his patrol.

“With me, lads!” he shouted, passing them with a steady gait. “There is cover ahead.” The troops picked up speed to match that of their captain. Radgred followed at the rear, scowling each time he glanced over his shoulder.

His eyes alert, Slar watched the fir trees that spread down the mountains. They began to sway as the first flakes of snow whipped about the squad. By the time he led his warriors down a dry gully toward the gorge, white powder had gathered within the crevasses. Reaching the bottom, Slar ordered Radgred to unroll the heavy, oiled mammoth skin the sergeant carried on his stout back, and the entire patrol huddled beneath it.

Forcing cheer into his voice, Slar wrapped an arm around the warrior next to him. “We can’t build a fire, but if we gather together we can save our warmth from draining away.” He shouted against the storm that now raged beyond the shaggy tarp. “Huddle close, lads! This is going to be a long night.”

His dreams were fitful. Gloomy images flitted through his mind, calling to him from a great distance. Slar searched his dream for the source of the summons, but before it ended, it was he who fled from a dark hunter.

Morning broke outside their dome of snow and flesh. Slar crawled from cover and blinked at the sunshine glittering off a blanket of white. The snow had piled deep, even within the relative cover of the gorge. The thump of drifts settling under the new sun echoed from the cleft in the rock.

After a breakfast of hardtack and snowmelt, he led his men out of the gorge and back onto the road, hidden by a few inches of swiftly melting whiteness.
I know this land like I know the veins tracking the back of my fists. It is as if this land’s very soil and water flow within my blood as well. I pray to the Fires that my sons may roam it as long as I have.
The frown on his face deepened.
I fear they will not.
“Back to it, lads.” He waved a hand forward, shooing away his dark thoughts. “We can be in Sourbay by nightfall if we press hard.”

He shifted the scimitar on his hip, caressing its worn handle.
This sword travelled the road long before I ever did.
The knot of anxiety still tore at his gut, unrelieved by the storm’s passing or his morning movement. He struggled to keep a grimace of pain from his face. Shaking off his discomfort, he jogged to the front of his men. He set a fast pace that would test their stamina.
Perhaps I can shake loose this pain, and my useless worry.

It was still there, though, when he led his men into the outskirts of Kragnek, a small village that was the last settlement before Sourbay. Mud brick huts with thatched roofs huddled on a small knoll overlooking the Galesh. A few goats milled through the recently harvested barley fields. Slar smiled.
Barley bread is our staple, but barley beer keeps us alive!

He marched his men to the open-aired bar serving the small community. “A round of beer for my men, who run like heroes,” he said to the barkeep. “With a fresh loaf for each – and yogurt as well.” Slar dug into his pouch, past the gold to the copper underneath.
The glitter of real gold will cause a riot in a town as poor as this.

“To the captain!” Radgred hoisted his brew and quaffed it down.

A cheer rang out before the rest of the squad followed their sergeant’s lead. The beer mugs emptied well before the bread disappeared.

While the men ate, Slar pulled his sergeant aside. “I have a feeling of unease,” he whispered, “greater than any I have had since you first led me on this trail nigh twenty years ago.” He glanced toward the warriors, who paid them no mind, and continued in an even lower tone. “Something unnatural haunts our steps. Not just raiders from another clan. Something more…powerful. I know not what it is.”

Radgred raised an eyebrow, matching Slar’s clandestine tone. “You are the one with the Old Blood. That is why you are captain, and I am still sergeant. Even though you never sought to become Boar chieftain like your father once did, you still sense things that others do not.” He narrowed his eyes. “Your whole family has this ability. I trust your lead, as I once did your father’s.” The sergeant clapped Slar on the back. “As I will some day follow your sons.”

Slar watched Radgred while the sergeant gathered the squad once more. They grabbed what sustenance still lay on the table and jumped into line behind their captain. Slar trotted the first few miles. Running his warriors on a full stomach would waste the food he had just bought them.

The beer he had consumed did nothing to ease the fire in his stomach. Before long, Slar doubled their pace.
The faster we reach Sourbay, the sooner we return to Blackstone.
Slar frowned at his sergeant, whose focus remained upon the surrounding woods.

Talk of my sons has set them on my mind. Grindar should arrive at Blackstone any day. I bet he found another wife this summer.
He smiled at the memory of his youngest son.
Sharrog won Victor status at his first Clanhold this year! Perhaps he might even be home from his Victor’s Hunt when we return!

The knot in Slar’s gut loosened somewhat with thoughts of his sons and home. He knew that before long, the days in the Northlands would last only a few hours, and a winter storm might last for days. Blackstone, however, would be warm with the fires of Slar’s people. The meat from their hunts would fill bellies throughout the long, dark season.

His pace never slackening, Slar ran his squad into the early autumn evening. Dusk hung in the air when the squad jogged into a sharp cleft cut into the rocky hillside.

“Weren’t these carved by the shamans of our people in the Elder Days?” Warrior Lishnak asked under his breath.

“It is true,” Slar said to the new recruit. “They wielded great power. That was in a time of greater glory for the Clans.”
Before the Dragon Wars left us broken. Before the Clans began to turn on one another.

Gossamer threads of twilight sifted through the tree limbs, casting an eerie glow upon the unblemished snow as Slar followed the coiled road through the cleft. The sour knot in Slar’s gut tightened into the fiery ball he knew from the moment before battle. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the sun had left the sky purple.

Stars pricked the firmament, until sudden darkness, deeper than the night, blackened them out as it flew overhead.

“Spread out!” Slar drew his family sword and dove to the ground. The pace of his heart quickened. “Take cover!” He held his breath while Radgred and the others scrambled into the brush along the road.

Slar crept forward on all fours. The cold snow bit his knuckles, but the feeling remained distant. His mind focused outside his body, becoming one with the world around him.

The black shadow darted overhead again and crashed to the earth. The concussion threw Slar backward along with chunks of stone and earth. He slammed into the ground, breath fleeing from his lungs.

Forcing his chest to heave again, he shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the crimson that seeped from scrapes on his elbows and the pain throbbing through his cheek. He shook his head to clear his senses. His heart pounded furiously, though it was not from the fear of any enemy. Awe and respect for the power that radiated before him coursed through his being. Anticipation and trepidation filled his heart at the sight of it.

The swirling shape seeped upward from the blast crater, forming itself with more purpose than simple smoke. It spread a deep shadow across the snow, turning it black rather than just hiding the light. A roiling, vaporous figure coalesced above Slar. The shadow morphed into a serpentine face. Two sparkling points of silver opened before him.

A voice like the breaking of an ancient, rusty hinge screeched into the night.
Come forth, Slar, Captain of the Boar Clan!

The silver light of the eyes bore down on Slar. The pain that had tightened his gut throughout their march faded, slipping away from his perception, much like his sword that clattered to the ground. He dismissed it all, as his entire being focused only on the form billowing before him in the windless night.

Bathed in the light, Slar raised his green-tinted claws into the sky in exaltation. Even though his conscious mind did not completely comprehend, his warrior’s heart recognized the colossal power of the spirit hovering before him. The blood red irises of his eyes beamed with adoration as the grating thunder of the voice continued.

I am Galdreth, ancient master of your people. Dismiss your fears for them. My prison weakens at long last! You are my Chosen, and I shall raise you to become Warchief of the united Orc clans.

Slar barely noticed the gasps of startled fear that escaped his warriors. Radgred shuffling up behind him only scraped his conscious mind. He took another tentative step toward the presence towering over him, ignoring the tiny screams of pain from his lacerated hands and knees. The fear in his heart had disappeared, replaced by a sense of joy and wild freedom.

The voice howled again, echoing over Slar, his men, and the empty countryside.

You must find the vessel I have chosen, so that I may break free of my prison. Then I shall remake the history of the Dragon Wars and return the Orc clans to their ancient glory!