A Balance Broken (Dragonsoul Saga) (29 page)

Fargon of the Wolf Clan folded his arms and drew air into his nostrils. “I think an actual, live bear would smell better…or a dead one, for that matter.”

Folding his own arms, Radgred nodded. “And real snakes have almost no scent at all.”

Coarse laughter passed among the shamans and war leaders gathered to greet the arrival of Bear and Snake Clans.

Brother Ortax frowned at their numbers. “Only two clans, yet they almost outnumber our four. It is a good thing they come as friends.” He turned his scarlet stare upon Slar. “I hear the clan chieftains have come with their people. Can you control both Dradlo and Sarinn?”

Running his hand along the worn leather-wrapped handle of his sword, Slar stared at Ortax until the shaman lowered his gaze and covered his retreat with a cough. Slar turned his eyes back upon the newly arrived clans. “Our Master Galdreth has given me dominion as Warchief of the united clans. That will be sufficient.”

Pulling the shining steel from its sheath, Slar lifted his ancient weapon into the sky in salute as two parties of orcs broke away from the mass. One group gathered beneath a brown banner sewn with a rampant black bear. Above the second fluttered a coiled green snake, poised to strike.

Slar’s voice remained level. Not even Ortax could crawl under his skin at the moment. “Our Master will make his choice clear.”

He strode forward to greet the arrivals, Radgred, Fargon, Balthor of the Ram, and Visron, son of the Shark chieftain marching behind him. Ortax and the other shamans hovered at the rear.
They have learned better their place, but shamans unite easily, no matter their clan. Sadly, it is different with us warriors.

The rock-strewn distance between the parties closed. When only a hundred yards remained, a shadow passed over the sun, darkening the sky above the assembled orcs. The darkness continued to grow. Slar’s companions mumbled and slowed in apprehension. Radgred kept pace, even though Slar had only given him a hint of today’s events. The approaching Bear and Snake delegations wavered, but shouts from their leaders drove them on.

Their chieftains will not be cowed by a shadow. At least not yet.
Slar stopped, his coterie gathered about him. The darkness swelled until it hid the noonday sun, and a false dusk covered the land. Dradlo of the Bear approached first, his chest puffed out and a great waraxe slung over his shoulder. Sarinn of the Snake hurried to keep pace with his companion, working the fingers of his clasped hands.

Dradlo offered Slar the nod of an equal. “Chieftain Slar, I gree—”

“
Warchief
Slar!” Radgred bellowed, his fingers rubbing his own axe.

Fargon growled in support of Slar. Dradlo shifted his stance, glaring directly at the Wolf chieftain’s son.

His shamans closing about him, Sarinn spread his lips in an ophidian smile. “But tradition states that a Warchief may only be appointed with a vote of all seven clans. No more than one chieftain may dissent.”

Dradlo slammed the butt of his waraxe into the hard ground. “And two dissenters stand before you!”

Slar sensed the hackles rising on his companions, including the representatives of Ram and Shark clans. He rested the blade of his sword over one shoulder and waved his allies to calm. Slar gazed at Dradlo and Sarinn. “You make a mistake challenging the chosen Warchief of Galdreth,” he said in a calm voice. “Was it not our Master’s command that you join my army at Dragonsclaw?”

The Snake chieftain folded his restless fingers. “Master Galdreth did summon us, yes.” He paused while Dradlo glared at him. “But a Warchief of all clans may only be appointed through tradition. We cannot—”

What can you not do, Sarinn of the Snake? Obey my command?
The metallic voice screeched from the sky, and the darkness surrounding them sank into night. A hushed cry of fear rose up from the thousands of orcs gathered at the feet of Dragonsclaw. Even those within the camp of clans already joined to Slar murmured in unease.

Upon hearing the voice, Radgred immediately fell into a prostrate position, as did Fargon, Balthor, and Visron. The shamans, including Ortax, followed suit without hesitation. Only Slar remained standing, one eyebrow cocked, and his family sword casually resting on his shoulder.

I must show casual courage, as if I held not an ounce of fear.
The stirring in his gut told him otherwise.
What boils down there must not show on my face.

Kneel before your chosen Warchief!
The screech sounded across the vast plain of the Northlands. Slar remained steady on his feet, while a wave in the grass rippled out in a circle from where they stood. Dradlo of the Bear and Sarinn of the Snake collapsed to their knees, as did their entire guard, most with their faces pressed against the dirt. The thousands standing behind them fell onto their bellies, while most of the camp followed suit.

“I assume this means you no longer dissent.” Slar walked forward, tapping first Dradlo, then Sarinn, upon the shoulder with the flat of his sword. “Then rise as chieftains, and members of my war council. Your shamans should join the others after they have seen to the needs of your people.”

Sarinn stood swiftly, bowing again from the waist. Dradlo blinked first before clambering to his feet. He gave a quick, short nod, but one deeper than his first.

Slar gestured for his own supporters to rise.

The darkness that hid the day disappeared as if it had never been. The bright sun of deep summer, a sun that would not sleep long tonight, returned to the Northlands. It spread its warmth once again upon the flower-strewn meadows and glinted off the green and obsidian shoulders of Dragonsclaw.

Any man who comes to this land, willing to swear the Oath of Fealty to his new king, and swear the appropriate oaths to his liege lords, shall become a free subject of Gannon. The kingdom shall then grant unto him forty acres of unclaimed land to work, or grant equivalent kingdom marks to begin a trade should he display proof of knowledge or training in a recognized craft.

— Seventh Decree of the Navigator

T
he bare orange sphere of the sun peeked over the eastern wall of the Ivory Palace, setting alight the silver plated dome of the High Hall. Tallen watched the tall towers flare like torches, glowing with the first rays of morning. The blue and silver banners snapped with a steady westerly breeze, and the longest pennants reached out to brush light fingers upon the sun.

His heart hung heavy in his chest, and a slight pressure formed behind his eyes.

“Battalion! Mount!” Sergeant Hall’s voice boomed out into the misty morning, its gray wisps just now melted by the sun’s first warmth. A thousand Bluecloaks clambered into their saddles in unison, the ranks of horses standing steady as they took their riders. Lances settled into saddle boots, and the troops straightened their conical steel helmets. Hall’s wolfhound sat still near his master’s oversized horse, his eyes drifting along the line of Bluecloaks as if he were a general on inspection.

Tallen looked up at Jaerd, whose emerald green cloak stood out against the sea of blue. “Be careful,” he whispered. “I wish we had more time together.”

Nodding his head, Jaerd reached out his gauntleted hand. “Me too. You be careful also.”

Tears threatening to well up, Tallen clasped his brother’s hand with both of his own. They had already hugged good-bye earlier to avoid all these unwanted witnesses.

The wizard in dark green lifted his hand, and the raven on his shoulder flapped his wings. “We will keep a close eye on him.”

The man fascinated Tallen. Magus Britt had arrived with him and the disinherited Paladin Lord from court before the break of dawn.
I’m to be watched over now by heroes even more famous than Boris Mourne and Joslyn Britt! Everyone has heard of the Paladin Tomas Harte, and I own a copy of Dorias Ravenhawke’s book.

“Good.” Jaerd nodded to the wizard and paladin. “This young man means more to me than just his power.”

Magus Britt edged his horse closer, while Boris conferred with one of his lieutenants. The mage reached out, a small, leather-bound tome in his hands. “Something I read a long time ago. You would be lucky to find ten copies in the kingdom.” He looked at Dorias when Tallen took it from his hand. The cover, softened by use, held worn but well cared for pages. “It was written by the Ravenhawke, though I imagine it sold far fewer copies than his
Tarmorian Bestiary
.”

The dark-eyed wizard lifted an eyebrow. “Is that
The Five Pointed Star
?” He chuckled. “I doubt I even have a copy of that anymore.” He turned his eyes to Tallen. “Read it cover to cover, lad. It’s written specifically with Dreamers in mind.” Narrowing his gaze, he turned to face Magus Britt, his expression both knowing and compassionate. “Why am I not surprised that you have this?”

The red-fringed Bluecloak frowned, reining his horse back. “Regardless, it has been a pleasure training an apt student, Tallen. I look forward to seeing what Varana and this rogue can draw out of you.”

“So do I.” Boris led his stallion closer, the black beast chomping at the bit. “Take care, lad. I wish I could stay with you longer, but duty calls me to the king’s service – as it always does.”

Tallen opened his mouth to speak, but the clatter of a single rider galloping up from the command barracks interrupted. He recognized the thin man who sat upon the High Council.

“Lord Marshal Magdon.” Boris saluted his superior, who trotted his horse up to the head of the long line of Bluecloaks. “Have you come to give us a personal send off?”

“Nay, My Lord Earl, I come to join you.”

A scowl of confusion swept over Boris’ face, and the other officers muttered amongst each other. Magus Britt shook his head, as if he had already predicted this occurrence.

“Why, Lord Marshal?” Boris slow walked his stallion forward. “Just yesterday I received this command by King Arathan’s order. Has he ordered me to stay?”

“No, he has not.” The Lord Marshal shook his gray, thin face. “The king has ordered that I take command of Highspur – to ensure the security of the kingdom.” The Lord Marshal held up a scroll of fresh paper. “He signed the orders this morning.”

“The chancellor strikes again,” Magus Britt muttered in an angry tone.

Boris shook his head. “There is nothing to be done but follow the king’s decree.” He looked at his superior officer. “Then I cede my command, My Lord. The detachment is yours.”

Marshal Magdon ducked his head, sad eyes looking out under bushy eyebrows. “This is not what I wanted.”

“We must all do things that we do not want.” Boris gestured to the head of the line. “The battalion awaits your orders to march, My Lord.”

The Lord Marshal spurred his horse forward. He gave a clipped nod of farewell to Paladin Tomas, who returned it. Dorias stared at the battalion, his eyes unfocused. Tallen noticed that the huge black bird upon the wizard’s shoulder watched the troops with far more attention.

The marshal, his four silver stars catching dawn’s light, nodded to the giant Bluecloak with four bronze discs. “Give the order, Master Sergeant.”

After his salute, Sergeant Hall gave Tallen a short, confident nod. “Battalion!
Ho!
”

The several hundred-yards of flesh and steel lurched forward as one. The wagons at the rear, stuffed with barrels and sacks and covered mounds of goods, rolled over the cobblestone with an echo that rattled in Tallen’s ears. Brawny jogged over to him, nudging his hand with a huge snout. He gave the wolfhound a good ear scratching. Brawny licked his fingers before loping back to the front of the line.

Tallen caught a glimpse of Boris leaning toward the Lord Marshal, whispering from behind a gauntleted hand. Magus Britt hung close. Jaerd looked back over his shoulder and nodded once at Tallen, before turning his face back to the front.

The pain behind Tallen’s eyes swelled and threatened to burst forth in a flood of tears. He held his breath. When Maddi slipped her arm through his, patting his wrist, Tallen did not see her. He stared at the single green cloak in the mass of blue. He did not blink for fear of the trickle of salty sorrow that would flow down his cheek. When the head of the column disappeared underneath the front gate of the palace, Jaerd flung his hand up in a final wave.

“Let us go get some breakfast together,” Tomas Harte whispered, placing his hand upon Tallen’s shoulder.

“Yes, let’s.” Dorias rubbed his hands together. The raven on his shoulder cawed and hopped from one foot to the other. “Merl agrees.”

Tallen let a small smile slip out at the raven’s dance.

Maddi squeezed his elbow once before releasing it. “Food always helps a sad mood.”

Paladin Tomas nodded in agreement. “You will make a very powerful healer, miss, and not just because of your Talent. You have so much potential. If I had the time, you could possibly even become a paladin.”

“Doubtful,” Maddi said, her nose wrinkling. “I don’t put any stake in your Balance.”

Tomas’ tone did not change. “That is why you should become a Doctor.”

A
slow day passed. After a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and summer berries, Dorias excused himself to the city, claiming a need to find supplies. Maddi seemed in no hurry to leave the palace, and a silent agreement occurred to spend the day together before Tallen’s ship left with the morning tide. Tomas, his watchful eye never roaming too far, remained close. His presence intruded on Tallen’s desire to spend time alone with Maddi, though he knew the paladin only sought to protect him.
But I doubt orcs will come after me inside the palace.

They sat under an ancient, spread black oak, the paladin lost in meditation, while Tallen and Maddi watched the blossoms of the palace gardens bounce in the summer breeze. At Tomas’ request, a servant brought them lunch. The food soon disappeared, and mugs of ale sat half-empty. Tomas made the excuse of nature’s call and left Tallen alone with Maddi as the sun tracked its way toward the western wall.

Tallen twisted a blade of grass between his fingers. “Tell me about your family, Maddi.”

She leaned back against the trunk of the tree and eyed him over the rim of her mug. “Why do you ask?”

Surprised at her sudden suspicion, Tallen dipped his head. “I don’t mean to pry. I’m just interested in you.”

He saw a smile creep around the corners of her mouth. She took a sip to hide it.

When the mug came down, her eyes sank in sadness. “My father raised me until I was almost ten. He only told me that my mother died bearing me.” Her gaze roamed toward the tower tops. “He died in the Bloody Flux.”

Tallen sucked in a quick breath. “It took my father, too.”

Maddi tilted her head at him, and then nodded, her eyes cast downward. “We have loss in common, I suppose.” She pulled her legs up, wrapping her arms about her knees. “I was a lucky orphan, I guess, especially for Dern. My father’s cousin, Renna, took me in. She is a Talented healer. She taught me almost everything I know. It was Renna who told me I had the Talent to become a Doctor.” Her gaze drifted back to the tower tops. “She told me to come here, but I never really believed it would happen.”

Tallen patted her hand and she clasped it for a brief moment. “I know what you mean,” he said.

A flutter of strong wings on the air rustled over Tallen’s head. Merl the raven alighted on the oak tree, flapping to settle his balance. He cawed a greeting.

A smile formed on Maddi’s lips. “And the same to you, Merl.”

“We thought perhaps you two might like to join us for dinner.” Dorias’ feet crunched on the crushed gravel path that led from the cobblestone to the oak tree. “I know of a wonderful place on Tarathine Hill, not far from the Avenue of Flowers. Tomas will meet us there before sunset.” The wizard ducked under the tree to cast his raptor gaze back and forth between the two young people. “It’s very quiet, very tasty, and I’m buying…”

Tallen stared at Dorias, hoping he might get his silent message.
I know they want to protect me, but I do not need a mother hen watching everything Maddi and I do and say.

The wizard did not grasp it, but from her wry smile, Tallen thought maybe Maddi did. She said nothing, however, and followed Dorias toward the west gate. Tallen huffed before he joined them.

The Baron’s House stood not far from the Palace, across a bridge between the two hills. “It was once the townhouse of a southern baron who long ago sold it for newer digs.” The wizard rubbed the quilted leather vest covering his flat stomach. “An entrepreneurial friend of mine purchased it, and ever since, Baron’s House has served the best beef steaks in Daynon.”

Maddi laughed at Tallen’s contented moan as he took the first, luxurious bite of his sirloin. However, when she put a bite in her mouth she made much the same noise. He laughed back.

“I told you.” Dorias waved a fork with a piece of dripping pink beef skewered upon it. “Best in the kingdom.” He stuck the bite in his mouth and chewed, eyes closed. He opened them and smiled, pointing with his empty fork toward the jug in the center of the table. “Try the wine. It’s an Avarosan Red, House of the Red Tower vintage 484 -- just fabulous.”

Tallen sniffed the bouquet before he sipped, fruity and oaky. The hearty wine warmed his insides as it went down. He smiled at Dorias with a nod of thanks as his nervous anticipation of tomorrow slipped away.