A Balance Broken (Dragonsoul Saga) (38 page)

“The Northlands are barren. They would be our graveyard. How the Orcs survive at all, I do not understand. I think that was the plan when we signed the Great Concord, but somehow they still thrive. Perhaps they are tougher, or smarter, than we give them credit.”

— Lord Marshal Horatio Vonstrass, 284 A.R.

E
arl Boris Mourne, General of the Royal Guard, spat onto the long, green grass spreading about the knees of his horse. He wiped his untrimmed mustache with a leather-gauntleted hand, before lifting the brass and crystal spyglass to his eye and scanning the mountain ridge that loomed ahead. A long spur of the Dragonscales shot out to the north, capped by a bulk of piled, black stone known as Dragonsclaw.

“That’s where we’ll find them.” He slapped the spyglass shut. “They are watching us – smiling at us.”

Captain Silios Vonstrass trotted his gray charger forward. A mottled gray and green Fadecloak fluttered about him. “I will go out with the next squad. We will push all the way to the ridgeline.”

Boris shook his head. “I don’t want any scouts caught too far from the protection of the main detachment. We will move forward one more day, find a defensive position, and then send out parties to reconnoiter the ridge. I want an elf ranger with each unit. You will go with Gael himself once he returns.” Boris held up his hand at the Bluecloak ranger captain, whose proud nose lifted toward the sky. “You are to follow him. His one eye is better than either of yours, and he has led rangers since before your greatest grandfather hopped the boat.”

Silios saluted and spurred his mount forward, shouting orders to his team of men. Sergeant Hall rode a shaggy draft horse up beside Boris.

“He’s a Vonstrass. He’ll not like taking second position.”

Boris wrinkled a lip at his oversized friend. “Since when did you become my court advisor?”

Hall chomped on the unlit cigar butt between his teeth. “Since you ordered Joslyn to stay behind at Highspur, sir.” He pulled the butt out with sausage fingers and spit a piece of tobacco onto the ground. “I should have brought Brawny too.”

Boris sniffed. “Just get the column ready to move, Sergeant.”

Bowing from his saddle with a smirk wrapped around the cigar, Hall shouted back at the long line of men. “Mount up!”

His voice bellowed over the line, echoed by junior officers. The battalion heaved into their saddles, chainmail peeking out from under their blue cloaks. Steel-tipped lances glinted in the sunlight slipping over the dark ridge to the east.

In the distance, Boris heard the creaking wheels of the wagon train.
We will have to leave them behind before long.

In little more than a minute, the detachment had mounted and sat in formation to advance. Boris nodded to Sergeant Hall.

“Battalion! Ho!”

A mid-toned, three-note sequence sounded out from the bugler. The long line of cavalry lurched forward, Boris at their head upon his black stallion.

“We’ll find them soon, Balthar,” he whispered to the chomping beast. He patted the stallion’s withers. “Then you can run, boy.”

B
oris watched the sun sink far behind the train, dipping at last where Highspur Mountain hid in the haze of dusk. The swiftness with which it fell from the sky reminded him of how soon winter would sweep upon them. “This is a good spot.” He looked at Hall, who still chewed on the same unlit cigar from that morning. “Break for camp, Master Sergeant.”

The big man turned his heavy-footed steed back toward the column. “Detachment! Fall out!” He swung his leg over the saddle, hopping down with a grace that always surprised Boris. “I’ll make certain our defense lines are tight.” Hall looked up at Dragonsclaw, looming in the twilight. Boris thought he noticed a slight shudder. “Tighter.”

Captain Vonstrass hopped onto a fresh horse brought up by one of his rangers. He had been silent all day. “I will double our screening scouts. I intend to lead a party myself, if that sits well with My Lord Earl.”

Boris frowned at Silios. “Your actions do sit well with me, Captain. Your command of the Bluecloak rangers is unquestioned. However, Lord Gael Calais commands all rangers attached to Highspur.” Boris lowered his gaze. “When we scout the mountain, I want the two of you working together, not in competition.”

Silios nodded his head. “Yes, My Lord, understood.” He reined his horse around and rode out with two of his men close behind.

Magus Gaeric Taland trotted his brown steed up beside Boris’ stallion. His red-trimmed blue cloak lay draped over the horse’s haunches. “His Vonstrass pride could be trouble.”

Boris shook his head. “Silios is a good soldier. He knows how to follow orders.” He swung his leg over Balthar, hopping down to the ground with a groan he had not expected.

A yellow-trimmed Bluecloak with two silver stars trotted over from the command. “Do you need me to examine you, My Lord? I could ease the soreness in those joints.”

Laughing, Boris shook his head and waved Doctor Forstra off. “No thank you, doctor. Save your Talent for our coming needs. I will work out the soreness myself.”

For the next hour, Boris moved through the forms of the Lion’s Stretch, flexing his muscles and strengthening them. When finished, he wiped the sweat dripping from his brow with a towel offered by his steward.

“Thank you, Private.” Boris sighed. “What I wouldn’t give for a good bath.”

Private Delattre nodded, his face regretful. “We have extensive baths at Highspur, fed by the springs deep within the mountain.” He sighed. “They wash away a hard day’s ride quite well, Milord.”

“I know.” Boris opened the flap of his tent, no different from that of any other soldier, save he had no bunkmate. “It will be nice to get back there.”

“I
will find them.” Gael Calais’ one violet eye focused on Boris. “I sense them out there. We will do our best to draw them out and lead them back to you.”

The marble-sized, magic-infused glowglobe on Boris’ camp desk fought back the shadows within the tent. Outside the sun had not quite yet brightened the sky.

I got a solid four hours of sleep
, Boris lied to himself.

“Good.” He nodded to Gael. “You are the bait. This spot is as defensible as anything we have seen out here. Our base camp will remain nestled in this gully with mountains to our south and east.” He looked at Hall, who took up most of the tent. “When I take the cavalry out to close the trap, you will stay here with a reserve company. You’re better on foot than on horse and you know it.” Boris turned to lay his hand on Gael’s thin but sturdy shoulder. “We will be ready when you return.”

Blowing out the little glowglobe, Boris held back the tent flap for Gael to exit. Hall followed close behind. Outside, Captain Vonstrass stood at attention with two dozen Fadecloaked rangers. He saluted Boris and Gael, fist over heart. His men followed suit.

“Good morning, My Lords,” the captain said with a smile. “It is a fine day for a hunt.”

His men whooped a single grunt in unison.

From the shadows, half a dozen elves in similar cloaks stalked into the light of the small fire. An amethyst eyed woman stepped to their fore.

“We are prepared as well, My Lords.” Her voice did not hold the ferocity of the Bluecloaks, but the stares of the elves certainly did.

Boris nodded to both leaders. “Best of luck today. Keep your eyes and ears sharp.”

Gael walked over and stood next to his second. “Ours are the sharpest.”

“Indeed.” Boris folded his hands behind his back, drawing his blue cloak with them to display the black falcon embroidered on his breast. “Just so, be as alert as you ever have been. Do not engage the enemy unless necessary. Draw them down here from the mountain where our cavalry will have advantage in the open.” He rammed a fist into his vertical palm. “We are likely outnumbered, but we are not outclassed. Our steel will be ready.”

With a second round of salutes, and a personal nod from Boris to both Silios and Gael, the scouts melded back into the dark. Boris turned his gaze to the eastern horizon. A small ribbon of silver hung high in the sky, tracing the line of Dragonsclaw. “The morning escapes the mountain,” he muttered.

B
oris stood next to Balthar, his other officers gathered nearby. Hall leaned against his battleaxe. The mountain loomed, its spurs reaching out toward Boris and his men. He shaded his eyes from the noonday sun, in danger of disappearing behind a storm that swarmed from the distant sea. Boris took a bite of the bacon sandwich in his other hand.

“Gael will find them, Milord.” Hall held a similar sandwich, but with twice as much bacon. “And Captain Vonstrass’ men are the best in Gannon.”

Healer-Captain Ian Forstra folded his hands, a nervous look on his face. “We have a triage area set up to receive wounded scouts, and any of your men when you return from engagement.”

Boris nodded and turned to Magus-Captain Taland. “Gaeric, you will remain at the base camp. I will take most of the soldiers with me. You and your mages will provide for their defense, along with Master Sergeant Hall and a platoon of lancers.”

Gearic frowned, his hands twisting each other. “Magus Britt gave me strict orders not to leave your side, Milord.”

Washing down the last of his sandwich with a gulp from a canteen, Boris scraped his thick, leather gauntlet across his mustache. “And since I am Magus Britt’s superior officer, I have countermanded that order.”

The mage bowed his head in acquiescence, but his frown remained when he backed away.

Boris slapped a cork down into the canteen and hung it from his saddle horn. He boosted himself into his seat, Balthar standing firm until Boris had his second stirrup. Shifting his sword, Greyiron, into position, Boris watched the mountain from the higher vantage. With a stamp of hoof, Balthar and two of the other horses snorted. The distant thunder of hooves found the edge of Boris’ hearing.

A pair of horses darted around a curve of hill, churning the grassy earth with their strides. Fadecloaks flew out from their riders. Behind Boris, the wind ahead of the oncoming storm began to pick up.

Reaching into a saddlebag, Boris ripped out his spyglass and popped it open. He brought it to his eye and adjusted the crystals to find the riders. “It’s Captain Vonstrass and one of his men. They do not spare their steeds.” Slapping the spyglass shut, he turned to his captains. “Get companies one through four mounted.” Boris looked at Captain Belecond of Fifth Company. “Five is to protect the basecamp. Magus-Captain Taland will be in command.” Captain Belecond saluted, as did the others. All five rode back toward the camp in haste.