A Balance Broken (Dragonsoul Saga) (4 page)

Tallen sighed and wiped the dishwater from his hands before reaching into his pocket.

“Keep it.” Glynn gave him a confident nod. “You do a fine job. Dad would be proud.”

The startled expression that crept onto Tallen’s face was unbidden, but obvious.

“Well, you don’t have to gawk at me.” Glynn filled his voice with feigned hurt. “I can give a compliment.” He shrugged. “Once in a while.”

Tallen laughed. “Linsay is rubbing off on you. Your baby will be a good one.”

Glynn clapped him on the back with a smile before heading off to his own bed. Tallen cleaned every dish and put out the hearth fire before he followed.

D
arkness swirled around Tallen. He struggled for orientation. Vaporous clouds of shadow muddled his perception. His stomach turned. Tallen knew he had been here before, and with each visit, he gathered more awareness. He righted himself, though he was certain there could be no up or down here, and fought to gather his senses.

Memories of the one book he found describing this place
flittered into his confused consciousness. The wizards called it the Dreamrealm, a thing of magic and the dominion of the Dreamers. He had asked every bookseller and peddler that came west for more information about it. His search had been in vain, for none could further his query.

Tallen looked outward, though he had no real eyes in the Dreamrealm. He thought of walking, and he floated forward, though he had no real legs. A galaxy of starpoints surrounded him, flashing in a blinding rainbow of colors. The more Tallen came here – the more he concentrated on those fascinating twinkles of light – the closer he came to touching them.

Focusing, Tallen reached outward, but no hand moved in the darkness. These visits had increased over the last year while his body and mind matured, and certain lights he recognized now. One of the points glowed dusky white, its beauty captivating him. It called to him beyond his normal senses. His absent heart yearned to touch it.

A sudden stab of fear tore into his peaceful thoughts and ripped the glistening white point from his awareness. Another presence swarmed about him in the darkness, one Tallen had never sensed before. Even though he had no neck in the Dreamrealm, he felt the hairs lift upon the back of it.

Silvery shadows shimmered through the darkness, wafting like smoke rising from the bowl of a pipe. It wrapped around him, caressing – insistent and pervasive all at once. Tallen fought to move. He could not think beyond the coalescing form curled about him. Glowing with a silver light, it condensed. Two pitch-black eyes peered out from the reptilian face that materialized before him.

Tallen’s heart would have stopped had he been in his body during that eternal moment. Those liquid drops of blackness captured his eyeless gaze, a black deeper than that of the Dreamrealm. They stared into his soul, ripping it open, leaving it bare.

Like silk sliding along steel, a voice rang out.
Know that they come for you, human!
The thing screamed into the emptiness it now filled.
Know that I am Gan returned! The ancient trap once set for Galdreth and I has at last weakened!

The spirit softened its tone, but the words still reverberated in Tallen’s mind.
Galdreth seeks to escape it, yet I remain held tighter than my counterpart. I may only approach you in this realm for a short time, but Galdreth can once again touch the physical world.

The form gathered itself, the voice taking on its previous, more strident timbre.
If Galdreth is let loose, the chaos would destroy the world. Do not forget the People of Gan.

The bright figure and the power that held Tallen breathless blinked out. Only the darkness of the Dreamrealm loomed about him, now far more foreboding. Tallen reached for the waking world like a breathless swimmer scrambling for the surface of a lake.

H
e woke to the cyan of pre-dawn creeping through his narrow, second story window. His heart raced, and his head thumped. Tossing the sweat-drenched sheets aside, Tallen stumbled to his small, blue-painted dresser. With a sigh of relief, he splashed cool water from the chipped basin onto his face. His heart pounded in rhythm with his head. The all too real dream had rattled him to his core. While the Dreamrealm was something familiar to him, the entity that had spoken there was not. He splashed water again to drive away the ghosts of his encounter, but the memory of the dream still haunted him, even though the words spoken had slipped away.

Outside Tallen heard the hushed calls of men and the jingle and stamp of horses geared for a journey. Quiet whickers and a short whinny broke through the muffled sounds of dawn. The noise of the horses, common to the inn, helped sooth his nerves. Dabbing his face with a towel, Tallen looked out of the window overlooking the courtyard of the inn and watched the Bluecloaks mount in unison. The muscular wolfhound had already cleared the front gate. The mustached general gave a muted call and waved for his soldiers to follow him toward the River Road.

The Bluecloak mage paused, his red fringe shifting about him. That sharp gaze stared up at Tallen’s window, though there was no way the man could have seen him in the faint light. Tallen felt those eyes pierce his – a stare meant for him and him alone. The Battlemage nodded once, before turning his horse to follow his companions.

The five Free Cities, once known as the Last Cities, are all that remain of the lost elven kingdom of Lond. They are also the only places in Tarmor where humans, elves, and dwarves live in common community. This not only provides for diverse cities, but for a difficult political and economic atmosphere. By the fourth century A.R. (After Return), only Kerrigier and maybe Novon, could still be called cities. The others remained little more than prairie cow towns.

— “History of Gannon, Appendix C” by Elyn Bravano

M
addrena Conaleon filled her lungs with the crisp night air. She relished the fresh scents of spring hanging on the breeze. Beneath the more pleasant smells hung the pungent scent of urine, something unavoidable in a city, even one so small as Dern. Maddi watched the moon lift into the night, its sizeable curve recently risen. It provided enough light to work by, but not enough to be easily spied.

“The perfect night for a heist,” she whispered to the silver crescent.

The soft soles of her calfskin boots allowed her to grip the slate beneath her feet with ease. She climbed to her favorite vantage point on the roof of a former counting house. She kept one of her hideouts here, places where she found refuge when occasion called. Scanning the horizon of the city from the heights, she saw the Earth Temple rising in the distance. Horse-sized sconces lit its ziggurat shape of stacked mud bricks. The townhouse she sought sat on the square within the temple’s shadow.

If the old bastard spoke the truth.
Maddi tied her glossy black hair into a bun with a leather thong. Taking a deep breath, she made her first leap of the night. When she touched down with grace on the other side of the alley, the slight skitter of her soles on slate forced a tingle of nerves up the back of her thighs.
The first one is always the hardest.

Steadying herself with another deep breath, she took off at a quick trot. Her nimble frame danced across the rooftops, packed one next to another along the winding, cobblestone streets. Some of the shingles slid under her feet, but she kept herself steady. At one point, she was forced to shimmy down a gutter pipe, dash across a quiet avenue, and use her rope and grapnel to scale back up the wall of an abandoned tannery. Once there, she felt back in her element, skipping across the low slate roofs of her city.

Soon the townhouse she sought coalesced from the darkness, one story taller than the buildings packed next to it. Maddi tossed her grapnel up and pulled herself along the hempen rope. Scanning the city from her new vantage, she ducked behind the parapet and coiled her line. Only empty streets, dimly lit by the temple sconces, lay before her.

Keeping her crouch low, she scurried across the flat rooftop until she discovered a wooden hatch bound by iron and a heavy padlock. Given time, she knew she could spring the lock, but the rusted hinges on the old portal appeared a far easier target. She squeezed a little olive oil from her pouch onto the hinges before pulling out her toolkit. A little twisting with her pliers and a couple taps of a small hammer and chisel – muffled by a wool cloth – and the corroded hinge-pins came loose. Maddi pushed and the door fell inward, hanging awkwardly from the still-latched padlock.

Dust swirled through the air as she dropped down into the attic. A few old trunks sat strewn about. From the smell, she doubted they held anything more than mothballed clothes, probably long since out of style.

Another hatchway, this one unlocked and with a folding ladder, led her to a floor of empty bedrooms covered in a decade-thick layer of dust. The stairwell leading down to the second floor remained undisturbed, lit through tall windows by the moon. Outside she could see the Earth Temple and the gray, quiet streets of the square.

Once Maddi reached the hallway below, she gasped in surprise. A set of large boot prints trotted up the stairs from the ground floor, entered a side room, and then headed back down the way they had come. She leaned in closer to examine the prints. Only the slightest sprinkling of new dust lay over them.

The old coot’s story may be true, then.
Drawing a quiet breath, Maddi flitted through the shadows toward the entry, avoiding the tall windows. This locked door was hinged on the inside.
I guess I’ll have to do this the hard way.
She pulled a delicate leather pouch from her bag, and fished through the dozens of lock picks it held, each designed in a different size or shape, most made of steel, a few of wood or bone. She avoided the one made of a smoky, glasslike substance, hidden within the pouch that Renna had given to her.
I can’t chance using that pick. I might shatter its beauty.

Another breath steadied her racing heart, before she pulled out two of the simple pieces of steel. After a dip in olive oil, she worked them inside the keyhole for a few moments. The lock clicked open. With a twist of the knob, she pushed the heavy door inward.

A broad oak desk sat in front of two thick-curtained windows, barely visible in the moonlight from the hall. Maddi pulled a clear marble from her shirt pocket, and held it in her open palm. Through pursed lips, she blew a wisp of breath over the small, glass globe. The marble sparked to life with a faint glow, just bright enough to see the sheet covered furnishings within the study. The recent boot prints led to the desk, behind it, and back out the door.

Maddi followed them in absolute silence, frowning with doubt.
He was too drunk when we spoke in the Queen of Wands this evening. He couldn’t have known what he was talking about, could he? Although, he did know about the hatch on the roof…

The linen covered chair had been placed back under the desk, but Maddi saw from the swishing patterns in the dust that the previous entrant had pulled it out. She did the same and ducked under the desk with her glowing marble. One of the floorboards was larger than the others. She found it easy to pry up the plank, and place it aside, careful to make no sound.

An old, folded piece of calfskin had been hidden within the recess. Maddi pulled it out before replacing the floorboard. She unfolded the skin to reveal a rusty tin box with an intricate lock that held it tight.

I’ll work on that later in privacy.
Leaving the calfskin on the floor, she tucked her prize away and hopped to her feet. She dashed back into the hallway. Another soft breath and the marble blinked out. Up the stairs she trotted, paying less heed then she had during her entrance. She climbed into the attic and hoisted herself onto the roof, excited to examine her prize.

Sinewy arms wrapped around her, hard as old tree roots. She tensed as a cold blade pressed against her throat.

“’Ere now, lassie,” the slurred voice grumbled into her ear. “Thought you could pull one over on ol’ Jeevsie, did ya?” His breath reeked of the onion the old drunk had been eating like an apple in the tavern. When he hacked to clear his throat, the stench of sour wine and vomit stung her eyes. “Well?” His tremulous hand shook the knife where it touched her slim neck. She felt a tiny prick of pain, followed by the tickle of warmth trickling down her neck. “Seems that whatever you slipped into muh wine didn’t last as long as you mighta hoped.”

Dip me in the Fires! I know better than to short dose a drunk! Always takes a heavier measure to break through the alcohol already swirling in their brains.

The man pushed his face even closer to hers. “I been watchin’ this place since Lord Baelric fired me an’ left town. I been waitin’ ta hit it since I saw him sneak back in last week. This was
my
score!”

His voice broke, sounding as rusty as the knife felt against her throat. Maddi hoped his reactions might be the same. She focused her mind, knowing that old drunks were often quick drunks.

“Course I knew he lef’ somefin’,” Jeevsie grumbled in her ear, his slobber dripping onto the nape of her neck. “I heard him curse a woman’s greed as he locked the door, empty handed. I got a feeling she wanted what he hid, and he didn’t want her to have it.” He hacked again, the stench of his breath turning her stomach. “I jus’ didn’ have the skill to git through the locks. Knew you did though.” He hissed. “Stupid to trust a little bitch!”

Damn it!
I should have been paying more attention!
Maddi moved a fraction, shifting her body closer to his and farther from the knife.

“Oh, think I forgot ye was a lass, did ye?” The hard-handed man grunted. His wiry beard scraped against the skin behind her ear. The hand that clamped over her mouth loosened and shifted downward to grab her breast. Maddi did not struggle, even though her spine curdled with revulsion at the touch. The knife lingered near her throat. She shuddered at the thought of the rusty edge ripping through her windpipe.

“You treat old Jeevsie nice,” he cooed, as Maddi’s lip curled in revulsion, “an’ I might find it easier to let you off this rooftop with your throat still closed.”

Maddi nodded in silence, shifting a hand behind her and reaching for the strings of his breeches.

“Tha’s muh gal,” he mumbled, his knife hand slipping from her neck.

She offered a slight smile, then snarled as she grabbed his crotch fiercely, crushing the shriveled parts she found there.

The old drunk’s voice squealed, rising to the pitch of a young girl. He stumbled, almost dropping the knife in his agony.

Spinning on her heel, Maddi smashed the tin treasure box into his face. She heard the satisfying crunch of bone, followed by a wet gurgle.

Jeevsie blindly swung the knife at her, missing by half a yard when she dodged out of his way. He swung again, catching the cuff of her shirt, and cutting off a button that clattered into the night.

Her boiling anger froze, and the ice crept into her voice. “Now you’ve done it.”

She drove the box into his face once more. This time his nose crumpled under her attack. She lost herself in a moment of rage at his touch. Two and three swings later, blood leaked from the ruin of his face onto the rooftop.

Maddi pulled back, bringing her rage under control. A thief she might be, but not a killer.

She wiped the gore-smeared box on Jeevsie’s stained jacket. His breathing came in shallow puffs, but the rest of his body remained still. Her voice filled with disgust. “You forced this from me.” She rose to her feet and dropped over the side of the building.

Her trip back across town flew by, her mind still in shock from the attack. Slipping inside the old counting house, now used as a flophouse, Maddi frowned at its rundown condition.
It’s a safe place to sleep.
She covered her neck with her hand as she passed the proprietor. She smiled, and he returned it. She had paid him double his normal rates for privacy, so he allowed her use of the old safe as a bunk.

Tucked inside its block walls and wrapped in a fine wool blanket, she worked the tricky lock under the flickering light of a candle, until the rusty lid popped up. She pried its bent hinges wide for a better look.

Inside rested a small gold locket hung on a thick chain. It opened to reveal the cameos of two young children, a boy and a girl, both brunette and smiling. Maddi tossed the chain aside and pulled at the satin backing of the box. With a hearty jerk, it came loose. White sparkles greeted her eyes, which returned the gesture. A half dozen diamonds, each nearly a carat in size glittered in the candle glow.

Maddi laughed and fondled the gems. “A woman’s greed, eh?” She tucked them into a velvet pouch and curled up with it next to her chest. She blew out the candle, throwing the room into blackness, and picked up the locket before drifting to sleep. Caressing it, she wondered who the children might be.

M
addi shielded her eyes against the midmorning sun, bright with the promise of a warm spring. She skipped over a puddle. The cobblestone streets in this part of town stood in better repair than those near her flophouse, and more businesses occupied the tightly packed buildings. She hefted the bag she carried higher on her shoulder and hopped up the two steps into the apothecary. A familiar bell rang when she opened the door.

The waft of scents greeting her held flavors both exotic and familiar. Last season’s herbs hung from the rafters drying, while seedlings covered dozens of trays on the counter. Maddi took a deep breath. The scents of foreign spices crept into her sinuses, mingled with the more astringent smell of curative balms and chemicals. The aromas seasoned the memories of her childhood.