A Balance Broken (Dragonsoul Saga) (7 page)

T
he Avari Plain stretched before Dorias when he and Shade rode out from the cover of the Ravenswood. Merl flew ahead, by far the most excited of the three to undertake this journey. Dorias enjoyed the scenery, but dreaded his destination.

They set a quick pace along the Rappenron River where it swung beside the edge of the Avari. For days, they travelled in peace, Merl scouting out ahead while Dorias and Shade followed the river.

As they paused to rest one afternoon, Dorias heard a low rumble from deep within the ground. He remounted Shade in haste and rode her to the peak of a small ridge. A gritty haze hung against the horizon, obscuring a hundred thousand wooly mounds trotting across the landscape. Bison ranged over the plain, spreading like a sea of horn, hoof, and brown fur. Their movement shook the land and left a trail of destruction and dust that hung in the air for some time. Dorias soon spied a dozen wolves trailing the herd. A pride of prairie lions tracked them too, though they stayed well clear of the other predators. Buzzards circled back along the trail, closing the cycle of life behind the passing herd.

Two more days on the trail, and they approached where the Rappenron River met the Andon.
Once the Rappenron alone fed the Andon, but that was before the Cataclysm – before the Dragonscales climbed into the sky and drove all waters to the Great River.

The sun dipped toward the west when Dorias came upon the confluence. A tall outcropping of rock hung over the swirling eddies where the cold water of the Rappenron met the warmer flow of the Andon River. Sheltered between the rocks and the water, Dorias made camp and unsaddled Shade to give her rein to graze.

“I’ll have a scoop of oats for you later.” He scratched her shoulders before wandering down closer to the river. Merl lighted to a tree nearby.

“Let’s find dinner, shall we?” Dorias reached out to his power. His strength in the Aspect of Air was not great, but still enough for the task at hand. He stretched a thin tendril of Air out into the water. Near one of the warmer eddies, he found a small school of trout. Dorias wrapped his strand around one of the fish and ripped it up from the river. The silvery creature thrashed against his magic, yet Dorias held it firm.

“Fish!” Merl cawed into the twilight.

Dorias smiled in agreement. “Not so challenging as the old fashioned way, I’ll grant, but it is certainly faster.”

His strength in the Fire Aspect was no greater than his power in Air, yet he still possessed enough to get a good campfire going faster than flint and steel or even a dwarven match. Dorias scaled the whole fish and placed it over the fire to roast, seasoned with a little salt and herbs he carried in his pack.

After his meal, he leaned back against the rock, his belly full of broiled trout. Merl picked at the bones nearby, and Shade munched on her evening oats.

“Time for a pipe, I say. I believe it would be the perfect dessert.”

Dorias had just sparked the bowl with the tiniest burst of Fire, when the skin across the back of his neck began to crawl. With a wild snort, Shade backed away from the campsite, her ears flattened against her head, while Merl leaped into the air, abandoning his fish carcass.

Dorias rose to his feet, teetering on the edge of embracing his power. “Please come out, Ancient One. I know when I am in the presence of one of your kind.” His heart raced, awaiting an answer to his call.

The trees rustled. A hulking form heaved from behind the outcrop. The fading sunset danced off golden scales. A long sinewy neck resolved itself, ending in a head with a wide, leonine face. Sharp fangs, inches long, protruded from the upper lip. Its vertical slit eyes focused on him, reflecting gold and green in the last of the dying sunlight. A slightly sulfurous scent wafted into the clearing, hinted with a flavor of cinnamon.

Dorias let go of his power. It could not match a dragon so large at this range. Shade held her ground, but her eyes rolled white, and her hooves stamped the turf. Merl, however, sat perched in a nearby tree, watching.

“I could have burned you and your horse from the sky, had I wanted to, wizard,” the great beast rumbled with a slurred accent still quite understandable. “But I have a desire to share words. My mother taught me your resonance before she died. She told me that the wizard known as the Ravenhawke could be trusted above all humans.” The dragon scoffed, an ominous sound from so deep a chest. “That is, of course, a relative idea. No humans can truly be trusted. We have learned that hard lesson over the centuries.”

With a wave of respect, Dorias bowed near to the ground. “Ancient One, you honor me with your presence. You could only be of the brood of Grannis. She honored me with her trust a long time ago.” He flourished his hands again. “I offer you my words and my service if you wish.”

The dragon laughed. The bellowing sound cheered Dorias, while at the same time driving fear into his heart. The mix of emotion made him feel almost giddy. “I have no need of your service, human,” the dragon returned, “and only precious few of your words.” He sat on his haunches. The long digit at the end of his front claw folded the leathery, golden wings back along his forearm. He leaned upon the padded knuckle where it met his thumbclaw. “I am Groovax, the son of Grannis.” The creature curved a long, scaled tail around the front of his claws as he sat. “I come to give you a warning.”

Dorias stood up straight, thumbing his short goatee. “A warning?”

The dragon paused, his golden eyes piercing into Dorias’ soul. He stood there, trapped within the dragon’s gaze. He would not have turned from it even if he could have.
I have great respect for this creature. I want him to respect me.

The dragon pulled a great breath into his nostrils. Most men would have feared that flames might follow, but Dorias knew that it was a sign of respect.
He has accepted my scent.

“Many of my lesser kin have disappeared.” The dragon’s lips moved with great dexterity, forming the words clearly. “I believe they flock to the Dragonscales. Whatever call they answer I cannot fathom. The presence hides from me behind a dark cloud.” He flicked his long tongue along his upper lip, curling it in a threatening way around his fangs. “Those of my kind who have heard the call are removed by many generations from the Ancient Ones. They are more…primitive. My sire was of the Ancient, as well as my mother.”

Dorias raised one eyebrow with hesitation, uncertain the dragon allowed questions in this parley. “Why do you tell me this?”

A ridge above the dragon’s own eye lifted. “I tell you because…” The dragon paused again as if considering. “…because there are too few Ancient Ones left among us to stop our kin. Whatever power calls the lesser dragons cannot mean well for those of us who remain beyond its influence.” Groovax flicked his tail, his horned brow furrowing. “Most of my brethren have given up on human kind.”

“Yes.” Dorias tapped his bare upper lip. “That would explain why so few have been seen in recent centuries. Most humans believe dragons to be extinct.”

“We nearly are.” Groovax held both regret and anger in his voice. “A good portion of that is our own doing, however.”

Dorias nodded. Of all humans, he best understood the sad history of the dragons. “There is something I should tell you.” The dragon’s head popped forward, sending Dorias a half step back. He calmed his heart with a deep breath before continuing. “I believe that I have sensed the same presence you mentioned.”

The dragon cocked his head in a quizzical expression. “It forbids me entry into the Dreamrealm,” Dorias continued. “It is a dark, shadowy cloud that I cannot penetrate with my mind.”

Silence pervaded the clearing. Groovax stared in thought. Shade stamped cautiously. Any other horse would have bolted long before. Merl sat in his perch, for once saying nothing.

“Perhaps…” The dragon cocked his head. “I will not speculate. Your magic is far different from ours.” He stepped back and stretched his arms, fanning out the fingers of his golden wings. They caught the firelight and reflected it back like polished bronze. “I know your resonance, human. If you find a way back into your Dreamrealm, you may contact me from there. If I discover anything more, I will find you myself.”

Dorias bowed again. “You may be confident in your trust, Lord Dragon. This darkness has spurned me to action already. Our alliance against it honors me.”

Groovax laughed once more. It echoed across of the rivers below, masking the rush of their flow. Dorias felt the laughter in his stomach and bones. It made him want to giggle.

“We shall see if this becomes an
alliance
, human.” The dragon laughed again, flapped his wings, and leaped into the moonlit sky. Dorias heard another chuckle from a distance as the great beast disappeared into the night. His spirits dipped in sadness at the dragon’s parting.

“Flame!” Merl cawed out, startling Dorias.

“At least that flame isn’t aimed at us, Merl.” He watched a dark shape cross the moon. “For now.”

“Blessed are the Fires from which were made. Blessed be the Fires to which we return”

— Boar Clan funerary rites

S
lar slumped back into the tall chair of carved ebony, abandoned to him by Boar chieftain Lagdred. A sneering Brother Ortax leaned in close to his ear.

“The Wolves do not deserve to join our holy war,” the lead shaman of the Boar Clan whispered. “Send them on their way. They ask too much.”

A wave of Slar’s hand silenced the shaman. Ortax stepped back with a deferential nod of his head.

“It is the command of Galdreth that I be Warchief of the united clans, not just the Boar and Ram.” Slar inclined his head toward the orcs gathered in front of him. “Much as we have this one chair at Blackstone for the chieftain of the Boar, we shall have seven when we build a new fortress at Dragonsclaw.”

He heaved himself up, shifting the ancient scimitar of his family that rested on his hip. The representatives of the Wolf Clan fingered their own weapons. “No one is more aware of the long standing feud between Wolf and Boar than you and I, Fargon.”

The grizzled captain of the Wolves scowled at him. Slar remembered that face laughing with him many years ago. “You were fostered with my father to seal the peace after our last clanwar. You and I have hunted Boar lands together.”

“You made a wife of my cousin,” Fargon grumbled in reply.

“And no one misses Naleena more than I!” Slar snapped, more harshly than he intended. “Her death haunts me still, and her son chooses to live among your people.”

Fargon lifted a black eyebrow. “He is your son, too.”

Slar snorted and waved a hand. “My sons are warriors of the Boar Clan. One has captured Victor status to honor his people.”

Fargon remained silent, but his lips curled to show a fang. Instead, the orc wrapped in a black wolf pelt spoke.

“This discussion is not to the point.” The shaman lifted a finger. “This is about the honor of the Wolf Clan. We insist that we not be lackeys to the Boar, unlike the sad Rams.” He shot a glance at the one Ram in attendance.

Balthor kept his silence, though rage scudded across his face.

Slar folded his hands behind his back and addressed the room. “The place of the Wolf Clan in this alliance shall be the same as it is for Boar and Ram, for Bear and Snake and all the others once they join. This is the time we have awaited, my fellows. Galdreth has returned to us from the Elder Days.” He brought his hands forward into fists. “Do you not understand that this is our opportunity to wipe away all the old clan rivalries? It is our chance to take our rightful place in this land—to drive the humans back into the sea from whence they came.”

Fargon’s pink eyes fixed on Slar, reminding him of his long dead wife. His heart twinged at the memory of her. He had thought those feelings long since buried.
Those eyes also remind me of Nalan’s, though I have not seen him in ten years. If only he had chosen the warrior’s path instead of…

Those thoughts were not for now, and Slar drove them from his mind. He slapped his hands together. “Many of the Boar Clan, under the leadership of my son Grindar, have already begun the journey to Dragonsclaw, while more Boar warriors muster for Chieftain Lagdred. The Ram Clan gathers at Dragonsclaw as well. Galdreth commands that you do the same.” Slar did not favor this approach, but felt forced to use it. “Do not forget that our ancient master has returned. Has Galdreth not appeared before Chieftain Valgrar?”

Fargon nodded. “The spirit has shown itself to my uncle. That is the only reason we stand here now.” The warrior watched him in silence. Slar was about to renew his argument when Fargon finally continued. “I will return to Craghold. Chieftain Valgrar shall have the final say, but we cannot ignore Galdreth’s return.” He moved to walk away before he paused and met Slar’s gaze squarely. “Even if Valgrar decides not to come, I will meet you at Dragonsclaw. Not because of the return of some ancient spirit that I do not understand, but because of your words, which I grasp quite well.” He nodded again, this time with a bit of a bow. “I will greet you again before Midsummer…Warchief.”

The Wolf Clan delegation ushered themselves from Blackstone’s great hall, Fargon the last to leave. He tapped his fist to his heart in silent farewell before the doors closed behind him.

“Will he bring his clan?” Ortax asked once the bar slammed down.

“It is not the Wolves that I worry about.” Slar’s eyes remained upon the exit through which Fargon and his men had left. “The Shark will join us when Wolf does. Snake and Bear will come in time. It is the Mammoth who hold my doubts.”

Balthor of the Ram grunted his agreement.

Yes. The Ram and Boar founded our friendship fighting the Mammoth Clan.

“Chieftain Sargash will choose to join us when Galdreth comes upon him.” Ortax lifted his nose with a confident air. He had been among the first to support alliance once the spirit appeared to him.

Yet you did not support me as Warchief. I will not forget that. Nor will Galdreth.
When the rear door squeaked open, Slar turned and his frown for Ortax melted. Radgred came around the corner, a slight smile on his aged face. Behind him strode Sharrog, his face so much like Slar’s.
My Midsummer boy, Victor at his first Clanhold!

“So I see you have returned from your hunt.” Slar grinned as wide as propriety allowed in public. “Has the ice cracked yet?”

“It has indeed, father.” Sharrog tapped a fist over his heart. The smile, however, shifted to a frown. “There were few mammoths to be found, but the caribou were great in number.”

Slar reached out to clasp his son’s arm. “Good then. We will have plenty of supplies for our march to Dragonsclaw.”

Sharrog frowned and moved as if to speak, but Radgred interrupted. “Perhaps we should get something to eat.” The old sergeant growled at the gathered orcs. “The Warchief and son should have a meal of the fresh meat together.”

With a nod of understanding, Sharrog walked out the door through which he had entered. Radgred followed close behind him. But before Slar exited, he addressed the assembled orcs. “I thank you all for your attendance.” He looked at the Ram chieftain’s son. “Especially you, Balthor. This alliance between Ram and Boar will be the core of a new nation for our people.” He returned Balthor’s nod of agreement. “We begin our journey to Dragonsclaw in three days. It will be an honor to walk on Ram Clan land again.”

Balthor dropped into a full bow. “It is our honor, Warchief.”

Brother Ortax frowned at the younger orc. “The honor is to serve Galdreth.”

“Indeed,” Slar added with an air of finality.

The group broke up with a round of nods. Slar had never known a time when his people were so agreeable.
Perhaps the fear that Galdreth brings is the greatest motivator of all. My arguments would never have held sway in normal times.

Shifting his swordbelt one last time, Slar followed his son and advisor toward the central stairwell leading to his chambers at the top of Blackstone. All the warriors who stood guard in the hall saluted their Warchief, fist over heart when he passed. He returned it to each of them in turn, slowing his progress even more. By the time he reached the stairs, Sharrog and Radgred neared their top. Slar took the steps two at a time, catching the pair as they reached the door to his new chambers.

“Father! Glad you could join us.” The younger orc laughed. “The needs of your alliance are tedious. I prefer open battle to the intrigues of the hall myself.”

“Ha!” Radgred tipped his chin. “What do you know of real battle, youngling? A dozen years of training and one victory at Clanhold, and you think you know war!” He rubbed an old wound on his shoulder. Slar remembered the battle against the Wolf Clan where Radgred had gained it. “I will take these good meals and warm beds any time.”

“Yes, but you are not the one standing with shamans all day.” Slar sniffed the air. The scent of fresh kill wafted near his nostrils. “Perhaps you are right about the food, though.”

Laid out in the entry hall to his private suite sat raw and rare cuts of meat heaped on silver platters. In the center of the table lay an uncooked mammoth tenderloin the size of Slar’s leg. Spread out next to it they found several loins of elk and caribou in various states of doneness. On another platter sat a piece of the mammoth’s liver. Other organs lay piled on silver and pewter dishes. A chest-sized saltcellar sat open upon a table, heaped with shiny white, gray, and pink crystals.

“I also brought this.” Sharrog pulled a small leather bag from his pack. A pungent scent leaped into Slar’s nose. “A pouch of uncle Grimbrad’s herbs, from the patch near his lodge.”

Radgred eyed the meats. “I will stoke the brazier in the central room.”

The three lingered over the meal for the rest of the evening. Dark red wine washed the meat into Slar’s belly, while the tasty salts danced on his tongue. He and Sharrog shared the oversized liver without cooking it.

Purple blood ran over Slar’s chin. He wiped it on the side of his hand then licked his finger clean. “So you did find at least one mammoth.”

Sharrog nodded. He took another tear off the rich, slimy organ. “One alone, and he was young at that.”

“I wonder if their orc cousins will be as scarce when the time comes.” Radgred held a piece of the tenderloin on an iron rod over the fire. “I do not have Ortax’s faith in Chief Sargash.”

Slar opened his mouth to speak until he felt the old knot in his gut tighten. He knew the pain had nothing to do with the flood of meat. The knot had been absent throughout the winter, while he and his sons, with Radgred’s help, gathered the Boar, Ram, and eventually the Wolf Clans together. Only thrice had he felt the pain – when Galdreth appeared to the other clan chieftains with Slar in his presence. But that dreadful burning flared now.

The dark shadow swirled together in an instant. Galdreth’s strength always radiated at its most powerful when it first appeared. The silver eyes glittered from the shadows within the parlor. They shined down upon Slar, who wiped the liver blood from his lips. Radgred and Sharrog dropped to their knees, meats cast aside. Radgred went directly to a prostrate position, while Sharrog eyed the spirit before he followed the older orc.

“My master,” Slar whispered, bowing low.

The voice grated like old rust.
Your alliance grows, but not with the alacrity I require. I shall go unto the remaining clans alone. I cannot wait for your feeble bodies to travel there.

Slar offered another bow. “Yes, my master.” His stomach pains lessened.
Let the dark spirit go alone.
He kept his eyes averted. “We will be at Dragonsclaw within two weeks. Over fifty thousand Boar, Ram, and Wolf warriors will gather at your call.”

That is not enough!

The knot sharpened, like a knife twisting in Slar’s gut.

You must begin the training of new reserves that will join us. The Bear and Snake will have to provide the rest of our strength.

“We will begin gathering new forces at once, master.” Slar swallowed against the bile that threatened to rise in his throat with the words.

What of my vessel? I have given you the tracing stones. Have they found him yet?

The longer Slar listened to the voice, the more his agony grew. It grated upon his mind and spirit, as well as his ears. “The first team is preparing to strike, my master. Their orders are clear and specific. More teams move into place.”

Very good, Warchief Slar. You will bring the vessel to Dragonsclaw immediately upon his capture.

“I shall, master Galdreth.”

The shadowy spirit spiraled in upon itself, disappearing with an audible concussion.

Slar stood erect, shifting his swordbelt to its proper position. Sharrog rose with more ease than Radgred, who huffed and straightened his knees.

“I despise that being,” Sharrog spat at the emptiness left behind.

“You should watch your tongue.” Radgred pointed at the young warrior. “You are too untried to know what is best for your people.”

Slar sighed.
I do not wish to agree with my son, but I do.
He scratched his knuckles on his day-old beard. “Our people have fought among each other for centuries, ever since the humans returned. Trapped in the Northlands, without an outlet for our growth, we waste our lives and resources attacking each other over and over again.” Slar reached toward Sharrog. “If we follow Galdreth’s lead, we can unite our people and regain a place of power equal to, even surpassing, that of the other races. Without Galdreth’s presence, we would never have gotten this far in bringing the clans together.” He grabbed his son’s shoulders. “What we might do here has not been done in a thousand years.”

Sharrog spread his hands. “At what cost, father?”

Slar did not answer. He simply shook his head. “You are too young to understand. I will see that you learn.” He took a step back. “You will soon have a taste of the battle you claim to crave. You
will
scream Galdreth’s name when you charge into it.”

Sharrog tossed the piece of liver he had just bitten into back on the platter. He spit the chunk in his mouth onto the fire, where it hissed and spluttered away. “As you say, father.” He wiped his hands and face on a crimson towel. “I shall gather my grunts. We will march toward Dragonsclaw before the night is out. We shall be your eyes and ears along the western Dragonscales.”