The Balborite Curse (Book 4)

by Kristian Alva

  The Balborite Curse

  Book Four of the Dragon Stones Saga (Chronicles of Tallin)

  Kristian Alva

  Defiant Press

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Map of Durn

  Copyright Page

  More Books by Kristian Alva

  Kudu Smuggler

  Blood Raven in the Desert

  Cursed Shadow Woman

  Bolrakei Returns

  Endrell the Smuggler

  Shesha

  Druknor Theoric

  Outlanders

  She-Dragons

  Meeting in Morholt

  The Vardmiter Clan

  Mugla

  The Uninvited Guest

  Old Grudges

  A New Beginning

  About the Author

  Map of Durn

  Copyright Notice

  ©Defiant Press 2014

  First Edition, ©2013

  This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted without express written permission from the publisher.

  www.defiantpress.com

  Cover illustration: Jesse-lee Lang, Dark Geometry Studios

  Find out more about the author and sign up for alerts at her official website: www.KristianAlva.com

  Printed in the United States of America. The Dragon Stone Saga® is a registered U.S. trademark. All rights reserved.

  More Books by Kristian Alva

  The Dragon Stones Saga

  Dragon Stones Trilogy

  Book One: Dragon Stones

  Book Two: The Return of the Dragon Riders

  Book Three: Vosper’s Revenge

  Chronicles of Tallin Trilogy

  Book Four: The Balborite Curse (2013)

  Book Five: The Rise of the Blood Masters (2014)

  Book Six: Kathir's Redemption (forthcoming)

  See the complete title listing here:

  http://www.kristianalva.com/title-listing.html

  Available in paperback, Kindle, Nook, and audiobook formats.

  Kudu Smuggler

  Tallin the dragon rider gazed out upon the Death Sands, arms folded across his chest. Even in the spring, the desert was a harsh place, but he loved its stark beauty. Dry scrub and tufts of stubborn yellow cactus peppered the landscape, and beyond the horizon there were endless tracts of gold-colored dunes. He could see a long way in the clear, dry air. The dawn had melted away into a dazzling noon, and it was already suffocatingly hot.

  Beads of perspiration stood upon his brow, matting wisps of red hair against his forehead. Scorching wind, laden with dust, eddied against the wall, leaving coppery grit everywhere. The cloudless sky was intensely blue, shimmering like a sea of cornflowers.

  Tallin was a dwarf half-ling, born and raised with other dwarves at Mount Velik. Though he had spent his childhood with his own people, his adult years had brought him to the solitude of the desert, and he considered this place his home.

  An orange and blue pennant swayed lazily in the breeze, displaying the official colors of the realm. The colors were woven into Tallin’s clothing, too, stitched into the sleeves of his tunic and wrapped around his waist in a belt of knotted leather.

  Tallin touched the ring on his finger with his thumb, a gift from the king some years ago. It was a band of gold crowned with a huge center sapphire. The center stone was surrounded by an intricate array of small citrines. A tiny black dragon was carved into the band, as well as embroidered on the corner of his left lapel: a symbol that stood for the united kingdom of Parthos and Morholt. The land was at peace, at least for now.

  He leaned against the wall, looking out over the ramparts. A single road, edged with cobblestones, crested down from the dunes toward the main gate. The line of visitors stretched back a half-league, waiting to be searched in the long line that wound down to the gate. Each person, cart, and animal entering the city was subject to scrutiny. The soldiers at the gate did their job methodically, in silence.

  The guards searched the baskets of an older man, but let his young children pass through without question. Despite the wait and the oppressive heat, the travelers remained patient, and no one complained.

  Tallin watched the crowd with a careful eye. He was a mage and had been monitoring the city gates for days. Duskeye, his companion, was a sapphire-blue dragon, his enormous body resting underneath a fabric canopy nearby. Duskeye raised his long neck and blinked his good eye lazily, peering out over the barren landscape.

  Duskeye and Tallin were bound together as rider and dragon; the carved dragon-stone that glittered at the base of their throats verified their permanent bond. Like all dragon riders, Tallin and Duskeye had pledged to defend this city, as well as the surrounding desert. Parthos was a magnificent keep, carved right into the mountain. The design was an impressive feat of engineering, built to withstand both siege and the threat of constant erosion from the harsh environment.

  A maze of covered aqueducts, fed by a deep underground spring, ensured that the city always had clean drinking water. Neat terraces of drought-resistant plants were cultivated up the craggy mountainside, maximizing arable land and reducing water loss. Camels grazed outside the walls, eating the thorny shrubs that sprouted up in the arid climate.

  Nomadic women followed behind the herds with straw baskets, collecting dung. The nomads pressed the dung into neat bricks and sold them in the street market to be used as an efficient cooking fuel. The bricks were slow-burning and virtually smokeless, making firewood unnecessary.

  Tallin turned his gaze to an old garrison outside the main wall, now doubling as a makeshift camp for foreign merchants who stayed here to trade. An array of tents and cook-fires dotted the sand.

  Just then, there was a clamor at the city’s entrance. An old man’s voice shouted something unintelligible, and a hissing sound filled the air as one of the guards drew his sword. Duskeye looked out over the ramparts and pointed into the wind. "What is happening at the gate?"

  Tallin leaned over the wall for a better view.

  “Duskeye, let’s go. Something unusual is happening,” said Tallin. Duskeye lowered his neck so Tallin could mount the leather saddle. The dragon took flight, circling down near the guard station.

  Duskeye landed with a loud thump, his body stirring up sand. The crowd quieted immediately, parting to let them through. Many people turned their heads in respect, and a few girls giggled nervously and waved, trying to catch the rider’s eye.

  Tallin addressed a soldier at the gate. “What’s going on?”

  Off to the side, the soldiers held a man under guard, a nervous merchant who smelled like sweat and dust. “This man is a smuggler, sir,” said one of the guardsmen. “We searched him and found this.” The ebony-skinned guard passed Tallin a glass vial.

  Tallin’s eyebrows shot up. He recognized this type of glass—it was rare Balborite crystal, exquisite in its beauty and resilience, designed to hold the deadliest of poisons. It was also illegal.

  Tallin accepted the vial from the guard and gripped it between his thumb and forefinger, holding it up to the sun. Light reflected off the oily liquid inside, which had a pearl-like sheen. He immediately knew what it was.

  Curious onlookers craned their necks to see, even as they maintained a prudent distance. One old woman caught a glimpse of the vial, and her eyes rounded with surprise. “It’s kudu oil! They found kudu!” she cried, and a collective gasp went through the crowd.

  The woman was right—this was deadly kudu oil. A single drop was lethal, and a vial this large could kill a hundred men. A murmur of excitement
mixed with fear swept through the crowd.

  The accused man fell to his knees. “I’m innocent, I’m innocent! I didn’t do anything, I swear!” he wailed.

  Tallin gave the order to close the city and seal the gates. “Close the garrison doors. No one else may enter Parthos. Strip this merchant down, search his bags, and bring him inside the city. He is our prisoner now.”

  “W-what, but why?” the man sputtered, “and what about my camels?”

  The captain gave the prisoner a withering look, then turned to the other guardsmen. “Slaughter his camels and search the entrails for ampules.”

  “My camels? You can’t kill my camels!” he protested.

  “As you command, my lord,” said the guardsmen, ignoring the now-hysterical prisoner. The guard sounded a small animal horn, and four more sentries materialized in an instant, dragging the struggling prisoner by his arms.

  The captain turned around to address the crowd. “Citizens and guests, raise your tents if you wish, but no one else shall pass through these doors today. The gates will be reopened at dawn tomorrow. If you need water for your animals, a guard shall bring it to you outside.”

  With a polite nod and a wave of dismissal, he sealed the doors. There were a few grumbles, but the waiting crowd dispersed quietly. Some unpacked their tents for the night, while others turned around to leave.

  Inside the city, the prisoner refused to be dragged away. Two soldiers struggled to hold him as he fought. “Stop this!” he screamed. “This is outrageous. I demand an audience with the regent!”

  “Keep quiet,” said one of the guards, delivering a slap to the back of the man’s head, which only made him fight harder.

  “Don’t touch me, you rotten blighters! Let me go! Let me go!” he screamed over and over, struggling as he fought to break free.

  “Be still, you idiot!” yelled the guard, but the man continued on as if he hadn't heard.

  Tallin had seen enough. “Stop,” he ordered, and the soldiers paused. “I’ll take care of him.” He raised a glowing hand.

  The prisoner froze, his eyes rounding in alarm. “What are you going to do to me?” he stammered.

  Tallin ignored the question and flicked the man’s ear. “Hilfaquna!” he said, uttering the simple spell. The prisoner went limp and toppled forward, striking his head against the curb. Each soldier grabbed one arm and dragged the unconscious man away, his toes scraping the ground.

  Tallin knew that the other dragon riders needed to be warned. Closing his eyes, Tallin reached out with his mind across the distance, attempting to link his thoughts with Sela Matu, the leader of the dragon riders. He found her patrolling the northern border with her female dragon, Brinsop. He touched her consciousness gently, prodding her with his own mind.

  She flinched, and Tallin immediately felt the drain on her power. Sela always struggled to link telepathically. He knew he would need to keep their communication brief.

  “Sela, the guards caught another smuggler at the gate.” Tallin sensed her alarm.

  “Another kudu oil smuggler? That’s the second one this month,” Sela replied. “That settles it. This can’t be a coincidence. Someone is attempting to attack Parthos from within.”

  “Shall I contact the other riders?” asked Tallin.

  “No, I’ll contact them myself. Segregate this smuggler from the other prisoners—I will question him myself. I am near the Dead Forest, and I’ll return to the city as quickly as I can.” Sela abruptly ended the contact.

  The corners of Tallin’s eyes wrinkled and dimples appeared on his cheeks. He chuckled—it was always like this with Sela. Despite any limitations she might have as a mage, she was the most commanding woman he knew. Her warmth and vitality inspired those around her, and her energy seemed boundless, even as she aged.

  Acting as the king’s regent, Sela ruled in Parthos, while her adult son, King Rali, ruled from the capital city of Morholt. Under their united leadership, Parthos and Morholt had experienced several years of peaceful, quiet rule.

  Unfortunately, after a few years of peace, things were rapidly changing for the worse. The dwarf kingdom was crumbling into chaos in the midst of the worst clan schism in a thousand years. A single clan had already splintered off, abandoning their ancestral home on Mount Velik. The lowest caste of dwarves, the enormous Vardmiter Clan, had departed Mount Velik for a new stronghold.

  Tallin, being half-dwarf, had tried to broker a treaty between the warring factions, but it seemed that the schism was now permanent, and with both kingdoms weakened by infighting, the entire dwarf race was vulnerable. The divided clans would never be able to defend against an attack, especially one from orcs in the west. Tallin could almost see King Nar, the orc leader, rubbing his hands with glee as he planned his attack on the dwarves, his most hated and ancient foes.

  Things had changed in the city, too. For decades, Parthos had operated like a city under siege. After a few years of peace, the heightened sense of security was gone. People got complacent and lazy. Tallin saw carelessness everywhere; even the city’s soldiers had grown lax in their duties.

  The number of foreign merchants had doubled. Dealer stalls were filled with merchandise from all over the continent. It was thrilling for some residents of Parthos, many of whom had never seen such exotic treasures. Where there had once been only one choice of fabric, now there were twenty.

  Women could purchase silk gowns, lace, and jewels. Instead of just selling common food staples—like camel butter and dried meat—there were colorful spices and rare fruit. Most disconcerting of all, some merchants had begun to sell vividly colored, iridescent glassware. When Tallin inquired about its origin, the merchants had been defensive and vague, or uncertain about such details, saying only that it was imported from the north.

  The glass looked suspiciously like Balborite crystal, and although glass weapons were banned throughout the continent, it had been impossible to ban the sale of the glassware completely. The demand for the exquisite crystal was astounding. Even at extravagant prices, Parthinian women were desperate to own the delicate glass and use it in their homes.

  Tallin drew out the vial that he had taken from the merchant. He rolled it in his palm, eying the viscous fluid within. He didn’t dare open the container, for the oil was dangerous even if it was not ingested. Duskeye craned his neck and peered at the deadly liquid with his good eye. He sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose. "Even inside that glass tube, I can still smell it."

  “What does it smell like to you?” asked Tallin.

  "Like spoiled fruit, but the odor is subtle. Kudu oil is poisonous for dragons, too. As soon as we can fly, our mothers train us to avoid the plant. My dam did the same, and I remember it well."

  Tallin nodded, intrigued. He hoped that Duskeye would go on. Although they had been bound together for many years, Duskeye rarely talked about his family, none of which had survived the Dragon Wars. For years, dragons and their riders had been slaughtered by the thousands, and now only a handful of either remained. “Tell me about it,” said Tallin softly.

  Duskeye paused, staring out into the desert. His gravelly voice grew quiet. "Let’s see… when I was just a hatchling, my dam took me and my clutchmates outside the cave. She showed us the kuduare plant, warning us never to touch it. A few plants grew wild at the very top of the mountain; the plant has waxy blue leaves and white flowers, shaped like little bells. One of my brothers disobeyed her, stomping the plant with his foot. He screamed like a frightened rabbit, for the oil stripped his foot-scales right off. He ended up howling on the riverbank for over an hour, soaking his foot in running water. Luckily, he was able to rinse his foot before the oil reached his bloodstream. Our mother rapped him soundly for his stupidity, and the oil left a permanent scar."

  “What was his name?” asked Tallin.

  "Brundis," replied Duskeye softly. "He was a blue dragon, like me, but lighter in color. He was so headstrong and stubborn. But he was the handsomest of all of us, by far, which is why my m
other allowed him so much latitude. His underbelly was multi-colored; like a sea of wildflowers." My mother teased him that the Great Dragon of the sky had given him an excess of beauty but a scarcity of brains.

  “What happened to him?” asked Tallin.

  "Brundis was too proud to bind himself to a rider, even an elf, who once desired him for his beauty. He remained wild, chasing females and hunting prey. Mercenaries killed him during the war in the first wave of attacks. I searched for him, and found his body in the Elburgian Mountains. The dragon hunters cut all his claws as war trophies. I mourned him, built his funeral pyre, and burned his body using my dragon breath."

  “Is that customary? I’ve never seen a dragon funeral.”

  "It’s a death ceremony. Before the war, when a dragon died, the females—mothers and sisters—usually performed the death ceremony. The ritual was private and usually held at night. Dragons have their own customs, just like humans and dwarves, but there simply aren’t enough of us to carry them on anymore."

  “I wonder—has Brinsop ever performed a death ceremony?” wondered Tallin out loud.

  "She’s an alpha female, so I’m sure she has sometime in her past."

  “How do you know that Brinsop is an alpha female?”

  Duskeye shrugged. "I just know. Before the war, she-dragons organized their families into prides. The prides hunted and raised their hatchlings together. Males are forced out of the pride when they’re old enough to mate. When a dragon dies, the body is burned by the pride, with the alpha female leading the ceremony. After the Dragon Wars, there were so few dragons left that the prides disbanded. Brinsop was the alpha female of the largest pride in the desert. That was a long time ago."

  “Sela never mentioned it,” said Tallin.

  "That’s not terribly surprising. Like me, Brinsop is the only survivor in her bloodline. The memory must be painful for her. It’s possible that Brinsop never discussed it with Sela; it’s a very private subject."