The Balborite Curse (Book 4)

by Kristian Alva

  Endrell shrugged. “There must ‘ave been some profit in it for ‘im, I guess. I wasn’t paid to ask questions, and nobody told me what the oil was for. They just told me where to deliver it.”

  “What were you told to do with the vial when you got here?”

  “I was supposed to leave it at the cathedral, on the first level of the city. I was meant to wrap it up in colored parchment, like a prayer scroll, and leave it at the altar, disguised as an offering to the goddess.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Sela caught Tallin’s worried gaze. They were both thinking the same thing—if the cathedral priests were complicit in the smuggling, it was bad news indeed. The priests operated with almost as much freedom and impunity as the dragon riders, and it would be devastating for the citizenry’s morale if any of them were found guilty of high treason. “How much did Druknor pay you to smuggle the kudu?” she asked.

  “Fifty silver crowns—half when I left and half on delivery.”

  Tallin whistled softly. “That’s a princely sum—more than a journeyman earns in a year.”

  “Yes, I was thinking the same thing. Fifty crowns is a small fortune,” said Sela.

  Endrell shrugged. “I wouldn’t ‘ave risked such a dangerous journey for less.”

  Sela sat back, a bit puzzled. Druknor’s fortress was a little thing, a mere speck on the northern horizon. It seemed inconceivable that he could be behind this. “How can Druknor possibly afford to pay so much?”

  Endrell grunted. “Are ye serious?”

  When Sela did not respond, Endrell snorted with disdain. “Ye really have no idea what’s happening in the north, do ye? Druknor said as much, and I thought him a braggart, but he spoke truly then. Ye people are fools.”

  “Calm yourself,” said Sela quietly. She didn’t appreciate Endrell’s tone, but the man was speaking freely now, and she allowed him to continue.

  “Druknor’s smart. He keeps quiet and doesn’t ruffle any feathers, so everybody leaves him alone,” said Endrell. “He’s very good at using his connections to his advantage, and he bribes everybody. He’s the biggest slaver on the continent. He’s just gotten better at hidin’ his routes. He smuggles people and goods right up through the Frigid Waste, even in winter. A lot of the slaves die on the route, but he don’t care.”

  “I see. So Druknor's a slaver and a smuggler?”

  “Yes, and he's smugglin' more than ever. He never stopped smugglin’—he just got smarter. Druknor smuggles everything. Balborite glass, silks, poison, slaves, gemstones—anything that makes a profit. It’s freezing in Sut-Burr most of the year, and the roads are in terrible shape. Druknor keeps ‘em that way on purpose. Nobody likes how cold it is up there, so he just goes on doin’ whatever he likes.”

  “How does he do it?” asked Sela. “How does he transport goods and slaves through the Frigid Waste?”

  “Those precious sled dogs of his. There are more dogs than people in Sut-Burr. Druknor breeds ‘em, and he’s got dozens. Everyone is expendable to him, except those damn dogs. He likes ‘em more than people.” Endrell paused to wipe his nose on his sleeve.

  “Miklagard is near the Frigid Waste. How come the High Council never mentioned anything about this? I’ve never heard anything about Druknor’s smuggling from them. They must have noticed something.”

  Endrell scratched his stubbly chin for a moment. “Well, rumor is that Druknor’s paid off the High Council, so they turn a blind eye to his shenanigans up north. Not sure if there’s any truth to it, and I’ve never been to Miklagard myself, but Druknor can afford to bribe just about anybody. Always has. Ye may think he’s just some little nobody, but in the Frigid Waste, he’s a king.”

  “I see. Tell me about the other smugglers—how many of you were hired to transport kudu oil into Parthos?”

  “Not sure how many were hired altogether, but there were five men in our group. We weren’t allowed to talk with each other while we were inside the keep, but I saw ‘em waitin’ there, like me, so I figured we were all there for the same job. Druknor talked to me first and gave me the money. Then, an old man handed me a leather pouch with a drawstring. He never told me what it was, but I knew as soon as I opened it. I got one vial, but I saw dozens more in that room. Druknor has a little stockpile. The old man gave me a map, told me what to do, then sent me back outside to wait with the others.”

  “Did all of you travel together?”

  “We left Sut-Burr at the same time, but separated pretty early on. As soon as the road cleared, we went our separate ways. I started with carthorses, three were on horseback, and one was on foot.”

  Tallin spoke up from the shadows. “On foot? Only a fool dares to cross the Death Sands on foot.”

  Endrell shrugged. “He was an outlander, so I didn’t ask any questions. They’re liable to gut ye for lookin’ at ‘em sideways. Anyhow, I don’t know how he fared against the sands, but he was bloody confident in ‘isself.”

  “Which route did you take?” asked Sela.

  “I chose the spice road overland. Took longer, but it’s safer. I wasn’t robbed, although a few ruffians tested my mettle. I’m not a young man anymore, but I’m still handy with an axe. I put ‘em back in their place.” Endrell smiled smugly, then continued his story. “I traded my carthorses for camels at the desert border and crossed using a dune map. I tried to follow along with another caravan, but left them midway through. I moved as fast as I could—Druknor promised me five extra crowns if I made it to Parthos before the new moon, but I got delayed. One of my beasts got sick and died. I tried to rest for a few days so she could recover, but once she was down, she never got back up again. I couldn’t save her. It slowed me up a bit.”

  “Did a vial break inside the animal?” asked Sela. “Tell us the truth.”

  “Naw, naw… nothin’ like that. Orandi fungus dropped her right after I bought her. I got a great bargain, and I should ‘ave known it was too good to be true. She was already infected when the merchant sold her to me. The sores were underneath her belly. I just didn’t check her well enough.”

  “Why did you take this job?” asked Sela. “Was it just the money?”

  Endrell shook his head. “I didn’t have any other choice. I did it to save my wife. Pinda’s sick—she’s got wastin’ sickness. She ain’t got much time left. There’s a special healer in Mallowgate who said he could save ‘er, but his healin’ potion costs a lot o’ money. My son can’t do nothin’ for her—he’s simple—he almost drowned ‘isself when he was a tot and he’s not quite right in his head.”

  Sela understood. It was a common story. There were always unscrupulous healers who claimed to have a cure for the wasting sickness. A well-crafted potion could extend a person’s life by a few months, or maybe even a year, but in the end, it was hopeless. If Endrell’s wife had the sickness, she would be dead soon. People get desperate when their loved ones are dying and will grasp at anything that gives them a shred of hope.

  “Thank you, Endrell. That’s all I needed to know,” She rose from her chair.

  “But what about me?” Endrell sat up, suddenly anxious. “And what about my family?”

  “The dragon riders will take care of it,” Sela replied evenly.

  “But when? I need to know! I didn’t finish the contract! I have to pay Druknor back—with interest. If he can’t get the money out of me, he’ll just kill Pinda and Marron instead. You’ve got to help them!”

  Sela frowned. “We shall, Endrell. I have given you my word.” She turned to leave.

  “Wait—stop!” Endrell cried. “Are ye leavin’ to go get them now? I need to know! I’m desperate! You need to help them!”

  “That’s enough!” said Tallin, emerging from the shadows, his mouth set in a grim line. He reached forward and grabbed the old man by the shoulder. “You have brought this calamity upon yourself, old man. Know your place… traitor,” Tallin spat the last word through gritted teeth.

  Endrell flinched as if he had been burned. The insult defl
ated him, and he sat down.

  “Is there anything else you want to tell me before I go?” asked Sela. Tallin had already opened the door so she could exit.

  “Please… there’s no way I can pay Druknor back. The money’s already spent. He’ll have a bounty on my head. Druknor’s bounty hunters will be waiting for me to pay it! If I don’t pay, they’ll kill my family, and then come after me.”

  “Druknor can’t harm you while you’re in our custody. And we will do our best to save your family.”

  The man gulped. “What happens now?”

  “Your punishment will be decided by the king. He’s not overly fond of traitors, though, so I doubt you’ll be enjoying your sentence. Your family is another matter. I took an oath, so we’ll search for them, but if Druknor’s as bad as you describe, they’re probably dead already. This interrogation is over. Thank you for your cooperation.” Sela tossed Endrell the pouch of smokeleaf, then turned and left.

  Endrell hung his head. He knew Sela was right. Tallin nodded at the guardsman, jerking his thumb at the door. The heavy curtains closed, and the silent guard returned to his post outside the door. As Sela and Tallin walked away, they heard the old man sobbing.

  Shesha

  The following morning, Tallin found Sela on the rooftop, staring off into the desert. Except for the palace sentries, she was alone, sipping tea from her favorite mug. He walked over and stood beside her at the rampart’s edge. The sky was an electric shade of pink. It had rained a little the night before, and the air was still moist, the early morning breeze blessedly cool. Sela’s brown hair was loose, twirling around her face like a veil.

  “You’re up early,” he said.

  Sela nodded, not taking her eyes off the horizon. “I woke before dawn to watch the sunrise. The air smells so clean. Look at all those colors—it’s so lovely out here.” As if on cue, a pair of amethyst-colored dragonflies flew past them, locked in a feverish embrace, a final mating before the summer months arrived. “I don’t get to enjoy the desert scenery as much I’d like to.”

  “Nor do I,” said Tallin quietly.

  Sela looked down at her cup. The tea had cooled, and she swirled it around absently. “Do you believe the prisoner?”

  “I’m not sure whether to believe him or not. His story is certainly plausible. Right now there’s no reason not to believe him—but then again, we shouldn’t forget that he’s a criminal.”

  “I agree. A certain amount of skepticism is good, but I suspect he’s telling the truth.” She paused before continuing. “Tallin, I must tell you... Brinsop and I discovered a blood raven in the desert.”

  “That’s an ill-fated omen. Was it carrying a scroll?”

  "Yes.” Sela nodded. “I captured it alive and decoded the message. There wasn’t much information on the scroll, but I discovered that there’s a bounty on your head. The kudu oil was meant for you and Duskeye, to poison you both.”

  “I see,” murmured Tallin. “This isn’t the first time someone has tried to kill me, and it won’t be the last.”

  “It was a Balborite messenger for sure. Their assassins have made several attempts on your life, so I’m not surprised that they would make another. But how is Druknor involved in this? Coupled with the prisoner’s confession, this all implicates him, but I can’t fathom why he would be involved. Is he targeting you specifically? What motive could Druknor possibly have to kill you? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Druknor wasn’t pleased when we closed down his labor camps,” said Tallin. “I was the one who notified him of the order. Maybe it’s petty revenge.”

  “Maybe,” she admitted. “When the king signed the order to close the labor camps permanently, Druknor grumbled a bit, but the camps closed without incident. Druknor even sent some of his own men to help clean up after the closure. Druknor never complained—not formally, anyway. Remember, Druknor’s labor camps weren’t illegal—even the king sent prisoners there to work.”

  “Perhaps Druknor isn’t involved at all,” said Tallin. “Maybe the prisoner is lying—about everything. Beyond the prisoner’s confession, we don’t have any hard evidence linking Druknor to the Balborites, or even to the smuggling. It’s all circumstantial.”

  “But then how do you explain the blood raven? Those birds are native to Balbor; they aren’t seen on the mainland unless they’re delivering messages for the priests.”

  “That’s true,” Tallin agreed. “Blood ravens are only used by the Balborites. I’ve never seen one on the mainland unless there also happened to be an assassin nearby—usually trying to kill me.”

  “I spoke with Druknor last spring when I visited Miklagard. He was there, petitioning the High Council about some trivial issue—logging on his territory or something like that. He was polite but rather crude. I thought him a bit odd, but he seemed harmless enough. To be honest, I found him a bit slow. Maybe it was all an act.”

  “He’s smarter than we realized, apparently. Look, Druknor dabbled in smuggled merchandise, but so do half the other magistrates in the north. A little smuggling really doesn’t surprise me—but secret alliances with Balbor? Slave trading? Murder for hire?” said Tallin. “It sounds unbelievable. How did we miss all this?”

  Sela was quick to respond. “It's unfortunate, but we can't change that now. We have to deal with the problem. I don’t know how all the pieces all fit together—there’s no clear pattern yet. Once we find out who’s behind all this, we will have a better idea of what’s going on. We should start looking in the north. The scroll was real; I know that for sure. It sounds silly, but it was the quality of the writing that convinced me—it was too sloppy to be a fake. The glamour was remedial, at best. The runes were barely legible. A first-year mage would have done a better job. The message I intercepted was written by a spellcaster with no formal training, and it was a response to an earlier message. Of this, I’m certain.”

  Tallin sighed. “No Balborite priest would ever transcribe a messy scroll. Druknor doesn’t have any powers, but he has enough money to afford a personal spellcaster. Plenty of low-level mages are peddling their services these days. You can thank the Shadow Grid for that—their guilds accept any mageborn, no matter how marginal their powers, and take a cut of the profits in exchange for training. Even so… it’s unlikely the Balborites would form an alliance with Druknor.”

  “What other explanation could there possibly be? For whatever reason, the Balborites have allied themselves with Druknor. Now we need to find out why.”

  Tallin’s expression turned dark. “This is our fault, Sela. If all this information is true, we should have taken care of Druknor long ago.”

  Sela considered for a moment. “There’s no sense in arguing over what we should have done.”

  “What should we do now? Even if Druknor is involved in this treachery, I’m not convinced that he’s smart enough to be the mastermind.”

  “You’re probably right. Druknor’s the key—he’s merely a puppet in this stage play, not the puppeteer. I need to investigate this further,” said Sela. “I have friends on the High Council in Miklagard. I’ll contact them and do some digging. I need to find out Druknor’s connection to Balbor. As for you and Duskeye—I want both of you to leave the Death Sands until I give notice for you to return.”

  “How long should I remain outside the desert?” asked Tallin, somewhat surprised. “I know almost nothing of the countryside.” He rarely traveled outside the desert, except on official missions. The desert had been his home for decades.

  Sela bowed her head briefly. “You cannot return until I find out why Druknor is targeting you and Duskeye specifically.”

  “But I could help you. I could interrogate people—search for clues.”

  “I’m concerned for your safety here. You must leave Parthos, especially since we cannot even trust our cathedral priests!”

  Tallin tightened his lips. “I want to stay and help.”

  She caught something defensive in his tone. “Do not question my
authority, Tallin. It’s too risky for you to remain in the city. I’m your leader, and you shall obey my orders. There’s probably an assassin in Parthos already, just waiting for an opportunity to kill you. I’ll not have your death on my conscience.”

  "But how will you protect the city by yourself?” Tallin persisted.

  “I’m totally capable of protecting this city by myself—without your help,” she said firmly. Her eyes were flinty and proud. “Look, let me find out who’s trying to kill you. It’s my responsibility to keep all the dragon riders safe.”

  He gazed at the crisscross of faint scars on her cheeks and remembered that like him she bore the evidence of countless battles. The scars had faded with time, but they would always be there—a lingering reminder of what she had endured. Tallin lowered his eyes. Sela was right—she was capable of protecting this city on her own, as she had for years. During the Dragon Wars, her friends and family were slaughtered, but she continued to fight bravely, inspiring all those around her. I am a fool, he thought to himself. For years, Sela protected this desert without my help. Who am I to question her judgment?

  “Fine. I’ll go.” Tallin capitulated, and Sela seemed pleased. “Should I fly to Mount Velik, then? I could try negotiating another truce between the dwarves. The peace talks between the clans are stalled again.”

  “No, don’t go to Mount Velik,” she responded. “Trying to broker peace between the dwarf clans is a waste of time—you’ve tried to help them before, to no avail. Perhaps it would be best for you to go south. You can go to Hwīt Rock to rescue Endrell’s family.”

  “I thought you said Endrell’s family was dead.”

  “They probably are… but I made a promise to that poor wretch, and I’m a woman of my word. Go to Hwīt Rock and see if you can find them. Offer them safe passage.”

  “Assuming they’re still alive, should I bring them to Parthos?”

  “No, you can’t bring them back to the desert. Druknor will be expecting that. The Shadow Grid will shelter them for us.”

  Tallin frowned. “The Shadow Grid, eh? I don’t fancy having to seek favors from them.”