A Balance Broken (Dragonsoul Saga)

by Hartke, J. T.

  Maddi noticed a concerned look cross the Lord Chancellor’s face. That is not concern for the king.

  The pretentious chancellor raised his hand. “Your Majesty…we had discussed a banquet in honor of the return of Earl Boris.”

  Maddi scoffed. And his leaving again, no doubt.

  The king sighed. “I have no desire for a banquet. We have nothing to celebrate.” He gestured to the page. “To my rooms, boy.”

  The entire crowd knelt. Maddi followed their example, letting Tallen’s hand slip reluctantly from hers. Even the men upon the dais rose from their chairs, and then went onto one knee. The fat priest of Balance, never quite made it down completely. The king waved them off, muttering to himself while the wide-eyed page led the monarch through a door at the rear of the hall.

  Maddi scratched her head when the crowd began to break up, most clustering in hushed conversation with their allies. Boris moved his way among a few, offering confident nods and words of encouragement.

  Leaning closer to Tallen, she furrowed her brow. “Boris appears to be more important than he lets on. Where is his earldom?”

  Tallen shook his head, his face overwhelmed by the swirl of political power around him. “There are no earldoms in Gannon. It is a title without land among our people – a title of honor, but not of wealth.”

  Maddi watched the Bluecloak general move among his people. Most treated him with deference far above that of a landless soldier. “There’s something else to it.” She took Tallen’s arm in hand. His thoughtful frown switched to a smile when he turned his head to look at her. “What about that time we heard—”

  “Captain Westar!” The voice of the rotund Battlemage broke over her question.

  He has a knack for timing, Maddi thought with a frown.

  Jaerd snapped to at his call, and the mage continued with his orders. “Escort your charges to Garrison Tower. Find Captain Braverman. He is to put the three of you up for the next few nights under my orders.” Jaerd saluted, fist over heart, while the mage nodded at Tallen. “Get something to eat there, and I will try to find you yet tonight. Boris and I leave in the morning, as will you upon the next.”

  A ripple of anxiety crossed Tallen’s features. “I had hoped you might escort me to the Isle yourself…”

  The mage shook his head. “I will not leave without speaking to you again, but our time together is at an end.” He looked over his shoulder at Boris, who nodded. The earl made a hasty farewell to the green and gold-coated noble clasping his hand. “I must hurry off to see if I can find you an escort, and the perfect one just walked out. I must believe in your luck, because I do not believe in fate.”

  Maddi watched the Battlemage head toward the exit she had seen the paladin and his dark-eyed friend use. She turned to follow Jaerd and Tallen out the way they had entered. She could not help but stare at the back of the younger brother’s neck.

  It may be harder to say good-bye to him than it was to Renna.

  She thumbed the golden chalice in her pocket, her thoughts clouding the last beams of sunlight.

  When Arathan VII rose to the throne but recently claimed by his grandfather, his uncle, his cousin, and his older brother, many assumed that the Year of the Five Kings (423 A.R.) would soon become the Year of the Six Kings. Instead, he shocked the world. Through his steely gaze and hearty words, a thirteen year old boy convinced the Bluecloaks to back him. He convinced the people to love him. The nobles, after a good drubbing at the Battle of the Andon Delta, learned to respect him. Historians, including this one, have named his reign a Golden Age while he still sits upon the throne.

  — “History of Gannon, Epilogue” by Elyn Bravano

  Dorias Ravenhawke trotted after his old friend, sensing Merl flapping along behind him. The paladin stomped ahead, hands behind his back, his face hung in sad reflection.

  “I know that you doubtless have advice for me.” He did not change his stance or pace, but Tomas Harte’s voice hung weary in the air. “I do not think I wish to hear it. I will join Boris at Highspur, and I will go from there into the Northlands, alone if needs be, to find the darkness that weighs upon the Balance. It is there.” He at last lifted his head, staring off into the northwest. “I sense it.”

  Merl landed upon the outstretched hand of a statue. He flapped his wings and clacked his obsidian beak. Nodding at the bird, Dorias rested his hand upon the paladin’s shoulder. “Help me figure out what this darkness is first, then we will go together to face it.”

  “What do you mean?” Tomas turned to face him. “How can we discover what it is without seeking it out?”

  Dorias folded his arms, raising a charcoal eyebrow in return. “There are other potential sources of information. Sources but a boat ride away.” He cleared his throat. “But that is where I may need your aid.”

  “Do you think she would let you return, even if I claimed the Temple’s prerogative there?” Tomas hooked a thumb on his sword hilt. “Doubtful. You are barely tolerated in this city.”

  Dorias shrugged. He knew he treaded on shaky ground. “Varana has many things to hold against me. However, I have aided her thrice since the breaking of the Circle. She owes me.”

  Merl cawed in agreement.

  Tomas shook his head, a doubtful expression on his features. “While the idea of joining you like old times is quite tempting, I have a feeling that Earl Boris will have need of me at Highspur.”

  The sound of fast moving boots echoed down the hall behind them. Dorias smiled at his luck when he saw the blue cloak and black mustache. “Perhaps we should ask him.”

  Tomas straightened at the earl’s wave of greeting.

  “My Lord Harte.” The earl gave a nod to Dorias upon his approach. “Wizard Ravenhawke. While some might curse you in this city, you know I am not one of them. The fact that the two of you stand in the High Hall on the one day I am in Daynon must be proof of someone’s faith, though I cannot know which.”

  Smiling sadly, Tomas returned Earl Boris’ greeting. “I don’t know that either of us still carries the titles you grant us, My Lord Earl. Perhaps you should only remember that we’ve stood side by side in battle.” He reached out his hand, which Boris clasped with a hearty shake. “Friends address each other by name.”

  “Indeed, Tomas my friend, it is good to see you.”

  Dorias reached out to grab the earl’s proffered hand and felt the presence of another powerful mage nearby. From the heat of Fire, he knew who it had to be. “And Magus Joslyn Britt.” Dorias cast a nod toward the goateed man in a red-fringed cloak. “I still consider the Bluecloak Battlemages to be my brothers, as I did when I stood in the Circle.”

  “Ravenhawke.” Joslyn’s pale blue eyes searched Dorias, who returned the stare without blinking. “This is quite fortuitous, as Boris said. I have found someone you must meet – someone perhaps only you can teach properly.” The mage’s last few words came out from clenched teeth.

  Dorias’ interest piqued. “You sound as if you don’t want to hand over this apprentice you’ve discovered.” He tapped his lip then lifted one finger when the answer came. “You’ve found a Dreamer.”

  Joslyn gave a slow nod of his head. “I have taught him all I can. He…he appears to touch all the Aspects in strength – a strength I haven’t seen…well…ever. I sent a raven to Varana, but I had no idea you were already in the capital. Ravenhawke, you must escort him to the Isle. Watch over him. Train him in the use of Psoul.”

  “This young man has already been attacked twice by forces from the north,” Earl Boris added. He looked at Tomas. “This is what I did not say in open council. The attacks in Gavanor and Bridgedale were targeted at him, and they wanted him alive.”

  Dorias tried to ignore the sudden prickling on the back of his neck. “Why would orcs want a Dreamer?”

  Boris opened his mouth to speak but the mage beat him to it. “I am not certain,
but I know that it is him they seek.”

  Tomas cocked his head. “How so?”

  The Battlemage reached into a small pouch at his belt, pulling out a smooth, roundish stone. It glittered like smoky glass.

  Dorias sensed the power radiating from the stone and reached out to touch it. “May I?”

  Joslyn hesitated, then nodded and handed him the stone.

  Calling his power with the ease that came from decades of use, Dorias slipped his senses into the familiar, misty embrace of the Psoul Aspect. He pulled upon it and delved into the stone that rested in his hand. Muddiness clouded the object, a dark shadow that reminded him of the force still holding him at bay when he tried to enter the Dreamrealm.

  “The force within the stone is just a resonance.” Dorias redirected the flow of his power. “It is trained to find someone specific, just as you determined.” He flipped the stone in his hand. “However, what I find extremely interesting is the material. It is made of dragonrock.”

  Magus Britt frowned, scratching his grayed goatee with one hand. “I have not heard of that substance. Is it as powerful as it sounds?”

  Dorias handed it to Tomas, and he sensed the paladin embracing his own power to test the stone. “It is certainly rare. It can only be formed when granite is burned by the fire of an Ancient One, the eldest – the first – of dragons. Few pieces that size have ever been found. That piece alone might be worth a hundred thousand marks to the right wizard.” His eyes met Joslyn’s. “There are half a dozen substances far less expensive that can be used to craft a tracing stone. Why dragonrock?”

  The Bluecloak mage reached into his pouch again, pulling out another of the stones. “Both teams had one.” He gestured to the one in Tomas’ hands. “Keep it. You and the wizard should be able to use it to find Tallen.” Joslyn tucked the second one away. “Also, the team in Bridgedale had a troll.”

  Sucking in his breath, Dorias looked to Boris. “How did they get a troll within a city at the heart of the kingdom?”

  The earl ran his fingers along the nameplate of one of the royal statues. “I cannot be certain, but we know that they used boats on the Snowbourne. How they crossed the Dragonscales, I have not yet determined, though Tomas’ information gives us a strong lead.”

  Merl chortled from his perch on the long dead general’s outstretched hand, and Dorias looked up at his feathered friend. “Trolls live within the heights of the mountains. Crossing them is no problem for such a beast. It’s just that they normally have no desire to do so. Someone drove it across.”

  Earl Boris raised a hand to his black mustache, scrubbing it in thought. “There were at least thirty orcs with it, possibly more. No party of orcs that size could cross the mountains.”

  “They could well have passed through my lands,” Tomas said, staring at the stone-flagged floor. “Their attacks on the villages of the Northwood may have been a distraction so that crack teams could slip through undetected. What clan markings did you find?”

  Boris jerked his tunic straight. “Boar and Ram, which are not uncommon together. But I also found Shark, same as you.”

  Tomas’ gaze remained distant. “Indeed…”

  “You know how many years it has been since I travelled in the Northlands,” Dorias said to the paladin. “I do not understand the significance of this alliance.”

  Tomas folded his hands behind his back. “The Ram and Boar Clans have been in alliance for nearly a century, the oldest known alliance among the orc nations. This was forged during a long, open war with first the Mammoth then the Wolf Clan, who have themselves controlled the Shark Clan as a sort of sub-tribe for fifty years.”

  Dorias narrowed his eyes. “So seeing Sharks working with Boars means something significant has changed.” A sudden dread sunk into his chest. “This does not bode well for my own suspicions.”

  Boris leaned forward. “What exactly are those suspicions?”

  Dorias shifted his gaze from one man to the next. If there are men in Gannon that can be trusted to do what is right, it is these men here. Perhaps this is a moment to turn the tide. “I will not yet utter the name of that which I fear. Not until I can find further proof.” Dorias looked to Tomas and added a sincere tone to his voice. “This is why I need you to take me to the Isle as a guest of the Temple. Their claim upon it is far older than the Circle or Varana’s academy. I need to do some research among their libraries. The wizards on the Isle have the most extensive collection of writings from the Elder Days collected there.”

  Tomas ran a finger over the dragonrock tracing stone. “You think this power rises from that far back in time?”

  Dorias shrugged. “That is what I must research.”

  The Bluecloak mage coughed. “You mean you wish to go to the Isle of Wizards? I had thought I would have to coax you with the boy’s power.”

  Dorias eyed Joslyn. “This Dreamer who touches all Aspects – this target of three orc clans?”

  “The lad will need someone to watch over him,” Boris said. “To protect and train him. I can think of none better.”

  Dorias tapped a finger on his smoothly shaven upper lip. “I have not seen another Dreamer in decades. Joslyn, you know as well as any mage the danger faced by Dreamers who hide from their power.” The mage nodded, his face stony and his lips locked in place. Dorias looked sidelong at Tomas. “And one of your order might find interest in a young Dreamer’s training.”

  The earl lifted his eyebrows in hope. “Then you will go with him?”

  Dorias nodded, hooking his fingers behind the belt of his vest. “I, for one, must go to the Isle. And, as Joslyn suspected, I cannot pass up the chance to train a new Dreamer.” His smile faded when he looked back at Tomas, the conflict on the paladin’s face plain to see. “You still will not go?”

  Tomas looked to Boris. “I had intended to ride out with you and join the garrison at Highspur. My talents might be greatly needed in the Northlands.”

  “I too wish that I could have your aid there,” Boris said. “Not only would your paladin talents be of great aid, but so would your cunning and your unmatched knowledge of the orc clans.” The earl’s face revealed his own conflicted emotion. “However, I agree with Joz. This young man might be more important to our cause than any one of us here. The enemy has made it clear that they want him alive, and almost certainly for some nefarious purpose.”

  The paladin looked down at the smooth, glassy stone in his hand. The dragonrock caught the sconce light and reflected it back onto the creamy marble of the hallway.

  “I will escort the boy to the Isle.” Tomas turned to Dorias. “And I will vouch for you as a guest of the Temple if Varana tries to forbid you.”

  Unaware that he had held his breath, Dorias let it out. “Good.” He turned to Boris. “One thing, though…why did you not tell King Arathan of the lad? You said you did not know the orcs’ target.”

  A torn look crossed the earl’s face. He shifted his boots upon the stone floor. “I will just say that the fewer people who know about the lad right now, the safer he will be.” Boris lifted a hand toward Tomas. “You know better than anyone how poisonous this court has become.”

  The paladin nodded his head sadly, his green eyes finding the floor.

  “Then it is up to us to watch over him,” Dorias said, Tomas nodding in agreement. “And I will do all I can to train him while we are there.”

  “Good.” The expression of relief on Boris’ face stood out. “That will be at least one concern off my mind while I’m on the frontier.”

  “Mine too,” Joslyn added, his features softening.

  Boris lifted his face to Dorias. “Can you give me any idea what it is you sense? What it is that we must face?” He turned to look at Tomas. “Anything?”

  Tomas frowned. “The darkness I detect is very vague. I cannot put a finger on it. I wish I could help you more.”

 
Dorias met the earl’s gaze when it returned to him. “I cannot tell you much beyond that. I can only give you a warning.” His eyes bored into the Bluecloak’s. “Do not underestimate the powers you go to face. Orcs are only the edge of the sword.”

  If the truth be told, most modern scholars are completely uncertain as to whether the Dragonscales rose as a result of the Cataclysm, or whether they were the cause of it. As stated many times in this work, writings from the time are scarce. The widening of the Broken Bay was almost certainly a part of the Cataclysm. Few maps survived from the Elder Days, and this Historian has only seen one of those. It shows a much smaller bay (labeled as The Bay of Figs), and the Iron Mountains, set in the center of a vast plain. The Dragonscales do not appear, and the Andon is a much less significant river with only a few tributaries.

  — “Second History of Gannon, Vol. I” by Elyn Bravano

  The clank of heavy hammers on red hot metal bounced off the stone walls of the cavern. Ruddy light danced in the shadows, reflected from a hundred hot forges and twice as many sooty torches. Slar far preferred the open air of a Northlands meadow in summer, but the needs of an army were many – weapons and armor far from the least.

  “We’ve got ‘round twenty-two thousand scimitars laid away already, Warchief,” the forge master growled. “Chainmail takes longer, but we will move more smiths over to its production when we get to quota on the swords.”

  Radgred nodded, his red eyes scanning the hundreds of smiths and apprentices scurrying about. Slar noticed a look close to approval on the old sergeant’s face, something rarely seen, if ever.

  “What about pike heads?” Slar folded his clawed hands behind his back. A twinge of tightness remained in his shoulder from the feral dragon’s attack, even though a shaman had healed it not long afterward. “I will need half as many pikes as scimitars, but they are twice as important, especially when we face Human cavalry.”