Two men strolled out onto the terrace. One wore the elegant robes of household royalty, the other a simple soldier’s tunic. Tahrad did not recognize the second man, but the markings of armor still creased his clothes. The man in silk with his oily, pointed beard could only be the emperor’s nephew, Prince Faroud.
“I have been waiting for you, Malohm. It is not wise to keep a prince waiting.” He plucked a flower and held it to his sharp nose. “You have made the appropriate payments?”
The soldier bowed his head. “I have all the captains and lieutenants in our purses, and soon I’ll have the boatswains too. Only Prince Sharam’s ship in the flotilla remains untouched.”
Faroud raised a finger. “Just remember, my friend, every man you pay now is another we must dispose of before the end.” He laughed a cruel cackle that echoed over the terrace. “At least my royal cousin’s men will tell no tales from the bottom of the sea.”
Folding his arms, the soldier lifted an eyebrow. “Will that eventually include me, my Prince?”
Laughing again, this time with less rancor, the prince threw his arm about the soldier’s back. “Of course not, my friend. I will need an admiral for my navy when the scepter is mine.” He leaned back and poked the soldier with his finger. “That is – if you remain loyal.” The prince laughed, echoing the cruelty Tahrad had heard before. “I can always hire an assassin for a traitor then kill that assassin too.”
The soldier frowned at the laughter washing over him. “I will remain your eternal servant. I care not who is emperor. I only desire a chance for my revenge.” He ground one fist into the other hand. “Sharam allowed my family to burn at Persus. I will watch his family drown before me.”
When his laughter faded, the prince examined the leaves of a small jasmine bush. “Yes. Too bad about the children, but they stand as much in my way as Sharam does.”
The soldier stood rooted to the ground, his empty gaze focused on the prince. “We shall also have the war with the barbarians in the north. We shall retake what was rightfully ours.” He thumped his chest. “We shall retake our honor.”
The prince waved his hand. “Yes, yes. We will blame Gannon for the deed with claims of magical assault. I will make certain my uncle invades out of revenge. The plump fields of Avaros will once again make the empire rich.”
Dropping to one knee, the soldier lifted his hand. “With the grace of High Madrahn looking upon us, we may even go farther.”
Faroud took the offered hand, lifting the man from his position in the old way of fealty. “Then let us embark upon this voyage together, my friend. And may the treasure at its end be enough to fill both our ships.”
A bee bounced against Tahrad’s neck. He swiped at it in a moment of startled tension, and his hand caught the edge of a palm. It rustled against its neighbor.
The soldier jumped over a low divan and threw the palms aside. Iron-hard fists grabbed Tahrad by the scruff of his neck and drug him out onto the terrace. The graying man held him down, one knee upon his neck. Breath became hard to find. Blackness began to swallow Tahrad’s consciousness.
“Easy, Malohm. My friend, let the boy breathe. He is near to passing out.”
Tahrad bounced back into consciousness, his head throbbing in pain. He blinked to focus his vision upon his captors.
Pushing the larger man aside, the prince smiled at Tahrad in a kind fashion and lifted him to his feet. He clucked at Mahlom’s scowl. “Well, my boy, you truly chose the wrong day to sneak out onto the forbidden terrace.” He brushed Tahrad’s chest and held him up straight, wrapping an arm around Tahrad’s shoulders. The prince walked him toward the door. “You must be certain not to tell anyone of our words. You can make that promise, can’t you?”
Tahrad nodded his head profusely, his quaking hands lifted in praise. “I promise, my holy Prince. I swear by High Madrahn, and the goddess of my mother’s people, Mistress Krina. I will say nothing of what I heard here today.”
The prince looked over his shoulder. “See, Malohm. That did not have to be so hard.” He picked up the speed of his steps. “Now, let us help our young friend down from the tower.”
Missing the doorway into the tower did not surprise Tahrad so much as the speed with which the stone streets rushed to greet him.
Lord Chancellor Sammin Vyce breathed steadily, his feet stepping in rhythm as he climbed the Paladin’s Spire. He denies it, but that fat bastard must have a lift in here somewhere. There is no way he makes this climb on those flabby legs.
Once he reached the top landing, at least a hundred yards above the grounds of the Ivory Palace, Sammin paused to calm his breath. He patted his forehead dry with a lavender scented cloth, and then tucked it away up his charcoal sleeve. Pulling the lace of his shirt straight from his jacket cuff, he reached to tap on the carved whitewood door.
“Come in, Sammin, my friend, no need to knock.”
Sammin heard the High Elder’s lips smacking through the door. He pushed it open with a grimace.
The air inside felt sultry, and it smelled of sweat and gamy roast meat. The elder sat on a thickly padded chair, a far-too-thin robe of black and white silk strained around his bulk. A slight sheen of sweat covered his brow. A side door of the chamber closed shut, hiding a soft giggle.
“Welcome, Sammin,” the elder said with a fraudulent smile. “It is so rare I have visitors in my high chambers.” He gestured toward a silver platter set on a side table. A headless, roasted carcass rested upon it, about the size of a small goat. “You should try a taste. It is quite fantastic.” The elder pulled a long strip of meat from the haunch and stuck it in his mouth, before sucking the grease from each finger.
If it will shut him up…it does not smell too bad. Sammin reached for the meat with pale fingers, his hand halting, frozen in horror. Those are paws, not hooves!
The elder spread his smug smile even wider. “Sad that so few appreciate a delicacy when it sits before them.” He stripped a long piece from the back. “The hardest part is finding a chef in Daynon who knows how to cook canine properly.”
Refusing to be too startled by the elder’s purposeful show, Sammin plowed on to business. “The papers…you claim to have them?”
Sighing, the elder picked up a small satchel leaning against his chair. “Always so direct, Sammin. You must learn to enjoy the blessings of life, not just its trials.” He peaked into the leather bundle. “The paper is a century old, as is the ink. The beeswax seal is the same as has been used around Lake Iyar for far longer. The monk who wrote it is deaf and mute, and he knows the legal wordings for the time of the Gavanor Rebellion.” The elder handed the satchel to Sammin. “You will find it impeccable.”
Looking at the small sheaf of aged parchment within, Sammin frowned. “It must be, or you had better learn to eat without your head attached to your gut.”
High Elder Varon Hastrian waved a thick hand at Sammin. “Do not fear, my friend. It will pass even the most scrutinous eye.”
Eager to be gone, Sammin folded the flap back over the satchel and tucked it under his arm. “Let us hope so, Elder.” His steps quickened with each one until he was out the door, and it closed behind him. Sammin heard fat fingers snap and another boyish giggle. He descended the steps two at a time. It will all be worth it when I stand behind a new, more pliant king…
Photograph by Bradley Daniels
It is well known that J. T. slew several dragons in the pasture near the farm where he grew up. He found the hidden Waterfall of Life deep in his grandfather’s woods, with only his little brother and their dog, Pongo, to aid him. Many other quests, often borne from the classic books of fantasy literature, consumed his days and nights.
After a long dark quest through a much feared land known as “Q’orp’orate Qubicle”, J.T. Hartke was cast out to find his own way. He spent a short time cooking for a mad master and another stint as a fool. He learned many lesso
ns during his exile, the greatest of which led to his muse. At last, J. T. took it upon himself to create his own quest—and thus was born The Dragonsoul Saga.
We here at I.I.I. would like to take a moment to thank all of the fans of The Dragonsoul Saga. It has absolutely blown us away that this series has been embraced so fast and with such loyalty by so many of those who have been with us over the past few years.
But, our company slogan, “Built by Fantasy Fans for Fantasy Fans” is more than just a catchy tagline. It is a call to action, and my friends, we still need your help.
We have all been victims, my friends. Victims of having a favorite T.V. show canceled. We ask ourselves, “Why? It was well written. I know lots of people who enjoyed it. Why was it canceled?” The answer is simple – the fans did not get involved.
We live in a new world, my friends. A world of information. You, the fans, now have more power than you can possibly know. The power to propel something that you enjoy. The power to help it thrive and grow.
Sure, it is our job to put out quality products. Give the fans an interesting and thought-provoking story to sink their mental teeth into. But, it is you who will decide if this series continues. And it takes very little time or effort on your part to do this.
If you liked this book, please, tell a friend. If you tell even one person who picks up this series, you have done your part to ensure you will get the opportunity to read this series to its completion. I am willing to bet, without straining too hard, you can think of someone you know, just one person who would enjoy reading this story as much as you just did. They may have not even heard of it. Why not tell them? Let them know how much you enjoyed it. Give them the opportunity to enjoy it as well.
If you are feeling energetic, write one or two lines about this book on your Facebook page. Or My Space, or Good Reads, or whatever you use. We know you have one of them, we see it in your “favorites” folder. Send out an email to a few people you know who are fantasy fans. Just a line that says, “Hey, I just read this book. You should check it out.” And that is just the beginning of what you can do, my friends! (Queue the patriotic music and let the flags wave in the breeze) Amazon.com or BarnesandNoble.com are wonderful places to let the world know how you felt about this book. With just a few minutes of your time, you could write a review. You can blog about it. Sffword.com, goodreads.com, librarything.com are all wonderful places to connect with other readers. Let them know you enjoyed this book!
My fellow fans, I stand before you today to let you know that you have the power to ensure this series does not go gentle into that good night! We have a dream... that The Dragonsoul Saga will continue to entertain people for years to come. So, ask not what a good fantasy saga can do for you. Ask what you can do for a good fantasy saga!
Thank you,
The I.I.I. Staff
“Hi. My name is J.T. Hartke, and I approve of this message.”
Hey everybody… Thanks so much for reading this eBook edition of A Balance Broken. I hope you had even a portion of the fun reading it as I had writing it.
But while I enjoyed writing this tale, and am honored that you might have enjoyed it, I just wanted to take a moment to talk to you about piracy. And not the fun, high seas, “shiver me timbers” kind. I’m talking about illegal copying of copyrighted material on the internet.
Now, I know most people think that if you are published, you must be making huge amounts of money, and for our favorites like King, Sanderson, and Martin, that may be true. But for most of us beginners out there, we are trying to feed our families with a lot less marketing behind us. Not to mention how much the evil corporation squeezes out of the price!
So, please, if you have not paid for this copy (and especially if you had fun doing so), please swing on over to www.shop.imaginedinterprises.com and purchase it. It will help insure that my next story is out there for you to enjoy, because I didn’t have to go back to work in a cubicle… ;^)
Thanks for reading!
jth
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