A Balance Broken (Dragonsoul Saga) (13 page)

A cheer sprang up from the men. Bran slapped Yrik on the back with a laugh. Brax granted them a rare smile.

“Reload!” Darve hollered out to everyone. “There are fifty more where that one came from!”

The entire group wore chastised faces, including the mage. They scrambled to positions, pulling arrows and bolts from quivers. The ballista cranked into readiness, and its crew hefted another shaft into place.

Three beasts came at once, each not much bigger than a human’s horse, but still able to breathe fire. They were a dull gray with mottled brown, not nearly as striking as the first two. Arrows caught these with more ease. Soon they scampered away into the air, one falling at last, overwhelmed by a dozen shafts.

Darve noticed the black one not far away, swooping into the open marketplace and pulling a fat dwarf from the ground. The dragon tossed its victim into the air and snapped down on the body, swallowing it with a single gulp.

Another beast caught his eye, a crimson one with bright blue rides on his spine and head.
Spirits of Earth, it’s almost as big as the black one.

The dragon’s gaze passed over Northtower, and it curved its wings to swoop toward the dwarf emplacement. It swelled, pulling in the air it needed to feed its fires.

“Marrax,” Darve shouted, his eyes transfixed on the dragon, “do you have another shaft ready?”

“Aye, sir!”

Darve took a step back, as the dragon swept forward. He felt the red and bronze eyes focusing on him, their catlike slits tightening on his presence. The dragon cracked its maw, and a black soot drifted out in the wind of its flight. “Any time, Sergeant.”

The missile launched, shooting out as if it was pulled on a line toward the dragon’s mouth. It darted forward, a pin of steel and oak. The beast opened its jaw to lay fire upon the tower just as the shaft struck, burying itself deep in the dragon’s throat. The creature spasmed violently, scrambling as if to stop its flight and cut off its breath.

The dragon’s head exploded in a flash of green flame, leaving a sinewy neck to flop with a caustic, burning ooze flinging about as the body crashed to the streets below.

Another cheer rose from the soldiers.

From the top of Northtower, Darve watched night swallow the valley of the Stonebourne Fork. Fires raged through the city. Forest hamlets in the surrounding mountain vales dotted the distance with kindled flames. The flight of dragons gathered above the fiery wreckage of their attack and soared off northward. Fewer returned over the mountains than had come. However, the glow that still hung on the mountain’s shoulders after the sun disappeared, left evidence of the destruction abandoned in their wake.

“Second platoon! Spread through the tower and city.” Darve ripped the helm from his head, sweat making the leather padding sticky. “See if anyone needs aid – and I do mean anyone.” He pointed to Sergeant Marrax. “Keep your crew ready in case one returns.”

Half the archers dashed toward the door leading down to the street level.

“I will go with them, Uncle.” Bran gave a quick salute. He pointed at Brax and Yrik. “You two stay here and protect him.”

Brax nodded, his eyebrows knit in conviction. “Aye, brother.”

Darve walked to the mage. “You are hired, Magus Yrik.” He extended his hand. “Welcome to the Northtower family.” The mage’s grip, weak at first, strengthened as Darve shook it.

N
atural gypsum chandeliers sparkled along the ceiling of the Cavern of Beginnings where it vaulted far over Darve’s head. Dozens of long chains hung from that expanse of rock, suspending oil lamps at odd intervals. The effect dizzied Darve, even though he had been deep under the mountain dozens of times before.

Unlike the palace, the gardens, or the Magnum Room, the Cavern of Beginnings is not meant to be beautiful. It means to humble those who walk through it. Yet it still achieves beauty, even in its austerity.

Darve’s gaze settled on the stone chair that stood alone within the vast chamber. Carvings depicting the history of the dwarves wrapped around the throne. Wide patches remained untouched by chisel and hammer, the bare stone awaiting heroes yet to be born.
They say when the last space is carved, the throne will crack, and our people will disappear from the world.

A laugh escaped his lips at the idea, drawing looks from some of the other dwarves gathered round the seat of their king. Heat rose in Darve’s cheeks and ears. He bowed his head in apology.

“Twenty-one carcasses have been gathered of the lesser beasts,” General Weldrin continued over the slight interruption. “Five of the large ones fell, including two downed by the guards of Northtower.” He inclined his head in Darve’s direction.

“Thank you, General.” Darve offered a bow. “If only we could have killed more.”

Weldrin nodded in return. His rare, trimmed beard had faded to white where a scar ran down his cheek. “Another beast fell over the forest village of Bearburough.” He waved toward a fair-haired maid that tried her best to hide behind a group of dwarves dressed in foresting leathers. “Tilli Broadoak, a young huntress of the woods, placed a single shaft in its eye when it passed over the village in the dark. A shot blessed by the Earth itself.”

King Berik II rested on the carved throne, his chin upon his fist. He gazed out over the assembled lords with an unfocused stare, despite the rare gravity of the situation. “Then I shall name her Tilli Dragonslayer. Let all men know her deeds.”

Weldrin paused long enough to allow the applause to die down. The flush of color on the huntress’ face made Darve reappraise what he had at first thought a rather plain girl.
If she were in the right dress instead of those leathers…and those golden curls done up by a good maidservant…

The general cleared his throat before continuing. “Many of our forces did not do so well. We lost near seven hundred soldiers.” A soft gasp rustled through the crowd. “However, reports from Stone Town are that civilian casualties remained light. Quick reaction to the warning bells
and
Earth’s blessings be praised.”

“That is not the case, however, in Wood Town!” Tribune Adaron Shipborne swept from the far corner to the front of the assembly, his white robe of office rippling. “Thousands are believed dead – thousands more homeless and injured. Some of the fires still burn!”

Another noble stepped forward. Darve sniffed in derision at Lord Rockcastle.
His family is old and rich, but he is a fool.

“Tell me then, Tribune,” Rockcastle said, his hands tucked in his belt, “where are these ruffians of Wood Town to go? Are we to take them into our own homes?” He looked about at his peers as if it were an absurd suggestion.

“That would be a good start, Lord Rockcastle.” The Tribune’s sharp blue eyes fixed him. “Your considerable mansions would house a great many.”

“Yes, but it would take a decade to get the stench out.” Rockcastle laughed, slapping his thighs.

A large percentage of the nobles chuckled as well. Others stared at Rockcastle, their expressions incensed. Darve counted himself among the latter. The Tribune looked ready to explode.

“Your disrespect for the people of this nation is disgusting, My Lord.” The Tribune’s lips curled into a sneer of derision for the noble. He pointed toward the exit of the hall. “They still die out there while you joke at their expense. Likely the only stench you could smell in Wood Town today is burning timber and flesh.”

Rockcastle stepped back, his fist raised as if to strike the Tribune.

“Enough!” Berik waved a languid hand in the air. The young king still maintained his disinterested gaze.

Apparently, the shouting bothers his ruminations. He inherited too early. It was a bad omen for any prince, when King Karedon died in that rockslide.

Tribune Adaron dropped the suppressed rage from his features and focused on his monarch. “I do have a far more constructive solution, Your Majesty. Perhaps we could open the Magnum Room along the eastern face. It has more than enough space to temporarily shelter thousands, along with easy access to emergency food stores.” Adaron raised his hand toward the mountain piled on top of them. “They would also be in a place of safety, should the enemy return.”

Scattered applause erupted from some of the dwarven nobility. General Weldrin also clapped his thick hands. Darve knew that Weldrin had joined the army from the dock fronts of Wood Town. His own heart stirred, and Darve slapped his hands together too.

“Fairly suggested, Tribune Adaron.” The king yawned. “I tire of these reports. We must see to action.” Berik cast his eyes over the crowd. “Refugees shall be allowed within the Magnum Room. Your office, dear Tribune, shall pay for their needs in care and blankets. I will grant them food from my private store. I am a king with a heart for his people.”

Berik rose and turned to the general. “See that there are sufficient troops to ensure security. I don’t want a riot breaking out where I plan on holding this year’s Midwinter Ball.” The king stretched and looked over his shoulder at the throne. “Damned thing is even harder than it looks.”

An aghast murmur rippled through the crowd. The king seemed not to notice. However, Darve lifted an eyebrow when he caught the hint of a smile crossing the lips both the king and Adaron.

Am I the only one who saw?
Darve cast his gaze about the room. He bowed with the rest of the crowd when the king strode to the edge of the throne’s platform.
If stories be true, then ‘twas Berik who found Adaron near the docks of Wood Town as children. Berik was a daring child who often snuck out of his father’s palace. But current gossip says that the twain have fallen out since Berik took the throne. Perhaps the gossip is not so true.

“Maester Northtower.” The king stepped down from his dais. “Would you join me on my ride to the palace? I wish to thank you personally for your family’s vigilance. If only all of our defenses had been so prepared.”

Another murmur passed the nobles, curdling Darve’s stomach.
Few have ever been invited to ride with the king in his private lift!

Darve bowed, his nose nearly touching the rough stone floor. “I am honored beyond words, Majesty.” He straightened and lifted one hand. “Let me also add that House Northtower will donate ten thousand gold marks to the Tribune, so that we might aid his cause for the people.”

Adaron bowed to Darve, his sandy beard tucked behind one forearm.

“Well and good, lords.” The king gestured toward the rear of the hall. “I believe we have a lift to catch. Maester, if you would come?”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Darve trotted to join the king as he marched to the edge of the cavern. A gold inlaid brass carriage awaited there, suspended on long iron chains that disappeared far above. A guard swung the intricate mesh door open, and the king stepped through, motioning for Darve to follow.

He climbed on board. When the soldier moved to join them, Berik held up his hand. “Follow with the others. I wish to speak with Maester Northtower alone.”

Shock crossed the guard’s face. “Your Majesty…” he stammered, “…I am to stay at your side.”

Berik frowned. “The shaft is sealed in solid rock from here until it arrives at the palace. I should be safe from attack.”

The guard’s bright eyes searched Darve, a skeptical wrinkle forming on his brow. “But…”

With an insulted huff the king placed his fists on his hips. “Maester Northtower is a hero of my kingdom. I will have no such attitude from a soldier on my guard. His family has stood with the dwarves of the Rock for a millennium. Even if they were not first born among us, generations of Northtowers have been since.” The king slammed the door of the carriage. “Report to garrison duty. Some time in the forest will remind you how good palace service is.”

The crestfallen guard ducked his head. “Yes, Your Majesty. Forgive my improper and impertinent words.” He turned to Darve. “And please forgive my reticence as well, Maester Northtower. I did not mean to impugn you personally.”

Darve shook his head. “I do not take offense, soldier. You only wish to protect your king.” He nodded toward the pedestrian exit. “Seek out the Northtower garrison. Tell Master Sergeant Marrax Redarm that I sent you.”

The soldier saluted and bowed his head. “Thank you, Maester.”

Smooth and graceful, the carriage lifted into the colossal openness of the cavern. The chains did not jingle or jerk hauling their burden upward. Darve pulled in deep breaths seeing the gypsum ceiling rush out of the darkness.

That hole is way too small for this carriage!
He could not help clamping his eyes shut when the rock engulfed them. A moment later, he opened his lids to see a smiling king, his face lit only by the twin oil lamps built into the brass construction.

“The first time rattles everyone.” Berik’s eyes reflected the lamplight and his kind smile. “I wanted an excuse for privacy.” The king pursed his lips. “As your family cannot seek the throne, I fear you are one of the few in my court I can trust.”

He cleared his throat. The smile shifted from uncertainty, back to kindness. “I have a mission for you that might well save our people from destruction far greater than that wrought upon us last eve.” The king’s eyes sharpened. The vapid child sitting on the throne disappeared. Instead, a ruler had taken that child’s place in the confident stare. “You must go to the humans of Gannon and inform them of this attack. You have some of our most extensive connections with the nobility of their kingdom. Your trade deals have made many of them almost as rich as they have made us.”