A Balance Broken (Dragonsoul Saga) (19 page)

A black and scarlet head almost Slar’s size rose up from behind the lip of a small depression. The crimson eyes burned with an inner fire, and a serpentine tongue lashed about from behind a field of sharp teeth.

Slar steeled his nerves and returned the dragon’s stare. “Lord Vordrex. It is good to see you returned from your raid against the dwarves.” He stepped closer to the ponderous beast. The obsidian scales glittered in the slanted afternoon light. “You obtained more treasure for your nest, I hope.”

Vordrex belched, and a greenish haze floated from his nostrils. “One dwarf gave me indigestion, though he did wear a great deal of gold upon his person. Some emeralds and diamonds did come up with his bones as well.” The dragon’s smile sent an unbidden shiver down Slar’s spine. “However, I did gain this.” He touched a winged foreclaw to his cheek. A long strip of scales had been ripped away. “It may take a century for it to fade.”

“Scars remind us that the past was real,” Slar muttered, more to himself than the beast.

The dragon’s harsh laugh rang out across the mountainside. “Is that ancient orc wisdom?”

Ignoring the creature’s words, Slar focused on his purpose for climbing so high this late in the day. “I have come to inform you of a need – a need within Galdreth’s plan. Should my warriors fulfill a certain quest, we will need a…an extraction…from enemy territory. I was hoping…”

The dragon snorted again. This time a sooty film floated out from his nostrils and mouth. “I am not a steed for a meddling orc!” Vordrex shifted his black bulk around. “I am no slave to your Galdreth’s call, like the many scurrying ants I watch below.”

“I did not mean—”

“I will bring my kin when you begin your move against the Humans,” Vordrex growled, his forked tongue lashing out. “There is enough treasure on that path to make it worthwhile.” He turned toward the cavern hidden behind the depression. “But I will not cross the Dragonscales alone on some fool mission. The last one cost my kind enough. I will not do it again – not even at Galdreth’s command.”

Slar watched him stalk into his cave then turned back to the path homeward when Vordrex disappeared.

“Drown him in the Waters,” he grumbled under his breath. He picked up his pace when he looked at the westering sun.
I’ll have to move to get back before dark.

He scrambled down through a ravine, and then back up the far side. Shadows cast by the tall pines marked his remaining time. Once he slid down the pebble-strewn slope into the second ravine, a deeper shade surrounded him. Willing his legs for more speed, Slar followed the small rivulet of water at the bottom where it led down toward the foothills encircling Dragonsclaw.
The hills will be easier to travel in the dark than these damned mountains.

The trickle of water grew while he descended. His feet moved with certainty, even in the fading light. He was about to begin humming a tune his grandfather taught him, when heard the snap of a twig from the surrounding bush.

He had only a moment to turn his head toward the sound before a leathery shape hurtled from the darkness. A hard, bony head rammed into his sternum and rolled his body to the ground. Slar screamed out in pain when a set of sharp teeth sank into his shoulder.

He kicked out with all his strength and felt his boots make contact with something soft on the creature’s body. A wail of pain erupted from the beast, loosening its deadly grip. Slar kicked again in the same spot. His free hand scrabbled at his belt, desperate to find the lone dagger he had worn into the mountains.

In his mind, he heard the words his father would have used had he been there to witness his son’s demise.
Fool! I hope your sword is safe back in the lodge!

The cold hardness of metal met his fingers. The beast twisted, hurling him over onto his side, and pinning his free hand away from the dagger handle. They slid together as one down a dozen yards of sharp-rocked mountainside and skidded to a halt. His hand remained far away from his knife, but in this new position, he could shift his feet underneath himself.

Slar heaved against the scaly creature flailing him with sharp claws. Its teeth clamped harder against his shoulder, certain of a death grip.

Slar screamed with pain and flung his muscle and mass against the attacker. The creature stumbled back, far enough for him to clasp his fingers around the handle of his knife. Drawing it free from its sheath, Slar shouted with rage and thrust it repeatedly into any part of the creature he could reach.

A roar of agony burst forth from the small, fireless dragon. It lashed about, releasing its grip on Slar’s shoulder. He pushed it away, falling back onto his haunches. The fading light offered him a glimpse of the reptilian shape as it retreated.

“Damn you!” Slar thrust the bloody dagger out toward the dragon. “We are on the same side!”

The beast, not much larger than a big dog, hissed in response. Slar smelled the sulfur on its breath. He shifted his weight again, ready for another attack.
I forget that the smaller they are, the dumber they are.

With a final spit of stinking gas, the dragon turned about and scampered back into the forest, limping the entire way. One folded wing hanging askew from its forearm, the creature disappeared into the shadows between the trees.

Slar touched his wounded shoulder and winced. Sticky blood came away on his fingers. His fist closed when he flexed it, which was good news. He could bend his elbow, but only with a great deal of pain.

Down in the valley below, in a wide band that encircled the blacker-than-night shoulders of Dragonsclaw, thousands of fires winked alight a few at a time. The sight gave him hope, despite the aching pain in his arm and shoulder. He clasped his hand over his wound and made his way toward the lights, his grandfather’s tune at last finding its way to his lips.

Before the Exile, our ancestors lived along this very river. The waters of the Andon still flow in our blood. It is now an even greater river than before the Cataclysm. So shall it be with the People of Gan.

— Aravath the Navigator, 3 A.R.

T
allen struggled not to wince as Jaerd hoisted him back to his feet with a strong arm.

Magus Britt wiped his beard clean of the cheese crumbs from his lunch. “You understand that someday the lad will be able to destroy a battalion of swordsmen while standing still?”

“Well, Magus, you haven’t taught him that just yet.” Jaerd handed back the dagger he had easily taken from Tallen’s grasp. Tallen noticed the tightening of the mage’s eyes. “So I intend on teaching him everything I can in the meantime.”

Magus Britt glared Jaerd a moment then turned to Tallen, who tucked the dagger in its sheath at his belt. “Perhaps you have a point. Come with me, lad. It is time you touched your power.”

“Thank you, sir.” Jaerd saluted the mage who was also his superior officer. “If he is able to better defend himself it will take some of the weight off my mind.” He winked at Tallen. “I’m going below for a bite to eat.”

Waving a quick good-bye to his brother, Tallen followed Magus Britt over to the rail of the
Shasta
. The Andon rolled by, slightly faster than the riverboat on which they rode. Lightly wooded farmlands, broken by occasional cottages and hamlets, lined the banks. Only a few crewmembers moved about on board, and Captain Daneric stood at the wheel. The river’s flow provided velocity for the
Shasta
, her men only there to help guide her. When they returned against the current, Tallen supposed it would be another story.

“This time I want you to find the Aspects without closing your eyes.” Magus Britt’s brow drew down, but the rest of his face did not show the customary frown. “No wizard can fight with his eyes closed. You must be able to sense your power while still granting most of your attention to the physical world around you.”

Tallen nodded, but inside his stomach turned.

I had to concentrate so hard just to sense those colors while meditating. How will I ever do it in a battle?

Magus Britt folded his arms. “Can you focus enough to do it? Or am I just wasting my time with you?”

Tallen thought of the fluttering hues of light in his mind, and they popped into his perception with ready ease. He discerned them more clearly than ever before. The different colors – the different Aspects – each had their own quality beyond just a chromatic splash in his mind’s eye. The red felt warm, like the Fire Magus Britt claimed it to be. Blue soothed Tallen’s spirit, cool as a summer dip in the pond behind the Gryphon. Yellow and green clashed about, one fluttering and playful, the other solid and reassuring. A cast of silvery white inundated everything – the Aspect of Psoul. It tickled his gut with excitement and curdled it with fear at the same time. Tallen sensed its overwhelming power. He heard its call for him to unleash it. He began to reach.

“Easy there.” Magus Britt held up a hand. “Focus. Only touch your power, don’t draw it in yet. I would suggest Water first.” The mage wagged a finger. “Psoul is a tricky thing, even if you know what you are doing with it. Neither of us does.”

Shifting his reach to the azure call of Water, Tallen brushed its surface. Like dipping his fingers into a lake, the touch cooled his senses. The Water began to climb up the reach of his consciousness, running in rivulets into his mind. At first he pushed it away, but its soothing call drew him forward.

“Only allow a trickle in.” Magus Britt studied him with an intense stare. “Pool it in your mind. Hold it within your body. You will know your limits when you feel the strain across your forehead. Do not push yourself anywhere near them.”

As if opening himself to the flow of a river, Tallen took in some of the swirling power. He felt it gathering within his consciousness, begging him to unleash it into the world. He clamped down on the stream, wary of its siren call.

“Now, release it into the river.” The mage’s voice echoed in the back of Tallen’s mind. “Push against the water already there and speed our boat forward. Easy at first. Maintain control.”

Tallen opened the flow, the Water pulling against his will like a puppy tugging the other end of a rope.
Only this puppy feels as if he could eat Brawny in a single bite.
He opened himself a little more and let the magic pour out into the water.

The breeze whipped about his ears, and the landscape drifted by with greater speed. A smile crept over Magus Britt’s face, though Tallen knew his own pinched in concentration. A slight creak emanated from the boat’s shallow keel.

“Hoy!” Captain Daneric cupped his lips. “She’s not gonna like much more than that, my lord mages!”

“Ease back Tallen.” Magus Britt nodded in approval. “Let go of the Water. Let’s try something else.”

The sweet taste of Water tempted Tallen, along with the more raw sensation of his assembled energy. It called upon him to cast it all out in a rush of glory and power. He smiled, and carefully let it dissipate. The Water settled back into the pool within his mind. The riverboat eased back to its regular pace.

“Good.” Magus Britt graced Tallen with a rare smile. “A mage’s power can be his greatest weakness as well as his strength. Those who are too weak in spirit can succumb to it, like an addiction.” His eyes watched the river. “They burn themselves out, living broken lives sunken in madness. Or worse. Some destroy themselves, taking everything else that they can with them.” He turned to face Tallen, fixing those gray eyes on his. “You must learn control. With the level of your power, it will be your greatest trial and temptation. Do not lose yourself.”

Tallen nodded. “I understand, sir. Now, after finally touching it, I realize what you mean about it being a temptation.” He paused, searching for the words. “It’s as if it
wants
to be used.”

Magus Britt stared into Tallen’s eyes, an unreadable expression on his face. “You already surpass what most can do after weeks of training. For most mages, their power only grows with use, and the more powerful the mage, the longer they live. I can’t imagine where your strength might lead you some day.”

Tallen gulped. The weight of his future settled onto his shoulders. “I never thought I would do anything bigger than maybe opening up another Sleeping Gryphon in Gavanor, once I got tired of Glynn.” His face shifted into a nervous smile. “Do you think I could be a member of the Circle of Wizards some day?”

A laugh sounded from behind him. “I can feel your power, young man.” The dwarf mage Yrik stood leaning against the rail. He must have emerged from below decks while Tallen focused on his spell. “You could squash half the Circle before they sensed you draw on your power.” He shook his bald head. “Why you would join with them, I do not understand.”

Magus Britt frowned at the dwarf. “Because the Circle gives our mages safety in unity. Plus, it helps us to keep an eye on our brethren.” His concentrated his gaze upon Yrik. “Keeps those interested in dark things from exploring them too far.”

Yrik put a knuckle to his lip. “You may be right. With the number of you humans, I suppose you must have more structure. There are so few mages among my people – we all know each other quite well.” He bowed, his oily, pointed beard bending against his chest. It popped right back into position when he straightened. “Best of luck in your studies, young apprentice.” He strolled toward the bow.

Magus Britt cleared his throat. “Come. Back to your lesson.” He waved at the passing shoreline. “Now, I want you to reach out with the Air Aspect and grab a branch from one of those trees.”

He sighed, and followed the mage’s lead.

T
allen stoked the brazier, sending sparks flying off into the night. Their reflections danced upon the Andon River, harmonious with their partners in reality.
Just like the reflection of Fire in my mind. Only mine can actually burn you.

“So, have you learned enough to protect yourself without my help yet?” Maddi’s voice startled him from his thoughts. The scent of jasmine reached his nose. He breathed it in deeply.

“Maybe. If they attack us in a boat, I could certainly flip it.” He grinned. “Anything more exciting may have to wait for another couple of lessons.”

The girl held her hands over the brazier. Tallen stretched his own out alongside them. The breeze off the water chilled, even in early summer.

“Do you think more of them will come?” Maddi spoke in a steady voice, but the fact that she asked at all gave hint to her fear.

“We are only getting farther into the heart of the kingdom.” Tallen pursed his lips with doubt. “I can’t image any…” He looked about for boat crew, only spying the man on watch at the wheel. He also saw the fair-haired dwarf maiden watching the moon dance on the river. “…any of
them
getting back east. The Eastern Realm is much more populated, with a half dozen cities the size of Gavanor and larger, each with thousands of soldiers and watchmen.”

Folding her arms, Maddi shook her head doubtfully. “If they can slip inside Gavanor…”

Tallen shrugged and reached out to pat her on the shoulder. She did not flinch from his touch. He returned to warming his hands. “Everyone is on alert now. We are protected by some of the best fighters in the land, not to mention a pack of stalwart dwarves.” He inclined his head toward the dwarf woman. “One of whom apparently slew a dragon.”

“I heard.” A slight smile crept onto her lips, a pretty one Tallen had seldom seen. “Their leader, the Maester Northtower, told the story twice at breakfast.”

Tallen snorted. “Dwarves do love their tales. Many of those that stopped in the Gryphon told them regularly – to the great pleasure of the crowd.” He looked at her sideways. Her eyes focused on the fire. “But you are from Dern, so I’m sure you know dwarves quite well.”

Shaking her head, Maddi reached out toward the brazier again. She rubbed her supple hands not far from his. “No. There are no dwarves left to speak of in Dern. They really only live in Kirath and Kerrigeir. The Free Cities are not the same places they were in old tales.”

Tallen nodded, hoping the firelight hid the flush in his cheeks. “No doubt. Nothing is.”

Maddi turned from the fire and headed below deck.

Damn. I’ve made her think I’m stupid.

Her shadow stopped before it disappeared. “I enjoyed our talk.”

Tallen stood there by the brazier, unaware of the grin plastered to his face until well after the next crewman took his turn at the tiller.

T
allen swayed while his eyes tracked the towering heights of the Crimson Spike. Tumbled shoulders of reddish stone pierced up from the center of the Andon, forcing it to flow to either side. The southward channel churned, white and frothy, through scattered boulders that pierced the water’s surface. Beyond the southern bank, the Red Hills continued into the distance, folding over one another in russet mounds of scrub dotted gravel. The
Shasta
took the northern passage, filled with slower waters.