A Balance Broken (Dragonsoul Saga) (31 page)

T
allen had no more than tossed his rucksack into the forward cabin than the boat thrummed below him. He felt the flow of magical power, the light tingle of the Air Aspect. Soon, the ship moved, pulling itself away from the stone and concrete pier. In only a few minutes, the boat’s bow pointed out into the Bay of Hope. The flow of Air increased, and it leaped forward, plowing through the waves. Tallen hopped up the gangway, where Tomas and Dorias both watched the passing water from the foredeck. Merl perched upon the prow of the ship, carved like a hawk spreading its wings over the whitecaps. He posed in a similar fashion.

“How does Air drive this ship with no sails?” Tallen blurted out, his curiosity overwhelming him.

Tomas raised a hand. “Perhaps I could explain this for you, eh, Dorias?”

The wizard gestured toward Tallen. “By all means.”

The paladin nodded. “It is a combination of magic and something Dorias would call engineering, like the design of siege engines. The dwarves know a great deal of this art—”

“Science!” Dorias interrupted with an upthrust finger.

Tomas shrugged. “As you say.” He looked back at Tallen. “I believe Dorias would also say that it is the future of all the races to learn this…science.” The Ravenhawke nodded. “As for this vessel – a long shaft descents from the rear cabin, down through the hull and into the water. At the end of it is a star shaped device called a…” He looked to Dorias. “What do you call it?”

“A propeller. It propels the boat through the water.”

“Ah, yes, a propeller.” The paladin pointed toward the stern. “Yarro is in there right now, spinning this shaft with his power in Air. Usually two or three mages might handle a ship this size, but Yarro is very strong.”

“And, at this speed, the ride does not take long.” Dorias patted his stomach, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. “Perhaps it might be long enough to see what’s down in the ship’s galley.”

Tomas scrunched his face in distaste. “Not if you are the one cooking.”

Tallen laughed. “Let me see what I can do.”

An hour later, their bellies full of salt pork, braised with potatoes in beer, and a mug in their hands, the three watched a blue mound rise up out of the horizon. Tallen’s heart leaped and froze at the same time.

My life will never, ever be simple again.

The allied powers signed the Great Concord in 122 A.R., just weeks after crushing the invasion of the Free Cities by Wild Tiger. That was the last time an orc host came south of the Dragonscales in force. Much of that security can be credited to the vigilance of the garrison at Highspur, founded as the core act of the Great Concord. All six signatory powers have sent troops to that isolated fortress. Even when those powers war amongst themselves, the soldiers of Highspur maintain their vigilance, no matter the nation or race of their birth.

— “History of Gannon” by Elyn Bravano

C
aptain Jaerd Westar stretched his back, one gauntleted hand still holding the reins of his horse. He watched Earl Boris, Magus Britt, and Sergeant Hall all move through various stages of the same act, and allowed himself a small smile.

Behind Jaerd, the Stonebourne Fork spread to join the Andon where dozens of ferries still unloaded blue-cloaked cavalry. To the south, Gavanor bustled beyond the western wall. Jaerd squinted at Wolfsgate. It stood open and peaceful as ever
. Those boys are in for a surprise when I arrive to inspect them.

Magus Britt drew down his bushy brows and pointed toward a tight knot of blue and green-cloaked men on horseback. “It looks like we drew Aginor’s attention, bringing a thousand men across the Stonebourne like that.”

“I’m sure they are just coming to greet us, Joz,” Earl Boris replied, giving his black stallion rein to scrabble at the grass. He scanned down the line of Bluecloaks falling out to make camp for the night. “Lord Marshal Magdon should be here for this.”

Magus Britt leaned close to the earl. “He is not well. One of our healers attends him. He is too frail and should not have come.”

Earl Boris puffed out his black, bushy mustache. “It is His Majesty’s command, and Darron Magdon is far too noble to claim illness when his king orders a march.”

Magus Britt snorted. “Sammin Vyce just wanted to get another High Council vote out of the capital. It was also his idea to send the Lord Justice to Threeforts to handle an insignificant dispute with the Yadushi.”

Frowning at the mage, the earl turned toward Sergeant Hall. “See to it that a camp is erected for the night. City privileges for any man who wants them, but only until midnight. I want this column ready to move an hour after dawn.”

Hall knuckled his brow. “Yes, Milord.”

Earl Boris leaped astride his charger. Magus Britt groaned, but also mounted.

The earl looked down at Jaerd. “If you would join us, Captain, you might want to greet your liege lord.”

Ignoring the protests in his thighs and hips, Jaerd sighed and swung back into his saddle. He picked out Duke Aginor among the riders, along with his two elder sons Doran and Kent – Kent in Gannon blue – and several other officers within Jaerd’s chain of command. He gave them a sharp salute when they met. Doran offered a friendly nod.

“My Lord Earl, it is an honor to host you again so soon within the Western Realm.” Duke Aginor cast his gaze at the Bluecloak battalion setting up camp. “It appears the king listened to you.”

The earl and the duke both dismounted. The rest of the parties followed suit. Boris and Aginor clasped hands, while Jaerd stood nearby at attention.

“Perhaps not as many men as I would have wanted.” Earl Boris indicated the camp being assembled on the prairie behind him. “But they are the best in the kingdom.”

“I can help you somewhat with your numbers.” Duke Aginor nodded toward Lieutenant Kent Varlan. “Five hundred Bluecloaks supplement my own guard in the city. Kent will bring half of them with you. I can also send another two hundred of my own men.” He nodded at Jaerd. “It appears you have already claimed one of my captains.”

Magus Britt laughed, and Earl Boris reached into one of his saddlebags. He pulled out a folded blue tunic, trimmed in silver. Steel buttons ran in double rows down the front. “I suppose you have preempted my surprise, Duke Aginor.” Boris turned to Jaerd. “I want you to join the Royal Guard, as a captain under my command.”

Jaerd opened his mouth then snapped it shut. He looked at Duke Aginor, who nodded. Doran Varlan winked.

“Earl Boris gets who he wants in his Bluecloaks.” The duke sighed. “As I obviously have no choice, I relieve you, Wolfsgate Captain Westar.” He cast a significant look at the earl. “Consider him on loan.”

Jaerd took the blue-dyed wool from Earl Boris with a nod of thanks.

“Your cloak and other uniform requirements can be handled by the quartermaster.”

Magus Britt cocked an examining eye. “You’ll look good in blue.”

A
lmost a week later, an unseasonably cool breeze swept down from the Dragonscales, chilling Jaerd through his mail and new wool. The wind drove the wheat fields around the Free City of Novon in green waves. Jaerd gazed up at the walls encircling the sizeable town, much closer to his childhood home than Gavanor. Many of the metal tools needed at the inn had come from Novon. A sooty smoke rose from the city to be drawn away by chill winds.

Jaerd wrapped himself in his blue cloak.
Dad would be proud. Fires, the whole bloody Westar clan would be proud!
He shifted in his saddle.
Half of me wishes I had stopped at the Gryphon, the other half is glad we had no time.

A company of gray-clad soldiers wearing circular helmets and burnished mail rode out to greet Jaerd and the others.

“My Lord Earl of Mourne,” their leader called with a bow from his saddle. “I am General Bryce Vahn. I bring a hundred men of the Free City guard to join you and reinforce our garrison at Highspur.”

Earl Boris nodded his head.

When Lord Marshal Magdon’s cough erupted into a silk kerchief, Jaerd noticed a spot of crimson.
He does not look well, but he insisted on joining us to greet the Free City men. And that officer – he does not command many men for the title
General
.

“You are most welcome, General Vahn.” Boris saluted the man whose long legs hung low in his stirrups. “Our thanks to the Mayors for sending you.” He looked over the general’s shoulder, passing his gaze over every soldier. “And to your men who sacrifice time at home with their families to join us in protecting all the free peoples of Tarmor. You will be honored as heroes when you return home.”

A smile curled at the corner of Jaerd’s lips.
And with that, those men belong to Boris.

Jaerd scanned the new company. About a hundred mounted cavalry with sabers and lances stood before him. A dozen wagons bulging with supplies followed, each with a pair of teamsters. Among the officers at the front, Jaerd noticed a woman wrapped in a dark blue cotton robe. When his eyes paused on her, she hoisted the hood over her hair. He caught only a glimpse of her golden-brown curls before she tucked them away. A carved harp stuck out from under a leather flap on her saddle. Reaching back, she flipped the bag closed.

“We should be off.” Earl Boris waved to Sergeant Hall. “We still have a hard ride if we are to reach the fortress before winter sets in.”

G
roaning, Jaerd collapsed onto his bedroll and stared up at the stars. At last he had found time to fill his belly with a bowl of camp stew and a hard crust of bread. It tasted plain, but it warmed him against the cool night. Up here in the foothills of the Dragonscales, skirting the edge of the Wastes of Lost Lond, Jaerd needed to pull his blanket more tightly about him. The sky, however, twinkled with the light of a thousand pinpoints. He gazed at the River of Souls where it spread its milky haze across the heart of the firmament.
Already I can tell the nights are getting longer since we left the kingdom.

He rested his head upon his pack, shifting it so that the pipe inside no longer poked him in the neck. He flung his cloak over the top of his blanket and closed his eyes.

The soft trickle of music danced across the camp. A melody formed from random notes, and a soft, beautiful voice carried along on the wind.
The woman who came with the Free City men.

Crossing his boots, Jaerd settled in with a smile. The words of
Catching the Dream
carried him away from the cold wastes and into the warm bed of a private barracks.

But sleep did not come, so long as her song floated over the camp.
There’s something about her voice… Have I heard this siren before?

His eyes opened to see the heavens remained just as spectacular as when he had closed them. Snores resounded about the camp, Magus Britt rattling the ground with each breath. Captain Silios Vonstrass, a younger nephew of the Duke of Avaros, slept in silence two bedrolls away. He commanded the Bluecloak rangers, who had long since traded their formal green-fringed garb for Fadecloaks, which shifted in the daylight and darkened at night, making their wearer more difficult to find.

Earl Boris, however, sat straight up, his eyes focused on the low-banked fire.

Jaerd tossed off his blanket and swung his mundane, unfringed blue cloak about his shoulders. The bard’s song continued above the rumble of sleeping soldiers. Looking around and noticing no one other than Boris awake, Jaerd hopped to his feet.
Perhaps a short walk to burn off whatever keeps me from rest.

He wandered among the sleeping forms, most wrapped in wool blankets, still wearing their boots. Jaerd paused. The music had stopped short of the song’s end as he knew it. Realizing that he unconsciously made his way toward the bard, Jaerd took a few more quick steps. He rounded a knob of stone to see the young woman tucking her harp into its leather bag. She hid it hurriedly under her blankets and adjusted her hood.

“Your music is quite lovely.” Jaerd folded his hands behind his back to show her his officer’s tunic in the firelight. “I can’t imagine why you would want to come with us to Highspur, but I’m thankful that you do. Men’s spirits can fade in lonely places.” He took a step closer. “If any of them seek more from you than your voice, you let me or one of the command staff know immediately.”

The girl nodded, clearing her throat and tucking a dark lock of hair up under her hood.

Jaerd tilted his head. She would not meet his gaze. “Have I seen you play in Gavanor? What is your name?”

She tucked her hands up into the sleeves of her robe. “My name is Shaela, and no, I’ve never played in Gavanor.”

Jaerd shrugged. “You sound familiar. Perhaps it is just the emptiness of the Wastes that makes my ear seek familiarity.”

Shaela wrapped herself in her blankets. “I get that a lot.”

He took a step back with a half-bow. “Then I will leave you to your rest. Goodnight.”

Once he reached his bedroll, his eyes fluttered only once before he drifted off to sleep.