Rise of the Blood Masters (Book 5) (13 page)

Carnesîr scowled.

“Don’t tell this
halfling
anything!” Amandila said, her cheeks bulging. “Xiiltharra has forbidden it!”

“Oh, Amandila, relax, he already knows about our plans. He overheard our conversation in the forest. What’s the harm in him knowing the rest? The time for deception is over.”

She eyed Tallin contemptuously. “Humph!”

Carnesîr ran his hands over his face. “Here’s the truth. Fëanor has been patrolling the coastline for months. He intercepted a message originating from Balbor Island. Their priests know about the nest. They already know the nest’s basic location; their assassins are excellent trackers. The Balborites want to capture all the eggs and the breeding female. The priests have already sent several men to search for it. I caught one of them myself less than a fortnight ago. He was a sly one, but I managed to kill him in the end. They’re bound to send more.”

Tallin looked confused. “But why would the priests want dragon eggs? There are no dragons on Balbor Island. There never have been.”

The elves exchanged furtive glances. Carnesîr scratched his cheek and looked away, avoiding Tallin’s eyes. “Ah, well… that’s not entirely true.”

“What?” Tallin asked. “What do you mean?”

“Thousands of years ago, the Balborites had their own dragon riders. They trained and bred them on the island. Balborite breeders are the reason why there are black dragons today. Their breeders selectively bred for that color over hundreds of years. Eventually, they began destroying all the eggs that wouldn’t produce black dragons. They wanted a uniform species. As time passed, the Balborite religion became even more bloodthirsty and bizarre. The priests started to look for ways to strengthen their power. They used stolen elf magic to cross their black dragons with another animal. That’s how the
drask
lizards were created. The priests even went so far as to sell breeding pairs of this loathsome new creature to the orcs. The elves considered this an abomination. At that point, our queen intervened.”

He reeled back for a moment. “They created
drask?
So what happened next?”

Carnesîr looked down and shuffled his feet.

Fëanor snorted. “Go on, then! Why are you stopping now? You’ve gone this far. You might as well tell the dwarf everything.”

Carnesîr continued, “A group of elf warriors stormed the island. All the Balborite dragons were slaughtered, and their drask, too. Unfortunately, we couldn’t eradicate the drask from the mainland. The orcs had already bred several thousand of the creatures and it was too late for that.”

“If all the black dragons were killed, why do we have black dragons on the mainland? We have two in Parthos right now.”

“The queen thought it would be cruel to destroy the eggs, so any black eggs that were discovered were taken back to the mainland and fostered there. This was a long time ago, and there were plenty of female dragons willing to foster an egg. The Balborites were warned that if they ever attempted to breed dragons again, the same thing would happen. They haven’t attempted anything for centuries, but time has passed, and mortals have very short memories. It doesn’t surprise me that they would try something again after a few thousand years.”

Tallin couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. The Balborites were capable of all kinds of atrocities.
Why not this?

“So the Balborites want their own dragon riders again. That’s insane.” He shook his head.

“Yes, we realize that… which is why we’re here. It’s crazy, but the priests are certain to follow through with this ridiculous plan, regardless of the consequences or the negligible chance of success.”

“How long has Brighthollow known about this plot?” asked Tallin.

“We discovered it only recently. Less than a moon ago. Our queen sent us to recover the eggs before the Balborites could get to them.”

Tallin frowned. “Why didn’t your people notify Parthos? We could have worked together on this. Despite everything that’s happened, Parthos and Brighthollow are allies. We’re not your enemies.”

Carnesîr sighed. “Our queen deemed the information too sensitive to share. She feared that if she announced the plot, the Balborites might destroy all the eggs before we had the chance to recover them. When the first message was intercepted, she was unsure whether the Balborites had already sent their assassins to the mainland. So she kept the information a secret.”

Tallin looked up. “That’s not the only reason she kept quiet. She also knew the dragon riders would go to war over this.”

“Ah, perhaps.” Carnesîr smoothed the front of his tunic, trying not to meet Tallin’s gaze.

“Listen,” Tallin said, “this problem isn’t going away. Stealing the eggs from the nest isn’t going to solve anything. We have to do something about the Balborites. They are the source of the problem.”

Now Fëanor spoke up. “The elves already know this. We’ve dealt with these insufferable fools on some level or another for thousands of years. Once they’ve got an idea in their heads, you can forget about changing their minds, no matter how illogical, irrational, or dangerous it is. They’re difficult to frighten, and they’re willing to die for their cause, however misguided it may be. Any opposition actually reinforces their commitment to whatever ridiculous plan they’ve hatched. Now that their high priest has issued this order, the Balborites would rather destroy the entire nest than have the eggs fall into anyone else’s hands. There’s no middle ground with them.”

There was a moment of silence. Tallin’s head was still buzzing from before, and now with this new information, it felt like a hornet’s nest. He tried to clear his senses. “Perhaps we’re approaching the problem from the wrong angle.”

“What do you mean?” Carnesîr asked. “Our plan is good. We only care about the safety of the nest. The eggs would be safe at Brighthollow, where no mortals may follow.” Then he paused. “But…if you have a better idea, I’m willing to listen.”

Tallin cleared his throat. “Why wait for them to attack us? Why not go on the offensive? We could go to Balbor in secret, like the elves did before. A small raiding party could reach the island quickly. Have any of you ever been to the island?”

Carnesîr and Amandila shook their heads, but Fëanor spoke up. “I’ve been there. Many years ago, before I was linked to my dragon. Balbor is a dreary place, much different from the other mortal lands. The whole island is rocky, and most of the land is inaccessible on horseback. The roads are terrible. The towns are small and spread apart. They only have one major city, and that’s where the main temple is located. There are lots of priests and assassins, but only a few freeborn commoners. Social status is very important there; the most important thing after religion is the class one belongs to.  The freeborns wear yellow shirts to identify themselves from the rest of the populace. No one else is allowed to wear that color.”

Tallin looked confused. “So there aren’t many people in the city?”

Fëanor shook his head. “No, there are plenty of
people
, but most of them are slaves, with a smaller number of indentured servants. Slaves are badly treated by the higher classes. Priests are the highest social class. They kill slaves without a second thought, as easily as one would kill an insect.”

“How many mageborns are there? Do you know?”

Fëanor shrugged. “It’s impossible to say. All their assassins are mageborn. It’s a requirement. But I don’t know if they train all the mageborns that they find. They have seeker-priests that go out into the countryside and search for them. I assume that they must find mageborns among the slave populace quite often—how could they not? There are countless slaves on the island, but I only counted a handful of freemen in the city. On Balbor, thousands of slaves are exploited by a small number of masters.”

Tallin scratched his beard, brooding over what they should do. “What is Balbor’s greatest weakness?”

“Their religion,” said Fëanor. “They’re extremists. And extremists don’t behave like normal individuals. Religious fanatics don’t think things through or make wise decisions.  The temple is the center of their society, literally and figuratively. That’s where one should strike in order to cause unrest.”

Tallin pursed his lips. “What about the high priest himself? Is he vulnerable to attack?”

Fëanor shook his head. “No, he’s under constant guard. He wouldn’t be an easy target, or even a valuable one. Killing the high priest would cause only a temporary disruption. The Balborites have a complex order of succession, and there are plenty of others waiting in line to replace him.”

“What would happen if the temple was destroyed?” Tallin asked.

“That would cause serious turmoil. It would be a catastrophe for them. It’s the center of their daily life. But to destroy the temple would be impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible,” Tallin said. “Describe the building. What does it look like? How big is it?”

“It’s a vast structure in the center of their capital, much bigger than any cathedral on the mainland. The interior is constructed of cut stone, and the roof is ceramic tile. There’s the main building, which is larger than any fortress on the mainland. The structure has a main library, and few smaller libraries that are private. There’s an infirmary, and a huge training center for the acolytes. Nothing is made of wood, so it wouldn’t be as simple as burning it down.”

“Is the temple heavily guarded?”

Fëanor thought about it. “Not as heavily guarded as one might expect. The exterior guards are servants, not trained soldiers. They are there mainly to deter theft. There are a few soldiers inside the main chamber, but not many. Since outsiders aren’t allowed on the island, an attack on the temple itself would be unthinkable. It’s almost impossible to get onto the island because Balbor has so many protection wards placed on it. Anything larger than a sailboat will activate the wards. They simply wouldn’t expect any type of major attack.”

“Did you see any assassins while you were on the island?”

Fëanor nodded. “Yes, several. Most were in various stages of their training and only had partial tattoos on their bodies. I only observed them from afar. It was easy to avoid them; they’re proud of their warding tattoos and wear minimal clothing to display them. I didn’t want to risk revealing my true identity, so I didn’t interact with them at all. I just stayed out of their way.”

Tallin asked, “How do you know so much about this?” The question had been simmering at the back of his brain ever since Fëanor started talking.

The elf shrugged. “I was curious about mortals in my youth. I traveled all over the continent, including Balbor. It was easy enough to get on the island. When I reached the city, I posed as a slave. A simple glamour was enough to walk freely among them, although I did take a beating once. In order to protect my disguise, I didn’t fight back, which was infuriating. I left shortly after that. That’s it. I didn’t discover anything terribly interesting. I played a few tricks on them, of course, but the Balborites are poor targets for practical jokes. Zealotry breeds stupidity, and playing with fools gets tiresome quickly. The Balborites are, for the most part, stupid and cruel. They weren’t as interesting as I’d hoped they’d be.”

The four of them stood in silence for a moment. Then Tallin said, “The dragon eggs are in danger—as long as the Balborite priests want them, they won’t be safe. We have to attack the source of the danger.”

“But why risk it? We have an easy solution,” Carnesîr pleaded. “Let us take them! The eggs will be safe in Brighthollow!”

“And what happens when there’s another nest? Will you steal those eggs, too? No—I won’t allow that. Shesha, the dragon female, knows of your plans. Duskeye relayed the information to her, and she’s gone to a safe place. Shesha will fight to the death before she allows anyone to take her eggs.”

Becoming angry, Duskeye stepped forward, warning the elf,
“I’ll say this just once. Those eggs are my offspring. Don’t try anymore tricks on us, and leave the nest alone—or I’ll kill you.”

Carnesîr’s face reddened. “Humph! You don’t have to be so rude about it. We were only trying to help.”

Tallin dusted off his trousers and mounted Duskeye’s back. He looked at the elves. “As I see it, you’ve got two choices. You can all go back crying to your queen empty-handed, or you can accompany me to Balbor and try to stop the problem at its source. The other dragon riders are busy elsewhere. No one else can help me do this, and I’m going for sure. So are you coming with me or not?”

Carnesîr stared wordlessly at Tallin for a moment. Finally, he sighed. “I guess we’re going to Balbor.”

The Oath of Enemies

              Tallin and Duskeye flew back to the Elder Willow. When they touched down onto the ground, Mugla scurried forward, grabbing her nephew in a rough embrace.

“Ye’ve been gone for days!” she said. “Where were ye? I was worried sick! Why didn’t ye respond to my telepathic calls?”

“I’m sorry,” Tallin said. “I ran into a bit of trouble with the elves.” He told her everything that had happened, including his kidnapping, and about his plan to attack the Balborite temple.

“Oh no!” Mugla said, placing her hand over her mouth. “Ye can’t go to Balbor!”

“I have to, there’s no other way. I have to do something about the Balborites, before they destroy the nest. The elves have agreed to help me. They’re coming along.”

“Well… that’s better, I guess. But still, ye’ll need extra help. I’m coming with ye, too.” She nodded as if she was the one giving approval.

“No way. That’s absolutely out of the question,” Tallin declared.

“But I insist. I’m coming with ye,” she repeated. “I’ve thought it over very carefully.”

“It’s impossible that you’ve thought it over very carefully… because I just told you a few minutes ago.” He took a deep breath. He admired her fiery resolve but he was starting to lose patience. “Please don’t fight me on this. It’s too dangerous for you.”