A Balance Broken (Dragonsoul Saga) (23 page)

Trolls do not appear in any recorded history before the Cataclysm. Considering that, and their obvious physical similarities with orcs, most scholars have theorized that the chaotic powers of the Cataclysm caused a mutation of the orc. The result was the troll, a largely mindless creature found strictly in the mountain passages of the Dragonscales.

— “The Tarmorian Bestiary” by Dorias Ravenhawke

J
aerd slammed the bar down behind his brother and spun on his heel. Two figures jumped through the window, each carrying a scimitar and leather wrapped cudgel.

They still want him alive, or they would have burned us out!

Jaerd blinked as an orange glow leaped up outside the window. It died down as fast as it began. He heard the screaming of orcs in pain.

Must be Magus Britt.

The two orcs advanced warily, holding their weapons out in front of them. Jaerd tightened his grip on his sword.

Come on Shar’leen, don’t let me down, girl.

He let them make the first move, one daring a careless thrust of his scimitar. Shar’leen rang true as Jaerd parried the blow, and his riposte took the orc’s hand from his arm.

It bellowed with pain and backed away, dropping the cudgel next to the sword and hand already lying on the floor. The wounded creature staggered back towards the window as the second orc moved across as if to protect it. He swung his scimitar at Jaerd, far more careful to preserve his guard.

The curved sword clattered against Shar’leen. Jaerd parried a second and third swing. The wounded orc slipped over the window’s edge. Jaerd heard it tumble to the ground over the increasing ruckus of battle echoing through the rest of the inn.

“Are you certain that you don’t want to follow your friend?”

The orc lunged forward with a roar, swinging his blade in a swift arc. Jaerd batted it away, turning his movement into a thrust that ran the orc through its upper chest. The red eyes blinked in surprise.

“You should have followed the other one.”

Jaerd twisted the blade.

Wild barking from the locked stable wrenched him out of his battle lust. He drew Shar’leen free of her bloody sheath and turned from the empty window. Tossing the bar up, he swung the door open onto chaos. Jaerd tasted brimstone on the air, and he smelled cooked flesh. Boris stood close to his door, an eerily keen longsword in his hands. Magus Britt hovered behind him, still in his nightshirt.

“How many?” Jaerd stepped into the hall. Several of the dwarves stood there in varying states of dress and armament. Orc corpses littered the floor. Jaerd saw the bodies of at least two human patrons among them. “And where is Tallen?”

“Joslyn and Yrik have eliminated their ladders,” Earl Boris told him as he checked each room of the second floor for any other attackers. “Hall has your brother under cover behind the bar.” A sudden banging sounded from downstairs. “I think we should join them.”

With Boris in the lead, they raced down to the common room. The heavy bar over the front door strained with each blow. Jaerd saw Sergeant Hall standing there, a large bedpost in one hand and a chair in the other. His massive axe was nowhere to be seen. Tilli clambered onto the bar with her bow, an arrow already nocked. Yrik and Magus Britt stood in front of her.

“Is Tallen…” The inward crashing of the front doors cut off Jaerd’s words.

Tilli’s arrow caught the lead orc in the neck, turning its scream into a gurgle. More followed, swarming towards the defenders.

“The Bluecloaks!” Hall bellowed, throwing the chair. It crashed into another orc, shattering upon impact and driving splinters into the creature’s red eyes. The sergeant rushed forward, swinging the broken bedpost. Another arrow from Tilli flew over him, claiming a second victim.

Earl Boris gestured to the skirmish line. “We’d better get in there before Hall kills them all. I want a prisoner.”

“I can help with that.” Yrik reached out his hand and an eldritch light flashed from it. Jaerd expected it to blind him, but when the flash receded, his eyes worked as well as before. That did not appear to be the same case with the orcs, who suddenly fumbled about, some stabbing their compatriots in blindness.

Magus Britt gave the dwarf a quizzical look. “Fire and Earth?”

The dwarf mage nodded. “The Earth focuses the light of Fire on each target specifically.”

“Never mind theory!” Boris gripped his sword. “Cover us!”

Jaerd followed the earl into the melee. He tried to grab one of the blinded orcs, but several more charged in, forcing him to take the defensive. He parried and gave ground, conscious of the fact that he wore no armor. All fear was driven from his mind as he slipped into rhythm of battle. He focused on one assailant, hoping to gain a quick advantage, when another slipped through his left guard. A burning slice of pain shot up his thigh. Jaerd winced, his free hand dropping to the wound, while the other knocked away the orc’s second blow.

“Damn you!” Jaerd spat as he thrust through a hole in the orc’s guard, skewering his liver. Thick, crimson blood clung to Shar’leen when he pulled it free. The warrior’s death did not ease the sting in his leg.

Lightning shot out from Magus Britt and coruscated across an attacker’s skin. It dropped to the floor, eyes and hair smoking. Darve Northtower ran another orc through. Jaerd fell back behind the dwarf, gripping his wound and cursing.

Another arrow flew above Jaerd’s head. He turned to see Hall deal one last assailant a massive deathblow. A dozen orcs twitched in a pile, strewn from the door almost to the bar. Brawny still barked outside, occasionally pausing to crash against the stable door.

“Damn!” Earl Boris turned a corpse over to see lifeless maroon eyes. “I wanted one alive.”

Jaerd limped to the bar. Mistress Lilly huddled in the corner, eyes wide in fear, a bottle of wine held in her hand like a cudgel.

“Where’s Tallen?” He stumbled behind the bar, his foot slipping in the blood that ran down his leg. Lilly looked at him, a stupefied expression on her face.
She’s useless.
He grimaced, and threw open the kitchen door. The room stood empty, the rear door resting ajar. He hobbled back to the common room. “Has anyone—”

A thunderous clap ripped through the inn. Several windows shattered. Magus Britt fell hard on his rump, while Yrik collapsed, unmoving.

The sky was clear tonight.

Jaerd looked to Magus Britt, who held his head in pain. “Tallen?”

The Battlemage nodded, his face bleak. He pointed toward the front door, in the direction of the docks, gesturing madly.

“Let’s go.” Earl Boris darted out the door, a limping Sergeant Hall on his heels.

Darve Northtower and Marrax Redarm followed close behind him. Bran nursed both Yrik and Brax, who stared numbly at the orc knife protruding from his upper arm. Tilli offered her shoulder to help Jaerd. The bleeding appeared to have slowed in his thigh. He let go of the wound, placing his hand on Tilli’s sturdy, yet feminine shoulder.

“Ready?” she whispered.

“Yep.”

Stooping, he let her take some of his weight, and they made their way out to the street. The others ran a few dozen yards ahead. The shatter of breaking wood was followed closely by Brawny darting across the yard at full stride to chase after the soldiers. A few of the bravest citizens of Bridgedale stepped outside their doors, eyes blinking in surprise and alarm. Three torch-bearing watchmen ran toward Lilly’s Pad, a pale green bridge stitched upon their brown tabards.

Jaerd tried to move faster, Tilli helping as much as she could. No sounds of battle came to his ears. Boris and the dwarves gathered not far from the docks around a dark, smoking mass. The stench hit Jaerd’s nose when he approached the first pile, and his stomach turned. Pieces of glowing, slagged metal protruded from piles of ash and charred bone.

Boris kicked the massive chunk of char in the center. A huge, blackened tooth clattered across the cobblestone. Brawny crept forward, his teeth bared and a low growl in his throat. He sniffed the tooth tentatively, then snorted and backed away, his hackles thick on his shoulders.

“This had to be a troll.” Boris rubbed his dimpled chin. “Nothing else has teeth like that.”

Hall leaned on the broken bedpost, still clasped in his hand and covered with gore. “A troll, sir? This deep within the kingdom?” He patted Brawny’s forehead as he bent over and picked up the tooth, juggling it in his hand as if it were still hot. “Down the Snowbourne, do you think?”

Pointing with his silvery longsword, Boris frowned at the plank boats tied up along the wharf. “It looks so.” He walked over to the nearest and reached down to pull a heavy, black tarp up from its bottom. “Hidden in the night.” The earl’s brow furrowed and he knelt down.

Jaerd limped closer. “What is it, My Lord?”

Boris stretched out his hand, a look of deep concern in his eyes. A familiar dagger rested in it. A few drops of blood lay splattered about where the weapon had fallen. Suffocating panic welled up in Jaerd’s chest.

“The dagger I gave Tallen,” he whispered, taking it in his free hand. With the aid of his training, as well as his own natural willpower, he forced the anxiety down. He twisted it within his heart and forged it into resolve. “Do you think he drowned? He was a very strong swimmer.”

Leaning closer to the wharf’s edge, the earl reached downward, coming up with a piece of wet rope. “It’s the same as the line that ties up those three boats.” He ran his finger along the frayed edge. “But it’s been freshly cut.” Boris pulled the other end where it tied to a cleat. “Another boat was docked here.”

Jaerd moved toward one of the remaining orc boats and tried to swing his leg over the gunwale. A hiss of pain escaped his lips as his wounded muscle failed to cooperate. Tilli stumbled under his shifted weight, but they did not fall.

“Damn them to the Fires.” Jaerd slammed his fist against the boat. “We must go after them. We can’t let them have Tallen.”

“Oh, they’ve been damned to the Fires, alright.” Magus Britt’s voice barked from behind Jaerd. “Tallen’s Fire.”

Jaerd turned his head to see the mage stumbling around the burned corpses, some more recognizable as such now that he knew what they were.

“I don’t think one of them survived.” Magus Britt scanned the destruction, fists on hips. “And if I read the resonance right, and I usually do, it was Tallen and Maddi alone in that boat.”

About to protest, Jaerd noticed the crowd gathering near the scattered ash piles, frightened faces curled in revulsion. One of the watchmen leaned close, a curious expression on his face. He jumped back with a shout when several bones settled at his touch. More men in brown tabards ran into the square.

“We need to deal with this.” Jaerd nodded his head, the panic gone. “Then we can follow them.” He looked to Magus Britt, who still rubbed his temples. “You can track him, right?”

The graying mage nodded his head, producing another wince. “I can find him.” He knelt down next to one of the ash piles closest to the big one. He reached into it with a knife, digging around for a few moments. Jaerd frowned in distaste.

“Aha!” Magus Britt knocked a small, rounded stone free from the smoking ash and picked it up with his cloak. “Another tracing stone. I’ve had a chance to study the other one since Gavanor. They are definitely tuned to your brother.” Magus Britt lifted his eyes, a small grin creeping onto his face. “I think I could use this to walk right up to him in a crowd of thousands.”

“You can use them?” Earl Boris lifted an eyebrow. “You never told me that.”

Tucking the smooth stone into a pouch, Magus Britt shrugged. “I just discovered it for myself, and only the presence of this second stone confirmed it for me.”

A murmur began to pass through the mustering crowd as a second watchman pulled a fanged jawbone from an ash pile. Enough veterans lived in Bridgedale for Jaerd to pick the word “orc” out from among the hushed voices.

Magus Britt looked at Boris and thumbed over his shoulder. “You should probably see to that mess, and quit berating me.”

The earl frowned, but said nothing as he marched toward the citizens. For the first time Jaerd realized he wore his travelling leathers and blue tunic. There was a black falcon stitched out upon the upper breast, usually hidden by his cloak. The three stars on his collar and the silver stitching of a Bluecloak officer glittered in the assembled torchlight.

The man must sleep in his uniform.
Jaerd looked down at the ugly wound on his thigh.
Perhaps that’s not such a bad idea.

Marrax Redarm stepped over and offered Jaerd his shoulder, relieving a thankful Tilli of her burden. “Lean on me, you big malook.”

The earl placed his sword point down on the cobblestones. “People of Bridgedale, I will not lie to you. These were orcs infiltrated by foul means within the borders of our kingdom.” The murmurs turned to shouts. Several people looked about wildly as if dark figures with blood-red eyes might leap out upon them from the shadows.

“But know this.” Boris swung his sword upward, brandishing it out before him. “We have wiped out this company, and now we know they are here.” He nodded with confidence at the people. “More Bluecloaks will gather.” He slapped a brown-coated watchman on the back. “The men of your city will be ready and redoubled.” The earl pointed out toward the crowd. “Some of you will perhaps choose this moment to stand up and join your Baron’s guard. Take the responsibility upon yourselves to stand a watch.” He nodded to them again. “Be ready, but be brave. A time of change comes upon our land.”