A Balance Broken (Dragonsoul Saga) (51 page)

The diamond drew in Tallen’s perception, its crystal clarity catching light in every facet. He felt what Dorias described, but not just Psoul. The whole amulet radiated with all the Aspects of magic.

He held out a hand in refusal. “I cannot take this. It is too powerful and precious.”

“You must.” Dorias folded it into his hand. “You are the only man I have ever met who can put it to its full use. I promise I will help you discover its secrets.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “It’s value is immeasurable. Keep it hidden.”

Tallen clenched his hand around the medallion. It felt warm in his palm. He tucked it away in his pocket.

The wizard tapped a thoughtful finger against his bare upper lip. “As for our actions, not retreating is the first step. I say we head out to meet up with Boris at Highspur. He is one to…”

The door to the library opened with a rush of air. Within the doorframe stood Varana Calais, her face contorted from its normal, peaceful beauty into a snarl of anger. The men rose.

“You have found works in my father’s own hand and you did not tell me?” She stormed over to the table Dorias used.

Her anger gone in a flash, she danced her fingers lovingly over the script. A luminosity sparkled in her gaze that Tallen had never noticed before. “I have not seen his script in years. I remember it as if I were a girl again.”

Dorias spoke in a soft tone. “I did not know as much when we came to you this morning. If I had, I would not have hidden it.”

Varana’s face reclaimed some of its earlier glare. “So you say.”

The wizard bowed his head. “Please, Varana. On the memory of the friendship we once shared, I would not have hidden your father’s works from you.” He lifted his eyes and narrowed his gaze. “Which begs the question, who hid them in the first place?”

The elf sorceress returned her eyes to the scrolls. She examined each one in turn. “I would chance that it was my father himself. These others are written by mages close to him at the time of the Cataclysm, men who came with our people to Valen.” Varana paused a moment on one page in particular. “All of whom are long passed, as producing children was the first goal of those who survived.”

Tomas leaned in to get a better look. “Why would King Leolan have hidden these scrolls?”

Varana continued to read the parchments as she spoke. “My father visited the Isle many times before he died. The Viridian Stone was almost certainly his. At the time, mages who still followed the cult of Galdreth sought to resurrect their master. These scrolls point to a way to do just that.” She moved one parchment to scan another. “Undoubtedly, my father sought to keep these works from their hands.” Varana offered the slightest of smiles to Dorias. “No wizard in his right mind would ever willingly approach a Viridian Stone, especially without knowing what it protected.”

Dorias shrugged. “So you understand now what is happening to Tallen? Why he is not safe here?”

Straightening from her examination of the documents, Varana stared pointedly at Dorias. “The Isle is as safe as anywhere in this world. Tallen is surrounded by mages, and now we know what to watch for.” An icy glaze covered her features. “And he would be close enough to handle should the Dragonsoul take him.”

Rising to his full height, Dorias wrapped his cloak about himself and folded his arms beneath it. “Tomas and I have taken an oath to protect this young man. His powers have grown so that he can also protect himself, Viridian Stones notwithstanding.” He leaned toward her. “We can no longer hide from this challenge. We must face it.”

Varana laughed. The darkness tinting it changed the entire demeanor of her crystalline voice. “That is always your counsel, Ravenhawke.”

Tomas bowed his head. “It is counsel that usually rings true, My Lady.”

Dorias did not soften his tone. “I will brook no harm to the lad. Killing him would not stop Galdreth. It would simply seek another vessel, even if it were one less powerful.” He eyed Tomas. “I would hazard a guess that Talented healers could also suffice the Dragonsoul’s purpose if necessary, though I cannot say if it knows that.” He looked back to Varana. “Besides, we need the boy. His power could be a mighty weapon against the enemy.”

The long white hair hung still on Varana’s shoulders. She stared at Dorias, her violet eyes just as unmoving. A beam of sunlight cut through the library window, setting her flaxen hair aglow. She folded her fine fingers together.

“Tell me, Tallen.” Her voice remained even as she shifted her amaranthine gaze upon him. “You know what we have to offer you here, yet you are still a free person. I, too, care for your well-being. What would be your choice?”

Tallen dropped to one knee. “Lady Varana, you have taught me more than anyone about my power. You are a gracious lady, and I would hope to someday count you among my friends.” He lifted his gaze to meet hers evenly. “I would take a hand in my destiny, rather than hide from it. This power will not leave me be. It has chased me a thousand miles from my home. It has killed and harmed those that I love.”

Varana frowned. “I do not think you understand the rarity of your power, young man. For near a thousand years I have trained mages upon this Isle. Few have walked into my presence radiating your strength. I also do not think you understand that you have only waded into the tidal pools of your power. The great sea that awaits you might well be beyond your control.”

Tallen remained focused on her, willing his certainty to leap across the gap between their eyes. “I will not leave Dorias’ side.” He noticed the wince on the wizard’s lips from the corner of his eye.

“Ha!” Varana jerked her head. “As if that were a reason for me to agree.”

Tallen spread his hands before her. “I can only do what I can, My Lady. This power intends to have me, and it has gotten closer each time it has tried. If Tomas and Dorias plan on heading west to face it, then I will go with them.” He looked up to meet her frown. “I will be safest on the move.”

His bearded chin held in his hand, Tomas nodded. “That is true, in my opinion.”

Varana frowned.

“I will teach him.” Dorias clasped his hands together, pleading with her. “He is a Dreamer above all of his other powers – one greater even than I. That is where he needs the most guidance.”

Varana shook her head. “You Dreamers are always a great pain. Caladrius was one of the worst.” She chuckled. “You, Dorias, are very close.” Varana turned to Tallen. A severe expression masked her features. “If you return with the spirit of a Dragonsoul imbedded in your mind, young man, know that I will do all I can to destroy you.”

Tallen bowed his head. “And if I return victorious?”

She laughed again, this time laced with mirth. “You humans are ever hopeful. It must be a result of your short, bright lives.” Varana looked at Dorias. “You have taken many things from this Isle, Ravenhawke. I hope this adventure turns out better than the last.”

She returned the full force of her gaze on Tallen. For a moment he felt her fear, her pride, and her hope. She reached out a hand and brushed cool fingers against his cheek. “Go. Find your destiny, young man. May it be merciful to you…and to the rest of us.”

The nights did pass in lonely fear,

And the days in stabs of terror.

Men wondered if their choice to fight

Had been made in grievous error.

—The Stand of Eron’s Rock, Sixth Verse

C
aptain Jaerd Westar stood upon the gatehouse battlement, watching the orcish camp in the distance. The mist of his breath hung in front of his face, before being ripped away by the dry, cool breeze. The enemy swarmed like ants upon their hill, but none made the long, deadly approach up the defile to the ruined pile of stone that was once Jaerd’s command.

Maester Darve Northtower slapped his hand upon the stone parapet. “They have tried to assault us a dozen times – they have no weapons that can take this fortress. All we have to do is outlast them.” He stroked his long, gray-streaked beard. “We stripped the surrounding land bare before they came. If they did not bring their own food with them, they are doomed.”

Bran Northtower and his twin Brax stood at their uncle’s shoulder. Bran nodded his head at Darve’s statement. “They are also living in their own crap. That cannot be healthy, even for an orc.”

The elder dwarf laughed. His dark eyes, as rare among dwarves as the sword over his shoulder, sparkled in the midmorning sun. “Indeed, my nephew.” He nodded at Jaerd. “I fought alongside the Bluecloaks at the siege of Shazrel. That was in the desert.” Darve chuckled. “Dry crap is much easier to deal with than wet crap.”

Clutching his sides, Bran broke into peals of laughter. Jaerd could not help but join him with a smile. Once the dwarf regained his breath, he wiped a happy tear from his eye. “Have they even made it past the front wall since the good captain here blew it up?”

His smile fading, Jaerd looked down upon the destruction he had wrought. The foundations stood, unblemished by the explosions. The stones of the wall itself were still stacked in a few places. However, other sections had huge chunks ripped away, as if a giant had taken great bites out of it. The gatehouse lay there, little more than a pile of tumbled stone. Both towers had crumbled completely. The iron gates and portcullis stuck out at random angles.

The edges of Jaerd’s lips dipped even farther, and his stomach twisted in knots when he focused on the dark crimson remains of hundreds of orcs scattered through the wreckage. Though their bodies were half-frozen, the stench assailed his nostrils, even at this height above the field.
It would be the stench of thousands if the orcs didn’t risk their lives to recover their comrades’ bodies.
Curling his lips into a snarl, Jaerd pointed at the gatehouse. “They held that pile for a few minutes yesterday. That’s about it. I counted over three hundred that we killed in the process.”

Bran laughed again, but Darve sensed Jaerd’s mood. Brax, who had remained stoic all morning, shook his head. “Any fortress can be broken.” He turned and walked away, fists clenched at his sides.

His more cheery brother nudged Jaerd’s ribs. “Don’t mind him. He tends toward dark moods. He’s been that way ever since he was a child.” Bran chuckled and followed Brax’s steps. “A good punch in the arm will solve this one.”

Jaerd twisted his gaze back to the shattered wall. Darve stood at his shoulder, stout and still. Jaerd was glad for the company, but grateful that the dwarf chose to keep silent.

“It haunts me, Maester Northtower. The destruction I have dealt.”

The old dwarf nodded, his eyes fixed upon the same scattered carnage. “Aye, lad. It always haunts the best of us. But you must remember that we would not live today if you had not done what was required.” He clapped Jaerd’s arm. “Always remember those you are here to protect. That’s what I do. That’s what I did when I served here long before you were born. Remember those you love who stand far behind you.” He swung his free hand out at the orc camp. “Would you rather that horde found them?”

Jaerd laid his hand upon the battlement, the rough texture of granite cool under his fingertips. It offered the same strength he remembered from the obliterated front wall, yet more ancient, more reassuring.

“Over seven thousand men – Humans, Dwarves, and Elves – can be upon this wall in an instant.” Darve’s voice remained soft, lilting. “Our defensive spread is less than a third of what you had out there, and we are twice as high above them.”

Squeezing his hand into a fist, Jaerd gritted his teeth. “We will hold.”

Darve patted his arm again. “We will hold.”

T
apping the glowglobe twice, Khalem Shadar brightened it to illuminate the hewn stone cavern of the storeroom. Jaerd and Boris both stared in wonder at the wide expanse. A dozen piles of barley grain spread out before them, each three times as tall as a man. A gray cat hopped out from between the piles, curling her tail around Khalem’s legs. He clucked his tongue, and she loped over to Boris, who reached down to scratch her ears.

“We have two more such rooms full of wheat.” Khalem Shadar tapped the other side of the globe to dim it one shade. “Three more hold hay and other animal fodder.”

Boris cradled his dimpled chin with one hand. “How do you keep it from spoiling?”

Khalem pointed to the cat. She leaped upon a barrel and proceeded to clean her paws. “Well, there are our friends down here, who watch out for many things. The rest the mages keep an eye upon.” The Hadoner lifted a sharp, black eyebrow. “Especially Magus Britt. He checks on the food stores regularly, though I am not certain whether he or the pests would consume more.”

Boris laughed. Jaerd smiled, but his mind concentrated on the food stores.
How long will this last seven thousand men?

“And we have dozens of dairy animals, both goats and a few cows.” Khalem sighed. “They go through fodder fast when we cannot let them graze in the grasslands. Luckily most of the garrison horses were in herd out upon the Norvus plain when the enemy arrived.”

Boris nodded his head. “Slaughter the dairy animals for food after your next fodder storeroom empties. Keep the rest for the horses we have.” He made a wretched face. “I hope it does not come to this, but begin slaughtering the horses when only one storeroom remains.” The earl held up a warning finger. “Do not slaughter mine.”

Khalem smiled. “We are months away from that, My Lord. Even the dispatch riders I sent to Hadon could reach the Empire and return with an army of spears to aid us by then.”

Boris shook the Hadoner’s hand. “Your men will be welcome, but let us hope Gavanor and Daynon can answer before then.”

Jaerd looked one last time at the barley, before Khalem again dimmed the glowglobe. They walked back up the crate and barrel stacked passageway leading to the stable level. “So you say that water is no problem either.”

Nodding his head in the yellow light, Khalem pointed to a cross tunnel. “That leads to the cistern. Deep springs and mountain rains feed it. It could sustain this garrison for an elf’s lifetime and is well beyond our enemy’s reach.”

“I have also seen the meat stores,” Boris said as they walked, the cat trailing not far behind. “Your hunters have been busy. I believe we could eat for a week and not eat the same animal twice.” He narrowed his gaze at Khalem. “What about vegetables? Elves do not live so well as Dwarves and Humans on bread and meat alone.”

Khalem twirled his fine beard. “I have spoken with Lord Gael at length about this. We have a large store of apples and pears from the orchards along the riverbanks. Magus Britt has seen to it that they are kept in tight spells of preservation.” He smiled. “We also took your advice and began a vegetable garden in terraced steps up the mountain. Our first harvest has been secured by the mages as well.”

The earl returned the smile. “Something I learned about while visiting your people.”

The smile on Khalem’s face faded. “I suggested as much to the Earl Farseer two years ago when I arrived.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Earl Brandon did not think it such a logical idea when it came from my mouth.”

At the entrance, the cat abandoned them, at last convinced they carried no treats. Jaerd trudged along behind the earl, and Khalem kept pace. Only when they passed the mess level did Boris speak. “Aid from Gavanor should arrive within a month, six weeks at latest, depending on how long it takes to muster a sufficient force.”

Jaerd paused. The earl’s troubled face sent anxious fingers up his back. “Then our stores should be no problem.”

“No.” Boris wrinkled his eyes in uncertainty. “Stores are not our problem.”

“Then what is, My Lord?”

Earl Boris shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Looking to Khalem, who shrugged, Jaerd searched for a change of subject. “It is two days until Midwinter.”

The earl raised a thick, dark eyebrow. “And?”

“And we were thinking that it might be an opportune time to rid ourselves of most of the hog stock.” Jaerd gave the quartermaster a significant look.

“Ah, yes, My Lord Earl.” The Hadoner shifted his sword belt. “Fresh roasted pork for weary defenders to celebrate the turn of the season. The days will at last begin to lengthen again. It will remind the men that all dark times must end.”

Searching for further arguments, Jaerd lifted his hands. “And it will fill the garrison’s bellies with hot fat to ready them for the cold nights still ahead. Plus the pigs eat a great deal of fodder without anything but their meat to offer in return.”

Folding his cloak behind his back, the earl came to a stop, his eyes fixed on the entrance to the top level carved out of the mountain. Jaerd had yet to enter the temple dedicated to all five Aspects and the Balance. Boris nodded. “Yes. That sounds good. We will also have a service – not mandatory, but recommended.” He passed his gaze between Jaerd and Khalem. “Then a feast.”

J
aerd stood behind a group of officers, waiting for Boris to begin. He looked about the temple, his eyes drifting over the five walls. Artisans had carved representations of each of the magical Aspects upon them. Blue-painted, wavy lines marked Water. In the middle of the room stood a tall pedestal, on which rested the split, pearl and onyx circle of the Balance.

Jaerd gazed at the graceful waves of Water
. The Westars keep true to Water, while most folk in Dadric pray to the Balance – most of the entire kingdom, I suppose. I guess we’re just old fashioned.

Over a hundred noblemen, officers, and sergeants crowded within the pentagonal, carved space. More than a thousand enlisted men of all three races stood upon the shoulders and terraces of Highspur. The wall of the Psoul Aspect, directly across from the entrance, stood at Jaerd’s back. He could almost reach out and touch the silver-painted ankh carved into it.

Pervading everything, however, was the distant, herb-crusted aroma of roasting pork. More than one stomach growled as they waited for the service to begin.

Darting his eyes about the room, Jaerd noticed Lord Gael standing close to Khalem Shadar. The elf’s one eye focused on Earl Boris. Lord Marshal Magdon leaned on a cane close by. Tilli Broadoak hovered in another corner, the only dwarf within the temple. Even Dawne, wrapped in her dark cloak, stood just a few yards away.

I will help her maintain her ruse…for now. I suppose I’m the only one who would care anyway.