A Balance Broken (Dragonsoul Saga) (53 page)

“When the winds of Chaos blow, all lands feel their wrath.”

— Caladrius Dreamwalker

E
lyl Falana squinted against the glint of the setting sun where it peeked through the emerald leaves. His arms strained against his bow, drawn to full. The steel head of the nocked arrow lined with the heart of the doe. He held his breath.
May the Spirits of Air return your psahn in the next generation of your kind.

A sudden rustle in the trees spooked the doe, whose head lifted only a fraction of a second before she darted off into the underbrush, white tail flashing. Elyl cursed and relaxed his bow. A large horse crashed into the clearing beneath his perch, its dark haired rider haunting Elyl with his few glimpsed memories of his father.

“I know you are here, brother.” The rider shouted, dancing his black-fetlocked horse in a circle. “Mother calls us in. She wants you to take command of the rangers again.”

His movements full of grace, Elyl swung down from the tree, landing lightly next to his brother’s horse. “So…Celedra has decided to return to the world?”

Garon shook his head, the dark locks separating around his pointed ears. “No. Our people will stay within the Blue Mountains, as we always have. Only we will set stronger guard upon the borders.” He frowned at Elyl, his cobalt eyes almost glowing in the dusk light. “We must keep the Chaos in the outlands at bay.”

“Ha!” Elyl shook his head as he took his brother’s proffered hand. He leaped up behind Garon onto the horse’s rear haunches. “Such things are not held back by shields and arrows, dear brother. Chaos has its way of seeping through the thinnest of cracks, and hiding from it does us little good.”

Garon said nothing, giving his horse a kick once Elyl had settled in. Elyl clutched his brother’s cloak when the steed leaped forward.

But I have no doubts, hiding is all we will do…

T
ahrad Shannai peeked over the eastern parapet of the Tower of Malad. The sun glittered off the Clarion Ocean. He looked to the north, where, beyond the life giving waters of the Al’ahrad River, the Shining Sands spread like a rippled, golden version of the ocean.
I suppose the sand moves much like the water, only slower.

To the west of the tower, Tahrad saw the great imperial city of Baladesh spreading along the river, set above the green patchwork of farms within the floodplain. The city grew out southward as well, stretching toward the fertile Plain of Moab where the heart of the Empire of Hadon lay.

This is amazing! No wonder the imperial family forbids it to all but their favorite servants. I should find a way to sneak Selina up here.
He cast his eyes about the terrace, scattered with divans and canvas chairs. A small fountain shot up in the center, while a few date and palm trees in large pots and leveled platforms gave shade. Flowers of every conceivable color and shape grew in more pots and hanging containers, giving an element of lush splendor to the desert palace of the emperors. Tahrad breathed in their many scents, reminiscent of sweetness and honey.

A sudden jingle of metal threw Tahrad’s heart into his throat. He leaped behind a pair of tall, potted palms and hid within their fronds, clasping his hands in prayer.
Please, Mistress Krina, see me safely from this tower. I swear I will never walk in forbidden gardens again.

Two men strolled out onto the terrace. One wore the elegant robes of household royalty, the other a simple soldier’s tunic. Tahrad did not recognize the second man, but the markings of armor still creased his clothes. The man in silk with his oily, pointed beard could only be the emperor’s nephew, Prince Faroud.

“I have been waiting for you, Malohm. It is not wise to keep a prince waiting.” He plucked a flower and held it to his sharp nose. “You have made the appropriate payments?”

The soldier bowed his head. “I have all the captains and lieutenants in our purses, and soon I’ll have the boatswains too. Only Prince Sharam’s ship in the flotilla remains untouched.”

Faroud raised a finger. “Just remember, my friend, every man you pay now is another we must dispose of before the end.” He laughed a cruel cackle that echoed over the terrace. “At least my royal cousin’s men will tell no tales from the bottom of the sea.”

Folding his arms, the soldier lifted an eyebrow. “Will that eventually include me, my Prince?”

Laughing again, this time with less rancor, the prince threw his arm about the soldier’s back. “Of course not, my friend. I will need an admiral for my navy when the scepter is mine.” He leaned back and poked the soldier with his finger. “That is – if you remain loyal.” The prince laughed, echoing the cruelty Tahrad had heard before. “I can always hire an assassin for a traitor then kill that assassin too.”

The soldier frowned at the laughter washing over him. “I will remain your eternal servant. I care not who is emperor. I only desire a chance for my revenge.” He ground one fist into the other hand. “Sharam allowed my family to burn at Persus. I will watch his family drown before me.”

When his laughter faded, the prince examined the leaves of a small jasmine bush. “Yes. Too bad about the children, but they stand as much in my way as Sharam does.”

The soldier stood rooted to the ground, his empty gaze focused on the prince. “We shall also have the war with the barbarians in the north. We shall retake what was rightfully ours.” He thumped his chest. “We shall retake our honor.”

The prince waved his hand. “Yes, yes. We will blame Gannon for the deed with claims of magical assault. I will make certain my uncle invades out of revenge. The plump fields of Avaros will once again make the empire rich.”

Dropping to one knee, the soldier lifted his hand. “With the grace of High Madrahn looking upon us, we may even go farther.”

Faroud took the offered hand, lifting the man from his position in the old way of fealty. “Then let us embark upon this voyage together, my friend. And may the treasure at its end be enough to fill both our ships.”

A bee bounced against Tahrad’s neck. He swiped at it in a moment of startled tension, and his hand caught the edge of a palm. It rustled against its neighbor.

The soldier jumped over a low divan and threw the palms aside. Iron-hard fists grabbed Tahrad by the scruff of his neck and drug him out onto the terrace. The graying man held him down, one knee upon his neck. Breath became hard to find. Blackness began to swallow Tahrad’s consciousness.

“Easy, Malohm. My friend, let the boy breathe. He is near to passing out.”

Tahrad bounced back into consciousness, his head throbbing in pain. He blinked to focus his vision upon his captors.

Pushing the larger man aside, the prince smiled at Tahrad in a kind fashion and lifted him to his feet. He clucked at Mahlom’s scowl. “Well, my boy, you truly chose the wrong day to sneak out onto the forbidden terrace.” He brushed Tahrad’s chest and held him up straight, wrapping an arm around Tahrad’s shoulders. The prince walked him toward the door. “You must be certain not to tell anyone of our words. You can make that promise, can’t you?”

Tahrad nodded his head profusely, his quaking hands lifted in praise. “I promise, my holy Prince. I swear by High Madrahn, and the goddess of my mother’s people, Mistress Krina. I will say nothing of what I heard here today.”

The prince looked over his shoulder. “See, Malohm. That did not have to be so hard.” He picked up the speed of his steps. “Now, let us help our young friend down from the tower.”

Missing the doorway into the tower did not surprise Tahrad so much as the speed with which the stone streets rushed to greet him.

L
ord Chancellor Sammin Vyce breathed steadily, his feet stepping in rhythm as he climbed the Paladin’s Spire.
He denies it, but that fat bastard must have a lift in here somewhere. There is no way he makes this climb on those flabby legs.

Once he reached the top landing, at least a hundred yards above the grounds of the Ivory Palace, Sammin paused to calm his breath. He patted his forehead dry with a lavender scented cloth, and then tucked it away up his charcoal sleeve. Pulling the lace of his shirt straight from his jacket cuff, he reached to tap on the carved whitewood door.

“Come in, Sammin, my friend, no need to knock.”

Sammin heard the High Elder’s lips smacking through the door. He pushed it open with a grimace.

The air inside felt sultry, and it smelled of sweat and gamy roast meat. The elder sat on a thickly padded chair, a far-too-thin robe of black and white silk strained around his bulk. A slight sheen of sweat covered his brow. A side door of the chamber closed shut, hiding a soft giggle.

“Welcome, Sammin,” the elder said with a fraudulent smile. “It is so rare I have visitors in my high chambers.” He gestured toward a silver platter set on a side table. A headless, roasted carcass rested upon it, about the size of a small goat. “You should try a taste. It is quite fantastic.” The elder pulled a long strip of meat from the haunch and stuck it in his mouth, before sucking the grease from each finger.

If it will shut him up…it does not smell too bad.
Sammin reached for the meat with pale fingers, his hand halting, frozen in horror.
Those are paws, not hooves!

The elder spread his smug smile even wider. “Sad that so few appreciate a delicacy when it sits before them.” He stripped a long piece from the back. “The hardest part is finding a chef in Daynon who knows how to cook canine properly.”

Refusing to be too startled by the elder’s purposeful show, Sammin plowed on to business. “The papers…you claim to have them?”

Sighing, the elder picked up a small satchel leaning against his chair. “Always so direct, Sammin. You must learn to enjoy the blessings of life, not just its trials.” He peaked into the leather bundle. “The paper is a century old, as is the ink. The beeswax seal is the same as has been used around Lake Iyar for far longer. The monk who wrote it is deaf and mute, and he knows the legal wordings for the time of the Gavanor Rebellion.” The elder handed the satchel to Sammin. “You will find it impeccable.”

Looking at the small sheaf of aged parchment within, Sammin frowned. “It must be, or you had better learn to eat without your head attached to your gut.”

High Elder Varon Hastrian waved a thick hand at Sammin. “Do not fear, my friend. It will pass even the most scrutinous eye.”

Eager to be gone, Sammin folded the flap back over the satchel and tucked it under his arm. “Let us hope so, Elder.” His steps quickened with each one until he was out the door, and it closed behind him. Sammin heard fat fingers snap and another boyish giggle. He descended the steps two at a time.
It will all be worth it when I stand behind a new, more pliant king…