The Balborite Curse (Book 4) (9 page)

“Druknor wasn’t pleased when we closed down his labor camps,” said Tallin. “I was the one who notified him of the order. Maybe it’s petty revenge.”

“Maybe,” she admitted. “When the king signed the order to close the labor camps permanently, Druknor grumbled a bit, but the camps closed without incident. Druknor even sent some of his own men to help clean up after the closure. Druknor never complained—not formally, anyway. Remember, Druknor’s labor camps weren’t illegal—even the king sent prisoners there to work.”

“Perhaps Druknor isn’t involved at all,” said Tallin. “Maybe the prisoner is lying—about everything. Beyond the prisoner’s confession, we don’t have any hard evidence linking Druknor to the Balborites, or even to the smuggling. It’s all circumstantial.”

“But then how do you explain the blood raven? Those birds are native to Balbor; they aren’t seen on the mainland unless they’re delivering messages for the priests.”

“That’s true,” Tallin agreed. “Blood ravens are only used by the Balborites. I’ve never seen one on the mainland unless there also happened to be an assassin nearby—usually trying to kill me.”

“I spoke with Druknor last spring when I visited Miklagard. He was there, petitioning the High Council about some trivial issue—logging on his territory or something like that. He was polite but rather crude. I thought him a bit odd, but he seemed harmless enough. To be honest, I found him a bit slow. Maybe it was all an act.”

“He’s smarter than we realized, apparently. Look, Druknor dabbled in smuggled merchandise, but so do half the other magistrates in the north. A little smuggling really doesn’t surprise me—but secret alliances with Balbor? Slave trading? Murder for hire?” said Tallin. “It sounds unbelievable. How did we miss all this?”

Sela was quick to respond. “It's unfortunate, but we can't change that now. We have to deal with the problem. I don’t know how all the pieces all fit together—there’s no clear pattern yet. Once we find out who’s behind all this, we will have a better idea of what’s going on. We should start looking in the north. The scroll was real; I know that for sure. It sounds silly, but it was the quality of the writing that convinced me—it was too
sloppy
to be a fake. The glamour was remedial, at best. The runes were barely legible. A first-year mage would have done a better job. The message I intercepted was written by a spellcaster with no formal training, and it was a response to an earlier message. Of this, I
’m certain.”

Tallin sighed. “No Balborite priest would ever transcribe a messy scroll. Druknor doesn’t have any powers, but he has enough money to afford a personal spellcaster. Plenty of low-level mages are peddling their services these days. You can thank the Shadow Grid for that—their guilds accept any mageborn, no matter how marginal their powers, and take a cut of the profits in exchange for training. Even so… it’s unlikely the Balborites would form an alliance with Druknor.”

“What other explanation could there possibly be? For whatever reason, the Balborites have allied themselves with Druknor. Now we need to find out why.”

Tallin’s expression turned dark. “This is our fault, Sela. If all this information is true, we should have taken care of Druknor long ago.”

Sela considered for a moment. “There’s no sense in arguing over what we should have done.”

“What should we do now? Even if Druknor is involved in this treachery, I’m not convinced that he’s smart enough to be the mastermind.”

“You’re probably right. Druknor’s the key—he’s merely a puppet in this stage play, not the puppeteer. I need to investigate this further,” said Sela. “I have friends on the High Council in Miklagard. I’ll contact them and do some digging. I need to find out Druknor’s connection to Balbor. As for you and Duskeye—I want both of you to leave the Death Sands until I give notice for you to return.”

“How long should I remain outside the desert?” asked Tallin, somewhat surprised. “I know almost nothing of the countryside.” He rarely traveled outside the desert, except on official missions. The desert had been his home for decades.

Sela bowed her head briefly. “You cannot return until I find out why Druknor is targeting you and Duskeye specifically.”

“But I could help you. I could interrogate people—search for clues.”

“I’m concerned for your safety here. You must leave Parthos, especially since we cannot even trust our cathedral priests!”

Tallin tightened his lips. “I want to stay and help.”

She caught something defensive in his tone. “Do not question my authority, Tallin. It’s too risky for you to remain in the city. I’m your leader, and you shall obey my orders. There’s probably an assassin in Parthos already, just waiting for an opportunity to kill you. I’ll not have your death on my conscience.”

"But how will you protect the city by yourself?” Tallin persisted.

“I’m totally capable of protecting this city by myself—without your help,” she said firmly. Her eyes were flinty and proud. “Look, let me find out who’s trying to kill you. It’s my responsibility to keep all the dragon riders safe.”

He gazed at the crisscross of faint scars on her cheeks and remembered that like him she bore the evidence of countless battles. The scars had faded with time, but they would always be there—a lingering reminder of what she had endured. Tallin lowered his eyes. Sela was right—she was capable of protecting this city on her own, as she had for years. During the Dragon Wars, her friends and family were slaughtered, but she continued to fight bravely, inspiring all those around her. I am a fool, he thought to himself. For years, Sela protected this desert without my help. Who am I to question her judgment?

“Fine. I’ll go.” Tallin capitulated, and Sela seemed pleased. “Should I fly to Mount Velik, then? I could try negotiating another truce between the dwarves. The peace talks between the clans are stalled again.”

“No, don’t go to Mount Velik,” she responded. “Trying to broker peace between the dwarf clans is a waste of time—you’ve tried to help them before, to no avail. Perhaps it would be best for you to go south. You can go to Hwīt Rock to rescue Endrell’s family.”

“I thought you said Endrell’s family was dead.”

“They probably are… but I made a promise to that poor wretch, and I’m a woman of my word. Go to Hwīt Rock and see if you can find them. Offer them safe passage.”

“Assuming they’re still alive, should I bring them to Parthos?”

“No, you can’t bring them back to the desert. Druknor will be expecting that. The Shadow Grid will shelter them for us.”

Tallin frowned. “The Shadow Grid, eh? I don’t fancy having to seek favors from them.”

The Shadow Grid, a loose society of mageborns, had rebuilt its ranks after the war. There was a guild chapter in every major city, and freemages roamed the countryside selling questionable potions, honey traps, and other spells. Grid spellcasters usually lacked formal training, and the guilds rejected any governance from the Miklagard council. They were starting to become a problem.

Sela nodded her understanding. “I’m not fond of the Grid, either, but Falenrith owes me a good turn. He’s the guildmaster in the south, and despite any difficulties we’ve had with his spellcasters, Falenrith himself is an honorable man.” Sela knew that the Shadow Grid would eventually cause problems for the dragon riders, but for now, she would use her guild connections to their advantage.

“I haven’t been past the Elburgian Mountains in years. Since I’m going to Hwīt Rock, I may as well visit Chua and Starclaw, since they live nearby.”

“That’s a good idea. I haven’t spoken with Chua in ages. He has the gift of sight, so perhaps he’ll offer you a divination on how we should deal with Druknor.”

“All right, Duskeye and I will leave tonight.” Almost as an afterthought, Tallin asked, “Shall I bring you anything from the south?”

Sela was taken aback by the request.
“Well, sure… on your way back, pick a few of those giant cactus flowers for me, if they’re still in bloom when you return. The large purple ones only grow in the south. I used to gather them for my chambers, and I miss the perfume of those desert blooms.” Tallin glanced over at her, thinking that perhaps she might be jesting with such a frivolous request, but she was not.

Sela stepped back from the wall and tripped on the cobblestones, still slippery from the previous night’s rain. Tallin grabbed her arm to steady her. Sela lifted her head and their eyes met. Despite her scars, Sela was still a very attractive woman, and the magic that bound her to Brinsop kept her looking young. The years had not touched her.

Their brief contact made his heart pound. He suppressed the urge to tuck a loose strand of her chestnut hair behind her ear.

Sela felt the heat of Tallin’s hands, and her breath caught in her throat. Then it came—a blush, and her face grew hot. She wanted to look away, but she felt transfixed. It had been years since she had known the touch of a man, and a sudden stab of longing came to her unbidden. Tallin leaned his head down but heard a sound at the doorway and pulled away.

“Good day sir. Your dragon has been fed and groomed as you wished,” said the stable manager, “and your saddlebags have been stocked with provisions for your journey.”

Tallin nodded at him. “Thank you, Jenebran.” He dismissed the man with a wave of his hand.

Sela pulled her arm away abruptly, unable to bear his touch another instant. She was shaking with the rush of emotion. “I should go,” she said breathlessly. Then she turned and fled, the heels of her boots clicking over the stone floor. She left Tallin alone on the rooftop, leaving him to stare after her in shock.

***

Hours later, Tallin and Duskeye met in his private chambers to prepare for the long journey. Tallin put his unease to the back of his mind and finished packing his belongings, intent on leaving Parthos before nightfall. He tightened the straps on Duskeye’s new saddle, which was larger and designed for long distance travel.

"Ouch!"
said Duskeye, squirming and scratching at the straps. "
Have a care, Tallin! That iron frame is biting into my side."

“Sorry, chum,” said Tallin. “This saddle is heavier than your usual one. I need to make sure the straps are secure, otherwise I might go tumbling down onto the dunes, and you’ll be searching for a new partner.”

As they were getting ready to leave, Sela entered his room carrying a tray of honeyed seedcakes. “Here, put these in your bags. They’re fresh from the palace bakery.” Her expression was cool, her face unreadable.

“Thank you,” he said, with a slight nod. He cleared his throat and looked out the window briefly before meeting her eyes again. “When shall the other dragon riders return?”

“I’ve called them all back. Elias and Nydeired should arrive in a few days. Galti and Holf are in Redmoor, visiting their grandfather. They will take longer to return. Elias has been working in Highmill since last summer, helping the workers in the copper mines.”

Tallin remembered his old friend—since becoming a dragon rider five years ago, Elias had matured into a powerful spellcaster, choosing to focus almost exclusively on the healing arts. It was an unusual choice for a male spellcaster, but he was now the most sought-after healer on the continent. “It’s his nature. He’d turn down the king himself in order to continue working with the poor. ”

“Elias prefers hopeless causes,” she said. “He insisted on this assignment, you know. While I respect his motives, I question his judgment—he has noble intentions, but his gifts are being wasted. Elias spends his days and nights healing diseased lungs and shattered bones, only to see the same men return to the copper mines the next day. It’s an endless cycle. He knows as well as everybody else that those mines are a death trap. But you know how stubborn he is. He could travel around healing wealthy nobles, but that’s not his style. ”

"Wealth and prestige don’t interest him."

"I know." She lifted her hands in exasperation. “I just wish he’d put his gifts to better use! Did you know that he was ambushed by a pack of orcs last winter? They trapped him, tried to kill Nydeired, and threatened to skin him alive. Elias defeated them in battle and then healed their injuries before letting them go.”

Tallin knew the story, which had become a bit of a legend. “You know… I could stay until Elias gets here.” The shadows deepened on his face.

“I appreciate the offer, but that won’t be necessary.” Tallin opened his mouth to protest, but Sela held her hand up. “
Stop
—
I don
’t want to hear another word. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“All right, then,” Tallin said. He let the matter drop. “Contact me if you need anything.”

“I will. May Baghra guide your flight path.” Sela reached up and scratched the dragon’s soft underbelly. He purred softly. “Take care of him for me, Duskeye. I know how much Tallin likes to get into trouble.”

"I promise, rider-friend,"
said Duskeye, nuzzling Sela with his snout.

“I’ll contact you when I cross the southern border,” said Tallin, mounting the saddle. He checked his water supply one last time and tapped Duskeye on the shoulder. “Let’s go, Duskeye.” The dragon spread his cobalt wings and took flight, exiting from the large open window in the room.

With a mixture of worry and relief, Sela watched Tallin leave, gazing ahead until his silhouette disappeared on the horizon. She glanced over at his worktable, and saw that he had finished the lion carving. She picked it up and traced it with her thumb, as she had before. Tallin had rubbed it with oil. The surface gleamed—it was smooth and beautifully polished, like carved. The little sculpture reminded her of him.
I need to stop thinking of him this way,
she told herself firmly. She set it down with a trembling hand and left the room.