Rise of the Falsemarked (Spies of Dragon and Chalk Book 2)

by Samuel Gately

  “Following the rumors of the escape, the Corvale and Vylass jointly issued a contract on the Prisoner, the richest bounty I’ve ever heard of. I was aware of the contract, as was every Corvale and Vylass, and kept it in mind as I ventured into the Ashlands. It drove me as far east as the S’Rghat Prison, where I hoped to find him. No sign. No one ever saw him again in the east. We only learned that the Prisoner had become Hideon Bray six months ago, when we first saw the marks of a high-ranking NEST.”

  Aaron took a long drink. He had the room locked into the story, which was good. He needed them focused on what he was saying so they didn’t take time to notice what he was leaving out.

  He gestured to the marks which crawled down his forearm, past his rolled shirtsleeve. “These marks are an ancient art, much like an ancient language. The mark masters treat this art like a religion, spending their whole lives devoted to its application. It is the same language among the Corvale and Vylass, just different colors. The tribes themselves are not so different, probably were once one. Now, Corvale work exclusively in black, Vylass in copper. I have some of both, not unusual. The Prisoner’s marks are all copper.

  “Dragons can read the marks. We don’t know how, or why, but presenting them with marks is the key to their loyalty. That’s why the SDC is closed to non-Corvale. They cannot truly be dragonriders unless they’ve earned real marks over many years. That pretty much means our stock of riders is limited to veteran warriors of one of the eastern tribes, either Corvale or Vylass. We know some people have tried to use false marks to convince dragons to follow them. We’d never seen it work. The dragons seem to know which are real and which are fake. They get enraged, kill anyone who presents them with false marks. We’ve asked the mark masters how the dragons know, but they would sooner cut out their tongues than reveal any secrets of their craft.

  “And that was our understanding, that the dragons couldn’t be deceived, that our race was against renegade Corvale, the Vylass, maybe other smaller tribes that followed the same ritual marking, until the rise of the falsemarked. The rise of NEST. They found a new way. Hideon Bray found a shortcut. He must be hiding a qualified mark master somewhere. This mark master, either by force or as a willing participant, is giving the tattoos to the NEST riders. But he is inking all of them with Hideon Bray’s marks, copying Bray’s marks onto the NEST riders. It looks like NEST gives them out based on rank, so the lower level ones get just enough to gain the loyalty of a lesser dragon, maybe Bray’s marks for his first eighteen years. The higher ranks get much more of Bray’s accomplishments on their body. And they get more recognition from the dragons. Once I saw the marks of Mal Bueray, I finally recognized whose marks we were looking at. He was of high enough rank to include some of the Vylass marks that include Vylass kills. Marks unique to Bray.

  “You’ve seen the results. They passed us about eighteen months ago, and our best estimates have them growing at five to six times the rate of the SDC. The falsemarking seems to be working as a model. But Bray isn’t just using the marks to keep the dragons loyal. He’s giving the falsemarked some sort of nonpermanent ink. Their marks are not made to last. They fade over time. This keeps the riders loyal to Bray and to NEST because they know, if they flee with their dragons, the marks will eventually fade and their fraud will be revealed.”

  Aaron leaned back. “So that’s the secret of the falsemarked. And there are a few vulnerabilities in that model. One is the ink. Bray’s mark master is a renegade, which means he doesn’t have access to the guild’s resources. Bray is either having NEST make their own ink or the mark master is making it himself. It might be in short supply. If we can destroy the supply, that slows NEST’s growth. It would also force them to make a lot of personnel changes. If a dragon sees marks fading on its rider, it might realize it’s been fooled. No more ink, then Bray has to get rid of most if not all of the falsemarked. Another vulnerability is the mark master himself. Capturing and turning a mark master is no easy task. I’ve no idea how Bray did it, but doing it again would be nearly impossible. If we get to the mark master, we can stop NEST’s growth that way. Make them earn their dragons, not cheat their way. Bray can hold plenty of sway with them, his marks are real, but most of his men couldn’t.”

  There was a third vulnerability, but Aaron wasn’t ready to reveal it to a group of people he’d just met regardless of where they claimed their allegiances lay.

  The Marquis finally consented to speak. He held his wineglass aloft in a raised hand, almost addressing his question to it rather than to Aaron. Raising of glasses appeared to be a pretty regular habit in Ellis. “I don’t know that I care so much about this old grudge against the Corvale. How does it affect us? Or rather, what changed in your learning that Bray is this Prisoner? I’m far more concerned about the future than the past. Whoever this Bray is, he expands relentlessly. He makes those of us who chose to back the SDC look shortsighted and foolish. He buys out our few remaining allies and diminishes our assets. We came to learn more of SDC’s plans to generate a real return on the investments we’ve made. And you are here talking about ink and old grudges. You have not yet answered Representative Muller’s question as to why you started this war and yet to give us any real confidence that you can finish it.”

  “The nature of our shared enemy has changed, or at least been revealed,” Aaron replied. “Bray is no money maker, to retire atop a pile of gold. This man seeks to conquer the world. To enslave the world. And right now he’s well positioned to do so. Once strong enough he will overturn Eostre, rebuild all government, all enterprise into NEST. Garen will fall next. Then Castalan and Porcenne. Then Tannes. Finally he will move to the far east, driving the Corvale back into the mountains. He will kill the Vylass, has vowed as much when he was first captured. With the world under his thumb, it will not take him long to crack what remains of the Corvale.

  “We have not even discussed the potential alliances NEST has. We know the better part of the Eostre government is in his pocket. I can only imagine he has purchased support in every other state. And if he has established an alliance with the Borhele, we may already be too late to stop him.”

  At the mention of the Borhele, Aaron at last achieved what he was going for. Fear and uncertainty, finally, entered the room. The Borhele held the lands to the west of Eostre. They were the west’s answer to the Chalk. Humanoid, but no humans. Strange creatures of the marshy low plains. Bizarre and incomprehensible to the men of Eostre. The idea of NEST having allied with them had never occurred to the men in the room. And it frightened them, as it should. Aaron’s own orders, which he would never share with this room, were, should it be discovered that NEST was allied with the Borhele, to immediately retreat all remaining SDC personnel to Tannes and give up Eostre and Garen as already lost.

  “You ask me why I started a war. I didn’t start a war. I simply made it official. NEST was the one gaining from the former understanding, the illusion that we are merely rival corporations. One falls, the other rises, who cares? That is not what is happening. These are armies. Theirs is larger and has been positioning itself to conquer the SDC for years.”

  After a long pause, Matt James spoke. “We support your cause, Mr. Lorne. We will support any faction that stands against NEST. What began as an economic battle has become much more. When Eostre Uprising first stood against NEST, we very quickly learned this is no corporation. This is indeed an army. They seek oppression. NEST now controls almost all travel routes into and out of Eostre. They have grown even stronger since incorporating the remnants of Castalan’s smuggling rings. They are squeezing the wagon drivers, and by extension, the merchants, into oblivion. Their violence is terrible. We will support the SDC in part because we have no choice. NEST is winning the war for Eostre. We need help.”

  Aaron asked, “What can EU bring to the table? Can action be organized in the next few days?”

  “I am only here so these other men see that Eostre Uprising is a part of this,” Mike replied. “I believe, should we s
ucceed in somehow dismantling NEST, that the men in this room stand the most to gain. They will rebuild Ellis to favor their interests, their friends. We will be included if that day should come.” He looked around the room, making eye contact with each of the men present. “As to our capabilities, that is better discussed privately, Mr. Lorne, between you and Shale Kormet.”

  Shale Kormet had been prominently featured during Aaron’s briefing sessions before he left for Ellis. She was the leader and face of the Eostre Uprising, which had been little more than a labor group striking for guaranteed travel wages before she became involved. She was rumored to be the daughter of a caravan driver, one of the first killed by the NEST for not paying protection money for each journey. Landing a meeting with her had been one of his priorities for the evening.

  “I’m not wild about being aligned with the rebellion,” Bayle Johan said, “but we are aware of some very disturbing behavior from NEST. Hideon Bray is setting a tone over there that the only law that matters is profit. Most people who say no to NEST deals these days aren’t heard from again.” Bayle rubbed at his beard. “When he placed Aubrey Narrows in charge of Ellis, there were some unacceptable brutalities. What happened at that hospital was unforgivable. My organization is one of the few who takes a high view. We’re worried about the fate of the entire merchant class. NEST subsumes industry after industry. They crushed the caravan trade, empowering our angry friend here.” Bayle gesture towards Matt James. “Picked off mining, got their dirty fingers in timber. But while they’re killing one industry, their sharing the profits with the others. Nobody except the folks getting destroyed gets upset. They don’t see the pattern. We can. If you still think you’re a friend of NEST, these days, it just means they haven’t gotten around to taking your livelihood away. Maybe your freedom or your life in the bargain too.”

  Aaron looked at Representative Muller, who slowly nodded. The politicians had been placed under just as much pressure, had watched the ranks fall in line behind the money. Aaron looked at the Marquis, hoping to get similar confirmation about the nobility. The Marquis ignored him, but Aaron could see Kade slightly incline his head.

  “You also asked me why I’m here,” Aaron said. “The answer is simple. I want to meet him. The court summons was a perfect excuse. From what we know of the Prisoner, he was the most ruthlessly competitive warrior in the history of the far east. Now that he knows the SDC is sending its Chief Operating Officer, I think he will attend in person. He’ll want to size me up. He won’t be able to bear the thought of NEST being overmatched, even for a single moment in a small courtroom on a pointless dispute. Our latest reports put him in northern Garen. I would expect him to return to Ellis no later than tomorrow. The court summons is for the day after. That gives me a little while to begin the destruction of his machine.

  “I hesitate to go into further detail. You know the larger purpose of why I am here. You know I seek to destroy Hideon Bray and NEST. You know why I, and by extension the SDC, will give everything we have towards stopping them. I need you to go home comfortable with this knowledge. I don’t need to go into greater specifics in a full room. We will each speak more in the days ahead. Is that sufficient, gentlemen?”

  There was some argument, as Aaron had expected. Over the next thirty minutes or so, Muller and the Marquis continued to press for more information and greater assurances. Aaron kept as quiet as possible. He’d said his piece. Eventually they gave up, realizing they were getting as much as he would give.

  With the lateness of the hour, the meeting quickly dispersed. Aaron poured himself another drink as the men began making their way out. After a quick check of the street, he went out onto the narrow balcony. Aaron listened to Muller bidding farewell to each man in hushed tones. Once they were gone, he came out to stand beside Aaron. They looked out over the rooftops.

  After a time, Muller said, “You seek to meet Hideon Bray? When you do, have an answer ready.”

  When no further information was forthcoming, Aaron asked, “An answer for what?” Muller’s dramatic flair had returned.

  “Whenever he meets someone he considers an enemy or rival, Hideon Bray always asks the same thing. He asks them…from where they would like to be dropped to their death. Like if his dragons pulled you up into the air and just dropped you, where would you want it to be. Over the ocean, over your homeland, in the heart of a city so all can see. In the dark so none can see your fear as you claw at the air. He’s done it to countless people. He drops them. Where they want to be dropped.” Muller looked out over Ellis, long face creased with worry. He leaned forward and looked down at the ground, as if he could already see it rushing towards him. “He asked me that same question when I first met him, three weeks ago. I answered him honestly because, if we lose this war, I believe he will respect my wishes.”

  “What did you say?”

  “That, young Master Lorne, is between me and Hideon Bray.” Muller’s face was turned up as both he and Aaron watched another dragon fly in over the city, headed to the NEST landing. “I bid you good night. Mario has arranged for an agent to meet you in the morning.”

  Aaron stood by the window long after Muller had gone. As exhausting as it had felt, the meeting had gone as planned. Most importantly, he’d managed to limit the discussion of his companion on this journey. He’d managed to limit discussion of Cal Mast. Aaron’s eyes followed the dragon as it went west, wondering where exactly his friend was.

  Chapter 5. A Known Face

  Full night, when it fell in Gestlin Gardens, brought about a rare window of silence. Traffic by cart and horse was heavily restricted, permitted only during a brief window in the afternoon. As a result, the endless clatter that washed over the rest of the city all hours was kept from the apartment windows of the well-off gentry who called Gestlin their home. Just west of the Gestlin Gardens, demarcated by a thick line of noise dampening trees, traffic raced and rioted its way along Sheridan Road, a busy thoroughfare. Past Sheridan, the exotic immigrant-heavy neighborhood of Debb Sen, sometimes mockingly referred to as Borhele East, was rich with the smells of cooking meats. Debb Sen melted into the Bondsman Quarters, a business district that usually hosted little action this late in the evening. Tonight was different, as neighbors and passersby alike had gathered to gawk at the fire.

  The white flames raged up but not out, turning a single metal building at the corner of Wolcott and Haddon into a lit stove. Flames licked at every window of the four-story structure. Smoke poured out the roof. Wagers were made quietly on whether the structure would collapse, spilling into the street, or simply burn out, hollowing itself of all combustible materials inside. It was unlikely to spread to its metal-sheeted neighbors, so there was little sense of urgency. Structure fires in Ellis were rare, generally requiring much encouragement from the interior of a building to get going. Then they were unstoppable. The most common cause was insurance fraud.

  The passersby were ecstatic, having been treated to a delightful performance in addition to a rousing fire. The fire brigade, on the scene shortly after the first alarm bells began ringing, had been soundly dismissed by a large contingent of NEST guards. The young fire brigade captain, perhaps unprepared for heavy political and territorial conflict to accompany a simple fire call, protested. He was dismayed by NEST’s efforts to remove his men from the scene, claiming their presence was unwanted. The NEST guards drew sword, settling the argument. If they didn’t want help, they didn’t want help. The brigade and its confused captain retired to the taverns to complain and commiserate, feeling unappreciated. There was more than a little curiosity over what had been in the building if NEST was so eager to keep everyone out rather than using the available manpower to try and salvage what could be salvaged.

  The smoke which escaped the building was carried farther west by the wind, settling upon the neighborhood of Seven Streets, where it drifted into the noses of stabled horses and sleeping men alike. Ellis rested uneasily. The smoke had largely dissipated by the time it reache
d Markele’s Folly. Here was another rare quiet pocket of Ellis, at least by night. The textile factories which dominated this corner of the city required daylight for work and profit. Evenings found the neighborhood vacant. The ringing of the bells of the evening watch change could be heard rattling down the narrow streets.

  Light streamed out of a single window off of the otherwise dark street. The dim light settled on a pullcart, hastily parked up against the front door of the structure. A few small barrels remained perched on the pullcart. There had once been more. A trail of dark liquid led into the front door. Bootprints, speaking of haste, scuffed the trail and tracked black marks into the room just off the entryway.

  Standing at the center of the room, Cal Mast, nobody’s corpse last he checked, very deliberately struck a match and held it for a moment in front of his dark eyes. He lit a cigarette. The spent match was discarded over his left shoulder, landing on one of the few clean spots on a floor puddled with lamp oil. The sulfur smell of the match was quickly swallowed by the reek of the oil, which had been spread along the base of the interior walls on the ground floor of the three story structure. Poured out in lines that crossed the doorways to converge in the center of this room. A single spark was all it would take, then the fire from the Bondsman Quarters would no longer be alone in lighting the sky above Ellis and filling the streets with smoke.

  That first fire had been easy. The guards had been barely awake. Cal had been in and out with no alarms. But NEST had reacted to the arson with surprising speed, sending agents to their high priority structures across the city. Cal was disappointed. The cart out front had enough oil for three more fires. They were cutting his evening entertainment short.