Dragonstorm: A Dragonhall Chronicles novel (The Reasoner Trilogy Book 2)

by Mirren Hogan

  The woman closed the door behind her, leaving Del alone with a man behind a desk which was actually well-used, but no less sturdy than the previous one.

  The man rose and offered his hand. "General Russkan Zand. Judging by the hour of your arrival, you must be Delorum Issel."

  Del shook his hand. "I go by Del, if you don't mind." Should he address him as sir? He hesitated, and the moment passed, but the general seemed unconcerned.

  "That's acceptable I'm sure," the general replied. He gave no option as to how Del should address him but gestured for him to sit in the chair opposite. He'd met men and women in the past who led by sheer force of their will. The general was one of those. That much was evident in a matter of moments. Del felt like a child in his presence.

  "Welcome and thank you for making the trip to Paryos." The general sat too. "I believe the governor has made this offer on a number of occasions." His raised eyebrow suggested he was mildly scolding.

  Del cleared his throat. "Yes, it wasn't the right time until now."

  "Was it not?" the general asked. "Isn't it always a good time to serve Dargyn?"

  Del scratched his temple for a moment. "Of course it is, but I had a life in Tsaisa." He felt like a fool making excuses for the wrong choices. "Um . . ."

  "Yes, yes." The general waved a hand. "Well you're here now, and not a moment too soon. I'm sure you saw the destruction to the city on your way past. That was caused by a direct attack on the reasoners by the magin themselves."

  That was a sweeping statement, and Del wasn't sure about its accuracy, but his mouth dropped open nonetheless.

  "The magin did that?" His face paled and his stomach threatened to lose its contents.

  "Yes, and we consider it an act of war," the general declared, "hence your presence here is both necessary and fortuitous. Firearms will give us an advantage over the enemy. This time, we won't stop until every last one is dead." The general's face was slightly pink from the fervour. "How big can you make these firearms? Can you make them to shoot a large enough projectile to hit several people at one time?"

  "I've been working on a prototype," Del said, "it should be possible. Although it's more for knocking down walls and then—"

  "Good," the general dismissed his argument with a wave. "How soon can you teach my people to use them?"

  Del rubbed his nose where the recoil had broken it so long ago. "It shouldn't be too long, but I'll need to get my equipment delivered and set up. And a space to use as a manufactory. Maybe some help."

  "I understand. Everything will be delivered in the next two to three days," The general assured him. "I've secured the premises next door for your use."

  Del took that to mean he'd cleared out whoever had occupied the building and made it available for his use. He wasn't sure how he felt about that, but it was out of his hands. Undoubtedly this man would do as he pleased.

  "Oh, well, good," he said. He shifted in his chair. Perhaps his discomfort at being in the man's presence was too obvious, but he was struggling to contain himself.

  "Your budget is as much as you need. Purchase what you require and have them send the invoice here. I'll deal with it. The same goes for workers. Hire whoever you find suitable and I'll pay them. However," he held up a thick finger, "they must be run past me first. I'm sure you understand the need for the utmost security here."

  "Of course—"

  "That includes anyone you spend time with when you're not working as well. We can't risk the magin knowing about this. I assure you, they won't be merciful to you."

  Del swallowed. "I'm sure they wouldn't." HIs mind conjured a vengeful Daven, magic at hand, taking his life with a touch. In his heart he knew his son would never do that, but other magin might not hesitate. He'd be looking over his shoulder at every moment, his life hinging on the reasoners doing as the general said they would.

  "I'll also need a large, preferably outside space to test the firearms and to use for training."

  "You can train them here," the general replied, "we have a large training yard, and only the reasoners will see, or know anything. If the space isn't adequate, I'll find you another. Rest assured I want to make certain you have all you need. This is the highest priority. I'm sure you'll also understand that you're not to discuss this with anyone not directly involved in the project. Winning this war will depend on it. Dargyn is relying on you." That was a hefty statement and Del felt its pressure immediately. No doubt that had been the point of his making it.

  He forced a breath in and out. "Of course." He managed to reply without his voice breaking. Del had no one to discuss it with, but he nodded, regardless. "I won't say a word."

  "Good. Now," the general rose, "I'm sure you've had a long journey and would like to get settled in."

  "Yes, I wouldn't mind." Del rose too and reached for his suitcase. He'd be happy to unpack. His arm was starting to ache from carrying it around.

  "Excellent. You'll have a comfortable room with amenities and all you need so you can focus on work. You've been assigned a worker who will cook and clean for you, so you needn't bother. All I want from you is to make the best firearms you can, as quickly as you can. But you can start tomorrow. Today, get some rest, unpack, get settled. Would you like a whore sent over?"

  Del blushed. "I—" The frank question had caught him off guard. He stood for a few moments his mouth gaping open, trying to conjure a suitable response. None came.

  The general chuckled. "I know just the woman; she'll see to your needs."

  Del cleared his throat. "Thank you, but that's not necessary. As you said, it was a long journey and I could use some rest."

  As Zand showed him to the door he wondered at the wisdom of declining. He could use some company, if only to stop him from feeling homesick. He missed Tsaisa. To his surprise, he missed Kaida more than he'd expected to. Well, there were other days for release, perhaps when his guilt began to subside. For now, he had work to do.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  "You move like a herd of horses," Andon claimed. He turned and grinned at Brish, who bristled at the accusation. He crossed the space between them, his feet soundless on the rooftop. He opened his mouth to retort when he caught the twinkle in Andon's eyes. He was given to teasing and apparently Brish's skills were today's target.

  He shrugged and crouched beside him, not rising to the tease. They both knew he hadn't made any noise, and that Andon was impressed. He was quiet himself, but of course Brish wouldn't tell him that. The man had a healthy ego, he didn't need praise from a mere apprentice.

  "How do you know what a herd of horses sounds like?" Brish asked, keeping his voice low.

  "I don't, I was guessing." Andon chuckled and Brish realised he'd fallen into the trap anyway.

  "At least I don't sound like a train," Brish said. Now is was his turn to smirk as Andon looked affronted. For a moment he thought he'd overstepped, but the man smiled and punched him lightly on the arm.

  "I think we can agree that you don't need training in sneaking around," Andon said. He lowered himself to his rear and hung his legs over the side of the building.

  "I could have told you that." Brish joined him just as the sun cast a golden light over the city.

  "In fact you did tell me, but I'd be remiss in my job if I didn't find out for myself, wouldn't I? Besides, I don't get to do this as much as I'd like."

  "Skulking around in the dark?" Brish asked. He pulled a piece of dried meat out of a pocket and started to nibble on the end of it.

  "Skulking anywhere," Andon replied, "I spend time training apprentices and then send them on their way. Sometimes I'll do a job myself, but not as much as I used to."

  Brish should be perturbed to hear him describe assassinating people in such a glib manner, but it was his profession. After the first couple he’d probably stopped thinking of them as people, and considered them targets, if he considered them at all.

  "So you like to skulk?" he teased.

  Andon chuckled. "Almost as much
as I like stalking. Both are worthwhile ways to spend time."

  "And killing?" Brish asked, trying to sound nonchalant. "Do you like that too?"

  Andon turned to regard him. His eyes were intense, and he needed to shave: both of which made him attractive. The air of danger he exuded didn't hurt either. He must have a plethora of potential lovers.

  "I don't kill for the sake of killing." His tone was cool, but not angry. He'd had this conversation before; many times if his expression was an indication. "It's a necessary part of keeping the government running smoothly, for the sake of Dargyn. If you have a problem with that—"

  "I don't," Brish said hastily. "In fact, I was wondering when I'd start learning how."

  "You're eager to kill magin, aren't you?" Andon asked, "or are you just bloodthirsty? You wouldn't be the first person to join the reasoners because murder is against the law. Some people just enjoy killing."

  "I want to get them back for the things they've done," Brish replied. "Have you ever lost anyone you care about?"

  Andon didn't reply. Brish studied his face, looking for the answer but finding only a stone wall. If a loved one of his had died, he wasn't going to discuss the matter with Brish.

  He leaned back and looked across the rooftops. In the last few minutes the sun has risen to illuminate most of the city. It might be gloomy down in the streets, but up here the world was on fire.

  "Do you know what Yaraz is?" he asked, the words slipping out without his realising they were even coming.

  Andon jerked in surprise. "Where did you hear that?

  Brish shrugged, wondering if he'd made a mistake in asking the question. "I was a bard, it was my job to find out things," he replied, unsure how much he should say.

  Andon snorted. "And now it's your job to kill people. How do you really feel about that? Apart from wanting revenge. Can you really take a life?"

  "I think so," Brish replied, "if they're magin." He wouldn't be certain until he had to do it, but he was determined, for Daris and Waya, and everyone else they'd murdered. "You didn't answer the question." He was sure Andon knew the answer and was deflecting. His heart raced. After so long he was eager to learn the truth.

  "No I didn't, did I? But first, tell me this—what will you do if you can't kill when the time comes?"

  Brish drew in his lower lip and chewed for a moment. "I don't know." He supposed it was possible but didn't want to think about failing. "You'd kick me in the behind if I did." Literally, most likely.

  "Yes, I would. The first time is the most difficult. Once you've done it once, you stop thinking about it too much and you just do it. Some people can't get through that first kill."

  "I'll do it," Brish assured him, "I've never backed down from anything I've done. I'm not going to start now. Your turn." That included finding out what Andon knew.

  "Yaraz." Andon drew the word out. "They're a group of magin."

  "The people who attacked the city?" Brish was disappointed until Andon shook his head.

  "Not if they're to be believed," he said, giving a shrug with one shoulder. "They claim that all they want is peace. They want us to stop executing magin and let them live out their days in Dargyn, side by side with regular, law abiding folk. They claim to abhor violence."

  Brish snorted. "I find that difficult to swallow."

  "So do I," Andon agreed. "They're led by a woman named Nerra Rinvae, who might as well be a shadow as far as we're concerned. The reasoners have been searching for her for decades. Every time we get information on her, she's long gone before we get there."

  "Magic?" Brish asked.

  "She may have foresight, or work with someone who has. Either way, we've never found her."

  "Are you sure she exists?"

  Andon hesitated. "If she does, she'll be old by now."

  "What do you think?" Brish looked over to him, trying to gauge his opinion before he spoke.

  "I think she exists, she's just elusive. That can't last forever. Sooner or later we'll catch her and she'll be hanged in public, along with anyone caught helping her. Now, tell me how you heard the word Yaraz."

  "I overheard people talking," Brish explained. "When I spoke to Daris, he knew about it too, although he didn't explain anything." He felt guilty at mentioning Daris' name, but there was nothing they could do to punish him now.

  "Rumour has it that Daris Targra was involved with the magin," Andon remarked, "up to his eyeballs."

  "According to Harm, he was trying to broker a peace between them. I guess he meant between the two factions, and the reasoners."

  "And he died for it," Andon said. "Who is Harm?"

  "A friend. A bard." Brish felt uneasy mentioning him, but enough time had passed. He'd be safely settled at the hall in Tharay by now. "Daris confided a few things in him. Not much," he added quickly.

  "I see," Andon replied. "You think Daris believed the Yaraz magin to be peaceful?"

  "Daris thought all magin could be so, if they just tried," Brish told him. "He certainly hoped they would be." The hall master had always tried to see the best in a person, which was both an asset and a failing. Some people knew all the right words to say to convince others to support them. Daris had never wanted to see through that. Hailyn, on the other hand, was the opposite; always seeking the bad. They might have balanced each other while Daris lived. In the end, it had saved neither of them.

  "You believe otherwise?" Andon asked. His expression was as guarded as ever, but Brish knew a test when he saw one. At least this, he knew he wouldn't fail. He might have been naive not long ago, but he'd grown up. That was the only thing he'd be grateful to the magin for, and something he'd make them regret.

  "Of course," he replied firmly. "Magin are dangerous, no matter what they say or who they are. We need to deal with them." He felt a little thrill of excitement including himself in that. "All of them, even if they're all old women." He remembered the woman he'd seen in Daris' office, with the clear blue eyes and intent stare she'd given him before closing the door. Could that have been—

  He licked his lips and gave himself a mental shake. Even if that had been this—Nerra, he couldn't speak about it. He might be in enormous trouble for just being in the proximity of a wanted fugitive and not acting on it. That he didn't know at the time, might not be enough to save him. He should have investigated the matter, asked Daris questions, followed the woman, something.

  The very idea of being near someone as dangerous as her—he didn't believe for a moment that she really wanted peace—was enough to turn his stomach. The magin had always craved power, especially over those without magic. They murdered without discrimination. Whatever claim they made, Brish knew they wouldn't stop until they'd enslaved Dargyn's people and broken them to their will or killed those who opposed them. Next time, they might send a bigger wave, or more explosions. If he could have ended this by just knowing who she was—

  He shook his head. Daris had known, but he'd done nothing. He could have saved himself, and so many others. She'd only been a weak, old woman . . .

  Andon laughed, breaking through his furious thoughts. "We know of others. Thanks to you. Intel should find they're a lot more than just old women. You'll get your wish soon enough."

  "Someone else is skulking in Hoza?" Brish guessed, trying to ignore the unsettled thoughts which might betray him if they showed on his face. He was rewarded with Andon's grin.

  "You're quick, Brish Loh," he said approvingly, "I don't know how you weren't flagged to join the reasoners long before now."

  "I was too good a bard to lose?" Brish asked, half-joking.

  "You might be right, but you'll do well with us." Andon rose and offered his hand.

  Brish waved it off and stood as well. "Herd of horses, wasn't it?" he asked. "I bet I can race you back to headquarters and still not make a sound."

  "I'm sure you can." Andon grinned, "what's the stakes?"

  "Um. A copper braid?"

  "That's not a real bet," Andon scoffed.

&
nbsp; "Two?"

  Andon's expression remained unchanged, one eyebrow raised, challenging him to think harder. He tried, but couldn't think what he had to offer, or even afford. Apprentices weren't paid enough to go around splashing braids on whim.

  "What do you want then?" Brish asked.

  For a moment there was no response, then Andon's eyes dropped his Brish's groin. "Nothing you're ready for yet. Besides—" He took off across the roof at a run, "I'm going to win." He laughed over his shoulder. In moments he'd leapt over to the next roof and was pounding ahead.

  "Hey! Cheater!" Blushing furiously, Brish set off after him. Andon was right, he wasn't ready, but some day he would be. The idea of being touched by the older man wasn't unappealing, but he'd have to put it out of his mind for now. At least until he was alone in the dark.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Resisting the urge to skip, Brish stepped into the training area. He was excited, but he didn't want anyone thinking he was a child. He wasn't the youngest of the apprentices, but he wanted to be taken seriously. Being shorter than most of his peers did him no favours, so he had to work at maintaining a measure of maturity. That he was jumping up and down on the inside was difficult to suppress, but he thought he did it reasonably well.

  He knew where to find the knife practice area, but a sweep with his eyes showed no sign of Andon. He was a little early, so he resigned himself to keeping himself calm while he waited.

  "Excuse me, you're training with me," a voice said, as someone stopped near his elbow. Brish turned to see the first-level who had shown him to the general. This lad was everywhere. That was accidental, he was sure of that. Even if he was important enough to watch—which he wasn't—they'd assign someone less inept.

  "I don't think so," Brish replied. The man could hardly keep from falling over his own feet. He surely wouldn't be trusted with a knife, much less teaching anyone their use.

  "Andon didn't mention me? I'm Samiel." He held out his hand for Brish to shake. It was damp with sweat. Brish wiped his hand on his trousers after he took it back.