Despite the negative connotations surrounding the death temple, it was a beautiful building. Two stories high, constructed of ebony and some kind of shiny black stone, it stood out next to the two brownstones flanking it not merely because of the materials it was constructed from, but also by the way it was shaped. The tall roof was steeply pitched, supported by pillars carved with vines, and over the entrance was a hooded figure with large, feathered wings that framed the double doors. All of this was illuminated by the lanterns that hung from the edge of the roof, each being painstakingly lit by a man with a hook as he shuffled around the perimeter.
For the next thirty minutes, I crouched in silence as I watched the temple. At first, I saw nothing unusual, just the comings and goings of parishioners attending the nightly service. Camatoz’s following was small, just a few thousand people, but like most of the Elantians who still believed in the old gods, they were fervent worshippers. Many of them clutched offerings in their arms—bottles of wine, boxes filled with food, or precious objects—to entice the god into answering their prayers. Most of those prayers were benevolent—usually a wish to reconnect with a departed loved one, or to spare someone on their death bed. Some were more sinister, born of a desire for vengeance.
I wondered—if Camatoz was even real—whether the death god bothered to listen to his followers, to answer any of those prayers. Somehow, I didn’t think so. I’d always thought of death as cold, uncaring, indiscriminate. When your time came, it came, and it didn’t matter who you were, what good or bad you’d done in your life, or how much money you had.
In death’s eyes, we were all equal.
My legs were just beginning to grow stiff when I saw five black-robed men approach the building. Casting my morbid thoughts aside, I focused my attention on them, and my breath caught as I noticed each of the men sported a flash of silver across their broad chests.
The dragon god’s symbol.
Squinting, I leaned in to catch a glimpse of their faces, but the men wore silver masks to hide their identity. Damn. I was going to have to sneak inside the temple, find out where they were meeting. But how, without drawing attention to myself? For all I knew, the entire temple was under Salcombe’s thumb, and they would seize me on the spot.
An idea began to form in the back of my mind, and I slunk away from the edge of the roof, taking care not to be seen. Quickly, I raced around the temple and across the city, heading for a manhole cover roughly a mile away. As a child, I’d been familiar with both the surface streets and the city’s underbelly, and that knowledge was going to come in handy now.
After a quick look around to make sure no one was nearby, I dropped from the roof of the house I was currently perched on and approached the manhole cover. It came away with a hearty tug, and I wrinkled my nose as the familiar stench wafted up. The lovely aroma of sewage.
Yum.
Trying not to think too much about what I was getting into, I climbed down the grimy ladder, then hopped onto the tiny strip of land that served as a sidewalk. It was pitch dark down here, so I struck a match, then held it aloft with one hand to help me navigate my way through the warren of tunnels while I used the other to cover my nose and mouth.
Three matches later, I found the entrance to the catacombs. The heavy wooden door was secured with a lock, but the set of mundane lock picks I’d dug up from my apartment were more than good enough to get me through.
The moment I stepped inside, the call of thousands of valuable objects chimed in my mind. Closing the door, I turned the volume down, then lit another match so I could get my bearings. The catacombs stretched a good hundred miles beneath the city, and it was far too easy to get lost down here. Luckily, I had a pretty good sense of direction, and I’d used my treasure sense to fix the temple—and more importantly, the valuables inside it—in my mind’s eye before I came down here.
Thankful for my spelled boots, I crept through the narrow corridors on silent feet, keeping my ears peeled for any activity. I didn't believe in ghosts, but I knew gangs and criminals often hid down here, and the last thing I wanted was to run into some asshole who thought I'd be an easy mark. If I could make my way into the temple without being seen, I might be able to eavesdrop on Salcombe's followers and learn some valuable information.
Aside from the threat of coming across thugs, my journey through the catacombs was pleasant enough. The bodies buried in the walls had long turned to dust, so unlike the sewer tunnels, there was no stench. I’d come down here plenty of times as a desperate kid to filch tokens from the loculi—burial slots—carved into the walls, and in many ways it wasn’t much different from any of the other ruins or sites I’d explored.
I was only a few blocks away from the temple when the sound of rhythmic chanting caught my attention. Frowning, I cocked my ear, at first thinking it might be coming from the temple. But the temple was too far away.
Could it be the dragon god cultists?
Drawn by the sound, I headed in the direction of the chanting, slowing my steps until I was standing outside a sepulcher—one of the many rooms in the catacombs that were dedicated to the burial of a specific family. Candlelight spilled into the corridor, making it impossible for me to peek through the doorway without being spotted, but thankfully one of the burial slots outside had a hole in the back that allowed me to peer straight into the large room without being seen.
Inside, the five robed men stood in a semi-circle, facing a large dragon statue mounted on the wall. It was carved of pure obsidian, with rubies set into its face for eyes, its maw opened wide as if it might scorch them all where they stood. In the center, on a small altar, was a large goblet filled with a clear liquid that shone like moonlight.
I focused my treasure sense on it, and a loud chime reverberated through my head, making me pause. There was something similar in the tone that reminded me of the dragon heart, and yet, the heart wasn’t here.
The chanting swelled to a crescendo, drowning out the sound the goblet was making. Abruptly, they stopped, and the one standing closest to the dragon god's statue stepped forward. Pushing back his silver mask just enough to drink, he revealed full lips and a beard the color of autumn leaves.
The moment those lips touched the goblet, I sensed a ripple in the air, as if there had been a transfer of power. That liquid, I thought, staring at the cup as the man passed it off to the one on his left. It must be infused with essence from the dragon heart!
That explained how Salcombe was able to maintain his health even though he didn’t have the heart on him. But I hadn’t realized he was allowing his acolytes to reap the same benefits. Did that mean they had enhanced strength and health now, like he did? And how did imbibing such a substance affect their minds?
“Has there been any word from the master?” one of the cultists asked once they’d all finished partaking of the drink and their masks were firmly back in place. “What are our orders?”
"I have not had word from him since he crossed the Zallabarian border," the red-bearded man said. His voice was smooth and dark, like a fine red wine. "Until we do, we must continue to gather intelligence, and wait."
"I'm tired of waiting," another man groused. "We should be out there, helping him to recover the rest of the heart. Instead we are just sitting around, eavesdropping on conversations we're not allowed to do anything with. If he would allow us direct access to the heart—"
“That is not going to happen,” Red Beard said, his harsh voice echoing off the dirt walls. “Our master trusted me alone with the location of the heart, so I could continue to harvest its essence and bring it to you. He has made it clear that under no circumstances are any of you allowed to touch the heart directly.”
“And why is that?” one of the men asked. “Because the two of you are the only ones allowed to commune directly with the dragon god? How do we even know the god is real? Perhaps we should go back to worshipping Camatoz. At least he spoke to us.”
Well that’s new, I thought, leaning in. As I did, s
omething skittered down my back, and I jumped, hitting my head on the top of the burial slot.
Instantly, the room went silent. “What was that?” Red Beard barked.
Shit.
I didn’t wait for the men to come out and investigate. Digging a smoke bomb from my pouch, I lit it, then tossed it into the sepulcher as I raced past. Their shouts echoed in the hall as I sprinted back the way I came, knowing there was no way I’d make it through the temple without getting caught. The conversation I’d overheard had made it clear some of these men used to be Camatoz’s followers, and who knew what kind of relationship the priests had with the dragon god’s acolytes?
I dodged to the side at the sound of a blade zipping through the air, but it sliced the side of my thigh anyway. Crying out, I stumbled against the wall, then gritted my teeth and pushed through the pain.
"You're not getting away!" one of the cultists roared, rushing out from another corridor that intersected with mine. He was huge. Terror gripped me as he raised his sword above his head with two hands, and I barely managed to flatten my back against the wall before he swung it down. Darting in close, I slashed the side of his neck with my dagger. Blood spurted from the wound, splashing me in the face as he screamed, and I quickly darted around him as he clutched at the gash. The sound of rapidly approaching footsteps spurred me on, but I had the advantage of silent feet, and eventually I managed to lose them.
Panting hard, I sprinted back through the sewer passages and climbed up the ladder as fast as I could. Relief surged through me as I shoved the manhole cover away, and I climbed up—
Only to be seized by two guards.
“Zara Kenrook.” A third guard smiled smugly. “Fancy seeing you here.”
I glared at the muncie, who I recognized from previous run-ins. “Clancy,” I spat as I struggled against the guards. “This is a mistake. You have to let me go!”
"A mistake?" Clancy arched his eyebrows. "If you mean breaking the law is a mistake, then you're right. Going down into the catacombs without a permit is illegal, Zara. You know that."
“I wasn’t going down there to steal!” I hissed. “I was tracking a group of cultists!”
“I don’t care if you were down there on your knees, giving blow jobs to the chancellor himself,” Clancy said as the other two muncies slapped restraints on my wrists. “You’re under arrest for trespassing on government property.”
11
I spent the night on a hard cot in a jail cell, staring up at the ceiling and wracking my brain. The muncies had confiscated my lock picks, so there was no getting out, and lying around here while those cultists were on the street was driving me nuts. I needed to be out there, tracking down Red Beard so I could squeeze him for details. He was the only one, aside from Salcombe, who knew where that piece of heart was.
Unfortunately, the muncies had been entirely unsympathetic to my cause. The captain of the guard laughed in my face when I told him about the dragon god and the cultists, and invoking Captain Marcas's name hadn't helped. "I've already contacted the upper city guard," he'd sneered through the bars at me. "I'm sure someone will be along to take you back to your cushy new life."
Lessie had been beside herself when she’d come to meet me for our nightly flight and found me missing. I’d been tempted to let her storm the walls of the jail just to see the look on the muncies’ faces, but I knew I was already in big trouble. If they really had sent word to the upper city that I was here, then the headmaster would soon find out that I wasn’t at Tavarian’s hidden estate anymore.
Eventually, I managed to doze off just as the early grey light of dawn poked its fingers through the tiny window in my cell. But it seemed like I’d just closed my eyes when I heard boots clopping down the hall, voices in conversation.
“Yes, yes, open the door,” a woman ordered impatiently. I opened my eyes at the familiar voice, then sat up abruptly at the sight of Major Falkieth standing outside.
“Major!” Heat stung my cheeks as I jumped to attention. “I—I didn’t think—”
“That I would come get you myself?” she barked. Her steely eyes raked over my disheveled appearance, disapproval in every line of her hard face. “The headmaster received a report that you were spotted flying over Dragon’s Table and sent me down here to fetch you. I refused to believe you would be hiding out here, given the severity of your circumstances, but I see now that the report was correct. I am very disappointed in you.”
Anger sparked in my chest, warring with my embarrassment. “I wasn’t ‘hiding out’ here. Lessie and I have been scouring the city, looking for Salcombe’s piece of the dragon god’s heart. I was following a group of Salcombe’s followers tonight, and I heard—”
“I don’t care what you were doing,” she interrupted. “Mr. Lyton told us that he and Miss Thomas”—that was Jallis and Rhia—"escorted you back to Tavarian’s home, and that is where you should have gone. Since you did not, you must return to the academy at once. How can you even think of shirking your duty now, when war is upon us?”
“What?” Chills raced down my spine. “We’re being called to the battlefront too?”
“Many of the older cadets will be called to fight, certainly,” Falkieth said. “You and your dragon are a bit young for combat, but the generals may find a use for you. With Zallabar threatening war every day, we must all be prepared for the coming conflict.”
I shook my head. “This is happening far too quickly.”
To my surprise, I caught a flicker of sympathy in Falkieth’s eyes. “Be that as it may, you must still answer the call.” She shoved up from her chair. “I’ll escort you back to your old home so you can pack your things. You have three hours to report back to the academy.”
“Thank you.” I wanted to beg for more time, so I could follow up on my lead, but the tone in Falkieth’s voice brooked no argument. “Any chance you could help me get my belongings back from the guards before I go?” I ventured.
Major Falkieth raised her eyebrows. “You mean these?” she asked, pulling out my lock picks and knives from her satchel.
“Yes!” I had to stop myself from snatching hem out of her hands.
“I’m not certain I approve of the lock picks,” she said dryly. “But take them and go, before I change my mind.”
She didn’t have to tell me twice.
Back at the shop, Carina and Kira descended upon me like hawks. “What happened to you?” Carina cried, taking in the blood on my pants.
“A close call from one of the cultists.” I waved a hand. “It’s not a big deal.” The muncies had applied some basic first aid, stitching and bandages. I’d have a scar, but no lasting damage. “I ended up finding them in the catacombs.”
There was a lull in customers, so we left Kira and Nate to watch the front of the shop while I went upstairs to pack and explain to Carina what had happened. By the time I was finished, she was pale as a ghost.
“War?” Carina asked. “Zara, they’re not really expecting you and Lessie to serve so soon, are they?”
“I’m a dragon rider,” I said. "All riders are automatically conscripted into the Elantian army for ten years. If the military decides that they need us, we'll have to go. Lessie is a female dragon,” I added at the stricken look on her face, “and still young, so it's doubtful that we'll be put on the front lines. I'm hoping we won't be called at all, but if we are, it'll probably be for some smaller task, like reconnaissance."
“Spying,” Carina exclaimed. “That’s even more dangerous!”
"As I said, that's only if we’re called. But either way, I have to go.”
Zipping up my bag, I stood, then slung it over my shoulder. Carina immediately threw her arms around me, wrapping me up in a bone-crushing hug. “You’d better tell me if they send you off somewhere,” she said fiercely. “And write me every chance you get.”
“I will,” I promised, returning the hug while I fought back tears. If I cried now, Carina would fall apart, and I needed her to stay strong. S
he had to keep things running while I was gone, if not for us, then for all the orphans we employed. The boys and girls who’d been given a chance at a better life, thanks to our good fortune and hard work.
Swallowing hard, I left.
As I rode up the elevators to Dragon’s Table, I reached out to Lessie. “Has anyone come looking for you?”
“Yes,” she said, sounding grumpy. “Major Falkieth showed up with her dragon to escort me back. I’m at the stables now.”
Alarmed, I reached through the bond to get a better sense of how she was feeling. “Is everything okay? Are you hurt?”
“Fine,” she said. “But they woke me up from a very nice nap, and Odorath was rather rude. He seems to think that just because he is older than me, he has the right to scold me as if he were my mother.”
I snorted. “Most cultures and societies teach you to respect and listen to your elders,” I pointed out.
“Elders,” she huffed. “I wonder whose dragon egg was laid first, mine or his?”
Shaking my head, I stepped off the elevator and hired a cab to take me the rest of the way to Dragon Rider Academy. The two-story brick estate with its manicured gardens was exactly the way I remembered it, and to my surprise, I felt a sense of homecoming as I approached.
The guards manning the entrance seemed to be expecting me and told me to report to the headmaster. I went up to the second floor, where the secretary promptly sat me down in one of the visitor’s chairs in the hallway outside the headmaster’s office to cool my heels. Still tired from having been up all night, I leaned my head back against the wall and started to doze off, ignoring the woman’s glare.
“Hey.” Jallis’s voice tugged me from my nap, his shoulder brushing mine as he sat in the chair next to me. “You okay?”
I opened my eyes, and he smiled. “It’s too early in the morning for you to be this cheerful,” I grumbled.
He raised an eyebrow and glanced at the clock. Nearly noon. “I’m guessing you didn’t get much sleep last night?”
Flight of the Dragon Page 10