Night of the Chalk (Spies of Dragon and Chalk Book 1)

by Samuel Gately

  Miriam noticed there were far fewer chairs than people as she positioned herself several rows behind Aaron. This meeting was the largest this group had had in a long time. There was a wide open space in front of the chairs. In the open space was a table with four people seated, facing the crowd. As Aaron sat, nodding his thanks to Corbin, the white-haired gentleman at the center of the head table called the meeting to order by rapping a dagger hilt on the wooden surface. The Corvale immediately fell silent, even the small children.

  “I call this council to order,” said Conners. “On behalf of your council members Senator Drake, Ms. Duvale, Derrick Issale, and myself Conners Toren, we welcome you to the meeting.” The introductions were for Aaron’s benefit. Everyone knew the council. “Do we have a volunteer to lead us in the anthem?”

  Conners nodded at a young lady behind Aaron. She nervously approached and turned to face the crowd. She tenderly broke into the first notes of the Corvale anthem. The crowd joined in before the end of the first line, carrying the strong melody in an ancient forgotten version of the Corvale tongue. Miriam observed Aaron closely, looking for any outward sign of emotion. There was none visible yet, but they certainly had his attention.

  After the last notes faded away, Conners spoke to the crowd. “This is a promotion ceremony, and we must discuss preparations for the Festival of the Clouds, but first the council would speak with Aaron Lorne, if he will permit.” He looked at Aaron. “Will you approach?”

  Aaron nodded and rose. He walked to the center of the open space and stood facing the table. He wore the same traveling clothes he had worn the other day. He had shed his muted light blue cloak and left it on the chair. Underneath he wore a black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing black leather wrist guards. Miriam, who had been trained to assess the fighting tendencies and aptitudes of soldiers and nobles, suspected she would find a few steel rods running from just above the wrist to the elbow. The left arm’s guard was scarred with diagonal cuts. He must use it to turn aside blades. She would guess the fleshy part of his forearm was similarly scarred. The right guard, worn on his sword arm, was less worn.

  On his left hip he wore a mid-length sword, the blade about as long as a man’s arm, no curve. It had a two-handed hilt though she assumed he used it one handed, given the placement of his other weapons and armor. The sword would travel easily and work in tight quarters. He would be at a reach disadvantage against the longer swords favored by knights and other heavily armored soldiers. He would rely on guile and technique to generate quick penetration rather than power and reach. A second blade hung on his right hip. It was curved, a defensive weapon that would be used for parrying. The blade was about a foot long with a short black leather handle.

  Aaron wore a dark brown leather breastplate, generally the preferred light armor of the Corvale, who were frequently on horseback. The leatherwork patterns on the front of Aaron’s breastplate were in a style similar to the Corvale tattoos she knew would be covering his body, though it would not have the same weight of meaning. The breastplate was not visible from the back, just the straps holding it into place. Aaron had black pants tucked into black boots. He wore three rings on his right hand but no other decoration. He stood facing the table confidently, feet spread in an attentive stance with his back to the crowd.

  Miriam was apprehensive. The leadership structure of the Corvale House had strengthened in the past few years under Conners. Tonight had the potential to seriously disrupt it. The Corvale had done their best to adjust to a new life. The soldier in front of them appeared to be much closer in tune with the old ways. If he proved less adaptable he could strike a blow to the confidence of the people in their newly chosen path. She resisted the urge to check the blade hidden behind the neck of her dress. It was unlikely things would come to that.

  “We are saddened that this is your first time in this House,” Conners said after a pause.

  “I was not made welcome the last time I tried to enter,” Aaron replied.

  “The past of the Corvale House has not always been praise-worthy. Senator Strabe was found wanting in leadership. He was replaced. Now you have returned, bearing a new weapon. Many in Delhonne seek allegiance with you. But we are not supplicants. We are your people. We are owed your allegiance. Do we have it?”

  “My understanding is that the current Senator’s vote is for sale, much like Strabe’s was. I love my people, but you will find no blind allegiance here.”

  Conners paused. He gestured to Senator Drake on his right. “The Senator’s vote is indeed for sale. That is no secret here. It has paid for the rebuilding of this House. It has paid for the reestablishment of the Corvale in Delhonne. It has been necessary. We sacrifice our public face so that we may gather in private and grow strong.” He gestured to the crowd. “Look to your people. Talk to them. The Corvale way lives on through them. There can be a place for you here.”

  After a pause, he continued in a more cautious, quiet tone, “What Class do you hold?”

  Aaron replied, “My last promotion was to Second Class.”

  The Class system was designed to train Corvale young men and women into soldiers. Classes ran from First to Ninth. The higher Classes earned respect as leaders of the tribe. Beyond the Fifth Class, warriors were marked with their status. Aaron had no such marks. He had been away from the Corvale too long. His formal status was that of a child.

  Conners asked, “I imagine you are due for some promotions. Will you enter into our ceremony?”

  Candidates advanced one Class at a time, usually at a large, celebratory ceremony such as this. Candidates were tested in front of the crowd. They were called upon to tell stories of the feats they had accomplished to earn the promotion. The Corvale had a strong oral tradition and storytelling was highly prized.

  Aaron slowly nodded. Miriam was able to finally detect some emotion from him. She sensed that he wanted this. He must know this could be an opportunity for Conners to discredit and embarrass him, but he had hope for acceptance. If Aaron’s pride would survive the bruises of standing up with the children, he could get the recognition he must long for.

  There was a murmur of excitement from the crowd. This was one reason so many were here. Of course, they were also hoping to learn about the dragons.

  Conners addressed the crowd as Aaron took his seat. “The main business of the evening is promotions. We will begin immediately. Please bring forward the candidates for Second Class.”

  A flurry of activity broke out as twelve children, a mix of little boys and girls, probably ranging in age from three to six, headed to the front, several followed by concerned mothers. Miriam saw Aaron use the opportunity to turn in his seat and study the crowd. It was dominated by women and children, but there was no shortage of men present. Most of the men wore swords though some looked as if they did not do so often. Most bore the telltale signs of day laborers with tired eyes and dirty hands. Nevertheless, they looked alert and excited. Everyone watched the children closely. Children had a role of honor in Corvale society which had only been strengthened by the Slaughter.

  Aaron caught Miriam’s eye. She stared back coolly, carefully surrendering the hint of a smile. He clearly recognized her from the night before. She held eye contact until he turned back to the front. He must wonder what her presence signified. She would let him wonder a little longer. For a moment, she could just be one of the crowd and enjoy the show.

  The First Class was all small children. Corvale children were trained to run and hide during battle. There were spoken commands in words known only to Corvale that directed the vulnerable in various directions. This enabled warriors to protect them in the heat of the battle, sending them to the safest areas, moving them as the battle shifted.

  The candidates were expected to demonstrate their knowledge of these commands. To simulate battle conditions, there was often a staged attack. The crowds loved the reactions of half excited, half terrified little ones running around, inevitably colliding with each
other. Some even grew so adrenalized at the affair that they would boldly go after the attacker, which was always met with great cheers.

  Miriam remembered her ceremony, performed in exile, one of the first held in Delhonne. Her parents had died not long after their journey from the east. The ladies who watched the orphans had been proud that she had helped one of the smaller children who had gotten scared and confused. For her ceremony they had a fake Chalk, a man with his face dusted, who had terrified the children.

  The council member Derrick Issale, leader of the Warrior Circle, stood at the front of the table. “Issit!” he shouted. The children ran to his left side. “Nishe!” he shouted. The children ran across the open space to the far left corner, near Aaron, one or two falling a little behind the group. “Fa!” Derrick shouted and the children took off running across the space, just in front of the first row of chairs. Suddenly a large man dressed as a minotaur, skin painted light blue and large horns on his head, leapt out from the crowd. The children screamed and scattered. The minotaur roared convincingly. The crowd was smiling but refrained from any laughter that would break the concentration of the deadly serious children. Derrick cried out “Nishe!” again. The children scrambled back near Aaron. The minotaur ran towards Derrick as if to attack him. Derrick yelled “Fa!” again. This was the true challenge, the children being instructed to run past the enemy rather than away from it. They splintered. Two of the cooler-headed boys and one girl led the way back across the front, keeping their eyes fixed on the corner. Miriam saw Aaron nod approvingly, caught up in the game. These children had been well trained. Several others followed the pack, swallowing their fear. Three of the children refused to leave the corner, one crying and the other two just staring at the minotaur, afraid to move.

  Derrick mock-slayed the minotaur, who fell dramatically to the ground, pretending to be dead. The effect was only slightly spoiled by the grin on his face. Everyone cheered.

  The three children who had failed were delicately scooped up by their mothers and led back to their chairs. The nine who had passed were lined up in front of the council. “Candidates,” Derrick said, “you are awarded Second Class.” The children had proud smiles on their flushed faces. “In First Class, we learn to be part of team. We learn to obey the warriors when it matters most. And we learn courage. You have all demonstrated these traits. We are honored to have you in Second Class. In the Second Class, we learn to protect those weaker than us. Each of you will receive a shepra. Your job is to keep your shepra safe. You will be expected to guard and care for your shepra for the next year. Do you understand?”

  The children nodded vigorously. Derrick gave a wave of his hand, summoning the mothers who stood behind their children. Each produced a small doll or stuffed animal. All were handmade. Miriam saw the look of love and tenderness in the mothers’ eyes as they passed the shepra to their children. Many would have been up early this morning and working through the day to finish them to be ready for this hasty meeting.

  The children would all jealously guard their shepra. They would sleep with them by their side or under their pillow. Games would be played in which saving the shepra from danger was the goal. Older brothers and sisters would also make a game of stealing and hiding the shepra, placing it at the top of tall trees or hiding it in caves. This was the year that many of the children would have to learn to fight, protecting their charges with fists when negotiations failed. At the next ceremony, they would proudly display their shepra, having defended them from danger.

  Memories of her own shepra carried Miriam away. It had been a small stuffed cat. One of the older Corvale ladies had made it, using a piece of Miriam’s mother’s apron that had been saved for this purpose. When she had been tested, Miriam had grown excited. At the test’s conclusion, she turned, expecting to see her mother with the others approaching their proud children. She had forgotten she was an orphan.

  The next morning, Miriam vanished for several hours. Just when the group of women who cared for the orphans was reaching the point of panic, little Miriam returned, grinning proudly. She had hidden her shepra in a place no one would find for the next year. The other children spent the year fighting in the dirt, their treasures close at hand. Miriam kept her secret with a similar care and tenderness. A year later, her small cat was displayed, unharmed, to the council. Many took note of her maturity and craftiness, including Conners Toren, the newly appointed leader of the Intelligence Circle.

  “Please bring forward the candidates for Third Class,” Conners called.

  Seven children approached the table as the younger children ran back to examine their prizes. Aaron Lorne also approached and stood to the side of the group, looking impossibly out of place. The children glanced sideways at him. Derrick said to the group, “Please produce your shepra.”

  The children all held their dolls in the air proudly. Aaron stood still for a moment, then drew his sword. The crowd watched as he carefully removed the flat pommel from the base of the handle. From a hollow space inside the handle, he drew out an old, carefully folded and rolled piece of fabric. He replaced the pommel and sheathed his sword, then unrolled the fabric, revealing the burlap skin of a small unstuffed animal. He hesitated, looking down at the shepra, then strode to the edge of the hall, where dust and hay had collected. He scooped up a handful, packing it into the skin. He repeated this a few times, then returned to the group. Looking somehow angry and vulnerable at the same time, he held up a small, bedraggled dog.

  Miriam’s heart softened. She had to view Aaron as a threat, he was dangerous and unpredictable, but he was also a Corvale. The dedication to the Corvale ways that he demonstrated moved her. She saw tears on many of the eyes of the mothers in the crowd and wonder in the eyes of the children.

  “You have kept your shepra all this time?” Derrick asked.

  “Yes,” Aaron replied. When more answer seemed required, he continued, “It was given to me by my mother two days before the Chalk Slaughter at Wyelin took her life.”

  “Tell us,” Conners called out.

  Chapter 13. The Slaughter

  Aaron paused to collect his thoughts. Stories were always part of promotion ceremonies, but this was a hard one to tell. He had told Cal once and had once told the Dura Mati, though one could never be sure if the minotaur was really listening.

  “I was eight,” Aaron began, slowly turning sideways to face both the table and the crowd. “The tribe had been traveling for months towards the Tower of Sidvale for the Shadarand holiday. We stopped at the ruins of Wyelin for a few days to give the horses a break and let the wagons catch up. We held a promotion ceremony followed by a night of celebration.” Aaron paused. He had many memories of that night. His mother had danced by the fire, showing all the signs of life and energy that had left her in the months since his father had died. The memory filled Aaron with more pain than what was to come.

  “The other children and I passed the next day playing in the old tunnels we found near the center of the ruins. They led all over the camp. We chased each other. We…” He fell silent for a moment. “There was no alarm. Everyone just looked up and saw the Chalk running into the camp. They massacred everyone. Men, women, children. Whoever was in their path was cut down. They killed thousands. Many of the warriors had been out hunting. Somehow those who remained to guard the tent city gave no warning. I was in our tent with my mother. We both looked outside when we heard the screams. She threw me into the corner and told me to lay still no matter what happened. It was only a few seconds before they arrived and cut her down. Two of them hacked at her body until it was still. On the way out they cut the door poles and collapsed the tent. It fell over me. My head was near the edge, exposed. I tried to keep it down but I couldn’t stop watching as they chased down and killed everyone they could find. They had Jerr hounds with them, big black snarling beasts that gutted the horses and killed our dogs who fought back.”

  By now many in the crowd at the Corvale House were quietly weeping. Nearly ever
yone in the room had lost friends and relatives that day. Though it was rumored that Aaron had been a survivor, no one in the room had ever heard a firsthand account of the Slaughter. There had been no other survivors.

  “It eventually grew quieter,” Aaron continued. “The Chalk spoke to each other only once or twice during the whole thing. The screams stopped as they killed anyone showing signs of life. I kept my head down as far as possible. I was still able to see a new group of Chalk arrive. They were escorting someone, like he was an honored leader or something. A group of six or seven Chalk surrounded him. And when they parted, I saw him.”

  Aaron looked over the crowd, then turned to Conners. “You’ve seen them? You know what the Chalk look like, yes?”

  Conners replied, “Yes, I have. And those who have not have seen drawings. We have not forgotten our enemy. We know them.”

  Aaron continued, “The way they look, all covered in the white chalk stuff, kind of like a skeleton or a corpse that someone painted with a greasy white paint, with those big eye sockets and sunken cheeks…well, this new one who was brought to the center of the Slaughter, he looked just like them…only…he wasn’t covered in chalk. He was perfectly clean. His clothes even, were spotless and new. His face was grotesque, you’d never mistake him for human, but there wasn’t even a hint of the white powder on him. Just smooth pink skin. And I noticed the others didn’t touch him. They kept their distance. So, this clean Chalk, he looks around at all the death, and gives a kind of nod to all the others, like he approves. Everyone is just standing still.”