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

by Samuel Gately

  But Aaron had no army at his disposal, and killing one Jerr hound was not the same as stopping a Chalk army. He was missing a piece. A way to stop the army, a way to kill it. He touched the pixie eye. Smooth, rough, smooth. Everything in the past few days had been forming a knot. Old enemies intertwined, balanced. Aaron moved one way, Carr moved another. Ink and chalk blended together in Aaron’s bloodstream, pulling him in two different directions. Aaron’s fear drove him to project a false weakness. Carr’s vanity drove him to project a false strength. Where was Carr weak? How could this army be undone?

  The lightning flared again in the distance. In that moment, Aaron saw Carr’s great vulnerability and the steps he had taken to hide and protect it. Aaron removed the pieces from the board and started replacing them. Now that he saw Carr’s strategy, he could make moves to counter it. He leaned forward, looking over the Talent board and earning a noise of irritation from the mark master.

  Images flowed through his mind. He thought of the dark pixie slashing at his false eye. He thought of the Chalk massacre at Wyelin and Carr appearing at the end to gloat. Ty Cullmore’s deliberately failed attempt to assassinate Aaron. The Jerr hound following him through the tunnel. Cal throwing water on the dragons. Sleepy Jon’s tricorn hat, worn out of season to showcase his complicated loyalty to the navy and his anger over his pension denied. The King’s daughter drowned in the moat. Zarus Coff imitating the sounds of a crying baby, making enough noise to enable the Dura Mati to sneak up behind him. All the details fell into place. Everything had led up to this moment. Tomorrow it would all spill over.

  Aaron looked at the board, the ideas forming a pattern, the pattern shaping into actions. He knew what they needed to do. “I’ve got it,” he said to Cal. “I’ve got a plan that I think will work.”

  “Excellent,” Cal replied, giving Aaron a distracted half-smile, then leaning over towards the mark master. “Hey, you ever do a dragon?”

  Chapter 35. A Plan and an Offer

  Cal and Aaron talked through the plan for almost an hour, then convened a series of meetings. A steady flow of runners headed out across the city, racing the approaching sun. The tattoo artist finished the rough outlines on Aaron and switched over to Cal, who briefly described his recent Chalk kills and the dragon. They finished the bottle they were working on and raided the cupboards for another.

  Derrick Issale was first to be summoned. Cal deferred to Aaron to lead the meet. The Corvale would respect the request for help if it came from one of their own. Aaron explained what had happened to Conners and then asked Derrick to make his way outside the city gates to the east with his men and the Dura Mati. After hearing the plan, he agreed.

  Ambassador Stone, Cal’s friend from the Castalan Embassy, arrived as Derrick was leaving. Cal asked him to wait for a few minutes until Senator Drake, the Corvale’s only real political representation, arrived. Cal told the politicians about the tunnel and the threat. He then laid out Aaron’s plan. Both took some convincing that they were undertaking the best course of action, concerned with the many lives that hung in the balance. Once he had come around, Stone provided strong insight into how to accomplish his and Drake’s part of the job. Drake also contributed several ideas and showcased a deep knowledge of the inner workings of the Senate. Aaron was predisposed to dislike Drake. He saw him as an extension of the former Corvale Senator Strabe and wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea of his vote being for sale to the highest bidders. To his surprise Drake was winning him over quickly. What started as one of the shakiest areas of their plan was becoming one of the more reliable.

  As the politicians left, Jon returned. Cal and Aaron told him the plan. He left to gather what remained of his and Vander’s men, sent a runner to the kennel to post that there was work available for anyone who wanted coin, and then made his way to the Palace.

  Finally, Miriam got back, trailed by two tough-looking Corvale that Aaron hadn’t seen before. Cal left, taking the Corvale with him, under the auspices of checking up on the dragons. Aaron was left alone with Miriam. It was clear to him that most of her anger had dissipated. She had seen the now heavily guarded mansion and agreed that a direct assault was unlikely to get Conners out alive. Aaron explained the plan. Her temper flared again on learning that her part did not include rescuing Conners.

  “Miriam, we’ve got two enemies, at least. We can’t lose sight of one of them. I need you to trust me. You can’t go after Conners, because I am. They’ll take me to him. We need that to happen. I will get him out alive, but I need you to do something else for me, for all of us. I need you to stop whatever Grace has planned.”

  Miriam paced the room. “How are you so sure they’ll take you to him? They might just kill you.”

  “I’m learning more about them. The Chalk went after the King. The idea that he’s not that powerful never even occurred to Carr. They respect rank. They respect status. They expect everyone else to. They know me. I survived the Slaughter. I talked with Carr. I have dragons, marks. The Chalk at the surface will take me to him. They don’t have the right to kill me. Carr does. And he’ll have Conners and the King with him, if they’re alive.”

  Miriam’s face crumpled at the mention of Conners’ death, but she quickly recovered. She approached Aaron and, without warning, grabbed his hair hard with both hands. Pulling his face up to hers, she said, “I’ll stop Grace. You get Conners. Don’t screw it up, Aaron. Time to show us if you’re worth following.”

  Before he could respond, she was gone. Her rapid footsteps on the stairs receded. Cal returned and sat at the table for a minute. His previous good mood seemed to have fled. Finally he rose and walked out onto the balcony. A moment later Aaron joined him.

  They looked out over the dark city, dawn threatening in the east. Aaron hated the dawn. The birds would descend, feast on the garbage left in the streets. The city looked ugly, poor, depressing in the pale light. Aaron’s stomach would sour and the loneliness would come. The sunlight would illuminate everything he hadn’t accomplished the night before, all the loose ends that might strangle him today. He feared the mornings far more than he feared the nights.

  Cal was glaring at the balcony across the street, Ty Cullmore’s place. His face was dark. Probably replaying the memory of what had happened to Dom Beres. Cal held memories like broken glass. He always had. He let them cut him. And the ones that cut him always seemed to be the ones he was holding. But that wasn’t fair. Aaron hadn’t been here to help his friend. He’d left Cal behind. He had turned his back on Cal, on his old life. He left it and went out seeking oblivion with the Dura Mati. That he found a second chance instead was just luck.

  Aaron looked sideways at Cal. When they were at their darkest moments, the disagreements surrounding the Dura Mati, Aaron had convinced himself Cal was a tourist in his world. That somehow Cal coming from a different place made him less invested. A place with a family with a name. A place with a living father, brothers. A homeland that wasn’t filled with ghosts.

  But with the benefit of time and distance, Aaron had realized he was seeing something to help him justify his abandonment of a loyal friend. What he wanted to see. When Cal had questioned Aaron, Aaron had wanted an out. But when he took Cal’s harsh words over the Dura Mati to heart, Aaron was doing something that ran counter to the way he’d learned to see the world. He was judging Cal by something other than what his friend had done. The world was full of people who talk, threaten, promise. Say they believe in something. Question what you believe in. Say they stand up for people then do nothing. But the marks made things different. Aaron never should have to wonder if he could trust Cal. He didn’t need to decode what he stood for. It was written all over him. He’d killed Aaron’s enemies. He’d defended Aaron’s people time and time again. He’d ridden to the Ashlands. He’d saved Aaron from death just a few short hours ago. Whatever fake grudge Aaron had used to justify his betrayal didn’t stand in the face of the truth, in the face of the ink.

  Aaron knew he owed Cal
a debt. A huge, terrifying debt that he didn’t even know where to start with. But whether Cal continued to follow him or eventually found the weight of that debt to be too much, Aaron knew where Cal would be standing when the night of the Chalk began. By Aaron’s side. Because Cal had been here before. He’d faced the darkness with Aaron. Aaron wondered if he’d ever be able to tell his friend how much that meant.

  “You want to go kill Cullmore?” Aaron asked, not entirely sure if the offer was sincere.

  Cal looked over, surprised. “Are you serious?”

  “I owe it to you. You were right. I owe you better than what I’ve given you. You’re not just a weapon to me. You want to do it, we’ll do it.”

  “To what do we owe this sudden awakening?”

  Aaron flinched at the word choice. A reminder of the conversation with Carr. A reminder that the Awakened Chalk considered himself advanced precisely because he used his people like tools. Aaron needed to be better. He waited for Cal’s response.

  Cal pretended to consider Aaron’s offer. “As fun as it would be, I think we’ve got enough on our plate tonight.” He leaned onto the railing, looking out over the dark city. The sun was beginning to rise. Cal spat over the edge. “Fuck it. Let’s go.”

  Both men climbed to the roof. Moments later, seven dragons and two riders crossed the sky in the direction of the Palace.

  The Night of the Chalk

  Chapter 36. Some Work at the Palace

  The sun rose over Delhonne, casting a rich orange light into the dark corners of the city. Those last remaining few who made their living in the darkness scurried into holes to hide away the day. The many who called the streets their homes awoke with the sun. They pulled their meager possessions together, settled into another day of scrambling for enough coin to keep them alive until the sun set again. The beggars were quickly joined by industrious laborers, yawning as they hustled off to turn the wheels of their trades. They faced a busy day of keeping Delhonne moving with their sweat and boredom. The laborers shared the streets with servants, racing ahead of the demands of the slowly rising nobility. The servants had little time to ensure provisions were gathered, breakfast was hot, and the news was fresh. Shops were opened, shutters raised, often to greet impatient crowds already assembled. Hustle was not a common trait among the established merchants of Delhonne.

  Preparations for the Festival of Clouds had taken on a fever pitch with only one day to go. Crews prepared a parade route. The Home Guard began providing a more visible presence among the crowded areas of City Center.

  The morning sun found Derrick Issale outside the city walls, canvasing the outer neighborhoods. He and his men searched for the telltale dead spot that would indicate that, as in the Lower Sweeps, the enemy had taken steps to conceal something. The other end of the tunnel. They had to hope it would be close to walls, though the neighborhoods sprawled out for nearly a mile beyond what was formally recognized as Delhonne. Issale moved quickly, well aware that even if he and his well-armed men were not attracting attention, the cloaked giant accompanying them was.

  West of Derrick, well inside the walls, Miriam watched the mansion in the Lower Sweeps from a distance. She was accompanied by two of the Corvale Intelligence Circle’s enforcers. There were no Chalk visible, but the street was being regularly scrutinized by several guards positioned just inside the mansion’s upper floor.

  Ambassador Stone and Senator Drake were making last minute preparations for their address to the Senate. They were cloistered in a small office on the first floor of the Senate building. In a few minutes the majority leader would arrive and they would begin their two-pronged attack on him. It would be a struggle to even get on today’s agenda despite the seriousness of their message. Today’s session was intended to be brief and largely ceremonial. It would be a miracle if Stone and Drake were able to accomplish their goals before the sun went down.

  Dawn found Aaron, Cal, and Jon all at the Palace grounds, rapidly mobilizing a workforce. Men accustomed to gauntlets were setting them aside for work gloves. In addition to the men working under Jon and Vander, they had all of Cal’s household, some loaners from the Castalan Embassy, and several who had responded to Jon’s call for workers. They quickly divided the workforce into two segments. One went to work on the front gate of the castle, specifically the thickly spiked portcullis, an enormous piece of heavy interwoven steel bars designed to keep out unwelcome guests. The others worked outside the Palace walls just past the moat, lining up long wooden beams facing east.

  Not everything went smoothly. While there was minimal foot traffic at the Palace and the preparations for the Festival of Clouds covered a lot of irregular activity, certain members of the Palace staff had gotten a little too curious. One of the senior footmen found himself unceremoniously bound and stuffed in an old pantry near the rear of the Palace. More joined him steadily throughout the day. They would be released after the sun set and all need for subterfuge was gone.

  The day was hot and dry, quiet. The only sounds were of work. The air filled with sweat and nervousness. All of the men were aware of the threat, and their minds were on their families. They worked hard in the hopes that the seemingly pointless actions they were taking would somehow belay a night of terror. As the day grew later, more and more of them would slip away into the growing shadows. Two months’ pay was nothing to scoff at, but if an invasion was coming, their families would need protection.

  Again and again, eyes were drawn to Aaron Lorne. He had spent the morning working as one of them. Eventually the interruptions of a steady flow of messengers proved impossible to keep at bay. He stood near the dragons in the center of the courtyard, monitoring the progress of the sun across the sky while collecting updates from the makeshift intelligence network they had put into place.

  By midday, Jon had shifted most of his work force into the Market Slope. In the Slope, unusually quiet for a busy day, Jon scoured the neighborhood until he found what he was looking for. A construction site only a block off Market Street would provide them with a staging area for their project and, more importantly, with the stacks of long wooden beams they needed to keep building it. The site was secured by a pair of guards. They happily surrendered their swords when they were offered the opportunity to pass the day locked in a shed rather than dying over a few construction supplies. Later in the day, the foreman who came by to check on his site joined them.

  Jon’s men worked hard in silence. The first few hours had involved some shouting and confusion, but once the tracks were laid there was nothing left to do but haul and drop, haul and drop. Now one team worked on the area just outside the Palace moat. The other kept building down Market Street, nearly to the edge of the Lower Sweeps.

  Eventually the sun dropped below the rooftops. The pretense at secrecy would fade with the dying light. What remained would be a race, with the fate of Delhonne determined by the winner.

  Chapter 37. The Setting Sun

  The setting sun was visible through the uncovered window in the darkening room. Derrick Issale and his men were on the second floor of a modest but well-maintained home not far east of the city walls. All lights were extinguished. All entries to the home had been carefully and discreetly barricaded. The home had been unoccupied for months, like most of the homes and businesses in this quiet neighborhood known as the Outer Rim. The enemy had poured money into the Outer Rim to hollow it out, just as they had with the Lower Sweeps. All to hide the construction of the tunnel that would allow them to bypass Delhonne’s defenses.

  Derrick prayed the building they were hidden in still gave off the impression of abandonment. He had his twelve men all sitting low on the floor. Only he stood, allowing himself the dubious privilege of being the only one to watch the street. He stared through a dirty and bleary window, the only one they hadn’t covered. The Chalk army had arrived. They streamed down the street, mere feet from the home. There were thousands.

  The Chalk army packed the street shoulder to shoulder. None spoke.
None issued orders. They simply poured down like a flood, their white heads bobbing as they walked in a disorganized mass. The army appeared undisciplined. There was no formation, no visible leadership. Yet not a single Chalk spoke or broke the silence at all. They looked hungry, ready to strike.

  Derrick had watched the approach of many armies on many battlefields. The first time, he had been struck by the fear. In nearly every army he’d seen, nine out of every ten men were wild-eyed, terrified beyond belief. All over their faces was written the desire to turn and run. Only the tight formations and the fear of humiliation kept them forced in lockstep towards their enemy, into the heart of their terror. Debilitating fear was an omnipresent companion on the battlefield. He and most of his men may have passed that stage, but no army he had ever seen, veterans or no, entered battle without fear in their eyes.

  This Chalk army showed no fear. Like ants they poured forth. Each one, pale and twisted, walked eagerly and readily forward, propelled under their own power. No leaders were needed. The troops made their own way into Delhonne, ready to kill.

  Derrick occupied his mind estimating numbers. After somewhere around three thousand Chalk passed by the house, there was a definitive break, a gap of about thirty feet. Another group marched behind, but now there were some differences. Leading the way was a Chalk that looked unlike any of the others, some odd texture to its face, breaks in the white that coated its skin. It carried a torch, the first to do so, and had long black hair. This would be Ulsor Vinn, the Awakened Chalk leading the troops. Carr had shared the name with Aaron, Aaron passed it to Cal and Derrick.