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

by Samuel Gately

  He mounted his dragon, the one he had yet to name, yet to really connect with, and kicked off into the air. The other dragons gripped their chains in talons, one dragon in each corner, Marsail in the center. They slowly, painfully, lifted the massive portcullis off the ground. The structure gained altitude, more or less level, rising above the height of the Palace walls. The parade moved slowly to the southeast.

  Cal kept them low. They were vulnerable to attack, but there was no point in wasting energy getting the portcullis high above Delhonne. They headed down Market Street, following the same path Aaron had taken before.

  Just as Cal was thinking it might not be as difficult as he had expected, he spotted the enemy flight. Eight dragons slid through the darkening sky towards them. They were only a minute or so away, set on an interception course with Cal’s slower moving flight. They would outnumber him badly, especially if he didn’t have the dragons drop the portcullis. They wouldn’t have a choice if the option was dying one by one. Aaron had now been underground for about fifteen minutes. The bulk of the Chalk army could surface any minute. Time was short.

  Cal whistled and gestured to Marsail to drop his chains and join the fight, then moved his dragon and the injured one into a defensive position. The other dragons flew slightly lower under the increased burden.

  As with Aaron’s first dragon fight, Cal was struck by the silence, the slow pacing. The enemy grew closer and closer, but the only sound was that of the rushing wind. Cal tried not to think about the hard streets below him. Finally, the enemy arrived and all the dragons were launched into a tornado of battle.

  Cal’s dragon was speared by the first diving dragon, the hard bodies colliding. Cal nearly lost his grip on the ropes around his dragon’s neck and fell, but just managed to hang on. The dragons rolled in midair, clawing at each other, Cal clinging to the back of his mount. He saw Marsail engaging another but their defense was not keeping the dragons away from the portcullis. As his dragon righted himself and turned to engage another attacker, Cal heard the sound he had been dreading. The giant steel portcullis crashed to the street below. He was losing this battle.

  Cal whipped his head around trying to track the fight but it was chaos. The chalk outlines on the faces of the enemy dragons was not visible from all angles making it hard to tell friend from foe. The darkness was growing. Scaly bodies slid by him from every direction. They were all losing what little altitude they had.

  Cal’s dragon nearly broke free from the pack, but at the last moment a stray enemy talon ripped a bloody tear into his neck. The dragon rolled, tossing Cal out into the night sky. Then it fell, blood pouring out of its fatal wound.

  Cal clawed at the air futilely. He turned to see the ground racing towards him. He realized, somewhat dumbly, that he was looking down on the Plaza DeMarre. It was the same open cobbled space that had hosted the party he had been at four nights ago. There he had sweet-talked Daria DeFlorre into taking him home with her. He could almost see the place near the fountain where he had first approached her.

  To his left, a flash of black bloomed, and he crashed into something in the air. Another dragon? He pinwheeled, only a couple of stories left to fall before his death on the cobblestones. Another crash, this time much harder, and his downward fall was momentarily arrested as he was thrown violently sideways.

  Cal hit the cobblestones hard, rolling. His head cracked against the ground, his mouth filled with blood, and still he rolled sideways, only stopping when he crashed hard into the base of the fountain at the center of the Plaza DeMarre. His shoulder slammed into the stone fountain. The humming in his head was driving him mad as the world spun. A second later he threw up blood.

  Adrenaline kept Cal from passing out. He raised his eyes. Through vision cracked from the vicious clout on his head, he saw dark shapes landing around him. Cal stumbled to his feet, pushing off the base of the fountain with his good arm. Staggered, then caught his balance. He heard the gasp of onlookers as he saw more clearly that three dragons had surrounded him in an attacking position.

  Cal reached for his sword with his right arm, but the pain of his shoulder stopped him. He wondered if the people who were watching might think he was brave to stand in the face of three dragons. He drew his sword awkwardly using his left hand. He wondered if maybe they’d tell his father that he died bravely, that he was trying to do right, trying to stop a monster from killing the innocent. He remembered that this sword was new, scrounged from the Palace armory. His other sword was at the bottom of a tunnel buried in the skull of his first and only dragon kill. Cal carefully touched the new sword to his brow, wiping his sweat onto the blade, a peculiar Castalan gesture as old as time. He missed his homeland, the high cliffs, the endless sails of ships at harbor. He wondered what the Cal from four nights ago would think if he saw this Cal. Would he be upset at this outcome? Would he turn his back on this tragic vision and return to the party? What was taking so long?

  The three dragons surrounded him. He raised his sword unsteadily in his off hand. The dragon to his front, the largest of the three, roared, a terrifying howl that echoed through the Plaza. When the echoes had faded, it stepped forward and bowed low to Cal. The other two followed him, placing their heads nearly at his feet.

  Cal stared, dizzy and confused. These were neither the enemy dragons nor Aaron’s dragons. They had white stains around their eyes and noses like the enemy. But, as he looked closer, he saw the stains were faded, old. More grey than white. The dragons who had just attacked them had fresh white chalk on them. These dragons looked like they had been washed clean, though some presence of the stain remained.

  These were Zarus Coff’s dragons, the ones he had cleansed of the chalk three mornings ago. They had returned to Delhonne and found him. Now they bowed before him.

  Cal spat a hot mouthful of blood onto the cobblestones and sheathed his sword. He looked at the sky, fighting through his blurry vision to see that the battle was fiercest just north of them. And that was where the portcullis had fallen. Cal mounted the lead dragon and immediately felt the connection Aaron had felt with Marsail. This dragon’s name was Tyrne and before his painful and embarrassing enslavement he had been a legendary hellraiser. Together, they kicked off towards the north. The others followed.

  As Cal left to reclaim the skies over Delhonne, the men and women watching the courtyard stood gazing at the sky, mouths agape.

  Chapter 40. A Shared History

  Gelden Carr gestured to a Chalk near him. It dragged another chair over and placed it next to the King. Aaron sat in it as Carr continued his speech. “I’ll confess, as pleased as I am to see you again, I did want you to be out there in the tunnel, bleeding out over my troops. You could be watching as they ascend into your city. It was most disappointing to learn of your short-lived escape. But I will settle for having you here to observe my victory.”

  Aaron scanned the room. In a moment or two he would need to begin talking. He needed to take charge of the pulse of this dead room, so far removed from the surface. But for a moment he had the chance to observe Carr again, this time from outside the drug-like influence of the chalk.

  Carr had added a few decorations since the night before. An unlit lamp was on the desk, next to Aaron’s sword. There were two paintings on the walls, ugly things. No doubt they had been pilfered from Grace’s mansion. Carr’s position was strange. As an Awakened, he had little in common with the other Chalk, but he was still far removed from the human self he seemed to want to cultivate. He had created a hybrid of the two opposing cultures. He seemed to value personal wealth and prestige but was still driven by the merciless singularity of the Chalk. That side of him was interested only in eradicating all life that was not of the Chalk.

  The biggest decoration in the office was the presence of King Jacob himself. The King looked his part, regal, crowned. He wore his aloof manner like a robe, as though bored to find himself here. Only his eyes betrayed an alertness, an awareness of the peril that surrounded him.


  Carr said, “In a roundabout way, you make me proud, Aaron Lorne. It is right you are here. I feel responsible for making you what you are. You have tamed dragons. You have done mighty deeds. This is because I made you what you are. When we spoke at Wyelin, before you crawled away to live out the remainder of your short life, did you ever think to have the privilege of seeing me again?”

  Aaron noted that only the tiniest shift in Conners’ stance betrayed his surprise at Carr’s statement. Aaron had left that part out of the story he told the Delhonne Corvale the other night. Aaron said to Carr, “When I tell people that story, I usually leave out the part where we talked. To be honest, I barely remember what you said to me.”

  Carr glowered as Aaron continued, “I remember something about calling me a child, an insignificant bug who would taste your wrath. I remember you gave me your first name, the one you had before Gelden Carr. But I forget that too.”

  Carr pounded a fist on the desk. “You lie! You know my name, the name you stole from me.”

  Aaron shrugged. Carr rose and began pacing. “This attack owes a debt to you. If I had been successful at Wyelin, I might have rested. But instead you led to my failure, you stole my name and created within me a need for redemption, which led us here today.”

  Aaron shrugged again. Carr clenched his fists, slightly raised, but then took a breath and lowered them. “You seek to anger me, more than you already have. But I will not grow angry with you. You are like a child, seeking to anger the father. And I am like your father, because I made you what you are. I birthed you by killing your people and leaving you to live.”

  “Leaving me to live?” Aaron replied. “That’s not how I remember it. At Wyelin you sent seven Jerr hounds in the tunnel after me. They died at the hands of an eight-year-old boy, the same boy who escaped the mighty Gelden Carr.”

  “That was not my name.” Carr said.

  “It is now,” Aaron replied. “It will be forever.”

  Aaron leaned back in his seat as Carr sat back down. After a pause Aaron asked, “You command the Chalk’s troops? All of them?”

  “Yes. All of them,” Carr said.

  “Were you at the Tower of Sidvale? The night I met the dragons? Did you know the dragons would come that night?”

  Carr slowly folded his hands again. “Yes. We always knew there was a chance one or two Corvale would put the puzzle pieces together. Your people had grown ignorant of the link you shared with the dragons. The Eve of Shadarand represented your opportunity to meet with the dragons. Once every few years the dragons would come south in search of riders. We watched them greet the Corvale at the Tower of Sidvale from afar many decades ago. But your people grew divided, arrogant. For reasons of your own, the Corvale stayed away through several cycles. When we saw that you were headed there as a tribe, that precipitated the Slaughter at Wyelin. What was meant to be my finest hour.

  “I had patrols in place every year after that. No one ever came before you and the minotaur. I watched the dragons reach the Tower. After you fled, we burned it down. Something we should have done years before. There are no more chances to link to the dragons. You will be the last Corvale to take advantage of whatever bond your people shared with them. After your death, the ties will be severed. Your broken people will never see them again. The age of the S’Kuhr’Mar will be upon us. All of human civilization will retreat west after Delhonne’s destruction. We will take the east, find and capture what remains of the dragons. I will become what your people would call a god. My third name will echo through the world.”

  Aaron asked again, “You were at Sidvale?” As Carr nodded, Aaron smirked. “It’s getting hard to keep track of how many times I’ve escaped you.”

  “That you escaped me at Sidvale is something I have been aware of far longer than you. There will not be another opportunity to crawl away, child. By my hand you will die down here.”

  Chapter 41. The Lid

  The battle for the skies over Delhonne had turned in Cal’s favor. There was no grace in this fight. With a fresh flight of three battle-hardened dragons at his disposal, Cal was able to pick off the tired enemy one by one. All three of his dragons descended on each isolated white-eyed dragon. Tyrne attacked the body while the other two tore the exposed wings to shreds. The first two enemy had been ripped from the sky this way. The third had folded his wings in and Tyrne clawed its undefended eyes out. Cal had never had much place for chivalry, especially in the face of an enemy this vile, so the tactics suited him just fine. There was no time for anything else. His shoulder throbbed, head ached.

  It was hard to tell how many of the enemy remained. Aaron’s dragons were wary of Cal’s newcomers, keeping their distance. It made tallying numbers difficult. Cal needed to get organized. He finally recognized Marsail, thankfully healthy, flying past with his head turned to investigate Tyrne and the others. Cal screamed to Marsail, gesturing towards the portcullis. The dragon dove towards it, the others following suit. The swift group movement exposed two remaining enemy dragons. They were left hanging in the air, uncertain which way to go. Cal closed in on one. Both turned and fled towards the east. Cal let them go.

  Marsail only had the support of three other dragons now, but they seemed to still understand what was being asked of them, and they managed to get the portcullis back in the air. As they left the scene of the battle, Cal scanned the ground. A sick feeling rose in his gut as he saw two of the dragons he had taken into the battle dead. Their limbs were splayed on the shadowy streets.

  They entered the Lower Sweeps. The mansion was visible ahead, the only light in the neighborhood a series of torches and small fires surrounding it. Cal couldn’t tell how much of the Chalk army had already surfaced, but there was a lot of activity. The mansion itself was partially collapsed, the tunnel entry exposed to the sky.

  Cal guided Tyrne to the front of the pack to set the pace. This would have to be perfect. They would only have one chance. He removed a rope from his pack and threw it around Tyrne’s neck as they neared the mansion. He patted the dragon on the neck, willing him to continue forward. He had that seamless connection with the dragon that Aaron had told him about. The dragon would do just as he asked.

  Cal turned and, carefully gauging the distance, took one step on Tyrne’s back and leapt onto the portcullis just behind and below them, the rope linking him to Tyrne held tightly in his left hand. Pain shot through his shoulder as he staggered and fell onto the portcullis. The dragons nearly dropped it as its weight shifted. This close to them he could hear their panting. They were nearly spent. One chance.

  The spikes on the portcullis were pointed downwards, but it was still almost impossible to balance on, gaping holes between the joined links of steel and an unsteady level as the four dragons struggled to control it. Cal pulled himself into a crouch, making sure he didn’t trap any limbs. He held the rope linking him to Tyrne tightly. The mansion was just ahead.

  Cal ignored the noise now coming from the Chalk massed near the tunnel entry. Torches were waved. Knives were thrown, but the Chalk had never embraced the concept of bows, so they were little threat.

  Tyrne led the way straight over the tunnel, swooping upwards at the last second to clear the back part of the mansion. Cal looked down, lining up the wide portcullis with its target. The portcullis was not much bigger than the tunnel opening.

  “Drop it!” he ordered, and the dragons released their chains. The portcullis plummeted through the air, maintaining its level fairly well. Cal fell with it, watching the tunnel entry approach, seeing hundreds of white faces looking up from all sides of the netting lining the tunnel. He held the rope as it pulled him away from the falling portcullis. His arms were wrenched backwards, pain rocketing through his injured shoulder. Tyrne turned hard, trying to give Cal the boost he needed to clear the back walls. He just cleared the closest wall, boots scraping the top, before he lost height and was scraping along the back portion of the unstable, partial roof. He let go of the rope and rolled to a stop,
hearing the last lingering echoes of the enormous crash of metal from below him.

  Cal exhaled, taking a second to catch his breath. He stood, looking around the damaged rooftop, noting that the sun had set completely on Delhonne. He limped over the broken edge of the roof and looked down at the scene below him. There were scattered Chalk around the tunnel, but it appeared Cal had arrived just before the main force was able to surface. Several of the Chalk outside the tunnel opening looked up and waved knives at him. Some moved to make their way up. No matter. He would be gone before they arrived.

  The tunnel was perfectly capped. The portcullis had slammed into place, laying an interwoven steel mesh over the tunnel. It was flush on all sides, spikes pointed downward to add to the barrier. It fit so well it looked like it had been designed as the cell door for a prison, which is what it now was.

  The white faces looked up like damned souls from hell, clawing at the gate, seeking release. More clambered up behind them, pulling the front ones down. The tunnel was packed with bodies with no place to go.

  For the second time in less than a day, Cal leaned out over the tunnel, this time from two stories above it, and spat into it. “That’s just a taste of what’s to come.” He removed the stone locust carving from his pocket and knocked it against the roof, sending a message below deep under Delhonne’s feet. He mounted Tyrne, who had landed at the very back of the roof, and kicked off, back towards the Palace.

  Chapter 42. A Meandered Speech

  As the eastern side of Delhonne boiled in a chaotic pot, the western side was quiet by comparison. Alarm bells could be heard in the distance, but little knowledge of a real threat had made its way to the quieter neighborhoods west of City Center. And it was west that the Viscount Gerald Grace headed, seated comfortably in the back of an enclosed two-horse carriage. Two guards drove it and one rode on the back. Pete Stephos joined him inside.