Dragonstorm

by Mirren Hogan

  "We should keep that, too," Harm said, "although I'm not sure what use it is. It doesn't list any meetings for dates that haven't happened yet, does it?"

  Brish flicked forward a few pages. "No, nothing." He closed it and handed it to Harm to put inside the satchel. "There's another one, it dates back further but also doesn't have any names in it." He handed that over too and looked for anything else which might be useful. Finding nothing, he closed that drawer.

  "I suppose it's unlikely we'll find a handy list of the magin in Dargyn, and where to find them," he said.

  "That sounds like a dangerous list," Harm said. "But you're right, there's not much chance of finding anything like that here. Or anywhere."

  "I bet my last braid the reasoners would reward anyone who had one," Brish said, an idea forming in the back of his mind.

  "I'm sure they would." Harm rose and closed the bag. "I think we've found all we're going to find now." He swung the strap over his shoulder and pushed it up into place.

  "Unless there's a secret drawer." Brish felt around under the desk, the torch held out at arm's length. He tapped and patted the wood here and there but found nothing.

  "You've read too many of those novels where things like that happen," Harm remarked, looking amused.

  Brish shrugged and grinned. "It was worth a try."

  Harm patted his shoulder and shook his head, smiling all the while. "I have to admit I hoped you'd find something, but I was hoping for a stash of braids."

  "Now that would be useful," Brish agreed. He handed the torch to Harm, grabbed a hold of the desk and gave it a shake. The papers on the top shifted back and forth, but that was all. There was no tell-tale sound of clinking coins.

  "Oh well." He stepped back and rubbed his face. The fatigue of a long day and night without sleep was starting to tell on him.

  "We can sleep on the train," Harm said in a voice that echoed his exhaustion.

  "Right. I guess we should—" Brish froze at the sound of movement in the room below them.

  Chapter Seven

  Brish put a finger to his lips before Harm could speak or move. He heard voices below, but they were muffled. The urge to empty his bladder hit him, sudden and strong. He'd have to hold on and keep still. Reason only knew for how long.

  A bang from down below made them both jump, and Brish bit back a curse. If whoever it was had heard them, they gave no sign as far as he could tell, no cessation of noise or talking.

  "Haze," Harm whispered, "the desk is right under the hatch into here."

  Brish licked his lips and nodded. "Yes, but the furniture is all out of place. Maybe they won't notice."

  "I hope so." Harm winced at a scraping sound from below. "I think they just moved it."

  "We can get down without it," Brish said, unconcerned about that minor detail. Remembering a thought he'd had earlier, he asked, "Is there a trapdoor in the floor as well?"

  "Not that I know of," Harm replied, "but I didn't know everything Daris did." He stopped as the room below fell silent.

  It only lasted a moment before the talking resumed, this time louder and angrier. Every second word sounded like 'haze'. Scraping and thumping ensued, followed by a resounding thud like a cabinet being thrown across the room. More likely it had been pushed over, but the sound it made was impressive.

  The voices spoke again. From their deeper tones, they sounded male. If Brish had to guess, he'd say there was only two of them. Whatever they were looking for down there, he didn't think they'd found it. Only several minutes passed before their footsteps retreated and the hall fell back into silence.

  "If those were reasoners, they'll be sending someone for the dead soon," Harm said, crouching to open the hatch and toss the ladder down. "We need to get out now if we're going to get clear in time."

  "What if they come back?" Brish asked, peering into the office, which was a bigger mess than it already had been.

  "Then we better not be up here. It's a little bit suspicious."

  "Just a bit," Brish agreed. Rather than bothering with the ladder, he sat on the side of the hole and dropped down to the floor, knees bending to absorb the impact.

  "Show off," Harm said, climbing down the ladder to stand beside him.

  Brish smiled. "Now we just need to close that." He pointed up. As they'd guessed, the desk had been moved. Sliding it back would be to risk notice if the men returned. Brish noted the upturned rug on the floor, and the continuous flooring. No trapdoor there it seemed.

  Harm sighed. "You're going to climb on me, aren't you?" He gave Brish a sidelong look and a smirk.

  "Yes I am." Brish waited until Harm lowered the satchel to the floor and stepped up onto his hands as he laced his fingers and offered them. Harm groaned and heaved him up until Brish's legs rested against his shoulder. Brish hauled the ladder up and threw it toward the hole. It took two tries to get it in.

  "Move over a bit," he said, reaching for the square of ceiling so he could pull it back into place. He felt Harm wobble and grunt, but he stayed upright until the hatch was sealed over their heads.

  "All right, I'm coming down." He bent and grabbed Harm's shoulder, then jumped down lightly. His feet made a soft thud as he landed.

  "Haze, you're heavier than you look," Harm said, rolling his shoulders and shaking out his hands.

  "Thanks," Brish replied sarcastically, "I like you, too."

  Harm chuckled. "Of course you do. I'm fantastic."

  "Uh-ha." Brish pointed to the satchel. "I was thinking, maybe I should be the one to take that. I mean, if they start looking for either of us, they'll be looking for you first."

  Harm looked reticent, but he nodded. "I suppose you're right. We should go to the train separately too. Once we get to the hall at Tharay, we'll be fine, but until then we should be careful."

  "Unless the magin attack Tharay," Brish pointed out. If they could do this, then haze knows what else they might be capable of.

  "Yes, unless they do that," Harm agreed, "but so far the attacks have centred on Paryos. There's nothing to suggest that'll change."

  "There's nothing to suggest it won't either."

  Harm frowned. "Paryos is the capital of the republic and the seat of the reasoner's power. If they want to damage Dargyn, and them, they'll keep striking here." It sounded logical, but the point was moot.

  "We could stand here and argue the issue, or we could get out of here." Brish picked up the satchel and swung it onto his shoulder. A stab of guilt accompanied the slap of leather against his skin.

  "Right. Let's argue later," Harm agreed. "I'll go out the front door. If anyone is watching, they'll see me and follow. You slip out the back and do your little disappearing act."

  "I assume you mean I should travel by rooftop," Brish said. That was fine by him. It might be easier that way. The streets would soon be full of cleanup crews as well as refuse and miserable people.

  "Whatever it takes to avoid being seen," Harm said. He stepped forward and gave Brish an awkward hug before stepping back and nodding. "Stay safe. I'll see you on the train. Or in Tharay."

  "All right." Brish watched him leave. He considered going after him and insisting they go together. He didn't want to be alone, especially now. He'd lost everyone else he cared about, he didn't want to lose Harm, too. He had no choice, though; Harm would never agree with what he was about to do.

  Knowing he was taking an additional risk, he stole through the hall and into the room he'd shared with other apprentices. Everything was wet. The bag he kept under his bed dripped and stuck to itself. Despite that, he pulled clothes out of his small press and shoved them inside. Loose trousers made of soft cotton, sleeveless tunics, a light coat; they would all dry and be wearable, with a quick wash to rid them of the smell of damp. Where he was going, he may not need them, but he might as well be prepared.

  He closed the bag and swung it over his shoulder in front of the satchel. If nothing else, it'd make his carrying it look less obvious. Now he was just another trave
ler or refugee in the city.

  He'd taken no more than a few minutes, but that still felt like too long. He'd heard no alarm from outside, so he had to assume that Harm got clear and was on his way to the train. The hall was still, eerie as he made his way back into the corridor. Memories flooded through his mind: Waya's laugh at something silly he'd said or done, Harm's steady presence and good humour, Daris' stern but kind face, and the master of apprentices and her indulgent smile. He'd come here a child, full of self-confidence and attitude. Much of that remained but had been tempered with discretion by recent events.

  "Haze, I hope I'm doing the right thing," he muttered, pleased to hear a voice even though it was only his. If the gods of the olden times responded to people's requests for a sign, reason certainly didn't. His words were met with silence, which only made his nerves jangle a little more. Only time would tell if he was making a mistake. He couldn't, he decided, second-guess himself.

  The rear door he used to leave the hall was one of two. One led to the street via the corridor, but he used the one at the back of the kitchen. The wave, it seemed, had swallowed up every member of the kitchen staff. He recognised all the cooks and the helpers as he stepped around, and at times over, their bodies. He gave each a silent apology for leaving them behind, and not stopping to help. It was a ridiculous sentiment, he knew. They couldn't feel anything and wouldn't know if he'd done anything or not. Still, it seemed the respectful thing to do.

  There was no one in the alley behind the hall. It looked remarkably untouched and dry. The water might have washed past, or simply not reached that far. Either way, it was pleasant to spend a few moments on dry ground.

  He looked up at the roof, and the ladder leading up there. Part of him wanted to climb and start toward the train station. In his mind's eyes, he saw the expression on Harm's face, the disappointment when he realised that Brish wasn't coming.

  Swallowing back his reservations, he walked the length of the alley and out onto the street. As he'd expected, clean-up workers moved through the city, hefting refuse and bodies onto different carts for removal. Many of the bodies would be buried as 'unclaimed' but they couldn't wait for families to find them. They'd soon start to decay, and diseases would follow. The priority now would be on the living and restoring the docks to working order. The government was nothing if not practical.

  Stepping around one cart and wrinkling his nose at the sight of a couple of dead animals amongst the people, he made his way to the corner of the street. Here, things were a little worse. Several bodies looked to have been smashed against buildings, as well as drowned. The workers had to clean up bits of them and pick up limbs, cloths over their noses as they went. Brish doubted any were above first-level. Many would be apprentices, given the worst of the tasks while the second and third levels did the organising.

  Thankful for the higher rank pin, he kept walking. An apprentice of any profession could be pressed into service to help on a day like this. Even a first-level if the higher ranks decided to throw their weight around.

  He spotted a third-level with a brightly coloured scarf wound around his face. He looked as though he hadn't left an office in a decade. Brish ducked to avoid his gaze, He was exactly the sort who would insist he stop and help, if only to hurry the process on so he could return to his comforts. Brish grimaced to himself. Daris would have been out there amongst the workers, helping and organising for as long as it took.

  For a moment he thought he'd been noticed, as the man drew the cloth away from his face. Rather than shout to him, he pulled the fabric aside and was violently sick in the gutter. Brish couldn't really blame him for that reaction, and it ensured the man's face was turned away when he hurried past.

  He turned another corner into the street which ran past the front of the hall. As expected, he saw no sign of Harm. The work crews had already been here. While the street was still damp and dirty, no bodies remained to stare sightlessly at the morning sun as it crested the top of the surrounding buildings. The area stank faintly of fish. Brish suspected the smell might linger for a few days. Had it not been for the storm the night before, it would smell much worse. Once the sun was higher in the sky, everything would dry out in a matter of hours. Reason only knew what it'd smell like then.

  "I guess I'll find out," he muttered. He licked his lips and started the short walk down the block to the bustling building a short distance from the bards' hall.

  "I'm sorry, Harm," he whispered. He stopped to glance around before squaring his shoulders and stepping toward the imposing front door of the reasoner headquarters.

  Chapter Eight

  Brish glanced over his shoulder, scanning the street for Harm or anyone else who might stop him. Seeing only people who continued the cleanup, he stepped across the threshold. The reasoners' headquarters was quieter inside than out, but at least wasn't deathly silent like the bards' hall. Nor was it filled with bodies. Despite the ferocity of the wave, it seemed surprisingly intact and organised. Of course, the reasoners would have removed their own dead first, and cleaned any affected areas before turning out to help the city. Most of them might be doing just that right now, but a few still moved about, black uniforms as crisp as ever.

  He spotted a man a couple of years his senior. It took a moment to place him, but then he remembered the man pushing him at a gathering in the hall after Daris' death. That seemed like a long time ago now, although only a matter of weeks had passed.

  Brish nodded to the man. "I want to speak to General Zand, or whoever is in charge right now. It's important." He impressed himself with his firm tone. He sounded a lot more confident than he felt.

  The man hesitated, eyes shifting nervously. Finally, he nodded and gestured across the large entrance hall they stood in.

  "This way please." He led Brish across the hall and out a door at the rear. Unable to be seen from the street, a large training yard was nestled between the buildings which made up the headquarters. No one was training today. They yard looked more like a gathering place for people and supplies before they went to help the survivors. Boxes and crates sat to one side, full to the top with bags that Brish assumed contained food and clothes. Men and women stood beside them, sorting though and loading bags with items.

  The man led him over to another, older man. Brish recognised General Russkan Zand. Taller than most of those around him, the general was in his fifth decade, with greying hair, but blue eyes that missed nothing. He looked as fit as any of the men and women around him.

  As the general turned to glance toward him and his guide, Brish got the impression that he wasn't a man to cross. Zand took them both in, assessing them before his guide even spoke.

  "Excuse me, General, this man is here to see you."

  The general acknowledged the words with a nod, but his eyes remained on Brish. "Is he indeed."

  "Yes, sir," Brish stood up taller, only too aware that he was smaller than anyone else here, and looked ragged and dusty after a long night. He'd love to bathe and change his clothes, but matters were much more pressing. He'd have to be convincing, he had only one chance at this.

  "I want to join the reasoners, sir. I have information for you, I think you might find it interesting. And useful." He swung the bag off his shoulder and offered it to the general. The general took it but didn't look inside. Instead, he gave a nod to a woman standing nearby, then beckoned Brish forward.

  "Come with me." He turned and headed inside.

  Brish hurried to follow, having to walk fast to keep up with the general's long stride. To his surprise, the general led him to his office, when the man gestured toward a chair before sitting behind the desk.

  He opened the bag and drew out the contents. As he looked it over, Brish watched his face. He suspected the general would be a difficult man to read under most circumstances. In this case though, the widening of his eyes was evidence of his surprise and pleasure at what he was seeing. He put the bag aside and looked up at Brish, his fingers steepled in front of his mout
h.

  "Why bring this to me?" he asked. "Why would a first-level bard want to join the reasoners? Why not take this to another hall?"

  For a moment, Brish considered the questions. Then he understood what the general was asking; he was trying to assess Brish's loyalty. That was understandable, under the circumstances, although moving from one profession to another wasn't unheard of.

  He raised his chin, looked the general in eyes and replied, "Because I want to bring down the magin. I know they're behind the attacks, and they used magic to create the wave." He nodded toward the books and papers he'd given to the man. It contained nothing pertaining to the events of yesterday, but now was not a time to show his uncertainty.

  "They murdered my best friend, my mentor, and pretty much everyone I know. They can't be allowed to get away with that."

  The general nodded his approval and gestured for Brish to continue.

  "Sir, as much as I admire the work of the bards, and how important it is to keep people informed of important events and remind them of their place in Dargyn, I don't believe they can make as significant a difference in this as the reasoners."

  "Perhaps you're underestimating the power of words to sway the hearts and minds of the people," the general suggested.

  "I know the impact of words sir," Brish replied, earning him an arched eyebrow, "but sometimes words fail and force is needed."

  "You think that's required in this situation?"

  Feeling like a fish with bait dangling in front of him, Brish resisted the urge to agree. Instead he chose a more circumspect approach.

  "I'm sure you'd know better than I would what's needed to stop these people. All I want to do is follow you to that end."

  "And then what?" the general asked, "what will you do after every magin in Dargyn is lying dead? Will you be satisfied? Will you return to the bards' hall?"

  "Yes, sir, I mean no, sir." Brish stammered. He stopped for a breath and to clear his mind. "I mean, yes I will be happy, but no, I won't go back. My place is here now. This is where I need to be to make Dargyn a better place. A safer place. People shouldn't be scared in their own homes, or on their own streets."