A Storm in the Desert: Dragonlinked Chronicles Voume 3

by Adolfo Garza Jr.

  “That,” Aeron said, when she finished, “was genius.”

  “Well, I remembered how some of you had used the barrier spell while fighting them, and I realized that a spell that wasn’t cast on them could not be countered by them, not easily, and certainly not fast enough.”

  “There’s an ability,” Polandra said, “a more advanced fighting ability, that may have helped you tonight.” She frowned. “I was waiting to teach it to you all until I could ask permission, as it involves magic.”

  Guildmaster Millinith said, “Permission granted. As of right now, your weapon and hand-to-hand fighting lessons will be taught three times a week. I want both you girls to stop by the office in a bit so we can plan the regimen.”

  Renata glanced at Polandra. Her friend looked back at her and they both nodded.

  Gregor walked in. “Ramsey asked me to come in here. What’s—“ He looked down at the bloody scraps of leather on the floor and then at the gauze on Renata’s leg. Without another word he stepped to her and began examining the wound. After a moment, he replaced the pad. “Nicely done. You’ve been paying attention to the healing training.”

  Renata smiled. “Jessip took care of me, he’s the one who should be complimented.” Her hand reached for and found his.

  Gregor turned to him. “Good job.”

  Jessip nodded and handed the healer a roll of tape.

  “What of the patrol?’ Fillion asked. “Does it need to be finished out? Coatl and I can do that, if so.”

  “No,” Renata said, watching Gregor secure the gauze. “We completed it.”

  “You should have come here right after the fight.” Jessip looked upset again. “There’s no telling what’s in their claws.”

  “We were nearly done anyway,” she said. “And you took care of me.” She gave his hand a quick squeeze.

  Well,” Aeron said, “it’s good that everything seems to have worked out.”

  “Yes, it is,” Guildmaster Millinith said. “Polandra, Renata? Shall we?”

  Renata stood. “Of course.”

  Everyone started leaving, except Jessip.

  Renata squeezed his hand again and then glanced in the den. Turning back to them, she said, “I’ll be right there, Guildmaster. I just need to do something first.”

  “Alright, we’ll get some hot tea going.” She left, followed by the others.

  Renata turned to Jessip, grabbed his head with her hands, and kissed him. After a moment, she wrapped her arms around him, cheek pressed against his chest.

  “Just because you can handle yourself,” he said, “doesn’t mean I don’t worry.”

  She nodded. “I know.” Looking up at him, she ran her fingers down his cheek. “I feel the same way.”

  With a little smile, Renata stepped away and into the den. Making her way past Xochi, she stood next to Zolin. Throwing her arms around his neck, she said, “Thank you for worrying about us.”

  His happy rumble vibrated against her chest.

  Chapter 9

  Duviday, Primory 8, 1875.

  Early Morning

  “Patrolling the rail lines shouldn’t be too dissimilar from our current nahual rounds,” Millinith said. “There is even the occasional rail station where a dragonlinked team could rest up, if needed.”

  Doronal leaned over the map spread out on the large table in the investigation office. “The tracks are long. Hundreds of miles, in some cases, and the main line heading east is nearly six hundred. There is a note saying they will extended it as far eastward as they can.”

  “Yes. It would take a full day to cover a few of those, and more than one day for that one. I’m thinking of breaking those longer lines into two routes.”

  He nodded. “That would certainly make it easier to fit into an already busy schedule.”

  Millinith frowned. That was part of the problem, wasn’t it? She needed more dragonlinked, but they weren’t quite ready for them. “Dragonlinked days are busy with training, enchanting shifts, and their current patrols, yes.”

  “But you’re tired of relying on Lord Baronel for everything.” A wry smile curved his lips.

  Millinith shrugged and then laughed. “You never missed much. It’s good to see that is still the case.” She sighed. “Yes, I’d like for the guild to start supporting itself as soon as possible. We won’t be able to rely on Lord Baronel forever, nor would he want us to, I’m sure.”

  “One of the perks of being a Lord Sponsor is getting services from the guild at no cost.”

  “Even so, it doesn’t sit well with me to not be self-reliant.”

  Doronal nodded. “As has always been the case.”

  She glanced at him. Always? No. Not until she’d come to Caer Baronel, until she’d been brave enough to do something for herself. Or rather, until he’d poked and prodded her—in the gentlest manner—into doing so.

  She blinked. How long had she been staring at his eyelashes?

  He tilted his head slightly. “But, really. Lord Eldin?”

  She laughed again. “I know. He’s the last person I thought I’d have dealings with. But one shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, as they say. At least not until your benefactor leaves.”

  He grunted. “You’ll have him include a dual-termination clause?”

  “Yes. Either of us will be able to end the contract with written notice.”

  “And, obviously, you’ll want to work out in advance what to do if a patrol finds something, how they should respond to various situations.”

  She nodded.

  “And the hierarchy, too. It’s fairly vague in the contract. Where will the dragonlinked patrols fit in the CTC organization, if at all? Whom do they report to, and when? Who takes orders from whom?” He waved his hand. “Those kinds of things.”

  “We worked a lot of that out already for our current patrols around and near regional communities, and when negotiating with Lord Eldin on making the contract more clear, I’ll be keeping things much the same.”

  They sat in silence for a minute or so.

  “Well,” Doronal finally said, “I can’t think of anything else.”

  “I couldn’t either.” She smiled. “Thanks for being a sounding board.”

  He returned the smile. “Any time. He’ll be here today?”

  “Within the hour. It was fortunate that we camped less than a hundred miles from Caer Ilan on the way to Delcimaar.”

  Doronal drew his brows together for a moment, then he chuckled. “Ah, yes. It is difficult to disclaim knowledge of that which you have experienced.” He stood. “If I do think of something more, I’ll let you now.”

  + + + + +

  What coat should he wear? Lord Eldin had pondered that question for the last few minutes. It should be a warm one, obviously. Though the temperatures were unseasonably high, it was still cool out, and farther north at Caer Baronel it would be even cooler. A medium coat, then. He selected the dark brown from among the others and removed it from the wardrobe.

  After slipping it on, he stood in front of the full-length mirror, practicing expressions, or lack thereof. The Millinith girl didn’t seem like she would be that much of a problem, at least from what he remembered of her, but an imposing presence helped a great deal when negotiating contracts, he’d found.

  She’d contacted him last night via ‘writer. That she already had one for the guild had been a little surprising. When they’d first become available, it had taken nearly three months to procure Caer Ilan’s ‘writer as well as each private ‘writer he’d commissioned later. Her guild hadn’t even existed for that long.

  The reminder elicited a frown. He’d worried about them, had tried to stop the dragon guild being formed, but nothing he’d learned about them so far contradicted their insistence that transportation was not their purpose. Whatever the case, if all went well today, he might even be able to make use of them. Perhaps hire them for cheap. That brought forth a smile.

  “Good luck with your meeting.” Lora rose from the edge
of the bed. She grabbed a clothes brush and ran it across the back of the coat. “Be sure you visit with Gregor. I’m sure he’s disappointed that we haven’t been able to go up there yet. Tell him that we will, soon. I want to see him and my sister. Not to mention Baronel’s—”

  There was pounding on his door. “L–Lord Eldin!”

  A knock would have sufficed. “What is it?” he called, irritated.

  The door flew open and a wild-eyed guard rushed in. “They’re here!”

  Lord Eldin glanced at him. “If you soil yourself, you can look for employment elsewhere.”

  The guard gained some control of himself. “Of course, sir.”

  “Don’t forget,” Lora said, taking his arm. “Spend some time with Gregor and give him my love.”

  Lord Eldin led the way to the wide, central plaza.

  All about, people stood and stared. Some looked excited, some looked surprised, and most looked awed. Even Lora was wide-eyed.

  It was as if no one had ever heard of dragons.

  The beast was magnificent, though, and much larger than he remembered. The boy was one of those who’d been in Delcimaar for the meeting. Leaving Lora at the steps, Lord Eldin approached the two arrivals.

  “Lord Eldin, I am Accepted Dragonlinked Willem.” He bowed. “If you would put this belt on?”

  “Belt?” The thing looked ungainly. It was a little heavy, too.

  “It is used with the safety straps to keep you on Balam as we fly at altitude.”

  “Balam?”

  “The dragon, sir. His name.”

  A quiet rumbling came from the beast. Its large, golden eyes sparkled in the sunlight as the dragon stared at him.

  Falling from hundreds of feet in the air did not sound like something Lord Eldin wanted to experience. He put the belt on.

  The boy tugged the belt, examining it. “Excellent, Lord Eldin. It’s almost as if you’ve ridden a dragon before.”

  “I haven’t had the pleasure, though I imagine everyone at Caer Baronel has.”

  “Not at all. Very few have. In fact, I believe you will be the first Lord or Lady to ride one.”

  “Is that so?” Now that was interesting, indeed. The first Lord to ride a dragon? Hmm.

  The boy mounted the beast. “Balam, if you would?”

  The dragon lowered itself slightly and lifted a forearm as a kind of step. Lord Eldin grabbed a mounting strap and pulled himself up behind the boy. A few moments of attaching safety lines and they were ready.

  “Take us up, Balam.”

  The dragon leapt into the air, enormous wings beating loudly. Lord Eldin grabbed hold of the boy, Willem.

  Below, people cheered. That was surprising. And more than a little gratifying. He raised a hand and waved. More cheering followed.

  Flying was exhilarating. Frightening, too, but in a good way. The enormous smile that pulled at his cheeks was replaced with a frown of confusion. Just after a very strong surge of sorcerous power, a strange, glowing cloud had appeared before them out of nowhere. The boy must have summoned it. The center of the cloud cleared a bit, and, shockingly, the dragon flew into its depths.

  Cold air rushed past as they emerged, and another land lay below them. Was that Caer Baronel?

  “How did we—what did you do?” He had to yell over the wind.

  Willem turned his head and yelled back. “Craft secret, sir.”

  They landed in a yard in the center of four buildings. Patches of hard earth showed through the winter-dried grass here and there. Lord Eldin spied dragons in some of the buildings as he followed Willem to another. At the back of a large room, the Millinith girl sat at a desk. The place reminded him of a classroom, or of Master Phillipa’s office. There were boards—reminiscent of the chalkboards of his youth—covered with drawings, diagrams and writing. Shelves laden with books of various size lined the walls, and rolled up scrolls sat amid stacks of papers.

  “Guildmaster, your guest is here.”

  Guildmaster. Lord Eldin turned his attention back to Millinith. Was she even twenty years old? She looked to be hardly more than a teenager.

  She smiled. “Ah, Lord Eldin. Good of you to come. Thank you, Willem. That will be all.”

  “I’ll head off to breakfast, then.” The boy bowed his head and left.

  Lord Eldin spied the large map he’d sent to Gregor. It lay spread open on a table. “Was it helpful? The map?”

  “Very. Thank you for sending it.” The girl stood and walked to a side table. After filling two mugs, she gave one to him “As it’s a little early for wine, have some hot cider. It’s a guild favorite.”

  “Thank you.”

  She took a chair in front of the map and indicated the one next to hers. “Please, join me.”

  They spent some time talking pleasantries and drinking the warm beverage before the real discussions began. Several minutes into them, he was forced to reassess the girl, the Guildmaster. She was proving to be irritatingly well-informed and tenacious.

  He set the mug down. “Impossible. I will not pay one mil more than the standard rate.”

  “Yes you will. In fact, you’re going to pay us fifty percent more.”

  “Fifty percent? That’s ridiculous!”

  “Come now, Lord Eldin. The standard rate gets you standard guards. We are a great deal more than ‘standard.’” Her eyes narrowed. “Did you enjoy your trip here?”

  “My trip?” What was she playing at? “I did. It was . . . pleasant.”

  “And quick, too, yes?”

  “About that—”

  “We can patrol all your rail lines with three or four dragonlinked and complete each inspection in one week. How many regular guards would it take for you to do so yourself? Twenty? Forty? More?”

  “I doubt it would take more than forty.”

  “And there are the horses they’d need and the cost to feed the men and those horses.”

  He took a swallow of cider as he tried to think of counter arguments.

  “And how long would it take them to do one patrol of your rail lines? Four weeks? A month? Six weeks?”

  He glanced at her. She was good.

  “Even with the premium we charge for our services, you’ll still be paying a fraction of what it would cost you or anyone else to do the same work. You’ll save a great deal of money, overall.”

  He sniffed. “Three or four, you said?”

  “That’s my initial estimate. Let’s say not more than five. Five for less than the price of eight. But those ‘eight’ will do the work of forty, and will do two inspections in less time than it would take the forty to do one.”

  Lord Eldin couldn’t keep the smile from his lips. The girl—no, the Guildmaster—was shrewd. He liked shrewd. “Very well. Your rates are acceptable.”

  “Excellent. Now, we need to discuss how dragonlinked on patrol and the CTC will interact.”

  + + + + +

  “Cheddar, I found something.” Sharrah carried the tome to the table where he sat, surrounded by his own selections. They’d been given leave by the library to do their research in an out-of-the-way corner. Books they asked for would not be re-shelved until they were done with them.

  “What is it?”

  “The original myth, or legend, or whatever you want to call it.”

  “We’re supposed to be looking for information about the Order.”

  “This is about the Order.” She fidgeted. “Kind of.” Studying the original and the modified versions might let her learn more of where dragons came from. Or so she hoped.

  “Hmm. The Gods: A Pantheon.”

  “It’s in the section about Ulthis.”

  “Makes sense. The creation story says Ulthis was the one who made the universe, the stars and planets, and us, too. Everything.”

  “Except nahual.”

  He nodded as he leafed through the book. “Except nahual. Well, we assume that, based on what we know. But it fits.”

  Sharrah sat next to him. If Ulthis created everything
, including dragons, then they were as ‘natural’ as everything else other than nahual. Those terrible creatures were really the only things that could be considered unnatural.

  Cheddar chuckled. “Wow.”

  “What?”

  “If I’m remembering right, the Hour of Creation is a word-for-word copy of this legend. Other than the changes they made to it, that is. I’ll have to compare with the notes I took from Renata and Polandra to be sure, though.”

  “Renata was right. They plagiarized it.”

  “It sure looks like it.”

  She sat back in the chair. “So, if this creation story is real, then dragons are just as natural as, well, as we are.”

  “Hmm? Yeah, I guess so. A little more made for a purpose than us, but, yeah.”

  She smiled. “Alright. I’m going get back to those books, see what else I can find before lessons start. We’ve got just over half an hour.”

  Aeron and Polandra were meeting with Isandath again in less than a week. The more she and Cheddar could dig up about the Order for them, the better.

  + + + + +

  Gregor sat on the clay floor of the den, staring at Kisa. She lay on her stomach beside him, fast asleep. Her furled wings moved slightly with each slow breath she took.

  Coatl lay nearby, a mountain to her hill. Gold eyes glittering, he, too, watched her sleep.

  Movement drew Gregor’s gaze.

  Snow slinked over, sinuous and relaxed. The young cat, Fillion named him after his coloring, had just showed up one day, most likely from the Animal Craft barn. They had been ambivalent about the silly thing, but surprisingly, Coatl took to the mouser almost immediately.

  Purring, Snow rubbed his cheek on Gregor’s leg.

  Gregor gave the cat’s head a little scritch and a quick stroke. “Keep quiet, now. Kisa is sleeping.”

  Still purring, Snow walked off and lay next to Coatl, leaning against his left foreleg. The white cat let out a little chirp, which Coatl answered.

  A quiet gurgle from her stomach drew Gregor’s attention back to Kisa. He smiled. She was such a little pig when it came to eating. But it was fine. She needed to eat in order to grow and get stronger, after all.

  He studied her sleeping form. She lay on her stomach, leaning very slightly to the right. Her delicate wings were furled on her back. One, the left, hung a little lower, almost touching the ground. Her tail curved around legs and forelegs, nearly touching her nose. Small paws rested one atop the other under her chin.