A Storm in the Desert: Dragonlinked Chronicles Voume 3

by Adolfo Garza Jr.

  Instead of hiding, however, Master Gella leaned even more forward, straining, apparently, to see inside the tent across the way.

  Three more steps.

  Polandra wanted to shout at her but could only watch, silently. Good gods, woman, get out of there!

  One more step.

  Master Gella ducked behind the corner just as the men walked in front of the tent. Tucking the field-glasses away, she then ran for the back corner and disappeared around it.

  Polandra wasn’t the only one to let out a sigh of relief.

  “That is one crazy woman,” Aeron murmured, shaking his head.

  Fillion chuckled. “Isn’t she great?”

  “She was almost caught, Fillion.” Polandra didn’t understand him. Did he not see how close to disaster Master Gella had come?

  “But she wasn’t.” Fillion had an enormous grin on his face. “That was so exciting to watch.”

  “Maybe you are cut out for investigation,” Guildmaster Millinith murmured. “You’re as crazy as she is.”

  Fillion, chuckling again, continued looking through his binocs.

  An hour later, Ikan told her that Master Gella was back.

  She, Aeron, and Fillion, looked to the bottom of the ridge, toward the faint sound of pebbles shifting. All their dragons must have warned of her approach.

  Master Gella climbed up the ledge. “I’ll say one thing for those National Transportation people, they know how to set up their guards.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t get anywhere near the large building, and I could not get inside the tent.”

  “What did you see in it?” Fillion’s eyes were shining, he was so excited. “Was there anything in the wagon?”

  “There were five wooden chests on it.”

  “Five?” Fillion looked confused. “But we only saw one being taken in the tent.”

  “The others must have been in the tent already, before we and the wagon arrived.”

  “So,” Guildmaster Millinith said, “whatever they are doing in the building, they’re packing up the results, and they’re going to haul them away on that wagon.”

  “It would seem so,” Master Gella said. “And from what I could see, those chests could match the dimensions of the ones listed on the shipping receipt we found in Delcimaar.” She turned toward the top of the hill. “I’m going to remain here and watch their progress, but there’s no need for the rest of you to stay.” Looking at Guildmaster Millinith, she said, “If I need further assistance, I will contact you on the ‘writer.”

  “Agreed. I think we’ve learned all we need for now as well.”

  “If you could leave the horses, however, I would appreciate it. I may need them to get supplies.”

  “Of course.” Guildmaster Millinith looked about the ledge. “Dragonlinked, let’s gather our things and head back to the Caer.”

  Polandra kept the frown from her face. That was four marks she wouldn’t get back.

  I am better than a horse, anyway.

  Of course you are.

  It was definitely not dragons killing people here. She and Aeron had learned that, at least, so their trip had been successful. She still didn’t understand exactly why the Order was working with these people, though. And why was National Transportation so keen on keeping unwanted eyes away? Perhaps learning what was in the chests would clear all that up.

  One thing she did know. The Dragon Craft Guild was turning out to be pretty amazing. As a part of it, she just might be able to—

  No. She wouldn’t get ahead of herself.

  Chapter 14

  Minday, Primory 19, 1875.

  Predawn

  Cirtis gathered the robe around him and, with a passing nod to Anais, left his rooms alone. The halls were much emptier at this time of morning, though there were a few people scurrying down them, off on their own errands. He frowned. This wasn’t an errand, exactly, more a mission. A mission to save the Order. And himself, he freely admitted.

  The note had been delivered last night. Through hand-signs, Anais said she could not recall any details of the girl who’d bought it. She looked, the steward said, like all the other pesani about Bataan-Mok, unremarkable in any way. Had Anais known the note was important, she would have paid closer attention.

  Privately, Cirtis wondered if it had even been delivered. For all he knew, Anais could have simply brought it with her.

  The author of the note had written it in print, as opposed to longhand. Had the author done so to obfuscate their identity, or was writing that way their preference? Likely the former. Cirtis imagined that being part of the Laminae left one overly cautious. And he was certain that the author was, in fact, part of the Laminae.

  The poem was short, but at least to him, full of meaning:

  In high serenity at dawn, leaves of grass wave with the winds of change.

  He was wont to visit Tranquility Garden just after dawn, so the first part of the message had been clear. To those who knew a certain old tongue, the second part was easy to decipher as well. Laminae meant blades in the nearly forgotten language.

  The last part also gave him hope. Not stand firm against the winds of change. No. Wave with them. But wave how? Had the Laminae learned a lesson from their brutal past? Violence begets violence. Their homicidal efforts at change had been met with executions. Perhaps they wished to use other methods, now.

  Their ability to keep their continued existence hidden for so long showed that they had definitely changed in one way, at least. They weren’t confrontational. Far from it. They were secretive, elusive, and if they worked at all anymore toward change, it was behind the scenes. At least that’s what he hoped for and needed.

  This last set of stairs would take him to the rooftop garden. The thick runner carpet that ran up their center, now a bit worn from years of feet treading upon it, was always more welcome during the winter, when it protected bare soles from cold stone.

  It also muffled footfalls. Intentional? Transitioning one from the hectic bustle of life in the Order to the tranquility, the serenity, of the garden?

  After the stairs, the carpet ran along a short hall and ended, along with the hallway, at the door leading to the garden. Cirtis walked across the foot mat, out from under the small, roofed veranda, and stopped, taking in the garden’s wonders.

  At the horizon, the sun broke free, sending lances of brilliance out across the desert. Dawn’s light spread across the land below, but left the garden, well above ground level, yet in relative shadow. The large terrace was divided into many smaller areas, some raised above the floor. Puffy grasses, cascades of them delineating some of the walking paths, waved in a slight breeze, while here and there, saguaro thrust arms high into the sky. Various kinds of cacti, bushes, aloes, yucca, agave and more, were artfully arrayed. There were even a few small trees about the place.

  Plant life wasn’t all that was here, either. Rock and sand gardens made up some of the areas. Stones, from gourd to boulder-sized, poked out from everywhere, but were boldly arranged in a few of the plots. Some patterns seemed random, while others were definitely not. The sand gardens, too, were of various design ranging from seemingly natural, to highly stylized. Perfectly smooth, some were, while others were covered in patterns, lines created with rakes, poles, and the like.

  At various points along the walkways, benches gave visitors places to sit in contemplation. The benches were wide enough for two or three people to sit, and there were several on each side of the square plots. There was never anyone here when he visited the garden at dawn, but this morning, a lone figure sat at a far bench.

  With a deep breath, Cirtis began a circuit of the garden, stopping here and there. Some time later, he sat on an empty bench next to the unknown figure’s and stared at the raised bed before them.

  It was large, perhaps twenty feet wide and at least that deep. Tall cacti made up the back, bushes at their base. The various plants were mostly arranged by size, very short plants—some even lay flat on the rocky soil—up front,
while towering varieties made up the rear. Silverlocks covered the left corner and cascaded across half the front, their grayish-silver blades rising in mounds and hanging over the edge.

  Faint tinkling drew his attention.

  As she lowered her hood, the woman revealed the earrings of an umeron. He had no idea who she was. Unfortunately, there were dozens and dozens of umeri, and he did not know even half of them by face or name.

  “Have you ever been out in a storm during the spring rains?” She did not look at him as she spoke. “Not at the beginning of the season, but during one of the fearsome tempests at the end?” She stared ahead with the faraway look of one lost in memory.

  “I must confess that I have not.”

  “Many years ago, more than I care to admit, a storm of legend raged across an area east of here. The sound of it was terrifying to a child huddled in the dark with her family. Would we live? Was the small adobe house strong enough to keep us safe? So many questions ran through my mind as I trembled, waiting for the storm to pass. And pass it eventually did.

  “We emerged to a land transformed. Any plant taller than a few feet had been torn from the earth. Trees, cacti, even larger brush had been scoured away. Anything that stood firm against the howling winds was gone. One of the few things that remained were the mounds of grass, like the silverlocks there. Unlike the saguaro, the grass moved with the wind and survived.”

  “A cautionary tale?”

  “There are many. But one shouldn’t try to apply the same lesson to every situation. Instead, one should study events and make the best move one can. Don’t you agree, Capu Cirtis?”

  “Indeed I do, Umeron . . . ?”

  She glanced at him.

  He felt a pulse of magic from her direction and had a moment of panic.

  “Peace, Capu Cirtis. I merely placed an acoustic ward to muffle our voices. I am Umeron Tevah.”

  “I wondered if I would ever get to meet the leader of . . . the blades.”

  She blinked. “I am one of several leaders, else I wouldn’t be here.”

  Several? Interesting. And he doubted all of them were umeri. That would make it too easy to track them down. “You requested my presence. How can I help you?”

  She turned forward again. “The Corpus Order will soon be dead.”

  The chill he felt had nothing to do with the temperature. He did not disagree, but his fears had never been stated in such a stark manner. “I think it can be saved.”

  “Not as it is now.”

  “No, not as it is now. There are changes that must be made. Most of the core principles, however, are good.”

  She looked at him, brow raised.

  “Yes, the First Principle is a lie. I know that. But we could correct it if we discovered what Yrdra really created. The purpose of the Corpus Order, protecting us against Yrdra’s gift, would remain the same.”

  “And if you had the answer to the question of what she created, what then? Changing the First Principle isn’t a matter of simply snapping your fingers.”

  “I would need to find like-minded umeri and convince enough of those who aren’t. That’s where I need your help.”

  “My help?”

  “Yes. As much as you summoned me, I summoned you.”

  “Did you, now.” A corner of Umeron Tevah’s lips lifted in a tiny smile.

  “I made sure certain beliefs of mine were overheard, certain fears, and here we are.”

  “Yes, here we are.” She looked forward. “Gathering the requisite number of umeri to our side should be an easy task, given enough time.”

  “Our side?”

  “Most here devote their lives to the Corpus Order. They were taken from their families, forced into the Order, forced to endure the rise through the ranks. Some even died for the Order.” The muscles in her jaw worked for a moment. “And it was all for a lie.”

  He frowned. “Not entirely.” She was not wrong, but there was much that had been left out. “As I said, the purpose of the Order is pure. And we do more than . . . take children from their families. The Order provides much. Without Bataan-Mok, where would all the people who are members be living now? And even those who are not members—we helped construct buildings in the villages and dug wells in each one. We patrol for miles around, keeping the area safe from both nature and violence. We train our members with skills they’d never have otherwise. We buy from the villages, and because everyone has money to spend, money we help generate, trade caravans come, bringing goods we’d not have access to otherwise. There is much that we do.” He breathed deep and released it. “If we could just . . .”

  “Fix the lie.” She nodded, once. “That is why I said ‘our side.’ We want the same thing.” She looked at him. “I wonder, though, are you willing to risk everything? Your position, the Order itself, possibly even your life? There are many who fear change, and some fear it so much that they will do anything to prevent it.”

  She spoke the truth. But he’d already tossed the dice. There was no going back now. “I put my life at risk when I came and met with you. And the Order itself, at least as it is now, is doomed anyway. The formation of the Dragon Craft Guild was its death knell.”

  “Yes and yes.” Light from Suule, now risen high enough, glittered in her eye. “We will start on the umeri immediately.”

  “We also need to find out what Takatin is up to. Try as I might, I cannot discover his true plans. What is he doing in Ghost Flats with those outsiders?”

  “Ah, yes. He is using National Transportation for more than just their money.”

  He glanced at her. The Laminae were as well-informed as he’d hoped. “Exactly. Why did he send all those manisi out there? You don’t need half our fighters to find and kill a dragon. Besides, the only dragon sighting we’ve had in decades wasn’t anywhere near Ghost Flats, it was east of here, and the manisi were reassigned well before.”

  “Something else is killing the people out there,” she glanced at him, “or someone else.”

  He stared at her. “The outsiders?”

  “It is strange, is it not, that even though we have not seen a dragon in many, many years, people started going missing, being killed, not too long after National Transportation arrived. What are they doing out there on the land they purchased?”

  “Does Takatin know of this? Is he part of this?” If the Nesch had anything to do with killing villagers, Cirtis would have him punished. The Order was supposed to protect people! And the outsiders, too. If they were the ones responsible—

  “Peace, Capu, peace. Calm yourself.”

  Cirtis took a breath and tried to relax. His hands were clenched tightly into fists. Opening them, flexing them, he noted that there were a few people wandering the gardens. He hadn’t seen them arrive, so focused had he been on their conversation. Turning to the silverlocks, he watched their thin blades blowing in the breeze, slowed his breathing, and regained control.

  “We have no proof of anything, Capu, not yet. We have been working on discovering Takatin’s plans, however, and we have someone in the National Transportation camp at Ghost Flats. Do not confront Takatin or National Transportation. We can’t afford to let them know that we watch them. I will keep you informed about what we learn and on our progress with the umeri.”

  Good. The Laminae were turning out to be exactly what he’d hoped for. “I look forward to more poetry announcing those meetings.”

  A faint, humorless smile crooked her lips. “I doubt you and I will meet like this again. Someone else will meet with you, a, ah, recent recruit.”

  He nodded. This part of his plan had gone remarkably well. But what of the manis? Had he found the dragon boy yet?

  + + + + +

  “And lastly,” Polandra ticked off the final point on her fingers, “Isandath made no mention of the Order working with any other companies.” She shrugged. “I, for one, am pretty sure that camp is run by National Transportation.” The recap meeting had been going on for a half hour, now, and nothing brou
ght up so far had convinced her otherwise.

  “We can certainly operate under that assumption,” Guildmaster Millinith said, “but until we find evidence one way or the other, I don’t want to close my mind to any possibilities.”

  “There were no indications, physical or otherwise, of who they might be,” Aeron said. “National Transportation wasn’t shy about putting a sign on their rail station, so if it is them at the camp, they don’t want anyone to know.”

  Polandra glanced at him and frowned. What he said was true. Not only did they not want people getting close, they also didn’t want anyone to know it was them running the camp. Why was that?

  Guildmaster Millinith drummed her fingers on the table. “Let’s look at this from another direction. Whoever they are, it is obvious someone in the Order is helping them. Who could divert so many manisi from their normal duties?” She looked at Renata. “Didn’t you say that two umeri were in charge of them?”

  Renata nodded. “Yes. Though, while I was a manis, I never saw either of them.”

  Polandra had seen one of them, once. “Umeron Gomda came by one day,” she said, “while my group was practicing. He went to the captain’s office for a meeting. Now that I think back on it, that was shortly before all those hands went off to the flats.”

  The Guildmaster turned to Polandra. “And only the Nesch and the Capu are above the umeri?”

  “That’s correct,” Polandra replied.

  “Would either of the umeri in charge of them be able to give that many hands a special assignment without the input of the Nesch or the Capu?”

  Polandra glanced at Renata. “She’d probably know more about the Nesch than me, having worked with him, but I don’t think the Capu would necessarily be involved.”

  “I agree,” Renata said. “As far as the Nesch, however, he is much more concerned with day-to-day matters. If it were one hand or two, I would say the Nesch wouldn’t necessarily know or care. But half the manisi? He has to be involved.”

  “Alright.” Guildmaster Millinith crossed her arms. “Let’s ask a different question. What does the faction get by working with National Transportation? Why do it?”