A Storm in the Desert: Dragonlinked Chronicles Voume 3

by Adolfo Garza Jr.

  “Other than how dragons will access them,” Renata said, “I’m pretty sure they’re all the same.” She shrugged. “Even so, I love the rooms. They’re similar to the ones in the stables and are certainly nicer than the caves.”

  Polandra laughed. “That’s true.”

  “They’re a little bigger than your old room in the Magic Craft Hall,” Sharrah told Aeron, “but are divided up like the rooms at the stables.”

  Aeron looked at her. “You’re right. It’s like the designers took the best parts of each of them.”

  “Personally,” Liara said. “I love how they combined a shower and a tub in the water closets. Whether you’re in a hurry or want a long soak, both facilities are there.”

  “And,” Jessip said, “you don’t have to slog down a long hallway, hauling your clothes and toiletries along, to do so.”

  Fillion turned to Gregor. “What kind of room would you prefer? Courtyard or ledge?”

  “It doesn’t matter to me.” He shrugged.

  Fillion nodded. “Well, I think I’m with Cheddar on this one. A ledge suite would be good. Especially one with a nice view. After a rough day, you could sit on a chair or something on the ledge, sipping cider and relaxing, taking in the scenery.”

  “That does sound nice.” Polandra smiled.

  “How about the dining room?” Aeron said. “Anyone know where that is going to be?”

  Willem chuckled. “You would think about food.”

  “Of course,” Aeron said with a grin.

  Renata led them to the large room. It was about a third the size of the Dining Hall at Caer Baronel. Even so, it was impressive. Especially when one remembered that it was just for the Guildhall. Fillion wondered how many people could eat in here at once.

  Aeron looked at Renata. “Has the chef been hired yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I hope you get someone as good as Master Tallah. Good food helps keep people happy.”

  “Guildmaster Millinith is searching for a good chef,” Renata said with a wry grin. “Have no fear.”

  The last stop for the day was the clutching room. The portion completed so far was enormous. Fillion wasn’t the only one looking around open-mouthed.

  “It’ll be gigantic,” Liara murmured.

  “Bigger, even,” Cheddar said, “than the cavern Nayra used in the caves down south.” He stared at the domed ceiling high above.

  “We’ve been working hard on this for a while,” Aeron said. “Anaya’s memories, along with those from others, show that several dragons could clutch at the same time. In the wild, they all go their separate ways, going to caves and such to be by themselves. But as we’ve learned from Nenet and Chel, if they feel comfortable and safe, they are willing to come down here to clutch. So, we want there to be plenty of room in case some of our wild friends and our own bonded ones need the room at the same time.”

  “Based on the size so far,” Fillion said, “it looks like when it is complete, six or seven dragons could fit in here at once with plenty of room to spare.” He smiled as he thought about how much fun it would be to have that many eggs in here, waiting to hatch. And, too, witnessing the choosing and then the bonding afterward would be exciting and thrilling.

  “Even more might fit,” Gregor said, “depending on how much space they want between them.”

  “Our dragons are a great deal less skittish,” Aeron said, “a great deal more friendly toward each other, than wild dragons. So, it is very possible that more could fit comfortably.”

  “Still,” Sharrah noted, “you wouldn’t want so many dragons in here that a stumble or misplaced foot might damage an egg.”

  “That would be terrible,” Liara said.

  Jessip, standing near the short set of stairs about twenty feet in from the entrance, said, “This three foot drop-off, the sunken floor in most of this room, is it to be filled with dirt and gravel so they can make their egg mounds?”

  “That was the initial thought,” Aeron said.

  “Initial?” Sharrah glanced at him.

  “Yeah,” Aeron said. “But I think Xochi made a different suggestion, didn’t she?” He turned to Renata. “Actually, if I recall, it was more of a demand.”

  Her brows drew together. Then, she suddenly smiled. “Sand!”

  “Yep.” Aeron nodded, grinning. “Our dragons all loved the sand from your caves. Xochi’s mom used it for an egg mound, so why not have it here?”

  “Fillion,” Gregor said, “we have to go.”

  His brow wrinkled. “To get sand?”

  Gregor shook his head. “No. You and I have to return to Caer Baronel.”

  “Hmm? What do you mean?”

  “Guildmaster Millinith wants you at the investigation office immediately.”

  “She does?”

  “She woke up Kisa to send a message to me.”

  Fillion’s brows rose. “It must be important.”

  “Is anything wrong?” Aeron said.

  “I don’t think so, but Kisa said the Guildmaster sounded like she was in a hurry.”

  Fillion turned to the others. “You folks have fun. It looks like we have to go.”

  As they dismounted in the courtyard, Gregor said, “You go on. Kisa’s worried that something is wrong. I’m going to see if I can’t get her to relax and go back to sleep. I don’t think the Guildmaster needed me anyway—it sounded like she just wanted you.”

  Fillion nodded and jogged to the investigation office. Help Gregor calm her down, big guy, while I see what the Guildmaster wants.

  His bond-mate’s affirmative bark came from behind as he shut the office door.

  Guildmaster Millinith, seated at her desk, looked up at him. “Master Gella contacted me a few minutes ago.”

  It was important. “Did she get a look in a chest?”

  “No. But the chests are being moved. She wants us to meet her near the rail station we found north of the flats.”

  Fillion grunted. “An overnight stay?”

  “I’m not sure. Prepare for one anyway.”

  “I just need a few minutes and I’ll be ready.”

  “I’ll let her know we’re on the way. Meet back here in ten minutes, I’ll need to run to my room to pack.”

  He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  As he shoved items into his carryall, Fillion caught Gregor up. “We don’t know how long we’ll be gone, but we’re planning for an overnight stay, just in case.”

  “Be careful. Those people are dangerous. Don’t forget that they are probably who had that investigator killed.”

  “I know, and I will.”

  They double-checked Coatl’s gear. Fillion, Guildmaster Millinith, and Master Gella would all be riding. It wouldn’t do for a strap or binding to be worn or loose. Finding all in order, they walked to the courtyard.

  The Guildmaster arrived shortly from the direction of the Magic Craft Hall. “Ready?”

  Fillion nodded. “Ready.”

  Night was already falling when they arrived. He’d forgotten about the two hour difference. The rail station, five hundred feet below, looked different at sunset. The whole land was covered in deep reds and ruddy golds, and long, dark shadows pointed east.

  A tap on his shoulder drew his attention.

  Guildmaster Millinith pointed behind them to the portal.

  Fillion’s cheeks burned at having to be reminded. He’d been distracted by how different everything appeared. At least he’d taken the precaution of setting this end of the gateway much higher than normal. Still, the faintly glowing portal outshone the fist stars peeking out from the darkening heavens. It was dangerously easy to spot. He quickly closed the gateway.

  Focus, Fillion, focus.

  There was no sign of the woman. Can you sense Gella?

  I can. Should I fly to her?

  Please.

  As the last rays of sunlight lanced upward from beyond the horizon, Coatl flew north. After about three-quarters of a mile, he landed near a dark copse of
trees.

  “Guildmaster, Dragonlinked, it is good to see you both again.” Master Gella’s voice, she was being quiet, came from the shadows. With her dark attire, she was nearly impossible to see.

  “What news?” Guildmaster Millinith dismounted.

  Fillion hopped off and patted Coatl on the neck.

  Master Gella gestured toward the north. “They’ve set up camp for the night a few miles from here. It’s taken them two days to travel this far with the laden wagon.”

  “How many chests are on it?” Fillion hadn’t been able to see the wagon at the National Transportation camp. None of them had, save Gella. The wagon had been under a large tent the whole time.

  “Fifteen.”

  Fillion’s brows rose. “Fifteen?”

  “Keep your voice down,” Master Gella whispered, harshly. “We’re not that far from the station.”

  Fillion’s cheeks warmed for the second time in less than half an hour.

  “Let’s get in the trees. They’ll help muffle our conversation.” She led them into the darkness.

  “How do they have so many chests?” Guildmaster Millinith crossed her arms.

  Master Gella shrugged. “They must have been stockpiling them in the building as well as under the tent. I saw them bring several out to the wagon the next day, then only one every couple of days.”

  Fillion made sure his voice was low. “Have you gotten a look in one?”

  “No.” She shook her head, then smiled. “But we will tonight.”

  Her plan had sounded simple to Fillion at first, but now that they were carrying it out, he saw a few places where something could go wrong. Beyond that, maintaining complete silence the entire time put his nerves on edge. It was essential, she’d said, and there was no disputing the point. Any sound could carry far in the quiet night.

  The ground on this hill overlooking the camp was as good for sneaking around as she’d mentioned. The path she chose, up the back side of the hill, had nary a loose rock or pebble. Watching where you stepped, taking care not to trip, and avoiding fallen twigs and branches, however, were all made more difficult with only the dim light that Master Gella allowed. Still, the odd red-hued glow she’d enchanted was better than no light at all, he supposed. Red light was harder for people to notice in the dark, she’d explained, and besides, she’d cleared a path for them earlier. Even so, it took them a while to get to their destination.

  When they reached the spot a few yards shy of the top of the hill, they all took a moment to rest. Fillion stretched a bit, trying to loosen tense muscles. Guildmaster Millinith sat on a jutting rock and played with a bit of her hair, twirling it around her finger. Master Gella carefully set down her carryall and removed a few items from it.

  A small blanket or towel of some sort, it was difficult to see what it was, went on the ground. Atop it, she placed a few tools and a small kit of some sort. She then extinguished the glow from her shoulder and placed a new one on the ground near the tools.

  Reiterating the need for silence—she held a finger to her lips—she then pointed to the stone outcrop that made up the top of the hill. She approached its lower edge and got down onto her belly. Fillion did the same, as did Guildmaster Millinith. In silence, the three crawled up the rocky ground to the crest.

  Down below, just beyond the base of the hill, was the camp.

  There was a brief pulse of magic—a flash of goose-bumps across his body. He glanced at the investigator, but she just held a pair of field-glasses to her eyes, saying nothing. With a mental shrug, he did the same.

  The view through the binocs was off. As much as he tried to adjust them, everything had a slightly blurry appearance.

  She must have used Meturato’s Gloom.

  Fillion’s body twitched and he almost dropped the field-glasses.

  Good gods, man, you nearly scared the piss out of me!

  The humor he felt through the link only served to annoy Fillion.

  Gella turned and stared at him, brows drawn together.

  Looking at her, he tapped his temple and then made talking motions with his hand.

  She shook her head and appeared even more confused.

  He set the binocs down, lay one thumb over the other, and flapped his hands like wings. Then he pointed back to where they’d left Coatl, tapped his temple again, and made talking motions with the thumb and fingers of his hand.

  Her brows rose and she nodded, then she turned her attention back to the camp below.

  Fillion looked down through the binocs. Coatl was probably right. The slight blurriness matched what you saw looking out from within that enchantment. One of the women had created a pocket of gloom around them so they wouldn’t be seen from below, just like at the camp in the flats. Now that full night had fallen, even if someone happened to glance this direction, the patch of darkness likely wouldn’t be noticed.

  The camp was fairly small. It was essentially a campfire, a makeshift rope paddock for the horses, and three wagons. Several people lay asleep in camp beds, blankets laid on the ground, another on top for warmth, and a coat or some-such rolled up for a pillow. The beds surrounded the lone campfire. There were other sources of light down there, too—four large glows had been enchanted on the ground around the wagon he and the masters were interested in. A guard stood in front of each of those sorcerous orbs, facing away from the wagon, away from the light that could hinder their vision. One guard watched from in front of the wagon, one from either side, and one from the rear. Other guards, Fillion spotted four, walked the camp’s perimeter in a patrol. He noted that their gazes seemed to always be directed outward, alert for any intruders.

  Just as Gella had said, there was no way they could approach the small camp unseen, much less the wagon. But that wasn’t her plan.

  The back of the wagon faced their hiding spot. The investigator must have chosen this hill because of this vantage point. It would be essential. Wide, flat-topped chests were plainly visible in the wagon, stacked three high. They looked big. He also noted that each one bore a heavy padlock.

  Movement drew his attention. Master Gella was nodding to Guildmaster Millinith. They must be starting. Fillion drew in a deep, quiet breath and watched the wagon through the binocs.

  Eyes on the top chest of the rear stack, Fillion nibbled on his lip. He felt another pulse of magic, but kept his eyes below. He couldn’t be sure, he had no idea what size the chests actually were, but it appeared that the chest rose perhaps an inch. If he hadn’t known what was about to happen, he wouldn’t have noticed it.

  The rear guard noticed something, though, because he turned toward the wagon.

  Fillion held his breath. What had happened? The guard must have heard something. Had the wagon creaked with the shift in weight? Heart pounding in his ears, Fillion watched the guard look this way and that. Would he notice the crate was floating?

  Finally, after what seemed ages, the guard faced outward again.

  Fillion closed his eyes and let out a quiet breath. That was the part he thought would be easy! What in hells would happen on the other parts of the plan?

  Returning his gaze below, Fillion checked on all the wagon guards. They were as motionless as before. They merely stood watch, staring ahead.

  This next step was the second most likely to fail. Hands clamped on the binocs, he watched as the crate began rising slowly. If anyone happened to look at the wagon right now . . .

  Fillion quickly checked on the wagon guards again. They continued to stare ahead, apparently not noticing anything. Golden.

  The chest was now about half its height above those next to it.

  Why was the Guildmaster moving it so slowly?

  Inch by inch, it rose, its leisurely pace driving Fillion to distraction. Once clear of those beside it, however, it rose much more quickly and stopped, floating, fifty feet in the air. Then, after another magic pulse came from his left, it almost disappeared. Almost.

  It was curious. He thought the night sky was pitch black,
at least the parts where there were no stars. Not so. The absolute black of the gloom spell showed up against the not-as-black-as-he’d-expected night sky. It wasn’t horribly obvious, but if you knew exactly where to look, you could see it. Still, to those in the camp, whose eyes were not night-adjusted, the chest, or rather, the dark splotch, was likely invisible.

  Fillion took another little breath of relief. As long as no one thought to look in the wagon itself, they had some time to examine the wooden chest.

  The small patch of darkness made its way over to them on the hill. The only sound was the faint scrape of them crawling down from the summit and, once they stood, their faint footfalls as they returned to the blanket of tools. Guildmaster Millinith lowered the crate to the ground and removed the gloom enchantment.

  It was big. Four feet long and maybe a foot and a half wide, the chest stood about a foot or so tall. It reminded him of a footlocker or clothing trunk, but made of sturdy-looking wood. The padlock was also bigger than he’d thought. It was larger than his fist.

  Fillion watched Master Gella examine the heavy-looking hunk of metal and rivets. Mindful of the need for quiet, he kneeled next to her and whispered, “You know how to pick locks?”

  “It’s one of the many skills used in investigation,” she whispered. “Unfortunately, this is a multi-disk barrier lock. Unpickable. If we had a great deal of time, I could defeat it with other methods. Alas, we do not.” She started examining the chest itself. “Luckily, National Transportation was only trying to prevent their own people from getting inside. Secure padlocks are a good deterrent when the crates will be mostly under guard, so they didn’t take as much care with the containers themselves. The hinges are on the outside of these.”

  She retrieved a few items from her carryall and began working on the metal joints. After a minute or so with an odd-looking clamp and a quick enchantment, she removed the pin from the first hinge and carefully set it down on a small pad. The remaining two hinges were handled in similar quick fashion.

  She then cast an enchantment on the chest and studied it from different angles. Apparently satisfied with what she’d seen, she removed the spell and carefully lifted the lid from the end with the defeated hinges. Using the same care, she leaned the lid, still latched to the now useless padlock, on the ground.