A Storm in the Desert: Dragonlinked Chronicles Voume 3

by Adolfo Garza Jr.

  The execution dais had been transformed. Most, if not all, of the umeri, once they’d recovered from the tainted wine, had gone and examined it. It seemed as if someone had scooped most of it away. In an oddly beautiful, perfect sphere, stone and mortar had vanished, leaving an enormous and deep, bowl-shaped hollow in the floor of the plaza, surrounded by the remnants of the four corners, all that remained of the granite platform.

  “Dunes?” someone said in the seats. “Should we send a hand to the deep desert?”

  Nesch Takatin glanced at the umeron and shook his head. “That would be pointless. It would take over a week for anyone to reach the Shining Sands, much less search the thousands of square miles involved.”

  “Were the manisi able to kill the dragon with spells before it vanished?” Capu Cirtis asked.

  The beast had used magic when it and the boy had been captured. Two manisi had placed enchantments on the dragon to monitor for spell activity and interrupt any detected. When they got to Bataan-Mok, Takatin had increased that to three manisi at all times. Those monitoring enchantments could also be used to kill, if needed.

  “No,” he replied. “Their ties to it were almost immediately broken, removed. As the dragon had vanished, they were unable to cast anything on it again.”

  “I see.” The look on Cirtis’s face wasn’t that of disappointment.

  “Was it the boy? Did he somehow conjure up this mist to assist in the escape?”

  Takatin missed who’d asked the question. “I do not believe so. I felt enormous power as the spell began. But the power surrounded us; it did not emanate from him or the dragon.”

  He looked around the faces. “They must have had help.”

  And they’d somehow planned it all beforehand. Takatin was sure of it. The boy, Aeron, had been giving signals to his compatriots out there. And, too, he’d warned Takatin to stay back. The executioner’s sword had been cut cleanly, sliced like a melon where it had passed through that strange glass wall. Aeron had known the spell was about to be completed and how dangerous it was.

  The boy had saved his life.

  “What of the agitator? Was he captured? Perhaps we could persuade him to reveal who helped.”

  Takatin frowned. “He vanished as well, though under different circumstances. Once through the archway, he made for the main hallways and no one saw what became of him after.”

  Dragons are people, the rabble-rouser had shouted. Aeron had said something of the like. He’d also said that he could feel what his dragon felt. The way he’d described it sounded almost like—

  “And the wine?” Capu Cirtis said. “Did we discover how it came to be tainted? I can tell you, the experience was not pleasant. I’m not sure that robe can be saved.”

  Takatin glanced at him. “Not all the wine served was tainted. Of the two casks opened for this evening, one was found to have been contaminated by some kind of mold growth.”

  “I certainly hope all our casks are being examined for this mold,” Cirtis said, “along with the entire cellar. I, for one, do not wish to ever go through that again.”

  Mumbles of agreement came from several umeri.

  “Yes, of course. They are all being examined.”

  “Was the cause of the fire found as well?”

  Takatin clenched his jaw. “People near the banner reported that the fire in the brazier nearby was spitting and popping. They wondered if perhaps a few branches of chaparral made it into a wood bundle by accident as they thought they smelled its distinctive odor.”

  Everything seemed to have an explanation. Even so, Takatin didn’t for one minute believe them to be coincidences. One of them, perhaps, but not three at once, exactly at the start of the execution. And all moments after Aeron had raised his arm.

  “What of the the Observers?” Umeron Yiska’s eyes burned into Takatin.

  “What of them?”

  “There may be indications of any internal assistance the boy may have had in their recent records.”

  “Internal assistance?” Capu Cirtis turned in his seat to face the thin, old man. “Surely you don’t think someone in the Corpus Order helped him?”

  Umeron Yiska slammed his fist into the armrest. “Someone cast the enchantment that allowed their escape! The Nesch says it wasn’t the boy or the dragon. That means they had assistance from at least one other person. As to whether that person is a member or not, I do not know, but we should not rule out anything. If we had killed it last night, like I suggested, this may not have happened. They may not have had time—”

  “Enough!” Takatin gripped the sides of the lectern. “I tire of your constant harping on that point. I explained to you why we could not. The only reason we kill dragons is to show people that we do our duty. Doing so with no one to see is pointless.”

  “I thought the reason we kill dragons is because they are evil.” Capu Cirtis’s expression was blank.

  Takatin stared at him. “Everyone in this room knows that for the lie it is. The original text does not say what her creations were. So, again, the only reason we’ve killed dragons for over a century—”

  “Is to perpetuate that lie?” Capu Cirtis’s gaze held Takatin’s own.

  He could not look away. “Mayhap. But what else does the Order have? Without that lie it would be—”

  “Transformed.”

  Takatin frowned. “It would be nothing.”

  Capu Cirtis shook his head. “No. The Corpus Order is more than killing dragons. We are the hope of the villages. We are their economic lifeblood. We bring them water, we build them shelter, and we give them something to aspire to.”

  Takatin’s laugh held no mirth. These arguments were remarkably similar to those the boy had used. “Aspire to? An organization built on lies?”

  Cirtis raised a brow. “Stop harping on that point.”

  Takatin clenched his jaws.

  “Something was created by Yrdra,” Capu Cirtis said, “on that both the Hour of Creation and the original text agree. But was it dragons? After seeing the one we had chained, I’m not so sure.”

  Quiet murmuring came from the umeri. Takatin frowned and glanced around. Years ago that kind of statement would have elicited cries of treason or heresy. Now, the comment seemed to have found like minds. Not in Yiska, though. The old man looked ready to explode.

  “I will meet with the Observers after this,” Takatin said, gaze on Umeron Yiska, “and see what they can discover concerning any internal assistance.” He looked at Cirtis. “Are there any more questions?”

  There weren’t any, only more complaints, which he was not interested in listening to, so he called an end to the meeting. They would meet again in four days to go over any new information.

  As for the Observers, they told him they would see what could be discovered and let him know. He got the strangest feeling from the two umeri in charge of them. There was something odd about how they spoke to him, how they answered his questions and requests, how they looked at him. Where before he felt them a tool he could use, a hammer for driving nails, tonight they seemed more like fire. He could use the flames to cook, to warm himself, but they could also burn him.

  Chapter 24

  Duviday, Secundy 20, 1875.

  Morning

  Millinith ordered herself to stop thinking about it. Dwelling on how she’d reacted wouldn’t wipe it from her or anyone’s memory. She just wished she’d handled it better.

  Gods, another terrible choice of words.

  Neither sex nor the idea of sex discomfited her, far from it. That wasn’t why. It was seeing Aeron like that, flushed, breathing heavily, and patently aroused. For some reason, it had embarrassed her above and beyond what it should have.

  One of her brows lifted. Could it have been because Doronal was there? The warmth in her cheeks seemed to be confirmation.

  Millinith stared out the carriage window, almost blind to the Delcimaar scenery passing by, as she contemplated that idea.

  “Do you really think they’l
l help?”

  She turned to Fillion. “I’m sorry?”

  “The Magic Craft Guild.”

  She quirked her lips. “I don’t know. I would hope so, as they’re a co-primary of our guild.”

  Doronal had given her the name of a contact to assist them in speaking with either the Magic Craft Guildmaster, or at least someone high enough in the organization to be worth talking to.

  The carriage slowed and came to a stop.

  Millinith stood on the top step and handed a pale to the driver. “Get your beautiful horses some carrots or something with the extra.”

  She smiled. “Thank you, ma’am, I will.”

  Millinith watched the girl drive the carriage away, its horses stepping high, coats shiny and manes well-groomed.

  “Yrdra’s tits.”

  With a frown, Millinith turned to Fillion. The boy was staring open-mouthed at the Magic Craft Guildhall. She glanced at the large structure, well-lit by the morning light, and murmured, “Language, Fillion.”

  “Sorry, ma’am.”

  The first time she’d come here, she was so nervous about seeing Enora again that she hadn’t really paid much attention to the guildhall or the grounds surrounding. Now, she looked it all over with a critical eye.

  Three low steps rose up from the street level to a wide metal gate. It stood open in a tall fence of square stone columns with sections between of worked, heavy metal rods and rails. She thought she caught a faint glimmer of sorcery on the metal fencing and glanced at Fillion. He must have noted it too, for he raised a brow at her. She walked in the gate, nodded in passing to a watchman, and they took the cobbled drive leading up to the enormous building itself.

  Bushes and shrubbery were everywhere, many trimmed and formed into topiary. Some were in the shapes of animals, fanciful or real, while others were formed into geometric shapes and patterns. Flowers and trees and gazebos dotted the landscape, which seemed larger than it actually was. As for the building itself, it rose before them, tall, imposing, and altogether impressive. Runes were etched into the granite of some of its walls, and no few number of those carved symbols glowed, even in the morning light.

  A courtyard fronted the building, and there were several horses tied up there, along with a fair number of carriages parked to the side. The eye was drawn, however, to a large, spectacular fountain that dominated the courtyard’s center.

  Iridescent with magic, the only parts of the fountain that were ‘real,’ aside from the water, was the large marble pool at its base and the aquatic mammals carved of the same stone that were depicted swimming within. Six porpoises leapt up from the water while three dove in.

  A ten foot high column of water played at the fountain’s center. Its top bobbed up and down a few inches as the water fell back upon itself. Every ten seconds or so, however, the column shot up to double its height and splashed back down onto small, thin magical barriers that had been artfully enchanted in angles and curves. The sometimes nearly invisible baffles caught the water and guided it in winding, twisting paths down to the pool below, shimmering all the while with each flowing or splashing contact.

  “Barbs and blades, but that’s pretty.” Fillion’s eyes were wide.

  Millinith nodded. “That it is. It’s probably even more so at night. But come, we have business to attend to.”

  She and Fillion sat for perhaps twenty minutes in a small office while her contact went about doing what it was that contacts do. Millinith spent some of that time going over her request.

  After they’d retired to Doronal’s office last night, it was decided that it might be beneficial to contact the co-primary guilds to ask for assistance in dealing with the Corpus Order.

  “The primary and secondary guilds aren’t just there to regulate you,” Doronal had said. “They’re also there to offer support, especially to a newly-formed guild.”

  “New guilds don’t have as much, well, respect, I guess you could call it,” Master Canneth said. “Support guilds can help with that.”

  Of those, Millinith felt Magic Craft would offer the most weight to their demands when it came time to return to Bataan-Mok. Thus, the reason for their visit today.

  “I do apologize for the wait.” The man had returned. Short, a little dumpy, and starting to bald, he was studiously polite. “Please, come with me.” He led them from the room and down a hallway.

  Most of the interior lighting came from tall, slim statues, men or women in flowing robes with their arms raised. Their upturned hands, fingers spread, held lightglobes that lit the way nicely. Wood paneling, marble columns and floors, runner carpets, and art, the furnishings were all very opulent. She glanced at some as they walked along, but Fillion’s gaze seemed to take in every item.

  “Alas,” the man said as he glided along the carpet, “I was unable to schedule a meeting today with the guildmaster for you, but his adjunct will be more than happy to listen to your request.”

  Millinith grunted. Listen to my request, eh? Not assist with it? This didn’t bode well.

  Once introductions were made, the short man left, closing the doors behind him.

  Millinith stared at Adjunct Smarkel. She didn’t like his look. He was overly-groomed. His hair, his brows, his lips, even his nails. Everything was too perfect.

  Seated behind the desk, he smiled at them. The smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “So, you’d like to ask us for assistance, is that right?”

  “Yes. We’re having . . . difficulties with an organization in the South.”

  “The South?” He looked from Millinith to Fillion and then back.

  “On the eastern side of the Kas-Tella desert,” she said, “near the coast. A place called Bataan-Mok, home of the Corpus Order.”

  “Bataan-Mok?” He raised his brows. “It sounds exotic. And in the great desert? How exciting.” He actually did look excited.

  “Exciting is not how I’d describe it,” Fillion said. “It’s sweaty-hot down there, dusty, and it smells like dirt.”

  Millinith shot a quelling glance at him. Turning back, she said, “Yes, well the Order sent a fighter to Caer Baronel to try to kill one of our members. She survived, fortunately.”

  “Goodness.” Adjunct Smarkel’s brows rose again.

  “Later, however, while attempting to assist with hunting down nahual in the South, she and her partner were captured by a manis patrol, fighters from the Corpus Order. They threw him in gaol, and chained her in an open courtyard while they waited to execute her.”

  “We had to mount a rescue effort to save them,” Fillion said.

  Smarkel sat forward. “Were you successful?”

  “We were,” Millinith said. “Though they suffered minor injuries during.”

  “Well,” he sat back, “that’s good to hear. I wish you’d have brought her with you. I’d have liked to congratulate her on making it out alive. Twice!”

  “Ah,” Millinith said, “well, she wouldn’t have fit through all the hallways.”

  Smarkel blinked. “Pardon?”

  “She’s a dragon,” Fillion said.

  Smarkel’s eyes narrowed. “Oh.”

  “The Corpus Order believes that dragons are evil and should be destroyed.” Millinith shook her head. “You can see how this conflicts with our guild.”

  The Adjunct stared at her.

  “These people,” Millinith continued, “or at least one of the factions in their organization, are also involved with a company under investigation by High Lady Hasana’s special investigators. I’ve been sworn to secrecy about it, but I can say that the lead investigator will soon be expanding her investigation to include finding which members of the Order dealt with the company.”

  “So there is no proof, as of yet?”

  “There will be,” Fillion said, frowning.

  “Adjunct Smarkel,” Millinith said. “I was hoping a few representatives of the Magic Craft Guild could accompany us when we go to meet with the Corpus Order.”

  “I see.” Smarkel pul
led out a scrap of parchment and scratched upon it with a pen. He then did something on his desk and sat back. “A moment, please.”

  The young man that had been sitting at a small desk just outside walked in the door and over to Smarkel. They whispered briefly, Smarkel handed him the parchment, and then the young man left, closing the door behind.

  “I think I can help with your request.” Smarkel gave them one of his not-quite smiles.“Would you like something to drink while we wait?”

  Millinith shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  He turned to Fillion and raised his brows.

  “I’m good.”

  Smarkel nodded. “I see. Well, I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to get through some of these reports while we wait.” He pulled a short stack of papers in front of him and started reading through them.

  Millinith frowned. Fillion glanced at her and drew his brows together. She gave him a small shrug. How long did it take to gather a few people? She leaned back in the chair and set about waiting.

  Smarkel was a noise-maker. He cleared his throat, coughed lightly, breathed in and then blew the air out through his lips, and even tsk-tsked every now and then. He made all sorts of little noises while flipping through the documents and reading them, noises that were incredibly annoying to Millinith as she sat waiting, and waiting, and waiting.

  A pulsing pain had started between her brows and she was about to ask for that drink when a knock sounded on the door.

  Smarkel straightened the stack of documents and called, “Come in.”

  The young man opened the door and led another inside.

  Smarkel not-smiled. “Ah, Adept Oran, excellent.” He turned to his aide. “Thank you.”

  The young man bowed his head and left, closing the door.

  Millinith stared at the new arrival and then looked at the door. “That’s it?” She blurted out.

  “We can’t get overly involved in another guild’s affairs,” Smarkel said, “until we have more facts.” There was a slight emphasis on the last word. “Therefore, I’m sending your auditor. He was scheduled to visit you within the week, anyway.”