Shaw brought up a talon and scratched his feathery head. “Art thou sure this man even existed? Mine own service lasted some time, and ne’er do I recall a third Captain.”
“That’s because he dealt solely with dragons,” I pointed out. “It backs up what you’ve told me yourself – that griffin and dragon units never worked together.”
“Aye, that much is true.”
“King Fitzwilliam wouldn’t know who this is,” I went on. “Since he was a child, he’s lived in the country of Saratha. Others who attend the Royal Court would know, but I’d prefer that we not ask.”
“Why not?” Liam asked.
“Because this might be the break we need to get a jump on our enemies. Remember, we still don’t know who is talking to whom on the Royal Court. Lady Behnaz passed on a great deal of information to your rival, Wyeth, without knowing he was connected to the Creatures of the Dark.”
Liam let out a snort that suggested mayhem. “I do recall. That fayleene traitor is still out there. It is a pity that Vandegrift shall be unavailable for us to question for a while yet. It would have made things easy.”
“Yet if this Captain were one of Benedict’s favorites…” Galen mused, “then he must have left a document trail. Air Cavalry records showing the movement of units. Budget proposals for the Dragon Keeps. Certainly, the Archivists Guild will have these items.”
“I’ve got to get back to the OME for the mid-morning shift,” I said. “But I’ll be back at my Tower this evening after dinner. Can you find out by then?”
The centaur clopped a forehoof in emphasis. “Indubitably. Yet I would suggest our meeting place be outside the North Keep.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
“At the risk of sounding repetitious, ‘indubitably’.”
“All right. I hope that you can talk your way past Lead Archivist Fiona. We knocked out a bunch of her acolytes the last time. And we nearly wrecked her Guild Hall.”
Shaw let out a dark chuckle. “Oh, aye. Good times, that. Good times.”
“Do not trouble yourself,” the Court Wizard assured me. “I shall persevere.”
Another idea occurred to me. I thought about how I’d struggled to understand the draconic runes in the Codex of the Bellus Draconum. I’d drawn the damned things, trying to untangle their lines and tease out any hidden meaning from them.
I’d failed at that. But maybe the wyvern queen hadn’t.
“Galen, one more thing,” I said. “I’d go down to the crystal cavern below the palace before Commander Yervan’s men get there. Look around for anything that looks like Nagura’s work. Scratches in the dirt, marks on paper, carvings on the wall, anything. If she struggled to understand the meaning of those four runes, I bet she left some notes behind.”
“An excellent idea!” the Wizard said. “That shall be the first thing I do.”
I felt a surge of hope build in my chest as I picked up my transport medallion and held it between my fingers. It had been a truly terrible last couple of days. The unicorns had stonewalled me, Nagura had been put into a coma, and Captain Vandegrift gravely wounded.
But something told me that this was the big break I’d been looking for. If this third Captain had been murdered, then it would be absolute proof. Proof that those with knowledge on how to fight dragons were being systematically eliminated.
And it would prove that the war against the kingdom of Andeluvia had been going on a lot longer than anyone had thought.
Chapter Twenty
Shelly Richardson was lucky that she lived in a still-honest part of Southern California.
The first thing I noticed upon returning to Los Angeles was that we’d left her garage door wide open. I went inside, located her spare key fob, and thumbed the button to make the door roll down. Then I got out of my wyvern-blood stained clothes, doused them with stain remover, and tossed everything into the washer.
After a quick shower and change of clothes, I decided to simply take Shelly’s car into work. Honeylemon sort of wallowed over bumps, which made me feel like I was driving a couch. But at least I got to work on time.
I shouldn’t have worried about it. After letting the admins know that Shelly was taking some sick leave, I spent the rest of the day chained to my desk. And since I didn’t feel like subsisting on the chips and chocolate bars in the nearby vending machine, I used water and a microwave to make a (very small) step up in terms of cuisine.
I ended up re-living my college days by plowing through a serving of ramen noodles topped with a dollop of desiccated veggies. The fragrant steam that rose from the polystyrene foam cup made promises that it couldn’t deliver. Rather than ‘chicken’, all I got from the broth was enough salt to make my mouth feel like the Dead Sea. I couldn’t complain, though. I’d learned the hard way never to show up in Andeluvia on an empty stomach.
You never knew what was going to happen once you stepped through into that world.
I was just about to slurp down the last of the noodles when my phone rang. Not my personal line, but the desk phone. According to the phone’s screen, the call came from an outside number. That made me hesitate, but only for a moment.
“Dayna, it’s me,” Esteban said, as soon as I picked up. The tone of his voice sounded worried, and his words backed up that impression. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I replied. “I’m in my office. What’s wrong?”
He let out a relieved breath. “What’s wrong is that I’ve been trying to reach you on your cell. Did you get caught up staying in the other…I mean, over at Shelly’s?”
“I didn’t get caught up too much,” I said carefully. “But Shelly and I did have an emergency to deal with. My phone got broken, and I haven’t had time to get a replacement yet.”
That was technically true. My phone had indeed been broken. Specifically, by me stomping it into little bits of plastic and silicon.
“Well, I’ve got some curious news to share with you,” Esteban announced. “We’re probably okay on your land line, but…”
“Hold on a second, then.” I got up, closed my office door, and returned to my seat. “We’re as private as I can make things right now.”
“It’ll have to do. So long as we don’t have anyone from the LAPD sitting right next to you.”
I knew what Alanzo meant. The last thing we wanted was another ‘Isabel Vega’ incident where someone heard us talking about some fantasy world. The fact he’d called me from his private phone also clued me in that this could be important.
“This involves the case at Crossbow Consulting.”
My stomach clenched. “I’m listening.”
A pause. I heard a keyboard clicking away.
“I just sent you the text and video files,” Esteban said. His voice now settled into the hard, quick cadence of the Homicide Detective. I wasn’t sure whether that was a good sign or not. “They’re from a pair of reports I pulled from INTERPOL. Two shootings took place last evening at Crossbow Consulting’s offices in London and Istanbul. A man matching the same description as our suspect in Los Angeles showed up and attacked each location. Same method – the use of an initial explosive device followed by the targeting of key employees.”
My throat felt dry, scratchy. “How many deaths?”
“Three in London. Two in Istanbul. Just as before, the office employees were left alone. Only the armed ‘field agents’ were eliminated.”
“And let me guess: whoever this is ‘vanished into thin air’ after the attack.”
“Yes, and it gets even better. When you get a chance, watch the London video first. A chip of plaster falls from the damaged ceiling and gets stuck in a fold of the guy’s hood.”
“Okay, but I don’t see how–”
Esteban overrode my skeptical tone. “Watch the security camera footage of the attack in Istanbul. That plaster chip is still there. It’s still stuck in his damned hood!”
My mind whirled with the news. “What’s the time stamp on t
hese videos?”
“That’s just it. Istanbul’s two full time zones to the east of London. But this guy shows up and hits them only twenty minutes after he took out the London office. It’s impossible.”
Yes, it’s impossible, I thought. Unless you’ve got a transport medallion like the one I’ve got around my own neck.
“Okay,” I said out loud. “This guy’s got…an edge.”
“You’re not kidding. One more thing. I ran some basic biometrics on the footage,” Esteban added. “All I can tell you for sure is that we’re not looking at Damon Harrison. This guy’s at least a couple of inches shorter.”
“The only person who might have the same, ah, ‘edge’ is Grayson Archer.”
“I agree. Thing is, I still have a problem with why he’d go to such trouble to shoot up his own company. Why tear down something that you spent almost twenty years building up?”
Almost twenty years?
“Hold on,” I breathed. “You said that Archer founded Crossbow Consulting almost twenty years ago?”
“That’s right. Their initial filing is public record.”
“Okay. What you just said tells me…that I need to do some more checking with my sources. I’ll fill you in about what I find on my end.”
“Sounds good. Be careful, okay? And…carajo, get yourself another phone!”
“As soon as I can, I promise,” I said, before I hung up.
Esteban’s words had made me sit straight up as if I’d been zapped with an electric prod. I didn’t get one of my weird ‘clicks’ this time. But I felt like the same red flag that I had sensed before was being waved again, this time across my face. I had to stop and unravel this, right now.
Just before he’d disappeared, Maxwell Cohen had called me from somewhere in the San Gabriel mountains north of Los Angeles. Detective Isabel Vega had been looking for that phone’s tracking location data, but after she’d been gunned down in my driveway, the request had gotten shelved. Cohen’s last message to me had been awfully vague, but now I was looking at his final words in a whole new light.
I’ve found a couple of interesting things about Crossbow Consulting…I think it involves weapons dealing or counter-op work.
That much had been proven one-hundred percent correct. Then Cohen had said something else. Something that was starting to form a pattern.
I’ve found records for Grayson Archer going back a bit more than two decades…but nothing before that. I’m not turning up school records, immunization records, nothing. His friend Damon Harrison’s got even less, and a lot of what is there looks damned fake to me.
Two decades. Twenty years.
That same span of time kept cropping up in conversations. Specifically, conversations I’d been having with people or beings in Andeluvia.
The stern form of Lead Archivist Fiona came to mind first.
We haven’t taught the spells to cast, manipulate, or divert energy at this Guild for twenty years. The Deliberati have forbidden it.
As for the Deliberati?
Master Windkey had been the first to admit that his boss, Master Dekanos, had ordered the Deliberation of Wizards to withdraw from the world. To limit human progress in magic. To forbid the awarding of Archmage status to all but unicorns.
And while Windkey hadn’t exactly been forthcoming on all fronts, he’d given me the critical piece I’d needed. The reason behind Dekanos’ strange orders.
About two decades ago, a human with wizard-level abilities arrived at the Everwinter Grove. He claimed to want to study under the Senior Archmage’s guidance. But in time, Dekanos discovered what the man was really searching for: a specific kind of mind domination spell…the kind tailored to bend the will of a full-grown dragon.
That had to be the break I was looking for.
I threw out my soup cup and its remaining chicken-flavored sludge. Then I grabbed Shelly’s keyring. My first step was to bring Honeylemon back to her house. After that, I was returning to Andeluvia.
If my hunch was right, I’d get to the bottom of this mystery once and for all.
Chapter Twenty-One
I stepped out of the transport spell with my forensics equipment case in hand, and right into the middle of an argument.
As far as arguments went, this one was relatively mild. Of course, ‘mild’ in Andeluvia meant that nobody was threatening to pull out a sword and decapitate someone. But I’d take my blessings where I found them.
The sky was rapidly shading from burnt orange to indigo as the sun touched the western horizon. It turned the stone face of the North Keep a deep purple. Almost as purple as the face of Lord Ghaznavi as he spoke.
“And I’m telling the both of you,” he gritted, as he jabbed a finger at Sir Exton and Sir Quinton, “that we’re only just in the King’s good graces as it is. And that’s due to the work of Dame Chrissie!”
A clop of hooves as Galen took a side step to speak quietly in my ear.
“Your arrival is most timely. A brawl between your human knights seems precipitate.”
I gave the Wizard a startled glance. “You really think so?”
“I rate it as highly probable,” he said, as he nodded towards where Liam and Shaw were busy whispering to each other. “Our friends are taking bets on who will prevail in combat.”
Luckily, I was spared the need to break into the argument as Ghaznavi spotted me. He swung one arm out theatrically as his voice went up in volume.
“And now that the Head of our Order has arrived, perhaps she can trounce some sense into you!”
Well, that was about as good an opening as I was going to get. I cleared my throat and stepped forward.
All three knights looked to me. Ghaznavi’s face was still flushed, but he appeared confident in his opinion. Quinton looked less sure of himself, and he fiddled with one end of his blond mustache. Exton remained silent and brooding, arms folded across his broad chest.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Before I go about trouncing anyone, I need to know what we’re arguing about.”
A sulky silence prevailed for a single awkward moment.
“We were discussing our commitments to the King versus the Order,” Exton finally said. “Word of what happened at the South Keep has spread like wildfire. Rumors are rife. All we know is that the King has tasked all knights present to be ready to protect the palace against all comers.”
“Maybe I’m missing something,” I admitted. “What’s the problem here? We are sworn to follow the King’s orders, are we not?”
Quinton spoke up. “Absent the approval of the Head of a Knightly Order, the King can only order us directly in times of war. He hasn’t declared war on anyone yet.”
No, he hasn’t, I thought. Probably because it would sound ridiculous to declare war upon a single person. Even if Damon Harrison deserved it.
“If we accept the King’s authority,” Quinton continued, “then he could send us to the far corners of the East or West Reaches. He could even place us under the command of Lord Behnaz. Or Alvey, if he wished.”
“Since that would run counter to the goals of the Order of the Ermine,” Exton said, picking up where Quinton left off, “we cannot agree with the King’s orders.”
Ghaznavi ran his fingers through his bushy black beard again. “And I say that not following the King’s orders will tarnish the reputation of this Order, right when we’ve gotten a chance to restore it!”
“All right, hold on,” I said, and I made a ‘time out’ T-sign with my hands. My knights stared at the gesture, confused, but they got the message and remained silent. “I can see where this could cause some confusion. The King is my liege lord. I need to follow his orders. Therefore, you need to follow his orders. The only question is: did he actually give one?”
The three men looked at each other, genuinely at a loss for words. I went on.
“Sir Quinton, what exactly did his Majesty say?”
The younger knight cleared his throat before answering. “I task all knights pre
sent to ready themselves, for they must protect the palace against all threats.”
“Right. So when he ‘tasks’ us, is that an order?” I looked over to the Wizard. “Galen, you’ve served at the Royal Court the longest. Does ‘task’ mean ‘order’? And if you don’t know, who would?”
The centaur rubbed his chin in thought. “In truth, that is a question for the Lord of the Pursuivant.”
I pounced on that. “There we are. Gentlemen, I charge you to find the Lord of the Pursuivant and find out the proper, uh, protocol. If it’s an order, then gear up and get ready to protect the palace. If not, then return to the Tower. Either way, send a message to me via the Royal Pages.”
Exton and Quinton bowed to me. “At once, Dame Chrissie.”
“With all speed,” Ghaznavi said, as he mimicked their bow.
All three of my knights set out across the battlements on the long walk back to the palace. I waited until the creak and jingle of their leather and chain mail faded in the distance before I let out a breath of relief. I was just glad I came up with a solution, any solution. I certainly didn’t need any more problems on my plate right now.
“‘Tis a pity,” Shaw commented. “‘Twas a good opportunity to fleece the fayleene Protector of yet more coin.”
“Only in your flightiest dreams, my avian friend,” Liam shot back, but with a cervine laugh.
“Okay,” I said. “First off, has anyone seen Shelly since she went off with King Fitzwilliam?”
“Not in person,” Galen stated. “Yet she did send word back this afternoon via one of the pages. Her message was singularly curious in nature.”
“How so?”
“For starters, Lady Richardson said that she would be staying with the owls for the evening, since she and Albess Thea were getting along like ‘a house on fire’.” The Wizard scratched his head, clearly puzzled. “I fail to see how a combusting dwelling would promote amity between the two.”
“Never mind that,” I sighed. “So she’ll be eating dinner with the owls, then.”
Dragon with a Deadly Weapon Page 11