A Storm in the Desert: Dragonlinked Chronicles Voume 3 (27 page)

“Ah, very clever.” He turned to her. “Well, if I
were
on a secret mission, I wouldn’t be at liberty to say, now would I?” Tapping the side of his nose, he winked.

The girl giggled and turned to her friend. In a much too loud whisper, she said, “I told you!”

The oldest boy, a young man, really, said, “When will applications be accepted at the guild?” His eyes, full of wonder, never left Ikan.

“Once construction at the Guildhall progresses a little farther,” Aeron said, “they’ll start accepting applications. A month or so, perhaps?”

“Golden!”

Polandra tucked the packages into Ikan’s saddle bags. Though she felt wary, she couldn’t really blame these people. Dragons were amazing creatures, after all. But it did make her feel a little uncomfortable, having so many desiring eyes on her bond-mate. She patted his neck and pulled herself up into the saddle.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Aeron said, “we have to get back to our, ah,” he glanced at the girl, “patrol mission.”

She gave him a conspiratorial wink.

With a wink back, Aeron climbed into the saddle. “Step back a little, folks. They need plenty of room in order to take off.”

Polandra smiled. She could see why many people liked Aeron.

Once the groups had retreated enough, the dragons leapt into the sky, enormous wings pounding the air. With a wave to those below, they entered the portal.

The wraps were enthusiastically welcomed by everyone back at the flats.

“These are quite good,” Master Gella said. “My compliments to your culinary staff.”

“Master Tallah doesn’t settle for anything less than delicious.” Aeron took a bite of his wrap. “And neither do the people under her.”

“The biscuits at the Caer are even better than my mom’s,” Fillion said. “And believe me, that’s hard to do.”

“Anything happen while we were gone?” Polandra looked at the Guildmaster.

“No,” she replied, “just more of the same.”

“As you two said, the patrols are in a set pattern.” Master Gella ate the last of her second wrap and dusted her hands off. “The individual routes change up a little, but the way they do so repeats.” She smiled. “That will make it easier for me tonight.” She climbed up to the ridge and made use of a pair of field-glasses.

“Now we wait.” Guildmaster Millinith carefully made her way up next to Master Gella and looked down at the camp through her own pair of binocs.

Polandra looked at Aeron. “The attitudes of the people in the Caer toward dragons is so different from what I am used to. Even the children like dragons.”

He smiled. “That little girl was adorable, wasn’t she? And why wouldn’t they like dragons? We don’t have people saying dragons are evil. I actually did some research on dragons and I didn’t find a single, truthful, negative thing about them. That was one reason I was so shocked to learn of the Order.”

Polandra nodded. For Renata and her, things were a little different. “I felt so alone.”

“Alone?” Fillion looked at her.

Polandra twisted her lips. “Yeah. After I learned the truth, while I was training in the manisi.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “Every day, every moment, I had to pretend, because I was . . . not the same as them. I wanted to tell them, to shout at them, ‘you’re wrong!’ But if I let them know how I really felt, punishment would have been the least of my worries.” She shook her head. “And do you know what the worst part is? I’m sure most, if not all of them, would feel the same way we do about dragons if they could get past the prejudice, if they could just cast off the lies they’d been told and see dragons for what they really are.”

“They’re people.”

Polandra glanced at Aeron and nodded. “They’re people, just like us. They hope and dream and laugh and cry.” She was surprised at the tightness in her throat. “When I think of all those killed because of the Hour of Creation, it breaks my heart.”

“Hey,” Fillion sat next to her and put his arm over her shoulder. “Yes, the Order’s past is terrible. Bad things happened. But we’re working to stop that.”

“Exactly,” Aeron said.

Polandra swallowed against the tightness. “You’re right.” She chuckled. “Gods, I must be really tired. I’m near to crying like a babe.”

“To be honest,” Aeron said, “I’m getting really sleepy myself.”

“Yeah,” Fillion said. “All this sitting around after the meal, doing nothing, in this heat? I’m bushed.”

“Perhaps I’ll take a nap,” Polandra said.

She wasn’t the only one. They found spots along the bottom of the ridge, sheltered from the sun, to settle down for a late afternoon snooze.

After a quick request to Ikan to wake her when night came, she found as comfortable a sheltered spot as she could, leaned back, and closed her eyes.

It felt as if no time had passed when Ikan woke her.

Polandra. It is time.

Opening her eyes, she rubbed her face. It was cooler now and stars lit up the darkening sky.
Thanks, love.

Fillion handed her a thermal bottle and whispered, “I still don’t understand why a desert gets so cold.”

She nodded her thanks, uncapped it, and drank the warm cider.

“It’s winter, pudding-for-brains.” Aeron’s lips were skewed in a half grin.

There wasn’t a breeze anymore, whispering over them. The near silence made everyone move carefully and quietly. No one wanted to alert the camp to their presence.

“As cool as it gets here at night, it’s still warmer than at the Caer.” Guildmaster Millinith capped her bottle and set it aside. She turned her gaze on the investigator.

Master Gella was quietly getting ready. She’d changed into a dark jacket and dark pants. Even her shoes and gloves were dark. The pale skin of her face, below short, dark hair, was all that was easily visible, though it wouldn’t be for long. She was applying some sort of dark cream.

“I’ll have Coatl warn you,” Fillion told her, “if we see anything unusual while you’re down there.”

“Good.” Master Gella nodded. “Continue to be careful when watching the camp, however. Though it is night, the guards are still keeping an eye out and light can reflect off the glass lenses of the binocles.”

She left their hideout and headed south, away from the camp. The master investigator would make her way farther to the southwest and sneak into the camp from the other side. Her reasoning made perfect sense to Polandra. If the patrols were going to be lax at all, it would be on the side of the camp they do not expect to find anyone—the side facing the deep desert.

All of them lay, bellies on the ground, near the top of the ridge, looking down at the camp below. Wary of reflected light, Guildmaster Millinith had cast a spell on them—Aeron mentioned that she’d eventually learn it in dragonlinked training—which kept them in darkness. From its shelter, they watched the camp for anything that would endanger their plan.

It wasn’t until nearly an hour later that Guildmaster Millinith whispered, “I see her. On the other side of the camp, near that tent.”

After a bit of searching, Polandra found her. She was among the larger, heavier tents near the building. These were likely storage or work areas. The smaller tents, where workers rested and slept, were at the north end of the camp, along the perimeter.

Master Gella waited at various locations, out of sight of patrols, and when the way was clear, she moved very quickly to the next. It appeared she was making her way to the tent where the wagon was located. She had to make a few detours along the way to avoid light from lanterns and campfires and the occasional person walking about the camp.

Polandra wasn’t sure how it would be possible to get under the tent. There were two guards stationed in front of it, and more walked around it in a constant patrol. No side of the tent was ever out of view of a guard. And who knew if there were more inside?

It seemed Master Gella had come to the same conclusion. Instead of making for the tent, she was now working her way around toward the front of it. Perhaps she wanted a look inside? One more tent and she’d be in a good position to do so from perhaps forty feet away.

She was doing exactly that a few minutes later, peeking around the corner of a tent with binocs, when a door on the large building opened and two men walked out. Their path would take them in front of Master Gella in a few seconds.

Without looking away, Polandra whispered, “Fillion!”

“I see them.”

Polandra held her breath as she watched the men.

Come on Coatl, warn her!

Six more steps and they’d be in front of the tent Master Gella was peeking around. Though she was in shadow, her head and upper torso would be in full view of them.

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.

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 brought 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?”