A Storm in the Desert: Dragonlinked Chronicles Voume 3 (28 page)

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?”

“Money, power, love, ideology . . .” Gregor frowned. “There are several things that people will do almost anything for. I’m guessing it is money, in this case.”

Guildmaster Millinith turned to him. “You think they’re getting money from National Transportation to guard the camp?”

“They might be getting paid for that, too. But,” he turned to Fillion, “you said you found a National Transportation railway station, right?”

“Yeah,” Fillion said. “Just north of the flats.”

“And the tracks next to it will lead into the flats?”

“Master Gella said they would, yeah.”

Gregor turned back to Guildmaster Millinith. “National Transportation may have bought land for the tracks from the Order.”

“That could be. But why maintain the relationship? If National Transportation owns the land now, why would the Order provide them with manisi?”

Polandra frowned. “If we knew what was in those chests, we might have a better idea. What are they filling them with in that building?”

“Salt?” From his expression, even Fillion doubted it. “Could they be mining it like they were farther north?”

“They’re a transportation company,” Jessip said. “Why would they start selling salt? Is it that valuable?”

“It’s fairly valuable,” Cheddar said, “but not
that
valuable.”

Fillion frowned. “Yeah. There were a lot of guards around that tent for just chests of salt, you know? And why wouldn’t they just scrape it from the ground like the other people did?” He shrugged. “It was just a thought.”

“But you might be onto something,” Aeron said. “There were huge piles of dirt next to the building, remember? I thought they’d come from them digging into the hill to construct it, but what if some of the dirt came from them digging underneath after the building was finished? What if they’re mining for something besides salt?”

Polandra wasn’t so sure. “Once Fillion mentioned Master Gella’s idea of them constructing a rail line, I just figured the piles of dirt came from them digging through the hill to clear the way for tracks.”

“Hang on.” Gregor held up a hand. “You might both be right.”

Polandra turned to him. “How so?”

Gregor rubbed his chin. “My father, when he was still trying to convince me to join him in his company, often told me stories about their efforts. Several years ago, as they were enchanting through a line of hills to clear the way for tracks, they came across a silver vein. There wasn’t much to the vein itself, but they were able to get a few tons of raw ore from it.”

Polandra nodded. “I see. You’re thinking they found something in that hill.”

“Yes. And whatever it is, it’s a lot more valuable than silver. You don’t need to hide an exposed silver vein with a building, patrol the area, and go through all those other efforts to keep people away.”

“Still,” Guildmaster Millinith said, “why would the Order help them? It’s National Transportation’s land.”

“If the Order is smart, and I think they are, the sale of the land included a stipulation that if ores or minerals or the like are found on the land, the Order gets a percentage of their worth. My father had to give the woman he’d bought the land from a quarter of the value of that silver ore.”

“How big was the building?” Sharrah looked unconvinced. “Just how much ore are we talking about? I mean, people are being killed. Would the Order be involved with a company like that?”

Gregor frowned. “You’d be surprised what some will do for money.”

“What use would that faction have with money, anyway?” Sharrah asked.

“Maybe the money is a means to an end?” Renata said.

Guildmaster Millinith looked at her. “To what end?”

“The history of the Order is filled with schemes and plots, people or groups of people working for more power. Some, the Laminae, even killed for power over the Order. What if this faction wants to do something similar, but instead of killing people, they’re going to buy them off?”

Polandra grunted. “You could be right. There isn’t a lot of money to be made in the Order. You aren’t paid, just given a meager allowance for the occasional personal item. Even a modest sum would seem like a fortune.” She looked at Guildmaster Millinith. “The weekly allowance you give me? It’s almost three month’s worth, in the Order.”

The Guildmaster’s expression was grim. “I see. So, this faction wants to overthrow the Capu and seize control of the Order?”

“I can’t say for sure,” Renata said. “But Nesch Takatin did give the manis an order to kill Anaya, the complete opposite of the Capu’s intention.”

“Why start a separate faction, though?” Willem said. “Why not ally with the old guard? Killing dragons, staying true to the past, is their goal.”

“The feeling I got when Isandath talked about them,” Polandra said, “was that they’re sedentary. They want things to return to the way they were, but, at least so far, they haven’t really done anything to further those desires. Perhaps Nesch Takatin wanted to move more swiftly.”

Willem frowned. “I wonder if the Capu knows about all this.”

“I think it’s time to meet with him and find out,” Aeron said. “It’ll also give him a chance to explain exactly how he thinks we can help him.”

Everyone turned to Guildmaster Millinith. She drummed her fingers on the table and stared ahead, eyes unfocused.

Polandra wasn’t sure what there was to think about. They’d learned as much as they could. It was time to talk to the Capu.

“I agree.” Her fingers stilled, the Guildmaster turned to Polandra. “Talk with Isandath, see if he can coordinate with the Capu. The manis was originally going to do that, but everyone thinks he’s dead. I want to keep it that way until we’re sure his brother is safe.”

She nodded. “I’ll fly down tonight and have Ikan speak with him.”

Guildmaster Millinith stood. “In the meantime, I believe there are morning chores to attend to before practice sessions?”

Polandra stood with everyone else and headed off. She was a little worried about Aeron meeting the Capu. Though it would not be in Bataan-Mok, it was near Pashi. Manisi patrolled the village as well as the area around it. The meeting would not be without danger.

+ + + + +

Isandath sat back in the uncomfortable chair. He was certain the dreadful things had been chosen specifically to make people want to spend as little time in the archives as possible. As little time as possible doing research, learning the history of the place, and as little time as possible reading books like this one.

One of the duties of the few archivists in the Order was to keep records on members from the moment they joined until they were purged, went missing, or died. Hundreds, in some cases thousands, of entries would be made about a person over the course of their life. He still remembered the pain of cramped hands. So much writing.

There were two others on the floor right now, two of the three junior archivists. They were at a corner table, working on member entries. Hunched over, pen clamped tightly in fingers, eyes squinting, they scribbled away—hopefully neatly.

Every member of the Corpus Order had entries in the member logs. A great number of the scrolls in the archive—and now books—were member logs like the book on the table before him. It lay there, opened to a series of entries from over forty years ago.

Isandath glanced at the neat, cramped writing. Not all of those archivists wrote as well. Some of the entries were nearly incomprehensible, some were overly flourished, and some looked to have been written by a mouse running across the page, tiny pink feet wet with ink. These entries, written on the mottled page by a careful hand, were easy to read.

Reviewing the logs on Nesch Takatin, Isandath learned that the man had once had a family. A mother, a father, and a twin brother. Takatin had even had a boyfriend in his youth. Now, he was alone in the world.

His mother had died the day after his brother, Wematin, joined the Corpus Order. Three years later, after a few failed attempts, Takatin was finally accepted as well. His father died the following week. From years of overwork, that entry had noted. Takatin’s life in the Order had apparently been unremarkable for a while after that, as there were few entries until the one mentioning his burgeoning relationship with another new recruit, a boy named Hania. The next entry on Takatin, recounting the young man’s progress in the Order, mentioned in passing that he and the boy were seeing each other.

Isandath looked up and around. Were the Observers watching him, now? There were still only the two other archivists on the floor—they remained huddled over their books scratching away—and they were nowhere near him. Still, these kinds of entries were made based on information discovered somehow. He’d be surprised if one of the three junior archivists wasn’t an Observer. Or perhaps one was in the Laminae? No, if that were the case, they’d have had that person research the Nesch, not him.

Further entries noted that Takatin and Hania became manisi together. It was shortly after they completed training that their hand was sent on a hunt. A dragon had been spotted and located. Isandath was astonished to note that this was the same hunt that brought back the last dragon executed to date. Dragons were already scarce at that time—the previous dragon execution had been six years prior—and none had been seen since, much less executed. Well, except that he’d heard rumors about someone claiming to have spotted one a few days ago.

The hunt, like all those before it, was successful. Only one thing marred the otherwise flawless capture of the dragon: Hania died. The entry had been vague, only mentioning that the dragon had somehow been able to lash out with a claw, catching the boy across the neck, before a manis had been able to bind the dragon’s foreleg. Last rites were held for Hania that evening, and the dragon was executed three nights later.

The next entry on Takatin noted that he was more focused on his manis duties. Not surprising, his boyfriend had been killed by a dragon. Tragedy aside, in all the years Isandath had been searching, that poor boy was the only person he found in the records listed as killed by a dragon where there was more than, or even one, witness. So why was the Order so set on killing dragons? Why had Daelon deliberately targeted the creatures?

The next two entries concerning Takatin, made a year later, were among those before Isandath now. The first entry described a terrible accident out at the sweltering agave fields which took the life of a young man. The next entry about Takatin noted that he’d attended the funeral.

Shaking his head, Isandath wondered how one person could have such ill luck.

The only other family member left to Takatin, his brother, the last person he loved in the world, was buried that day.

+ + + + +

The wagon’s metal-shod wheels clacked along the cobbled road between the Woodworking Craft Hall and the dragon stables. Polandra, legs dangling off the back of the wagon, looked over at Willem, past him to Renny, and then behind them. Two large wooden stands sat in the bed of the wagon.

“Thanks for helping with these, Renny,” she said.

“Not at all. It was kind of fun, actually. I’m more than happy to help the Dragon Craft Guild.”

“Still,” Willem said, “the two of us could have taken these. You didn’t have to get dragged along.”

Renny looked at Willem as if the blond boy had lost his mind. “And miss out seeing the dragons?”

Polandra burst out laughing.

Smiling, Willem said, “Ah! The truth comes out!”

“Hells yeah.” Renny grinned. “Any excuse to be near dragons, right?”

The wagon lurched on a cobble and one of the stands bounced, shifting in the bed.

“Barbs and blades,” Renny said, glancing back. “I told that bastard Shiff to tie those down tight.” He stood and moved over by the tall stands. “I’m going to have to keep an eye on them.”

Polandra and Willem nodded.

She looked out the back of the wagon. Every now and again they passed people. A few were on foot, some on horseback, and a few rode on wagons or in carriages. They passed a group of laughing children playing some game involving wooden hoops and sticks. Polandra smiled at them. Though things were very different here compared to the villages, things were also the same. They dressed differently here, had access to different things, more modern things, but in general, people were people no matter where they were from. Well, other than people from the Order.