Dragonstorm: A Dragonhall Chronicles novel (The Reasoner Trilogy Book 2)

by Mirren Hogan

  "We both know they wouldn't. They can't let me live for much longer. If anyone knew the bard's late hall master had a magin assistant, they'd be the laughing stock of Dargyn. I can only keep quiet about anything they don't know and maybe I'll have a few more days."

  Brish sagged. He didn't want any of this to be true. Of all the people he knew, Harm was the one who least deserved to die. What would he be dying for anyway? The ability to tell that rain was coming? That was hardly an excuse at all.

  "Did Hailyn know?" he asked after a moment.

  Harm hesitated. "I don't think so, but I can't be sure."

  "All of the information we found, what were you going to do with it?" If his friend was going to die, at least he could get all of the answers to his questions. "Were you really going to give it to the hall master in Tharay?"

  Harm's head jerked toward the door and Brish knew he'd hit upon something the reasoners didn't already know.

  "No," Harm said, speaking clearly, "I was going to tell you everything and convince you to let me give it to Nerra, or dispose of it all. The hall master in Tharay knows nothing about any of this. It was simply the safest place for us to go, especially you."

  "You really wanted to protect them," Brish pointed out, "the bad faction. They're vermin." He wasn't sure he believed that anymore, not about magin in general anyway.

  "I wanted to give Nerra time to deal with them. Believe it or not, she'd happily turn Bakel over to the reasoners. He and his followers have done damage to the magin which might be irreversible. She might have brokered peace between us all some day. Now . . ." He sighed. "It might never be possible."

  "You think a lot of this—Nerra," Brish remarked.

  Harm smiled. "She's a remarkable woman. She's managed to elude the reasoners for most of her life and counted the draakin amongst her friends."

  Brish licked his lips. "I know it's illogical to wish for things, but I wish this was all different. Before all of this, I was happy. Life was simple. The biggest problem I had was counting clients entering a brothel."

  "You hated that job so much." Harm grinned.

  "Yes I did. Now—" Brish looked down at the knife.

  "Are you going to kill me?" Harm asked. "So much for having a few more days."

  Brish swallowed. "I don't think I have a choice."

  "There's always a choice."

  "If I don't do this, someone else will, and they might do it slowly."

  "When did you get wise, young Brish?" Harm teased.

  "I was always wise, you just didn't notice," Brish retorted. For a moment it felt like the old days, before his life had turned upside down.

  Then he stood and raised the knife.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  After a week of waiting in his tiny cell and trying hard not to succumb to total despair, Daven decided that whatever concoction Peris was making needed infusing. It made sense. The stronger it was, the better it would work. A week was a good length of time to allow for such a process. At least, he thought that was how long it had been. The only way he could mark the passing of time was by the delivery of food into his cell via the hatch, and the replacement of his latrine bucket. The former happened three times a day at what he guessed were five hourly intervals. The latter occurred once a day, with the removal of the final tray.

  By his estimate, seven days had passed, but it was possible they were messing with his head. If they were using him for some kind of experiment, he wasn't appreciative. He doubted they'd care. Seeking permission for much of anything wasn't high on the reasoners' agenda, especially here.

  While waiting for his middle-of-the-day tray, he was mildly surprised to see the door open.

  "Good afternoon Daven," Peris greeted, as though they were old friends and not captor and prisoner. "It's time. Come with me."

  He pulled himself to his feet and winced as underused muscles objected to the movement. He was presented with drawn swords as he stepped from the cell, and briefly wondered what'd really happen if he declined. His sense of self-preservation kicked in and told him to follow Peris and not antagonise her or her lackeys. It was, at least, good to be up and walking around.

  Peris led them through the maze of corridors to another room on the far side of the holding. She brought out a key and turned it in the lock. Interesting that this room lacked the security of the others.

  When it swung open, Daven understood why.

  Inside the dimply lit room, was a narrow bed. On the bare mattress lay a woman. She had dark hair, long and curled which reminded him of Emmin. That was where the resemblance ended. This woman had skin so pale he wondered if she'd ever been out in the sunlight. Her eyes looked huge in a sunken face, pupils large to compensate for the lack of light.

  "You know what to do," Peris stepped aside, gestured for him to enter and the door closed behind him. He swallowed, still tasting the infusion on his tongue.

  Daven approached to the woman with slow steps. He expected her to be scared of him, but her expression was hollow as if there were no emotions left inside her.

  He crouched down beside the bed. "What's your name?" he asked softly. He expected no reply, and got none. She lay looking at him like a broken doll.

  He raised a hand to her face, moving slowly in case she flinched. She gave no response beyond a slow blink. He touched her cheek. Her skin was as cold as ice. If it wasn't for her breathing, he'd assume she was dead. Maybe she'd be better off if she was. If what he suspected had been done to her had taken place, then she'd lived through more than anyone should have to endure.

  Her expression changed just slightly. He saw surprise in her eyes, like she'd never felt a gentle touch before. More than that, his skin tingled slightly, as if she was doing something to him. Whatever it was, it didn't go beyond the mild sensation.

  "Are you a toucher, too?" he asked.

  As first she didn't respond, then her head moved, just enough to be visible. A nod. Her state explained the lack of security. She was too broken to fight back. Her eyes shone, and he saw a tear trickle out and slide down her cheek.

  When she spoke, it was with a hoarse voice, presumably from lack of use.

  "Get it over with." Her eyes closed, and her face became tighter. This must be the only way she had of dealing with being misused.

  Daven sighed and stroked her cheek. "I never had any intention of forcing myself on you. Or anyone else. I'm not like that."

  When her eyes reopened, it was to give him a scornful look. "Others are."

  He was floored. It took him a moment before he understood. If he didn't do this, someone else would, and they wouldn't bother being gentle. And then they'd do it again, until she was with child.

  "I'm sorry for that," he whispered, "but that's not me. I'm a healer, I help people, not damage them further. I could try to heal you if you like? I healed a woman's mind once." He spoke as softly as he could in case Peris was listening. He didn't need her knowing what he'd done, if only because he enjoyed the small act of defiance.

  "If you want to help me," the woman said, "then kill me."

  For the first time, emotion showed on her face; despair laced with pleading.

  "I don't think I can kill," he said, his heart breaking for her.

  She sniffed and turned her face away.

  He pulled back and knelt looking at her. Back when he'd studied healing, he'd learned that there would come times when a patient was beyond help. If they were dying and in great pain, it was considered merciful to offer poison to ease their suffering. He'd been trained to make the concoction which would make the patient sleepy, then end their life, but he'd never had to use it. He'd hoped he never would. Now, faced with the problem of mercy and compassion versus his desire to help people, he was torn. She wasn't in pain, as far as he could tell. Not physical pain anyway. Mental anguish—without a doubt.

  He touched her again, pressing his palm lightly to her hair. It felt greasy and unpleasant and smelled of sweat and oil from her skin. He felt inside her mind
, looking for the same damage he'd found in Bakel's mother. It was there, almost identical, but the pieces of the bridge in the woman's mind were further apart than they'd been in the old woman. He'd have to stretch hard to repair it.

  Concentrating, he grabbed hold of one side with his mind and pulled it hard.

  "What are you doing?" She jerked but didn't fight him.

  "Trying to help," he said through gritted teeth. He tugged the piece over and joined it to the other side. While she gasped, he fused the sides together. The join was tentative, as though her spirit had been broken so badly it resisted any attempt to heal it. He knew it wouldn't ease the trauma, but she'd be lucid enough to fight back.

  "What's going on?" A voice spoke from behind them.

  Daven turned to see a reasoner standing in the doorway. Perhaps he'd hoped to witness him take the woman. He obviously hadn't anticipated seeing them in some other intimate position.

  A second later he registered the woman flinging herself up out of the bed. She lunged at the man, hands curled into claws, face twisted in fury. She raked her nails down his face before he could even respond.

  He howled in pain and staggered back. Another reasoner appeared beside him, sword raised. She leapt at him. It took Daven a moment longer to realise she'd really leapt at his sword, impaling herself through her chest. He thought it might have missed her heart, but she slumped a moment later and fell to the floor.

  "Hazing, mist-headed haze!" the first reasoner swore. "She'll have our balls for that!"

  Daven rose slowly, his eyes on the woman. She twitched several times and let out a soft moan. It was followed by a sigh as the breath left her body.

  He staggered to the door and stood staring down at her, berating himself. She got what she wanted, but only because he'd given her the ability to do it. He should feel relieved, but all he felt was sick.

  "Reason forsaken hazing magin." The second reasoner kicked her body and then leaned over to spit on it. He scowled up at Daven. "How hard was it just to take her like you're supposed to? She didn't care."

  Daven looked at him coldly. "I won't violate a woman. The punishment for doing it is death."

  The reasoner snorted. "In your case, the punishment for not doing it is death." He gave Daven a derisive look.

  "I'd rather die that do that." They could kill him, he no longer cared, but he has his honour still intact. His mother would be proud of him.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  "I think they're as tired of this as we are," Dashka muttered.

  Kaida glanced at her and murmured her agreement. Her face ached from having to smile at Gordid, the reasoner she'd spent the last week liaising with. She'd briefly met the women, Peris, then she'd been palmed off onto this man. Neither Peris, nor him, nor indeed Kaida or Dashka were particularly interested in the elusive magin. Peris had seemed content to the let the reasoners deal with it. They in turn, were courteous to the draakin who would take the blame for their shortcomings. That they'd never expected them to find any sign of them was evident from the beginning.

  Still, they'd stayed for a week, each day being asked to undertake another fruitless search in a different direction. By now they knew every treetop, every building and exactly where the river flowed off the mountain. They knew that the trains arrived only seldom; the first one they'd seen pulled in only that morning.

  "Excuse me," Kaida said, clearing her throat and addressing Gordid, the uncomfortable smile back in place.

  He turned to look at her down his rounded nose. "Draakin." She'd told him both of their names, but he refused to address either of them in any other manner.

  "I think we can agree that we've exhausted all of the possible avenues. These magin of yours are long gone." She enjoyed the flash of annoyance in his eyes as she referred to them as his.

  "Perhaps," he replied, "or they may be further away than you've looked yet."

  "Nehko is getting hungry," Dashka interjected.

  Kaida wanted to applaud the young draakin as Gordid's face went from his usual florid red to an ugly pink.

  "Hungry?" His voice wavered.

  "Yes. Even dragons eat."

  "I . . ." he spluttered, "of course they do, but our food up here is limited."

  "Of course it is," Kaida said smoothly, "We wouldn't dream of imposing on your hospitality a moment longer. I'm just sorry were weren't able to be more helpful." She caught the look on Dashka's face and had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing. If the reasoner couldn't tell she was lying through her teeth, at least Dashka could.

  "Ah, yes, well, it couldn't be avoided, I'm sure," he replied, looking at them both as it their dragons might find him to a tasty snack. "Thank you for coming. I'll be sure to telegraph the office in Tsaisa to organise your payments."

  After so long, at least those would be substantial. Maybe Kaida could splurge on a new dress. She wouldn't though, there were always more practical things to buy.

  "You're welcome." She inclined her head graciously and took Dashka's arm to pull her away before she burst out laughing.

  "I wish I'd thought of that days ago," she said, once they were out of his hearing.

  Dashka grinned. "Me, too. But Nehko commented on it and then it just popped out of my mouth. Thank reason, I'm so tired of the bed in the inn. I don't think they got rid of the bugs before they let us sleep there." She scratched her ear.

  "Or they put them there because they knew it was us." Kaida was only half-joking. "Come on, let's get our belongings and go home."

  "Oh reason yes." They hurried toward the holding, and the large open area in which their dragons were about to land to pick them up. Kaida marvelled, as she always did, about the grandeur of Risper. She understood the awe people held for the dragons, even the fear, given how big they were. As long as she lived she'd never understand the loathing.

  She watched him land, as neat as a cat with wings, and started toward him, smiling in greeting and with relief.

  "Kaida." Dashka's tone made her stop in her tracks. She turned to see Dashka looking in the direction of the train. The younger draakin's face was pale, her lips parted.

  "What's wrong?" Kaida followed her gaze in time to see the reasoners pulling a prisoner toward the train. He was chained hand and foot and they'd gagged him with a piece of fabric across his mouth. She took a step forward, but Dashka's hand held her back.

  "You can't," was all Dashka said.

  Kaida froze, her gaze unwavering, even when he turned in her direction.

  "Daven."

  Brish stared down at the street without seeing anything. He was aware of Andon crossing the rooftop and sitting beside him, but he made no attempt to speak to him.

  Andon waited for a few minuted until he spoke. "What's the most important thing to reasoners?" he asked.

  Brish shrugged. "Power?" he asked.

  Andon laughed. "No, try again."

  "I don't know," Brish sighed.

  "Loyalty," Andon supplied, showing no sign of anger at Brish's ambivalence.

  "So by asking me to kill Harm, it was some kind of test of that?" Brish asked.

  "Of sorts," Andon replied, "it helped to gauge your personality."

  "Did I fail?"

  "Not at all," Andon assured him, "you remained loyal. To your friend. Considering the pressure you were under, it's admirable. Even the general was impressed."

  Brish turned to look at him, unsure what to think after all he'd seen and heard over the last couple of days. "What'll happen to him?"

  "No idea," Andon replied lightly, "it's not my call. He might yet be useful to the general. It's up to him."

  Brish wasn't sure which 'him' he was referring to, but he returned his gaze to the street. From here he could see the bards' hall, almost fully restored and once more a hive of music and intrigue. He missed it more acutely now than he ever had. Guilt weighed on him in an equal proportion. He'd betrayed his closest friend, and in so doing had endangered him. If he'd stopped to think, he would have accompanie
d him to Tharay, and probably gone along with whatever Harm had planned. They'd both be safe.

  He'd have been furious upon learning that he was a magin, but they were friends. Surely friends saw past things like that? He admitted to himself that maybe he wasn't that good a friend, then mentally snorted at his addition of 'maybe'. He was a terrible friend, but at least he hadn't killed Harm.

  "Those look like deep thoughts, Brish Loh," Andon said. He cupped Brish's chin with his fingers and turned his face to look at him. "Let me give you something else to think about." Just as the sun disappeared below the horizon, Andon's mouth lowered onto Brish's.

  As Daven's execution looms, Kaida's race to save him begins. Dragonsblood: coming April 2018

  About the Author

  Mirren Hogan lives in NSW Australia with one spouse, two daughters, dog, cat, rabbits and countless birds. Mirren has a Bachelor of Arts (English/ history), a Graduate Diploma of Arts (writing) and a couple of degrees in education. Mirren writes fantasy, urban fantasy and science fiction.

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  Also by Mirren Hogan

  Dragonhall Chronicles

  Novels

  The Reasoner Trilogy

  Book 1 Dragonhaze

  Short stories

  Nerra’s Flight

  Nerra’s Run

  Nerra’s Children

  Magic of Isskasala series

  Book 1– Crimson Fire

  Book 2 Crimson Fury

  Also by Mirren Hogan and Erin Yoshikawa

  Dark Shores trilogy book 1–Nightmares Rise

  Stand alone Lesser of Two