“Welcome to Caer Baronel.” The man smiled at them both.
Chanté looked from the man to the dragon and back. You didn’t tell me a man was here.
The sound of her powerful wings came from the left and a little behind as Nantli landed. Others are here, now, too.
He looked at her. She was staring up at the sky.
A pale gray dragon descended and set down to the left of the red one. A woman hopped off and spoke quietly with the man.
Why were so many arriving? Chanté bit his lip. Maybe this had been a bad idea.
“Three dragons,” Quillan murmured. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
“I’m Guildmaster Millinith.” The woman took two steps toward them. “I’d hoped you would make your way to us, eventually.”
Chanté drew his brows together. What did she mean by that?
Quillan took a sharp breath. “It’s you. You’re the guildmaster?”
Chanté glanced at him. He knew this woman?
“Is there something amiss with that?” The man, looking a little indignant, stepped up next to the Millinith woman.
“Not at all,” Quillan shook his head, gaze on the blonde woman. “I just didn’t remember her being so . . .” He blushed and hurriedly said, “That is, I’m surprised that I know her.”
Chanté looked from Quillan to the woman. Suddenly feeling out of place, he took half a step back.
“Ahh!” Millinith’s brows rose up. “You’re the apprentice blacksmith from Cotter’s Grove. I hardly recognize you. You seem . . . happier.”
Chanté took another step back. It felt as if a wide chasm had opened between him and everyone else.
The Millinith woman smiled and turned to Nantli. “Is she your bond-mate?”
“No. Nantli is Chanté’s bond-mate.” Quillan turned and smiled at him. “The three of us were on the way to the Dragon Craft Guild when Nantli sensed a dragon here. We wanted to meet him.” He turned back to the four. “I didn’t expect another to arrive, though.”
Chanté wondered what was happening. Why did he again feel so . . . alone?
You are not alone. I will always be with you. We are one.
He turned to Nantli. She was with him, that was true, but he still felt, somehow, apart from everyone.
“I’d been worried about the Bond we all felt recently,” the Millinith woman said. “Master Doronal had Huemac speak to my Itzel to tell me an unfamiliar dragon had arrived. He suspected this dragon was bonded to the unknown dragonlinked, which appears to have been the case.” She turned her gaze on Nantli. “I must say, however, that I’m more than a little surprised at her age. Dragons normally bond soon after hatching. Where did you two travel from?”
Chanté stared at her. These people all seemed to know each other, and he was just . . . a stranger.
“We met on the road,” Quillan said. “All bound for your guild, we decided to travel together.”
“I see,” Guildmaster Millinith said. “And what brings you to the guild?” She looked from Quillan to Chanté and back.
Quillan glanced at him.
Chanté stared at the young man he’d met in the wilderness. A constricting sensation began, as if his chest were being compressed. It did not feel good.
Gaze still on Chanté, Quillan’s brows drew together a moment then rose. He turned to Guildmaster Millinith. “I came to apply. I was told to ask you about joining.”
“Told? By whom?”
“A woman, Master Investigator Gella. She said the guild might be able to make use of my abilities.”
“Ah, Master Gella.” The Millinith woman nodded.
Pressure in his chest still building, Chanté watched them as from a distance. It seemed they all had people or circumstances in common, while he knew no one, save Quillan.
“And what might those abilities be?” Master Doronal asked.
Quillan glanced the man. “I’m a machine engineer, adept rank.”
“The master investigator was correct,” Millinith said. “We can use a tinkerer. One of the dragonlinked has been adapting current technology for us, but it will be good to have someone who can create useful devices from scratch, so to speak.” She turned to Chanté. “And what about you? What purpose did you have in coming to the guild?”
He stared at her. The pain in his chest, the terrible weight, was now acute. Unable to speak, he turned to Nantli. What is wrong with me? I am—I was—Ulthis. I created this entire damn universe! So why . . . why am I so afraid?
You were Ulthis. Now, you are Chanté and are human in every respect. I do not understand this sense of separation and loss you feel, but you should not fear these people. The impressions I get from them are only of good things.
Sense of separation? That described how he felt quite well. He glanced briefly at Quillan before looking back to her. All these unknown feelings and emotions are extremely frustrating. How do humans deal with them?
You have been human for mere days, while they are human from birth.
Of course. He blinked. You are a wise, lovely dragon.
She let out a happy rumble.
It would take him time to understand or at least learn how to deal with these strange, tempestuous feelings. Still, they could not be allowed to get in the way. Though he and Nantli might be alone again, everything else remained the same. They needed food and shelter.
He turned to Millinith, Guildmaster Millinith. “M–My apologies. I’m not used to being around . . . people.” He cleared his throat. “Shortly after my father cast me out from my family, I bonded Nantli. I need to learn how to do things on my own, now, and because I’m bonded, I–I thought joining the guild would be a good first step.”
Guildmaster Millinith stared at him a moment. Her eyes went flat briefly, and Chanté knew what that meant. She’d spoken to her bond-mate, likely asking if he was lying.
She nodded. “I see. Well, aside from learning how to do things on your own, there is a great deal to learn about dragons as well.” She glanced at Quillan. “Still, rules are rules. Both of you must go through the application process to join the guild.” She looked back at Chanté and her lips curved in a smile. “Dragon or not.”
“As you came in on horseback,” Master Doronal said, “Huemac and I can lead you north to the Guildhall.” He turned to Chanté and eyed him. “Though, perhaps we’ll make a stop by the laundry first. Your clothing doesn’t seem to fit properly.”
Chanté looked down at the loose shirt and trousers. He didn’t have Quillan’s build and was shorter than him, too.
Quillan chuckled. “That would be because those are mine.”
“Yours?” Master Doronal glanced at him.
“When my father left me to fend for myself,” Chanté said, “h–he left me with nothing, not even clothing.”
Both the Guildmaster and Master Doronal stared at him, brows furrowed.
“Well,” Master Doronal finally said, “that’s all the more reason to stop by laundry. Come.” He climbed onto Huemac and eyed them expectantly.
“Right.” Quillan turned and made for the gate.
Chanté quickly followed.
The sound of dragon wings drew his gaze, and he saw that the Guildmaster and her dragon were lifting off. When they flew north, he hurried to Quillan and the horse.
After climbing into the saddle, they re-entered the courtyard and followed Huemac out the other side. As the red dragon made his way along the street, Master Doronal would smile and greet the occasional person he knew.
Chanté glanced back at Nantli, padding along behind them. Excitement came through the link as she took in everything in the caer from much closer. He wished he felt as excited.
“Are you okay?” Quillan was looking back over his shoulder. “You seem troubled.”
Chanté twisted his lips. “You know these people, but I don’t know anyone except you. And because you don’t have a dragon, it will likely be just me and Nantli again when we get to the guild. That makes me feel . . . stran
ge.”
“Well, I don’t know Master Doronal at all, and while I have met the Guildmaster before, it was only briefly.” He smiled. “I’ve actually spent much more time with you than her and had a great deal more fun.”
Chanté was surprised by how much better he felt. “Really?”
“Really. And just let them try to keep me from you.” Quillan’s cheeks darkened slightly. “T–That is, I’m sure we’ll see each other plenty at the Guildhall, so there’s no need to worry.” He looked past Chanté. “Besides, someone with a dragon is never truly alone.”
Nantli’s bark of agreement came from behind. He speaks the truth.
Chanté nodded but wondered at his upset—the sense of loss—at the idea that he might not be able to spend time with Quillan at the guild. He’d been essentially alone for his entire existence before now. Why did he suddenly feel this way? Did it have something to do with his now being human?
+ + + + +
“Why did your father abandon you in the Northern Wilds without so much as a stitch of clothing?” Guildmaster Millinith was seated on the other side of a large desk, arms resting on top, staring at him.
The blunt question made Chanté sit farther back in the chair. Had she been this direct with Quillan? Was she like this with everyone she interviewed for the guild? Or was it just him?
The strange heaviness he’d felt upon meeting her and Master Doronal had lifted, somewhat. The man had been very pleasant as they’d obtained clothing at the laundry. Afterward, it took quite some time to ride along the north road to the guildhall. Chanté had spent almost the entirety of the journey thinking about how humans dealt with the cascade of emotions that could sometimes be overwhelming—many of which he had no name for. While he could query Nantli about all the unknown feelings he’d undoubtedly experience, how would he manage the storms of emotions? They arrived at the Dragon Craft Guild with him none the wiser.
He didn’t even have time to take in the enormous structure that appeared to have been carved directly out of the hillside, because the moment they arrived, Master Doronal led them directly to Guildmaster Millinith’s office. After a moment of staring at him, a pretty girl with black hair gave them application forms to fill out. Quillan had then gone in for his interview and had been in there for such a long time that it had started to worry Chanté.
Now, it was his turn with her.
She watched him closely as she waited for his answer.
He was certain that she had her dragon monitoring him, too.
You must take care.
I know. I’ll do my best.
Keeping as close to the truth as possible would give him the best chance of surviving this. He took a breath and let it out. “I . . . I was abandoned here as punishment.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Punishment? For what?”
“I broke one of my family’s rules, one of their proclamations, if you will.”
She stared at him a moment, as if reevaluating him. “What was this rule?”
“Do not interfere directly in the lives of—” He’d almost said humans. “Of people.”
“That doesn’t sound like an entirely unreasonable rule. Why did you break it? And how?”
The woman was quick and direct, and Chanté wondered how he could explain without giving too much away. Mayhap tell it in such a way as to imply that it had happened to humans?
He swallowed and said, “There was a . . . a girl.”
One of Guildmaster Millinith’s brows rose.
“Her . . . people had floundered for centuries. Only existing in small groups, each tribe kept themselves apart from anyone else.”
Brow no longer lifted, the Guildmaster watched him.
“This girl was different. Her mother had taken her far from their tribe so that she might live free from the stagnant existence of her people.”
A sudden thought made Chanté pause. Was . . . was this how his father thought of—
“And you broke the rule for her?”
He blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“The rule. You broke it for her?”
“Oh. Yes. A man was going to kill her and I tried to stop him.”
Guildmaster Millinith’s brows drew together and she eyed him a moment before asking, “Why did you try to stop him?”
“She was the first of her people to break free, to live as she was supposed to. I wanted to see what more she would make of herself.”
“In your attempt to stop him, did you kill this man?”
“That was not my intent, but . . . I don’t know. I had been observing her from afar and saw what the man was attempting to do. I merely wished to stop his weapon, to give the girl time to effect an escape. The moment I, ah, used the spell, however, my father was suddenly there. He took me away and I had no opportunity to see what transpired after.”
“I see. And even though you only interfered to save the girl’s life, your father is punishing you in this fashion?” She looked surprised.
Chanté drew his brows together. That wasn’t exactly why he’d interfered, but— “Quillan had the same reaction. As I told him, you could say that my father is a simple man with a simple understanding of the rules. Sometimes too simple.”
“I understand that rules are meant to be followed and breaking them requires punishment, but abandoning you to fend for yourself like this?” She stared at him. “It seems a little excessive.”
“My family is . . . different. They tend to see things from a unique, some might even say peculiar, perspective.”
“You are certainly”—her gaze lifted briefly, likely to his hair—“unusual. And I know how those of differing means can see things differently.”
She smiled. “Still, Itzel likes you, as does Huemac, and Nantli bonded you, so you can’t be all that bad.”
Chanté stared at her. Smiling like that, eyes bright, she was very attractive. He remembered Quillan blushing at her earlier and was suddenly . . . not happy.
He blinked. Why was he upset?
There was no time to dwell on his strange reaction, however, because Guildmaster Millinith was already moving on. “With the interview out of the way,” she said, “I’m now going to administer a series of tests to determine where your skills stand in the various crafts needed by dragonlinked.”
Chanté nodded. That must be what had taken so long with Quillan’s interview.
She pointed to a thick volume on the desk. “Open that up and describe to me the image on the first page.”
Glancing at the image, he said, “It looks like . . . a diseased lung?”
“Indeed. Now, the next image?”
He hadn’t been sure how much of his knowledge became inaccessible when his father made him human, but after an hour of questions, spells, and drills, it seemed that he remembered more than he’d hoped for.
“Excellent.” She nodded. “We’ll put you in with class one.”
“Class one?”
“The most senior class. You’re knowledgeable enough for it, even a little beyond a few of the others in some crafts. That’s the most advanced class, however, so try not to be too bored when your lessons cover things you already know.” She smiled. “Also, I’m going to have the girl you met out front, Renata, test your hand-to-hand skills after dinner. She should be back from taking Quillan to his rooms, but if not, just wait for her in the outer office and she’ll show you to yours.”
He raised his brows. No more questions?
“Welcome to the Dragon Craft Guild.”
After walking out and closing the door behind him, he stood, staring blindly. The people and dragons he’d met, spells, anatomy, mathematical equations, geometry and more—so many things tumbled around in his mind.
Chanté? Did the talk go well? You feel odd.
It went well, but I feel . . . overwhelmed is what I suppose this is. And a little out of sorts.
Out of sorts?
I’m not used to being around so many . . . humans and working so hard to keep my true self
hidden. At least with Quillan, it was just him. I felt at ease. But we’ve met a lot of people today, and I don’t exactly know how to act around them. As you pointed out, they have been human since birth, while I don’t have their experience with . . . with anything. How should I talk with someone I don’t know? How should I respond in different situations? Another worrisome thing is that I most decidedly do not always have control of my reactions. I must be very careful until I learn more.
I think you have done well, so far.
He twisted his lips. Mayhap. At any rate, we’ve been allowed in the guild, and a girl will show me to our rooms, soon.
See? You have done well.
He smiled, but before he could reply, the girl in question walked in the office. She nodded at him and made her way to the desk.
He cleared his throat. “R–Renata?”
She paused and lifted her brows. “Yes?”
He stared at her trying to formulate a question. Or was it a request? How should he speak to her?
“Did you have a question?”
“Oh. Ah, t–the Guildmaster said something about my rooms.” He needed some time away from people to think. Or to recover, more like. After the quiet days on horseback with Quillan, the past few hours had been inordinately . . . busy.
“Of course.” She smiled. “Welcome to the guild.”
“T–Thank you. Will there be a place for Nantli? O–Or should I ask her to fly somewhere?”
“Each suite of dragonlinked rooms includes a den for their bond-mate. Have no fear. She will be able to sleep within mere feet of you.”
Feeling a surprising amount of relief, he let out a breath. “Good.”
“Where is she now?”
“She’s lying down in the courtyard, i–in front of the Guildhall.”
“Once I’ve shown you to your rooms, she can come to you.”
He eyed the doorway. The doors and hallways, at least what he could remember of the ones they’d walked through to get to these offices, had not all been wide or tall enough. How would Nantli fit through them?
Of Gods, Trees, and a Sapling: Dragonlinked Chronicles Volume 4 Page 10
