Of Gods, Trees, and a Sapling: Dragonlinked Chronicles Volume 4

by Adolfo Garza Jr.

  Some of the tightness in his chest relaxed. He let out a little breath and leaned on Quillan. It felt surprisingly good to be held.

  Humor through the link drew his gaze to Nantli. What is it?

  You should see the look on Quillan’s face. He is very happy right now.

  He looked up at Quillan.

  The young man’s eyes were closed and an enormous smile curved his lips. He did look happy.

  Chanté suddenly felt a little happier, too, for some reason. “Thank you.”

  Quillan’s eyes sprang open. “Hmm?”

  “I feel much better, thanks to you.”

  Quillan glanced at him. His eyes widened a touch, and he quickly removed his arm and moved a little away. “Of course, sure. I–I didn’t mean to sit so—”

  “No, it was nice.” Chanté’s lips curved in a little smile of his own. “Thanks.”

  “Any—” Quillan cleared his throat. “A–Any time.”

  Chanté took a deep breath and let it out. “Talking about all that also made it plain to me that while dragons were created to help fight nahual, what the Guildmaster and the others have been saying all along is equally true. There are more things than just Yrdra’s beasts that we need to protect people from.”

  Quillan nodded. “There are, as yesterday proved. But have no fear, those people who tried to rob the train will get what they deserve. Justice will be served.”

  “Justice will be served? What does that mean?”

  Quillan stared at him a moment. “Hmm. If you don’t think too closely about it, you might assume that laws somehow stop crime in and of themselves. They do not. Laws are more like . . .locks.”

  Chanté blinked. “Locks?”

  Quillan smiled. “If you recall the Investigation Craft lessons we had to catch up on, locks are only deterrents. Laws are the same. Murder is illegal, yet it still happens. If laws have any power, it is because of the fear of being caught breaking a law and then getting punished.”

  “I see. And how is all this connected to justice?”

  “Well, justice can be thought of as ‘what is right.’ And while each of us has our own moral compass—each of us has a slightly different idea of what is right and what is wrong—our morals do have a large overlap. Most laws are essentially codified morals. And when one enforces those laws, metes out punishments for crimes committed, one is said to be carrying out justice. So when I said ‘Justice will be served,’ it’s like I was saying ‘Things will be made right.’ Or at least made right according to the laws.”

  The memory of the guard came back to Chanté. “There are laws against killing people?”

  “Yes, more or less.”

  “Good. And who makes the laws? Is there a queen or something like at a dragon House?”

  “In general, laws are made by the High Lady working with the High Council. Royals are no longer involved directly in ruling or law-making, though they have their part to play, and from what I understand, they still have some influence. No, the nation hasn’t been ruled by a queen or a king since the War of Gods.”

  Chanté’s stomach clenched. “The War of Gods?”

  “Yeah.” Quillan nodded. “About four hundred years ago. Tens of thousands died. It isn’t so now, but religious faith was once a very contentious thing. The dozens and more religions all follow different gods and each has its own rules by which they think people should live. The gods occasionally visited prior to the war, and many believe they either formed the sects or inspired them to be created.”

  Chanté stared at Quillan. How did he know about all this? It had nothing to do with Smith Craft.

  “Now, the sects aren’t bad in and of themselves—to each his own, right?—but back then many of them tried to force people to believe as they did, started doing whatever they pleased and to hells with laws and justice. Well, the fervor and vitriol finally built up to a point where war broke out.”

  Quillan tilted his head. “Oddly, not too long after the king was assassinated, which effectively ended the organized war, the gods vanished for some reason and haven’t been seen since.”

  Chanté swallowed. The Expulsion.

  He could remember it all clearly, and that was likely intentional. For millennia, the beings that humans called gods had visited this universe he’d created and, often, this very planet. Their games here with humans and their beliefs had led to many large-scale battles—the War of Gods, apparently—and, at the end, to the proclamation of non-interference and to the Expulsion. After seeing combat up close, albeit nothing near to what happened on those long ago battlefields, he now understood a little of why the proclamation had been made, and was now grateful for it.

  “At King Francis’s death,” Quillan said, “what was left of the royal family went into hiding and weren’t seen again for eighty years. With the gods gone and no visible leadership, chaos reigned in the nation. After nine years of disorder, the High Council was formed, and at its head, the High Peer.”

  “High Peer?”

  “A peer is someone with a title, either hereditary or honorary, like an aristocrat or noble. Lady Hasana was selected as the current High Peer, but a lord could also be selected.”

  He is very knowledgeable.

  Chanté glanced at Nantli and nodded, then looked back at Quillan. “How is it that you know all this? History seems more like something Cheddar would be interested in.”

  Quillan chuckled. “I read up on it during my research on Machine Engineering. A number of things ended with the war, but there were also great innovations that came about during that period. Advances in metalworking, machines, sorcery, medicine, just all sorts of disciplines, even philosophy.” He frowned. “Not all the developments were strictly what one could list as good things, but a war was going on at the time.” Quillan shrugged.

  Chanté stared at him. There was even more to this amazing young man than he’d thought.

  Quillan glanced away from his gaze, then back. Cheeks turning red, he looked at Nantli. “S–So, have you examined her tack since you got back?”

  “Examined it?”

  Quillan cleared his throat and stood. “You were probably too upset, but you should examine her saddle, along with any straps and belts that get used, every day.” He walked to Nantli and she began to stand. “Leather is durable, but—”

  “Nantli!” Chanté ran to her. A spike of pain had shot through the link.

  “What is it?” Quillan looked from him to Nantli.

  It is nothing. I am merely sore from carrying so many. I should practice flying with the little ones to increase my stamina.

  Relief flooded Chanté and he let out a breath. His own muscles had been quite sore the first week of hand-to-hand combat lessons. “That’s true, lovely. You’re a little out of practice with flying.”

  “Where does it hurt?” Quillan stepped closer to her.

  The flying muscles along my chest and at the base of my wings.

  “Here?” Quillan placed his hand on her left pectoral.

  That is one place.

  Quillan nodded and started rubbing his hand along the muscles there, every now and again pressing firmly, but gently, with his fingers.

  A pulse of surprise came through the link, then Nantli let out a long series of little halting rumbles. Pleasure and happiness soon replaced the surprise.

  Quillan chuckled. “It sounds like she’s purring.”

  Chanté raised his brows. “She certainly enjoys what you’re doing.”

  “When I was still working at a forge,” Quillan said, working his way up to the muscles near her left wing, “I often got sore. Massaging my muscles like this seemed to help loosen and relax them, at least those I could reach.”

  Chanté watched Quillan. He wore one of the riding gear undershirts that more and more members of the guild favored when not in full riding gear. His fit a little snugly, revealing his musculature. The shirt suited him quite well.

  I like him, too. You should keep him.

  Ch
anté felt his cheeks heat up for some reason. He glanced at her. K–Keep him? The little bubbles of humor from her left him even more confused.

  “Would it be okay if I asked about what happened yesterday?” Quillan, still massaging Nantli, glanced at him. “I’d like to learn as much as I can about the actual workings of dragonlinked, what they do, how they do it, and such.”

  Chanté nodded. That made sense. “Sure.”

  Quillan moved to Nantli’s right side. “You said it was chaos.”

  “That’s right. In addition to all the attackers, there were three groups of people there. Dragonlinked, Master Gella’s people, and another group, who I learned later were security people from Continental Transportation. As soon as the arrows started flying, Guildmaster Millinith sent the other dragonlinked into the air, to watch over things and help as they could, I guess. She and Master Doronal tried to coordinate them, but they had to relay messages through their dragons, who then had to contact either another dragonlinked or their bond-mate to give them instructions.”

  Quillan frowned. “Why didn’t they just use their group-speak for that?” He shook his head. “Strike that. If they had, the enemy might have been able to overhear.”

  Chanté nodded. “Exactly. As far as the others, Master Gella would wave over some of her people, give them instructions, and send them off. They’d return and get more instructions or wait for new orders. Bertram did the same with the security people.”

  “It seems that better communication among the dragonlinked would make coordinating a number of them easier. Particularly if they are airborne. Hmm. Perhaps that will be my first project.”

  Chanté’s lips curved in a little smile. It seemed Quillan had hit upon something that he could use his talents for in order to help dragonlinked.

  Chanté’s smile faded. What about him? Could he help somehow, too?

  + + + + +

  Gella looked around the table. “Most, if not all of them, were from Stronghold or elsewhere here in the east. Two of those we captured appear to be leaders or coordinators of the attack. The rest who survived seemed more like hired drudges. Skilled mercenaries, yes, but I’m guessing they took orders from the others. One curious thing, when we questioned the two, they used phrases similar to what is on the fliers and what is spewed on street corners here.”

  “Did you find anything at the location they were to rendezvous at?”

  Gella glanced at the young man, Dima. “No. It had been cleaned, and quite well. There was nothing left behind to study for clues as to their further intentions.” She frowned. “One of the two who I suspect are their leaders was using a ’writer when we captured her. They must have been in constant communication with their superiors, so I’m fairly certain that anywhere that could be compromised by our questioning of the prisoners has been vacated in similar fashion. Even so, we will follow up on any leads we get from those captured.”

  “And where are those prisoners?” Robin drummed her fingers upon the table. Her highly manicured nails made clicking noises as she did so. At forty-eight, she was the eldest of the special investigators in Stronghold.

  “Being brought here on horseback. I left two of our people with eight of CTC’s security detail. They should be here in a few days.”

  With a final click of nails on polished wood, Robin said, “Excellent. We can spend more time questioning them once they arrive.”

  Gella nodded. “That we can.”

  She turned to the youngest of them. Discreet trailing was the girl’s specialty, and as part of that, so was makeup and disguise. With her favored clothing, you couldn’t always tell the talented youth was a girl, much less where she hailed from.

  “In the interim,” Gella said, “I’d like to increase our efforts with the criers. If even those mercenaries are spewing their garbage, we need to get to the bottom of that nonsense and end their influence as soon as possible.”

  There was her eager little smile. “Want me and my team to dog ’em?”

  “Indeed I do,” Gella said, “but you obviously can’t follow all the criers.” She turned to the older woman. “Have we learned where those leaflets were printed?”

  Robin shook her head. “We’ve been unsuccessful so far. Surprisingly, there are nearly forty print shops on file at city hall, and those are only the registered ones. It will take time to visit all the printers, legal or otherwise, and ask about the flyers.”

  Gella frowned. “Damn. I was hoping we could follow the leaflets, mayhap learn something from who delivers them and how, and then use that to decide which criers to follow.”

  “I’ll find something to prioritize my tails.” Copper ringlets bounced with the girl’s shrug, and she lifted a brow. “We’ll see what those people get to.”

  “Good.” Gella picked up the captured ’writer. Unlike with the other device, she’d just been able to keep the woman from destroying this one. It could lead to something as well. That young man, what was his name? She’d sent him to apply at the Dragon Craft Guild. His wrist-watch prototype had been linked to a ’writer. Perhaps he could—

  “Is it a coincidence, do you think, that Korovite shipments have been targeted twice in such a short time?”

  Everyone turned to the older of the two men.

  Gella set the ’writer down and scowled. “I don’t know. But after the detailed cataloging of National Transportation’s assets for the dissolution, we found nothing and no one that could be used in any way for the production of counterfeit coins. If National Transportation wasn’t going to use the Korovite, then they must have been planning to sell it to someone. Mayhap that someone is still interested in getting their hands on some.”

  She glanced at the captured ’writer. “Let’s see if the little fish we caught will help us catch a sturgeon.”

  + + + + +

  Hands clasped in her lap, Sharrah rubbed her thumbs together again and nibbled her lip. Chanté seemed like a nice person and he was a fellow dragonlinked, so talking about him behind his back like this felt, well, a little disloyal. But this could be important.

  After letting out a breath, she said, “If it’s true . . .”

  “Then we need to rethink everything we thought we knew about nahual.” Guildmaster Millinith stared at a spot on the desk before her.

  In the worried silence, Renata said, “I’ve found nahual during the day.” When they turned their gazes on her, she sat back in her chair. “Well, I found one. Xochi and I sensed it ahead of us in its den.”

  “Regardless,” Guildmaster Millinith said, “even with our ability to sense them, the vast majority of nahual we’ve discovered and dispatched were located after sunset. Why had no one noticed this disparity before?”

  “It does lend more credence to his theory,” Sharrah said. She nibbled her lip again. They needed to test his hypothesis, somehow.

  “Truth be told,” Renata said, “that one I found during the day was less than five miles ahead of us when we sensed it.”

  Guildmaster Millinith scowled. “If he’s right, we’ll need to reschedule all our patrols.”

  “A study to determine whether he is,” Renata said, “will require a lot of time and a lot of careful notes by those on patrol.”

  Sharrah placed her hands on the armrests of the leather chair. “No. We have to test it. Directly. We’ll take a live nahual somewhere and see how soil and rock affects the nahual sense of dragonlinked at varying distances.”

  Guildmaster Millinith turned to her. “How do you propose we acquire a live nahual?”

  “If one is detected on patrol, we capture it,” Sharrah said.

  Guildmaster Millinith raised a brow. “Capture it.”

  Sharrah nodded. “Sure. We could, uh, surround it with a barrier. An opaque one so it couldn’t cast its glamour spell on anyone. We then use Tretan’s Relocation on the barrier to move it, bringing the nahual along for the ride.”

  “Assuming nahual don’t know about resonance,” Renata pointed out.

  Sharrah f
rowned. “There is that.”

  “If worse comes to worst,” Guildmaster Millinith said, “I suppose someone could knock one out with their bo, whereupon it could be tied up and hooded.” She stared at Sharrah a moment before twisting her lips. “Because you’re right. We can’t afford to take too much time determining if the theory is correct. Lives could be lost in the interim.”

  Sharrah nodded. That was her concern as well.

  The Guildmaster twirled a lock of hair around a finger. “Chanté also came up with that shield spell for dragons and their riders while they’re flying. He’s proving to be quite interesting.”

  Renata chuckled. “He’s rather attractive, too.”

  “I didn’t mean in that fashion,” the Guildmaster quickly amended. “Though, there is that as well.”

  Sharrah smiled. “Have you seen the way Quillan dotes on him?”

  “The two arrived together,” Renata said. “Perhaps they’re just good friends?”

  “Maybe.” Sharrah didn’t think so, however. Chanté, too, seemed to act differently when Quillan was around. His entire demeanor changed. He became more talkative and was a great deal more relaxed. And the way he looked at—

  “I hope so.”

  Sharrah turned to Guildmaster Millinith. “Why is that?”

  “Quillan has no interest in bonding with a dragon, or so he informed me in his initial interview.”

  “Oh.” Sharrah frowned. “Well, even so, why is that an issue?”

  “We’re going to need as many dragonlinked as we can get in the near future, and for that to happen, we’re going to need as many dragons as possible. We can’t have a dragon not breeding.”

  “We’ve been doing fine so far,” Sharrah said. “And four more of us will soon be able to fly. Why do we need more?”

  “High Lady Hasana is going to present us with a contract to patrol for nahual-ton at major communities all over the continent.”