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

by Adolfo Garza Jr.

  “Oh!” Aeron stared at his wrist-watch. “We need to head back. Our shift starts in ten minutes.”

  Chanté nodded. With a last look around outside, he followed Aeron back in.

  Apparently done rolling around in the sand, Nantli now played with it, drawing her forepaws together, lifting up a little pile of it, and letting if fall between her paws, again and again.

  A smile tugged at his lips. You like the sand?

  She chirped. It feels fun.

  Perhaps one day you’ll play with the sand in the clutching room as you sit with your eggs.

  Through the link, he felt a jolt of . . . pain? Regret? Loss? Whatever it was had been immediately cut off.

  Nantli stood. I do not think I can bear children. I think I was made infertile.

  Chanté stared in shock. It felt as if someone had thrust a dagger into his heart. Why would Garathel do that to her?

  His hands clenched into fists at his side as fierce anger bloomed in his heart. How . . . how do you know? Could you be mistaken?

  I do not think so. I sense that something is missing. But I am not angry or sad. She looked at him, large eyes shining in the light of his lantern while pride surged through their link. I already have the best daughter a mother could hope for.

  She turned and watched Anaya and Aeron make their way up the ramp.

  He watched them and tried to get his emotions under control. He was furious and felt intense pain, too, for some reason.

  She turned to him. You are upset.

  I don’t even know the words to say how angry I am.

  You are also . . . sad?

  Tears were suddenly in his eyes.

  She made a quiet sound. Why?

  That was a good question. Because . . . because you’re my bond-mate, my best friend, and it hurts knowing that you were not made whole.

  She pressed her cheek to the side of his face. Am I not the same dragon I was when you woke up this morning?

  Y–You are. But—

  If I am unchanged, why are you upset?

  He shook his head, cheek rubbing against hers. I don’t know. I just am.

  Did you learning this about me make you not love me?

  He turned to her. Of course not! Vision blurry, he lifted his arms and hugged her neck as tight as he could. I will always love you!

  And I will always love you. What was done, was done, and does not matter. Besides, as I said, I already have the best child a mother could hope for. I need not have more.

  He released her neck and wiped his eyes and his nose. Did crying always make you feel better? Because he did feel better. A little. You may be content with it, but I’m still extremely upset that he did this. One day, he and I will have words.

  Love, pride, and the tiniest sliver of humor came through the link. Would that I could be there for it. After a chirp and a tap of her nose on his head, she turned and made for the ramp.

  Chanté twisted his lips as he followed her. Nantli was right, of course. She was exactly the same, was unchanged. It was he who had changed. He now knew more about her, and about himself, too. It was very painful to him when someone he cared about was hurt, even if he had not been the cause. That was something Quillan hadn’t mentioned in his admittedly brief discussion.

  Thinking about the young man raised several emotions within Chanté. Anger was one of them, but not at Quillan. Chanté was learning more and more about how to fit in, about his new life, but reminders of who he really was kept intruding. He disliked having to keep things from his friends, but he really hated keeping them from Quillan.

  + + + + +

  Yiska watched the last of the northern enchanters head inside on the way to the baths and smiled. The sun and heat of the desert were more than many bargained for. Yes, she could be unforgiving, but the desert also made you strong.

  It had been incredible watching the workers use magic to lift and shape the granite blocks into the forms dictated by the architect’s plans. The stone had flowed almost like honey or clay at times. He imagined that once the core structure of the rooms were complete, marble would be used as facing on the dens, in the style of the rest of the square, of much of Bataan-Mok.

  Guildmaster Millinith had said that the eight dens to be built here should be enough, at least for a start. Guild members and candidates who had yet to bond would live where they always had in Bataan-Mok, only bond-mates would live in the dens. Even so, Yiska wasn’t so sure eight would be enough. There had been a great deal of interest in Anaya by many while she’d sat here just over a month ago. Men, women, and especially children had dropped by all hours of the day to watch her. Most people were fascinated with dragons rather than fearful of them.

  He glanced at the former execution platform. Polandra and Renata had returned the massive rock plug that had disappeared along with Anaya and Aeron when they made their escape. The enormous hemisphere of stone had been replaced into the large cavity, and the platform itself was then converted. To a weighing scale, of all things. He chuckled. It was certainly of a size to handle dragons.

  Another small stab of guilt made his smile fade. Why had Daelon changed the words? The original text of the creation story made no mention of dragons. His changes set the Corpus Order on the wrong path over a century ago. Yiska, along with almost everyone else, had believed those words, had believed that Yrdra’s creations were the dragons. Having seen a few of the nahual that were brought back for examination, he was positive that the guild was correct in their assessment that nahual were her actual creations. Just looking at the foul beasts made him fear for his smallclothes. Thankfully, the former manisi continued on their patrols of the area and villages, seeking out those terrible creatures as part of their duties. And, as they had been for some time now, dragonlinked continued their weekly aerial patrols as well.

  Some people had left Bataan-Mok after the Corpus Order was forced into dissolution, and a scant few more had left after the announcement that the Dragon Craft Guild would attempt to acquire its assets. But as Fala’s activities made clear, there were some remaining who still railed against the changes. Even so, despite those setbacks, progress was being made.

  Yiska took one last look at the activity in the square and headed for his rooms.

  It had been her voice, Anaya’s beautiful voice, that had finally opened his eyes. Such a sweet tone, and her diction had been perfect. A thought nearly made him stop walking.

  Could dragons sing? How spectacular they would sound! He would definitely have to inquire about that.

  + + + + +

  Cadoc knocked, waited for the quiet invitation, then entered the office. As he approached, Lord Koen looked up and set aside the report he’d been reading.

  Aside from enjoying the finer things his currently limited wealth afforded him, Koen had no hobbies or interests that Cadoc knew of. It was just as well, as the man’s time was otherwise occupied with the plan he’d been working on for years. In fact, even the hours he spent exercising his voice was all in service to it. Cadoc had been his assistant and had helped him with that plan for the last four years.

  “I’ve completed the research, sir, and there are several companies that meet your first requirement.”

  Lord Koen nodded. “I should think so. Contrary to the doom and gloom we spread, there are many businesses that are doing quite well.”

  “Indeed. Of the companies suited to your needs, however, only five use funds transfer methods we can take advantage of.” Cadoc placed the results of his research on the desk and slid the report before Lord Koen.

  “Ah, yes.” After studying the summary a moment, Lord Koen said, “The Stronghold Steel Company looks to be our best choice.”

  “That was my conclusion as well, sir. The demand for steel remains strong, especially from Continental Transportation for their expanding rail lines, and according to a source, Stronghold Steel has even had to hire back some they’d let go at their factories here.”

  “Which also serves to increase the size
of their payroll.”

  “Precisely.”

  Lord Koen leaned back in his chair. “We’ll need someone from their accounting department. And we’ll need outside assistance as well. Layered separation, of course.”

  Cadoc bowed his head slightly. “Of course.” It was unfortunate that both had been captured at the train. He’d be much more careful in the future. Their capture left fewer layers between him and the rest, and by extension, between them and Lord Koen.

  “This won’t make up for the loss of the Korovite,” Lord Koen said. “But with the adjustments I’ve made,” he glanced at the city map on the large table, “it should allow us to keep to the schedule.”

  + + + + +

  Nantli dropped to all fours on their ledge, furled her wings, and rumbled happily.

  Chanté patted her neck, unstrapped, and hopped off, letting out a grunt when his feet hit the ground. He turned to face the low sun and stretched, arms raised as high as he could. It felt remarkably good. “I am so glad to be back.”

  Nantli chirped. Me, too.

  He turned to her. We’ll have to return there in three days, though.

  I do not mind. The sun is hot and pleasant on my hide.

  He chuckled. It’s not so pleasant on my hide.

  You could wear the clothing many of the people there wear. It seems to keep them cool enough.

  He walked her into the den. Perhaps he should try the robes. That would only address the heat, however. The enchanting itself was draining in another way. He felt . . . weakened, in a sense. Was it all from the enchanting? Or was some of it from what he’d felt after learning about what had been done to Nantli?

  He set his riding jacket on the worktable and began unsaddling her. The slight discomfort in his stomach, hunger, made itself felt again, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten in a while.

  He placed the saddle on its stand and looked at Nantli. How are you on food? Hungry at all?

  I am not. Perhaps in a few days.

  Alright, lovely. I am, though, so once we’re done here, I’m getting ready for dinner.

  She chirped. Okay.

  The lessons, and even more so the actual doing of it, had him fairly practiced at the post flight procedures. The saddle blanket was removed and set aside. He’d see if it needed cleaning later. The wash bucket was then filled with warm water and brought to her. After wetting one of the soft cleaning cloths, he proceeded to wipe down Nantli where dirt, sand, and grime had collected under the saddle. It took four of the washcloths, but he could feel her satisfaction through the link when that was done. He then used more cloths to gently clean her face—around her eyes and mouth.

  Smiling, he stood back to admire his work and crossed his arms. Better?

  She barked. Much!

  He chuckled and she circled her favorite spot to lay down.

  His smile faded a touch as he watched her get comfortable. It had been surprising just how upset he’d gotten for her. He’d been a fool, had taken her for granted. For the most part, Ulthis had never worried or cared much about what happened to others. That was decidedly not the case for him.

  She looked up at him and chirped.

  He gave her a brief hug, grabbed his jacket, and made for the bedroom.

  Walking in, he glanced at his wrist-watch. Though night had since fallen in Bataan-Mok, there was more than half an hour remaining here until dinner. He tossed his riding jacket on the bed and wondered what Quillan was doing.

  A few minutes later, he knew what Quillan was not doing: anything in his room. He must be at the workshop. That was fine. Adept Elah’s office was not too far out of the way and Chanté wanted to ask the instructor about advanced sorcery books. Magic Craft was where he was most in danger of giving away too much and would thus be the best place to start learning where current knowledge stood.

  “I have to say,” the man said, “I’m more than a little happy to see someone take a further interest in the sorcerous arts.”

  Chanté cleared his throat. “W–Well, sir, I’ve always been, ah, drawn to it. If I hadn’t bonded Nantli, it may very well have been my profession of choice.”

  “Is that so?” Adept Elah smiled and slid a volume across the desk. “Well, far be it from me to stand in the way of your thirst for knowledge. That book will be a good place to start. And, ah, do be sure not to try anything on your own. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to come to me. In fact, I insist you do so. As I’m sure you know, sorcery can be exceedingly dangerous, yes?”

  “Of course, sir.” Chanté picked up the book and stared at the leather volume. A place to start, indeed.

  When he got to the machinist’s room, Quillan was hunched over a worktable. There were a number of interesting tools and springs and gears and, well, things everywhere.

  The first time Chanté visited, he had walked in and stood in the middle of the room admiring everything. “Did you bring all this with you? I don’t remember there being that many saddlebags.”

  “Some of it,” Quillan said. “But I had the rest shipped separately before I left Delcimaar.”

  “You were that sure of being accepted into the guild?”

  Chanté laughed. “You’ve met Master Gella. If she gives you a recommendation, that gives you confidence.”

  Chanté had grunted and said, “That’s a good point.”

  Now, though, Chanté took one step in and stood just inside the door, quietly watching. He didn’t want to disturb Quillan, who looked to be studying something quite intently.

  Little grunts and murmurs came from the engineer as he reached out along the table and grabbed tools, most of the time without even looking. He pulled a large magnifying lens over, its angular support arm making metallic springy sounds as he moved and adjusted it so he could see his work through the glass.

  “Not the most concise ones I’ve ever seen,” Quillan said, quietly, “but the linkages work the same, so, no matter.”

  After making a few notes, he pulled something small over and grabbed a tool of some kind. It almost looked as if he were writing with it. He held the thin metal rod and scratched with it using very tight, repeated movements. He then pushed the small item aside, picked up what looked like a little sheet of metal, perhaps an inch square, and set it before him, repeating his writing movements upon it.

  Setting the rod down, Quillan lifted another rod-looking item, though this one appeared to be made of wood. He dipped its end into a small bottle and ran it over the small sheet. After repeating that a few times, he set the tool down. Picking up the little sheet by its corners, he moved it under the lens. He studied it briefly, nodded, and then placed it onto a thin device, positioning it carefully.

  Quillan stared at it for a bit before moving his hand away. “Circuit complete.”

  He lifted that first item, it was another square sheet, and stared at it. “And once I paint you, you will be my cricket.”

  “Cricket?”

  Quillan twitched slightly and his head snapped around. “Chanté! I nearly wet myself.”

  Chanté raised his brows. “You what?”

  Chuckling, Quillan said, “It’s an expression that means you scared me.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “How was the desert?”

  Chanté frowned. “Hot. And tiring in more ways than one.”

  Quillan smiled. “I’m surprised you volunteered for enchanting duty.”

  “I’m like you.”

  “Like me?”

  “I’m trying to find out what dragonlinked do.” He drew his brows together. “I knew only in the most general terms, before. And while I figure all that out, I can at least help however I’m able. I’ve not done much since I got here. I’ve been useless, a drain on the guild’s resources.”

  “You’re not useless.” Quillan had risen slightly, looking like he would stand, but he cleared his throat instead, sat more firmly on the stool, and continued in a calmer tone. “That shield spell you devised will certainly save injuries and maybe even
lives. I heard that the Guildmaster was impressed by it. I know I was when I heard about it.”

  Chanté’s face got warm and his heart felt funny. His free hand was twitching and he didn’t know what to do with it. What was happening?

  Quillan’s lips quirked in a little smile. “You don’t have to get flustered every time someone compliments you.”

  Chanté blinked. Flustered? That was a good word for this feeling. He grabbed onto the sorcery book with his other hand, too, so it would have something to do. “W–What are you working on? I went to your room to see if you wanted to go eat, but you weren’t there.”

  “This,” Quillan turned back to the device, “was brought to me by Master Gella.”

  Chanté walked over and looked at the vaguely familiar device. “What is it?”

  Quillan set down the ‘cricket’ and lifted the device up. “An ether writer.”

  “Ether writer?” In a flash, Chanté recalled the thing Master Gella had been using at the site of the attempted train robbery.

  “It’s a communication device. You write on one, and the writing appears on its ether-tangled twin and also on any other tangled ’writers in its network.”

  “Hmm. So it allows communication over distance?”

  “Exactly. And, like bond-mate communication, distance doesn’t matter.”

  “Right. So, why did she bring it to you?”

  “It was recovered from the people attacking the train. Master Gella wants me to see if I can learn anything about their ’writer network. If so, she thought we might be able to learn something about who planned the attack.”

  “Why would they keep sending messages to that ’writer? They have to know by now that their people were captured.”

  Quillan nodded. “Exactly. I told her that under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t be possible to accomplish what she wants. My circuits can only inspect messages a ’writer receives, and, as you said, it’s unlikely they will communicate with this device again.”

  Chanté drew his brows together. “Under normal circumstances?”

  Still looking at him, Quillan smiled. “While examining it, I noticed that the ’writer is not linked to any of the national network nodes.”