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

by Adolfo Garza Jr.

  She had waited in Pashi for two hours past the time of their normal weekly meeting, but the man never arrived. Without his assistance, her efforts would be much hampered. He’d never spoken much of the group he represented either, so she had no way of contacting them directly.

  She’d been quite vocal after leaving the abomination that the Order was becoming. She spoke many times at the villages and even outside the gates of Bataan-Mok about the horrible changes that were being forced upon the Corpus Order, about how everyone should fight the dragon guild and what they were doing. Pacing outside the main gates again one day, a man approached her, offering support for just that.

  She was elated. Not only did he provide monetary support, he also offered advice on how to proceed. The most valuable counsel he gave was guidance on secrecy and working from the shadows. That’s when she’d stopped her fruitless rants at the villages and gates and started gathering followers in positions that afforded her information and access.

  The loss of the man’s assistance would be a heavy blow. For reasons that eluded her, it was getting more and more difficult to attract followers—well-positioned or not—and some had even left. Without his funds, she would have to cut back how much she paid what followers remained. How many would stay? How many were true believers in her cause?

  Curse that man! Where was he? Had something happened to him? Had his group abandoned her? Had that accursed guild somehow learned of the man and captured him? There was no way of knowing.

  “Umeron.” The recruit, Stoltz, bowed his head as she passed.

  Controlling her frustration, she nodded to him once and walked inside.

  Kwatoko stood at the worktable on the right wall, preparing a rabbit for their dinner.

  Feet throbbing, she walked to her large chair, set aside her walking stick, and sat. “Jaci hasn’t returned yet?”

  Kwatoko glanced at her. “No, Umeron, not yet.”

  She frowned. Where was the woman?

  Kwatoko returned to his work, skinning the rabbit.

  Fala leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. She’d rest a bit. That walk had been long and draining.

  The pop of a log in the fire woke her.

  She glanced around. Stoltz crouched before the fireplace, poking at the logs. The large cook pot hung within, over the flames. She sat up a little taller in the chair and saw that there was steam rising from the pot.

  Kwatoko still worked at the table. He carried a cutting board over to the fireplace and, with a knife, slid the cut vegetables into the pot.

  How long had the nap been? She looked out the door. The sun was perhaps a quarter-hour from setting, so maybe half an hour of sleep.

  Jaci walked in. She glanced at Fala and her expression went blank.

  Bad news, then. “No new recruits?”

  “No, Umeron.”

  “And what of the clothing storeroom? Were the moth larvae able to be placed within?”

  Jaci glanced at Stoltz, who watched from the fireplace, then at Kwatoko, and then at her. “No, Umeron.”

  Fala sat up. “Why not? Did the worms suffer from the heat during transport? I told that girl to keep them out of the sun.”

  “That,” Jaci swallowed, “was not the issue.”

  “Then what?”

  “The girl threw the worms away.”

  If her feet still weren’t a little sore, Fala would have stood. “What? Why?”

  “She wants to cut ties with us, says they pay her more than we do, and she doesn’t want to risk losing that.”

  Fala stood anyway. “Money? Money? That’s what drives her allegiances?”

  Jaci took a step back. “T–There was another thing.”

  “Another thing?”

  “She says it smiled at her.”

  Fala drew her brows together. “What are you talking about?”

  “One day as she walked through the plaza on the way to her work detail, she saw a dragon there. She stared at it for a moment, then it turned to her, smiled, and chirped.”

  Fala’s hands turned to fists at her side. “Garathel’s great cock! What is it about those gods-damned beasts that fascinates so many?” She took a moment to gather herself. “Fine. We’ll try again with that other girl, the one who still wears her hair short.”

  Jaci didn’t say anything.

  “Do you know who I mean?”

  Jaci nodded. “I do, Umeron, but—” She closed her eyes. “That girl left us as well.”

  “Then choose another.”

  “I’m sorry, Umeron!” Eyes closed tightly, Jaci gripped her arms. “They’re all gone! I tried so hard the last few days, tried to get more recruits to replace the ones who’ve left.”

  Fala felt as if she were in a dream, a nightmare. “How many remain?” Her voice sounded hollow.

  Jaci opened her eyes and looked down. “All that’s left is us here and a boy in Bataan-Mok.”

  Kwatoko would not look at her. Jaci, tears glimmering in her lashes, stared at the floor. Stoltz was the only one who met her gaze, but his eyes were filled with pity and something else.

  Fala grabbed the walking stick and made her way to the tiny room.

  Everyone had left her. She’d been abandoned. Again.

  She let the curtain door fall closed behind her and took a step.

  ‘Witch!’

  The memory of the woman’s face, contorted with fear, froze Fala where she stood.

  It still hurt, even after all these years. She took a breath and continued to the bed.

  Lost in the past, she set the walking stick against the wall without really looking and crawled on top of the crude cot. She curled on her side.

  Why? Why had she been born with such pale, blonde hair? Neither of her parents had light hair. Their hair was normal. Straight and raven-black, like shiny silk. Hers, on the other hand, had been light yellow and slightly wavy. At the time of her youth, hair that color was practically unheard of, was a thing of legend. A thing of fear.

  Wearing caps in the winter and hair scarves in the summer when she had to venture into the nearby village was all that could be done. Even so, with just a glimpse, the word was whispered.

  Witch.

  Every single thing that went wrong in the area, every cow or goat or horse that got sick, every food store that was invaded by rats or ants or roaches, every bad thing that befell anyone was blamed on her. The children started it from either jealousy or spite, but then adults started believing it. Eventually, her entire family was shunned by everyone.

  When the ojon came calling, the extreme relief on her mother and father’s faces while speaking to him had torn at her young heart. Even at eight she understood that she was being abandoned. She was being given away, nay, thrown away like something foul and tainted, like trash.

  The ojon didn’t look at her like trash. He looked at her as if she had value. And once she was a pesan, the look in her dozon’s eyes was not fear. These people wanted her, these people thought of her as something valuable, as someone that had worth. She couldn’t remember anyone ever feeling that way about her before.

  Of course, once her time as a pesan was over, once she had to stop shaving her head and the blonde hair grew out, she again had to deal with whispers. But at least she had been part of them for long enough at that point that she was able to address the whispers in one way or another.

  Decades later, when her hair began to go gray, she celebrated. Many men and women fretted about that event in their lives, but not her. It removed the one thing that still gave people pause. Life in the Order after that was perfect. She had skills that could benefit them and they gave her a life worth living.

  All that was over now.

  Those damned dragons had taken the Order away, and now they were somehow stealing everyone from her. All her hard-won recruits had abandoned her for them. For nearly two months, she’d lost sleep, blood, and gallons of sweat, working to stop the dragon guild, and now the gods-cursed recruits had all left her.

 
“Yrdra’s pissing tits!”

  A footfall outside the door made her regret the outburst.

  “What?” she said, a bit more angrily than she’d intended.

  “Umeron.” She recognized the voice. Stoltz. “Dinner will be ready within half an hour. In the meantime, I’m going to go fetch some water.”

  “Alright.”

  His steps faded away.

  They had no well out here, so water had to be fetched from a small spring some ways to the east. It was not easy work, so they used water sparingly. She hadn’t had a bath in days, while those gods damned dragon-lovers had all the water they needed and more, drawn by pumps from deep underground.

  She narrowed her eyes. If everyone wanted to leave her, then they would pay, too. To Yrdra’s deepest hells with them all. She’d deal with the lot of them, and she’d do it by herself.

  She sat up. “Jaci!” Standing, she walked to the curtain door and held it aside.

  The woman rushed over. “Umeron?”

  “You once said that your mother works with agave, distilling it, yes?”

  “Yes, Umeron. Her mother was an alewife, but she wanted to take it further and make spirits rather than just ales and beers.”

  “Good.” Fala glanced at Kwatoko. He stirred the cook pot. Lowering her voice, she leaned a little closer to Jaci. “I need you to acquire some old distilling equipment, a small still. Its age does not matter, so long as it is still serviceable. I’ll show you where to take the equipment in the morning after the others have left.”

  “Yes, Umeron.”

  “And Jaci?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Tell no one of this. No one.”

  + + + + +

  Millinith breathed deep of the night air. Unlike at the Guildhall, the air here was thick with humidity. Which only made sense. The ocean was mere miles southeast, on the other side of Stronghold.

  Is it harder to fly here than it is at home?

  Itzel rumbled. It is. I cannot glide for as long because I fall faster through the air. That means I have to use my wings more. The air currents, too, are different in the city.

  I see.

  From what she understood, Stronghold was bigger, if one could believe it, than Delcimaar. Not by much, though, and she honestly couldn’t tell the difference. Both were enormous and both dominated the landscape when flying over them.

  The lights of Stronghold spread beneath her and Itzel like a bed of glittering jewels. A pretty display that belied the danger nearby. The patrols here had so far discovered and dispatched three nahual. None were nahual-ton, so the one that had killed someone several days ago had yet to be located. While that wasn’t as many as were found right after they’d changed the patrols to only run at night, the fact that they’d found three nahual in one area in such a short period was disturbing. It pointed out the absolute need for nahual patrols even in large cities.

  Every bond-pair that could fly was scheduled for every patrol location. They all needed to be familiar with the places and the routes, because she was going to have to schedule around everyone’s duties. There were so many places that needed to be patrolled, for nahual or otherwise, it would be impossible to make set assignments. People would be fit in when and where they had time. Even she and Doronal were included in those patrol schedules. Lord Baronel had yet to complain, and she fervently hoped that he didn’t mind her more than occasional utilization of the Caer’s Magic Craft Master.

  She really didn’t think of Doronal that way anymore—as her mentor and as a craft master. Yes, he was a master sorcerer. Yes, he was a dragonlinked and so was under her by dint of her being the Dragon Craft guildmaster. But he was also hers in another way, now. That little wolfish smile he sometimes gave her always made her heart beat faster and warmed her cheeks.

  And the way he kisses and nibbles on your neck and ears. That, too, feels very good.

  Millinith burst out laughing. Gods, yes, but it does.

  The sharp tingles came from the left, a little within the limit of her sense. Buildings blocking it, mayhap?

  She turned to look that way. Go!

  Itzel rumbled, already banking. Her flight took them almost parallel with the gigantic river that eventually led to the ocean behind.

  It was a nahual-ton. The glowing, translucent beast looked up at them from an alley between two buildings below and watched as Itzel set down just outside the entrance of the narrow side-street.

  Millinith hopped to the ground and grabbed her bo. Was this the one that had killed that man? From what she remembered of Fillion’s report, the warehouse was somewhere along the nearby river.

  The alley shielded the nahual-ton a bit from the light of the streetlamps, so its strange pale glow was very apparent. That and the way you could see through it made Millinith uneasy.

  Shaking the feeling off, she raised the whistle to her lips and blew the nahual alert. An answering whistle came from what sounded like a few blocks away. Not that she’d need the help of a police patrol. She just wanted to be sure that anyone nearby was aware that a nahual was about. This didn’t look like a residential area, thank the gods, but there could still be people around working.

  The nahual-ton hissed at them, and Itzel let out a long, low growl.

  Amber gaze locked on the creature, revulsion came through the link from her bond-mate. We must kill it.

  No worries, love, we most definitely will.

  The street lamps and the fixtures on the buildings themselves all provided a decent amount of light, so Millinith didn’t bother with glows.

  Why not see how much it knew of magic right from the start? Millinith began casting Neilah’s Constriction on its neck. The spell wasn’t even half-way complete when it was countered. The rebounding magic that slammed into her elicited a grunt.

  The nahual crouched slightly and let out a quiet hiss.

  ’Ware!

  Millinith had seen the muscles twitch, so she slid to the left, away from Itzel, as the beast leapt from the dim alley, swiping its long arms and sharp claws at the spot she used to be as it bounded past.

  The slide spell, one of the skills adopted from the Corpus Order’s manis training, was a useful tool when combating nahual hand-to-hand. Millinith was glad she’d practiced it. Had Doronal learned it?

  The nahual-ton made a frustrated sound.

  Its leaping attack had taken the nahual-ton a little farther into the street than Millinith and Itzel. It spun to face the alley, to keep both Millinith and Itzel in view.

  A quick glance around didn’t reveal much that Millinith could use against the nahual-ton. The street was relatively clean, empty of anything handy. Just inside the alley there was a rain-barrel half a foot or so from full, a few scattered empty crates, and bits of paper and other trash strewn about. There were no convenient rocks or boulders and no fallen branches.

  Millinith scowled. Ah, well. Time to see how adept it was at physical combat. She spun the bo and slowly approached the beast.

  Still facing the alley, only the beast’s eyes, translucent and glowing softly like the rest of it, tracked her movements.

  When only four feet separated them, Millinith ran toward it.

  The nahual-ton turned to fully face her.

  She swung, but the beast dodged, so she only clipped its ear. It swiped at her in passing, but her slide, begun just as her own attack had connected, took her out of range of the sharp claws. At the end of the slide, she spun to face the beast.

  They eyed each other.

  I want to burn it.

  She glanced at Itzel. You’d likely hit me as well.

  Frustration came strongly through the link.

  You’ll get a chance, love.

  Glancing back at the beast, an idea occurred to Millinith. It had only just dodged the attack. What if she reached the thing faster, like Jessip had?

  She gripped the bo tightly and slid straight for the nahual-ton. As the slide neared its end, when she was less than two feet from the beast, she thr
ust the bo directly at its chest.

  It twisted, leaning slightly, and her thrusting bo only grazed its strangely clear fur. Its long arms, which were held out to its sides, began closing on her.

  How had it evaded her attack? Eyes widening, she thought to slide back, away from the beast, but she was now less than two feet from the thing. Its arms would still claw her. One of them she could block, but the other would still slice through her leather riding gear.

  The sky! You must fly!

  Millinith blinked. She cast the slide spell, modifying it for a direction she’d never used before and for a smaller distance. It lifted her above the beast, away from its grasping claws, and she crouched and readied the bo. At the top of the rise, just as the slide ended, she jumped, flipped, and landed behind the beast.

  The crack as her bo connected with the side of its head returned satisfyingly loud echoes from the buildings.

  A whine of shock and surprise turned into an angry growl. The nahual-ton spun on her.

  Millinith slid back, away from the enraged beast.

  The sound of pounding feet finally registered.

  “Where is it?” Several police officers, some short of breath, came to a stop behind her and Itzel.

  “It’s a nahual-ton,” she said, “so it is likely invisible to you all.” She glanced back at the alley. “However . . .”

  She used Tretan’s Relocation on two of the rain barrel’s wooden staves. They tore away, breaking into several pieces and releasing the rainwater, which flooded into the street and under the nahual-ton’s feet.

  With a hiss it took two steps back.

  One of the officers gasped and stared at the water. “I can see something moving in the water.”

  “Exactly,” Millinith said, turning her gaze on the beast.

  Weirdly glowing blood dripping from its ear and from a gash on the side of its head where she’d landed the blow, the nahual-ton growled at her.

  Itzel roared at it.

  “Your swords.” Millinith stared at the nahual-ton. “Toss them on the ground around the puddle.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Do it!”

  One sword clanged on the ground, then two, then three, and finally, all six lay about.