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

by Adolfo Garza Jr.

  “Good grief. That’s a lot of—Hmm.”

  “What is it?”

  He set the cup down and clasped his hands, elbows on the table. “We may be thinking about the rumors the wrong way.”

  Her tilted her head. “How so?”

  “So far, we’ve been asking ourselves why someone would want to undermine the High Lady or make her look bad. What if that’s not the primary purpose of the rumors?”

  Her brows rose. “How could that not be their purpose? Almost all of them cast blame on her or call her actions into question.”

  “Ah, but there is something else the grumblings do. They give people a number of reasons to be concerned. What if hurting the High Lady is just a consequence, an excuse, even, for going on about how ‘terrible’ things are? What if the real purpose of the rumors is to sow worry and discontent?”

  She tapped the handle of her coffee cup a few times with a finger then looked up. “To what end?”

  He frowned. “I . . . don’t know.”

  “Then let me throw another odd fact into this strange mix.” Lady Erindia lifted a brow. “Lord Koen’s name has bubbled to the surface now and again in whispers.”

  He sat back in the chair. “There’s a name I’d hoped not to hear again.” He scoffed. “‘Lord.’”

  “Well, the title was practically all that was left him. He was stripped of his lands and business holdings, after all. His failure to take action was not technically illegal at the time, but it did result in positive changes in the laws. No one can take advantage of people like that anymore.”

  Doronal leaned forward and picked up his cup. “He should have been stripped of his title, too, and sent to prison.”

  “I agree. Unfortunately, they weren’t able to connect him directly to the deaths. If they’d had definitive evidence or a witness willing to speak against him, then perhaps . . .” She shrugged.

  He grunted. “Do those whispers mean he’s back in Delcimaar? Though he was acquitted of any actual crimes, a person of his standing skirting parts of the Human Rights Compact led to what was nearly attainder by process. I heard he left after that pronouncement and disappeared. Didn’t even stay around long enough to see Hasana installed.”

  “No, he’s not in Delcimaar. I’d have heard if he was. And it shouldn’t be surprising that he left before she was raised to High Peer. It was the position he strove for, after all. His keen desire to be High Lord was plain to those who watched. And as popular as he was, he would likely have been chosen, too, had his other activities not come to light.”

  “His incomparable voice did earn him a rather large number of admirers.” Doronal shook his head. “It was shocking to me that someone whose incredible performances could inspire so much emotion ended up being such a horrible person in reality.”

  She nodded. “It takes observation over time to determine the true nature of a person.”

  “What were the whispers concerning him about?”

  “Oddly enough, they were comparing him favorably to the High Lady.”

  “What? Good gods. After what he did? After the High Council stripped him of his property? He’s likely destitute somewhere and that’s why no one’s heard anything of him in the years since.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. The man was exceedingly clever and likely had other estates under different names to protect them from seizure.”

  Doronal set the cup on its saucer. “Thinking of him brings to mind another. One who will actually benefit from this atmosphere of worry.”

  Her brows drew together. “Who?”

  “I can’t go into the details of why or how, but Lord Eldin will soon benefit greatly.”

  “Ah. The Fair Deal plan.”

  He chuckled. “I should know better than to think something of that import would escape your notice. While no one could have known the High Lady would propose such a plan, that is one reason a person or group could be rumor-mongering against the High Lady—in order to help their business. Whether Lord Eldin is involved or not I do not know, but I will have Master Gella informed of that potential aim for the rumors.”

  Back at the Guildhall, as he closed the portal above them, Doronal still hadn’t made his mind up about Lord Eldin. The man had fought against the formation of the guild, and from what Fillion had once mentioned, Lord Eldin always looked for anything that could be used to his advantage. So him being involved in something like this was not completely outside the realm of pos—

  Itzel is excited.

  Hmm? Why?

  Zyanya has returned to lay her eggs. It will be soon.

  He glanced at the Guildhall below them and his heart began to pound. Soon? How soon?

  Within . . . I think the word is a week?

  Oh. Okay. Though, now that he thought on it, there wasn’t anything that needed preparing. The clutching room was ready, and, in fact, had already been used.

  Itzel says she senses three young ones in Zyanya. I wonder which candidates the hatchlings will choose?

  The memory of bonding with Huemac caused a huge smile to curve his lips. Soon, three more would get to experience the amazing process. That is a good question. I’m certain that whoever they choose will be extremely happy.

  It will be good to have more brothers and sisters.

  Huemac took them to the landing ledge outside the clutching room. There wasn’t a lot of space to set down.

  Doronal wondered how it was that so many dragonlinked were free to come here, then he recalled the time. Everyone had just finished lunch.

  “Four at a time, people, four at a time only!” Aeron, standing just outside the passage leading in, had his hands in the air. “And that number includes your dragons.”

  Doronal nodded in approval. He walked over to Aeron and turned to face those waiting to go in. “Let’s not forget that Zyanya is not used to this kind of attention. We don’t want to upset or frighten the soon-to-be mother.”

  “Jessip, Renata, Gregor—hells, everyone—queue up!” Aeron said. “You and your dragons need to form a line against the back of the ledge, against the wall. That’ll leave room for those leaving to be able to get out of the passage.”

  Doronal looked over the group of dragons and dragonlinked as they shifted over. “Where’s Willem?”

  Aeron jerked his head to the side and back. “Doing the same thing inside at the door leading into the Guildhall.”

  “Ah, yes. Everyone seems excited to see Zyanya now that she’s arrived so close to clutching.”

  Aeron scowled. “A little too excited, if you ask me.”

  He chuckled. “Can you blame them? There are now three more dragons who will bond.”

  “That’s true,” Aeron said. He looked over, a gleam in his eye. “Care to place any wagers on who will be chosen?”

  “It’s a little early for that, don’t you think?” Doronal shook his head. “Regardless, no. Placing wagers isn’t something I normally do, and besides which, as a master, I shouldn’t seem to be favoring one over another.”

  Aeron grunted. “I suppose. And with you and the Guildmaster . . .” He nodded. “Yeah, best not to show favoritism.”

  Doronal felt his cheeks warming. He cleared his throat. “Yes. There’s that, too.”

  Aeron looked over, glanced at his cheeks, and chuckled.

  + + + + +

  Fillion tugged at the cuff of the scruffy shirt, then rubbed the sleeve, wiping at imaginary dirt. When he heard the faint sound of grains of soil hitting the polished wood floor, he realized that perhaps it wasn’t all imaginary.

  “Stop fidgeting.” Master Gella, frown on her face, looked askance at him. She was ‘Peg’ right now, not Gella, and definitely not a master. It was astonishing what a little makeup and a wig could do to change a person. The clothing helped, and the leg brace and the awkward walk it engendered also added a great deal of distraction to the persona.

  He’d been excited while they put the dirt-fouled black wig and dusty makeup on him—he was working unde
r cover!—the reality, however, was not quite what he expected.

  Fillion pressed his lips together and looked away from ‘Peg’ to once again survey the chamber where they waited.

  The deeper rooms of this place were quite a contrast to the rest of the building and to the area of Stronghold in which it stood. This waiting room was larger than one would expect and a great deal nicer. The patterned pillows upon which they knelt looked expensive and were well-padded, but even so, if they had to wait much longer, he was thinking of walking around to stretch his legs. There were plenty of things in here he wouldn’t mind a closer look at.

  Strange, carved masks hung on one wall, small statues of differing size stood here and there, and various trinkets sat on tables and stands. Those and more filled the place, all looking quite interesting. And costly.

  He pursed his lips and remained on the pillow, however. Getting up to examine anything would likely bring more scolding from Peg.

  While waiting for the day of this meeting, they’d worked on their ‘story.’ Peg was an existing persona that Master Gella sometimes used. Peg would be his aunt, sister of his mother. His parents died in a fire, leaving him to fend for himself. She occasionally helped him out with work. Peg’s supposed occupation was a picker, and that’s what he would be today, too.

  His name was Chip, a blemish that lowered the value of anything picked—anything scrounged. It was a name that he found distasteful.

  Coatl, on the other hand, rather enjoyed it. Chip! How go things?

  I swear on Yrdra’s ice-cold tits, leather-bag, if you don’t stop calling me that . . .

  But I like that name.

  Well I do not. He let out a quiet breath. We’re still waiting on her.

  After dropping them off several streets away, Coatl had flown up to the roof of a building and carefully made his way over, rooftop to rooftop, to where he now lay crouched and hiding, on the roof of the building next door. According to Master Gella, his current position would put him as close as possible to where they would meet The Wolf. From there, he’d keep an ear out for anything dangerous to their plan.

  Do you sense anyone thinking thoughts about our true selves?

  Actually, I do. It is—

  His heart began pounding, but he missed the rest of the words because the door opened and a man stepped inside.

  “Please follow me.”

  Master Gella got to her feet awkwardly, the leg brace creaking as she did so.

  He hesitated, wanting to ask Coatl what he’d said, but she turned to him when he didn’t immediately stand.

  “Move your ass, Chip. I’ll not have you make The Wolf wait. Hells, boy, I’m faster than you even with my brace.” She gestured. “And take care with that. Drop it and I’ll beat you so hard you’ll see stars.”

  He picked up the cloth-wrapped item, stood, and scowled. “Sorry . . . Peg.”

  Her eyes narrowed and she turned to the guide. He led them out and down a short hallway.

  As they followed, Peg walked next to him, letting out a creak and an odd stomp with every step she took. He pressed his lips together and forced himself not to look at her. She’d likely clip him on the ear if he did. Which, unfortunately, would be completely in character. Theirs was to be a somewhat confrontational relationship. It would help cover his nervousness and any off reactions he might inadvertently have.

  Their guide knocked on a door, opened it, and preceded them into the room, which was only slightly smaller than the waiting room. The man stepped to the side to allow them entry.

  He and Master Gella walked in.

  “My lady.” Their guide bowed and left, closing the door behind.

  Fillion drew his brows together. My lady?

  A woman sat in a big leather chair behind a desk. She was a lot younger than Fillion had thought she would be. Thirty, maybe? It was difficult to make a better judgment as she had her head tilted down a bit, focused on whatever she was writing.

  There were bookcases along the left and right walls, their shelves filled with books and small items. It wasn’t until after a few seconds that he realized there were others in the room as well. They’d been so still he hadn’t really noticed them. One, a young man, sat on a sofa to the left of a low table in the middle of the room. The other person sat on a sofa to the right—a girl with a mass of copper ringlets and a flurry of freckles.

  His brows lifted, and her eyes narrowed.

  Don’t acknowledge her! He quickly looked back at the young man, then at the woman who must be The Wolf.

  She was watching him.

  Master Gella had forewarned him to never acknowledge any of the special investigators if he saw them out and about. That girl had been among those he met the very first time he visited the special investigators’ offices here in Stronghold.

  “That was an interesting reaction.” The Wolf narrowed her eyes. “What made you look at her that way?”

  His heart began to race. Damn him for being surprised by the girl. And damn Gella for not telling him she might be here!

  What is wrong? Do you need help?

  No. Wait there for now.

  “Answer her!” Peg belted him on the back of the head.

  He held onto the wrapped item tighter. If he dropped it, he was certain she would beat him to keep up appearances. “I just thought she was—” He clamped his lips shut and panicked.

  Thought she was someone I knew? Idiot! You can’t say that!

  “You thought I was, what?” Anger and a hint of nervousness filled the girl’s green eyes.

  He looked away from her, down at the floor by his feet, and wondered just what in hells he could say.

  I just thought she was . . . What? What would be a natural continuation?

  He had to come up with something quick. The Wolf was probably still watching him. The poor girl had been so worried, too, lips pressed together in anger, but with a vulnerable look to her. It was actually quite—

  He blinked. Oh.

  He cleared his throat and looked up at The Wolf. “I–I just thought she was pretty.”

  A strangled noise drew his gaze to the right. The girl stared at him, eyes wide, and as before, her many freckles couldn’t hide the deep red blush.

  Laughter burst from The Wolf. “Oh, ho! Got your eye on her, do you? Well, all I’ll say is be careful what you try. She’s a feisty one. Of course, you may have a predilection for that, in which case—”

  “My lady!” The girl, cheeks still red, stared at The Wolf.

  It was his turn to let out an odd noise. The idea of doing anything like what The Wolf implied was embarrassing and unsettling. He didn’t like girls that way. “I’ll . . . I’ll keep that in mind.”

  The girl sniffed. “As if I’d have anything to do with a glorified rag-and-bone man. Or boy, in this case.”

  “Pickers, young miss.” Peg raised a finger. “We’re a great deal more selective in what we search the bins for before the city crews arrive.”

  “And speaking of which,” The Wolf raised her brows at them, “what have you brought me?”

  Peg nudged him to walk. “Go on, Chip, set it on her desk.”

  He made his way over—her creak-stomp coming from behind with each step she took.

  “My lady,” she said, “I really lucked out this time. I think you’ll be happy with my find.”

  He carefully set down the wrapped bundle on the desk and slid it forward.

  The Wolf lifted up the item and eyed it almost ravenously. Peg must have some kind of existing relationship with the woman, must have already brought several valuable things to her, because The Wolf was clearly eager to see what had been brought this time. Using great care, she unwrapped the cloth, revealing a porcelain serving platter.

  Fillion hadn’t known what the bundle contained. Master Gella—Peg—had merely handed it to him to carry, instructing him to be careful with it. The large plate was quite nice. It was made from the whitest porcelain he’d ever laid eyes on. A hunting scene in a deep,
vibrant blue covered almost the entirety of the top.

  The Wolf, she’d grabbed a large magnifying lens from a drawer, looked over the platter carefully. She spent several minutes doing so, murmuring the entire time. “Outstanding quality. Nary a chip anywhere. Only a few cracks in the glaze, which is to be expected on a piece of its apparent age. This scene is very nice, too. Hunter and her dogs, two pheasants at her waist.”

  She set the lens down and smiled at Peg as she carefully turned the platter over. “It’s a very good reproduction.” After carefully laying the platter top-down on the desk, she retrieved the magnifying lens to continue her inspection.

  “If you’d look at the maker’s mark, my lady?”

  The Wolf glanced at Peg, then moved the lens over the center of the platter and blinked. “Impossible.” She looked up, eyes wide. “Someone threw this away?”

  Peg shrugged. “You’d be surprised what you can find in people’s garbage waiting to be picked up. Most of the time people throw things away without even knowing what they are. That along with a few more items were packed in a crate sitting on top of a garbage bin.”

  The Wolf looked back at the platter. “An original Hae-Won. I only have one of her pieces in my collection.”

  “Now you have two, my lady.”

  The Wolf set down the lens and sat, still staring at the platter.

  “To be sure,” Peg said, “there were other original pieces in that crate we picked, but none were near the value of the one before you.”

  The Wolf glanced at the young man on the sofa and then at the girl before looking at Peg. “Just when I wonder if you’ll ever bring me anything notable again.”

  She grabbed a pen, scratched out something on a small piece of paper, and held it out to the young man. “Retrieve this amount and bring it back here.” She stood. “Peg and I will take this to my display room.”