Chapter 21
Hemday, Diamy 21, 1875.
Morning.
“This place is remarkable.” Chanté looked up and down the concourse that ran from the entrance courtyard at the south gates, up between the large plazas, and ended at the main archway into Bataan-Mok. A few people walked about the wide thoroughfare, and water splashed from two large fountains, one near its south end and the other near the north.
“This isn’t the first time you’ve been here, is it?” Polandra turned to him, brows drawn together. The two of them stood in the archway between Dragon Square and the concourse.
He shook his head. “No, not at all. I’ve been here a few times for these enchanting shifts. The buildings are very different here from those at the Guildhall or at Stronghold. It just amazes me how varied the architectural styles are that humans have come up with. All so different, and all so beautiful.”
Humans?
Barbs and pissing blades! I really need to watch my wording.
Even so, you have certainly gotten better at speaking like them.
Polandra chuckled. “That’s an odd way to say it, but, yes. People can be immensely creative in many ways. Even in madness.” A wrinkle appeared between her brows.
Chanté glanced at her. “I heard you were there when Fala killed herself.”
She nodded.
“It’s terrible, isn’t it?” He shook his head. “I saw a guard die at the train robbery. So many emotions were stirred up, witnessing something like that. I just felt so . . .” He raised his hands and grasped at empty air.
“Helpless.”
That was exactly it! He raised his brows and looked at her. “Yes.”
She turned to the people walking about the square, getting ready to start enchanting. “We’re working so hard to make sure that the people of Bataan-Mok and the villages are taken care of. Why couldn’t she see that? All she saw was people abandoning her.”
“Well, as one who was left to fend for himself, I can tell you that it is a lonely, frightening thing.”
“But you didn’t go on a killing rampage, did you?”
He shook his head. “No. My circumstances were somewhat different, though. And besides, unlike Fala, I did encounter a remarkable companion soon after.” He turned to Nantli. “She has helped me a great deal.”
His beautiful bond-mate turned chirped at him.
“I just wish Fala could have seen us and dragons as we really are. We had so many public meetings here where people could ask us what they would, where they could meet our dragons. If she’d taken the opportunity to talk with us, with dragons, perhaps she wouldn’t have resorted to violence and destruction, perhaps lives wouldn’t have been lost.”
Polandra let out a loud breath. “But enough wallowing.” She strode toward the enchanting group they would work with today. “Let’s do something constructive.” She let out a bark of a laugh and chuckled. “Literally!”
It looked like the plumbing had already been enchanted for the next den, the one they would start work on in a few moments. The ends of pipes and fittings protruded from the flagstones here and there. He’d seen the Bataan-Mok sorcerers working on the like while on previous enchanting shifts here. They’d levitate up pavers or flagstones in order to gain access to water pipes and drains and then extend them where needed.
A great number of people were involved with constructing the dens—plumbers, woodworkers, smiths, and more. Chanté was happy to be a part of it.
Polandra seemed to do well helping here in Bataan-Mok beyond these enchanting shifts. Like all dragonlinked, she still had lessons and was scheduled on the various patrols the guild performed, but working here appeared to be her niche.
She wasn’t alone in having found a place. Fillion was always off assisting Master Gella with the investigation in Stronghold. His eyes lit up whenever he recounted some tale of their adventures at lunch or dinner.
“Alright.” Samuel, a sorcerer adept from Caer Baronel, was apparently very good at leading enchanting circles for construction. The tall young man was on loan for the core structure work on the dens. He snapped on the leader bracelet. “Let’s form up. I’d like to get the initial granite framework up for the outside walls on this den today.”
Chanté walked over to the table, and as Polandra and the others on the team did, he snapped a support bracelet on his wrist. He was third in one support group, at the end, and Polandra was at the end of the other. Once they were all ready, they made their way to the den plot, and Samuel started to work.
As the enchantment began, Chanté felt animus drawn from himself and saw a thin mist of magic potential form, swirling and wavering with sorcerous pulses. He caught their focus components, too, hints of various flavors, some strong, some subtle, but all full of power.
Enchanting support in a circle like this was a brilliant way to address the limitations of sorcery’s current incarnation. Using multiple foci would eliminate the need for such assistance in many cases. That was a little beyond them at this point, however, at least based on what he’d gathered so far in his Magic Craft research. Still, human resourcefulness was amazing.
The support sorcerers in enchantment circles didn’t have much to do aside from standing around while their animus was used to build something. Chanté had been part of the process a few times already, so watching large blocks of stone levitated over, watching them molded and shaped like clay as if by enormous invisible hands, no longer held his attention as it once had. This left his mind wandering back to his guild-mates.
Setting aside the fact that Quillan actually seemed to like that Chanté was ‘different,’ upon first arriving at the Guildhall, all Chanté’s efforts had been focused on how to act human, or at the very least, on not standing out. The observations he made in service to that goal also gave him some insight into the people of the guild.
Gregor appeared to enjoy Fillion’s investigation stories, as did everyone, but a worried look sometimes passed across the young man’s features as he listened. His niche was healing, both human and dragon. From what Chanté understood, however, Gregor aspired to be the foremost expert on dragon healing. The Dragon Craft Guild was certainly the place to be for that. He and Sharrah often talked about some draconic aspect or another.
While Gregor focused more on their healing, Sharrah tracked any and everything about dragons. A notebook was never far from her hand. The news of the Departed had been a bit of a shock to Chanté, but it had her in high spirits. Here were new dragons for Sharrah to measure in one way or another. And when she wasn’t taking notes, Cheddar was.
The former archive craft apprentice took notes at meetings—like the one the Guildmaster had called to ask thoughts on the Departed—and, like Sharrah, whenever the mood took him. He was also apparently involved with almost all printing that was done for the guild from forms, lesson handouts, announcements, manuals, and more.
Jessip enjoyed the nahual patrols. Whether it was because he relished killing the fearsome beasts, or there was some other reason, Chanté couldn’t say. Perhaps it was the simple yet incredible thrill of flying anywhere on a dragon.
Renata, for her part, assisted the Guildmaster in keeping the guild running, and especially with schedules. No easy task with the increasing demands for patrols.
Liara helped Polandra here in Bataan-Mok and, from what he’d overheard, was adept in various aspects of Investigation Craft. She’d also assisted with that Fala business.
As for Aeron, well, he was Aeron. First to bond. He seemed to have a fierce desire to see the guild grow and for dragonlinked to serve their purpose, or now, purposes. Chanté couldn’t be happier about that.
Willem developed every piece of gear dragonlinked currently employed. And it was all well-thought-out, comfortable, and sturdy.
Terry and Korrie, the newest to bond, were going to help with the dragon show.
We were asked if we wanted to join the dragons in the show.
He glanced at Nantli. I know. Now,
it’s too late. We won’t have enough time to practice.
Though they wouldn’t be able to participate in the dragon show, he did want to get more involved with the guild’s goings-on. Perhaps he should ask the Guildmaster if there was anything he could do.
We help with the patrols. We help with the enchanting here. We helped take people to the train, and your shield spell likely saved Anaya’s life.
That’s true, I suppose.
You and Quillan are working on those caps, too, for speaking with each other.
Quillan. Chanté did enjoy talking with him about his work and helping with his projects.
“You’re smiling.”
“Hmm?” He turned to Polandra.
“I don’t often see you smile, which is a shame. Dimples are cute.”
“Dimples?”
“You had a brooding look, there, for a bit, but then you started smiling.” She raised a brow. “Were you thinking of someone in particular?”
Cheeks heating up, he sputtered, “I–I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She laughed.
“Dragonlinked.” Samuel didn’t look pleased. “I’m trying to concentrate, here.”
Polandra bowed her head slightly. “My apologies, team leader.”
Samuel pressed his lips together, eyed them both, then turned back to his work.
Polandra glanced at Chanté with a scared look that didn’t quite look scared.
He couldn’t explain the expression she had, but he had to stifle the chuckle it engendered in him. Shaking his head, he looked at the stone framework being enchanted.
So, thinking about Quillan made him smile.
I told you that you should keep him. I do not understand your recent thoughts and actions concerning him.
Keep him? What do you mean by that? I don’t own him. I didn’t find him like some discarded item by the— He drew his brows together. Okay, maybe we did find him, in a sense, but he’s not my property. Besides, I think he has feelings for Elizabeth.
He does.
Chanté’s legs wobbled and he took a step to keep his balance.
“Goodness,” Polandra whispered. “Are you okay? You’ve gone pale.”
The brief unsteadiness gone, Chanté said, “Y–Yeah. Nantli just told me something surprising about someone.”
He also has strong feelings for you.
Chanté looked down at the ground. I saw the way he looked at her when she was on the floor, her leg broken. He was terrified for her.
Would you not be concerned if one of your friends broke their leg?
Friends? He looked at Polandra.
She watched him, brows drawn together, but the worry soon faded and her lips curved in a half smile.
He recalled all the kind words and deeds from everyone since his arrival, and a feeling of lightness spread through him. Yes, friends. All these amazing people he’d met in the guild—they were his friends.
After a glance at Samuel, Polandra leaned close to him and whispered, “Did she tell you something about whoever it is that makes you smile?”
Eyes wide, he whispered, “How did you know?”
“There are a few things that can shock us to our cores. Death is one. Another is love.”
He stared at her. “Love?”
Elizabeth thinks of you as her rival for Quillan.
Chanté turned to Nantli. Rival?
Where is your fighting spirit? If you do nothing, she may have her way. You were the god of competitions, of luck, of gambling, were you not?
That’s precisely why I should not interfere. I’m a god—was a god. Quillan is human.
You are human, now. This is not interfering, this is living.
He drew his brows together. Is that what living means? Striving for what makes you happy? But what if being with Elizabeth is what makes Quillan happy?
You cannot let her win.
He closed his eyes. What was the right thing to do?
Quillan does not look at anyone else like he looks at you.
I–I know.
If we are not flying, most of the times you smile are when you are with him.
I know.
The two of you understand what you talk about together. It makes both of you happy.
I know!
And I like him!
I KNOW! Fists clenched at his sides, he glared at her. I like him, too!
Then fight for him. Her large eyes were gold in the sunlight as she stared at him, support and compassion pouring through the link. You more than anyone should know that a game not played cannot be won.
His fists loosened and his shoulders slumped. This isn’t a game, lovely. And even if it were, I don’t know the rules.
Sharrah gave you some insight, did she not? Perhaps Polandra has some to give as well.
He looked up at the tall girl and saw that she was still watching him.
Polandra leaned in close again. “You two seemed to be having a . . . spirited discussion.”
If you do not ask her, I will.
Chanté glared at Nantli, certain that she would.
Feeling more than a little embarrassed, he looked at Polandra. “She told me to ask you for advice.”
“About love?”
He let out a quiet breath and nodded.
“Well, love is,” she scratched her head, “hmm. You know, I’m not sure it’s the same for everyone. I hear that for some, love is almost instant.” She smiled. “But I fell for Liara slowly.”
With a glance at Samuel, she continued, voice quiet. “Bataan-Mok was my home for years. Then Ikan and I flew to Caer Baronel and things were so different. Almost every part of life in the desert is affected by the environment—the heat, the intensely bright sun, the scarcity of water and food. But up there?” She shook her head. “It took time just to get used to the place, much less take particular note of anyone.”
Chanté could sympathize. Though, he had the additional concern of learning how to act and talk so none would suspect who he used to be. A pang of guilt made him look away. He hated that he had to hide his true self from her, from his friends, from—
“I guess the advice I can give is to spend time with . . . who is it that makes you smile?”
Chanté looked at her and cleared his throat. “Quillan.”
Polandra nodded. “Ah, yes. Well, spend time with him. Don’t pester him, but when you can, do things with or around him. It took spending time with her for me to learn more about Liara, to see all the little things that I find incredibly attractive.” Her gaze moved up to his hair, then back to his eyes. “You have some obvious characteristics that are very appealing, but there are non-obvious ones, too, like your dimples, and your heart. At least for me, it’s those non-obvious little quirks that mean the most. Let Quillan learn those about you.”
He grunted. It sounded like good advice. And, too, it didn’t involve forcing Quillan in any way. If Quillan liked him, fantastic, if not, well, at least they would get to spend time together.
There was one thing, though, that he still didn’t understand. He twisted his lips and looked up at her. “What are dimples?”
She stared at him and smiled, a look of amazed wonder on her face. “You really need to ask Quillan that. And ask him exactly like you just did.”
“What? Why?”
“Just . . . trust me.”
Strong humor came through the link.
He glanced at Nantli. Do you know what dimples are?
Follow her advice. If he reacts like she did, it will be very good.
Chanté scowled. Why wouldn’t they tell him what dimples were?
+ + + + +
Aeron glanced at the safety strap in his hand and made sure that his thumb was ready on the locking slide of its clasp. He glanced down at his feet, seemingly floating above the lake. Waves rippled on past, several inches below the nearly invisible barrier he stood upon. Its presence was hinted at by the shimmers under his shoes. He positioned his feet about a foot apart, elici
ting more shimmers, and crouched ever so slightly in preparation for the slide spell.
Zolin told me that Renata got very mad at him and Jessip for doing something like this.
Aeron looked over to where Anaya approached. They were hundreds of feet up. I’m at ground level. Just remember to remove your barrier when I’m off it.
That is true. And I will not forget.
He smiled. We will have to practice this over and over until you can judge the correct distance. We will start with an early slide, and work from there. I’d rather not find out what happens if I hit a dragon at speed.
Humor came through the link. I agree. It would likely hurt me as well.
When he’d read the nahual patrol recap that explained how Millinith had recently bested a nahual-ton, it gave him an idea for a trick to try.
As Anaya quickly approached in a shallow glide, he cleared his mind and prepared the spell in anticipation of her call.
Now!
Aeron triggered the slide. As he rose like a bow-shot straight up into the sky, he felt a pulse of magic through the link. Anaya had removed her barrier. Good. If the trick didn’t quite work, he wouldn’t hit a sorcerous wall on the way down.
He rose higher and higher, a bit above her approach altitude, then he slowed, stopped, and began to fall.
Aeron watched Anaya draw quickly closer. Even so, she’d not make it. You’re not going to get here in time!
I am not. To avoid colliding with him, she banked a bit and soared past.
With the sound of her wings cutting through the air fading, he watched her continue on, then he looked down at the rapidly approaching lake.
The sun shimmered on its surface quite prettily. He took a deep breath, held the goggles to his face with one hand, and prepared for the plunge.
Note to self. Flying goggles are absolutely useless at keeping out water.
Kicking his legs and pulling with his arms, he made for the sun-dappled surface where he gasped for air. After struggling against the surprisingly increased weight of his clothing for a moment, he levitated and moved himself several feet above the water.
He pulled the goggles off and looked around until he located Anaya.
She stared down at him from where she hovered, about thirty feet up and to the right. She let out a sad little rumble. First trial failed.
Of Gods, Trees, and a Sapling: Dragonlinked Chronicles Volume 4 Page 66
