Night of the Chalk (Spies of Dragon and Chalk Book 1)

by Samuel Gately

  Cal laughed. “Just because I disapproved didn’t mean I was opposed to making money off your recklessness. Where is the Mati?”

  “He’s watching the other dragons at the place in the Ranges. I released him from his bond last night. I told him he was free to go as he pleased, but if he stayed on in my service for a year, I’d give him the dragon he’s so fond of at the end of it. At the end of a second year, a second dragon. I think he’ll stick around long enough to leave with both.”

  “That’s good. Being a slaver never suited you. You able to keep giving dragons away so easily? I don’t know that I ever collected mine.”

  “That offer has expired. You don’t need it anymore. Anyway, you let the one I picked out for you get killed.” Aaron swirled the brown liquor in his glass, then took a drink. “There won’t be too many more gifts. The Corvale are going to get into the dragon leasing business. It will be rather expensive, but I imagine a few countries and noble families can afford to lease a dragon for a year. Use them for trade, as messengers, scouting, whatever they want. We’ll send handlers with them. It will help train the young dragons and the riders. Set some ground rules, like a really nasty penalty if they let dragon or handler get killed. It’ll keep a steady income rolling into the mountains.”

  “That will make for one hell of an army.”

  Aaron nodded. “But I hope it can be more than that. A real community. A new home. Not just another weapon. That’s one of the reasons Conners will lead it. Not that I had so much choice in that. But he can grow it in a way I can’t. Make it more than just an army.”

  “How many dragons have you got stashed up there? You never told me.”

  “I’ve never told anyone. There are right around sixty. I sent a message north to that old man Jaster and the people I’ve got watching them. The other dragons will come south, meet the group, help us the rest of the way.” Aaron finished his drink, set down his glass. “And we might need all of them. We’ve got a headstart, but there are a lot of Vylass, renegade Corvale, and others with the marks to tame dragons. Something tells me the skies won’t be just ours for long.” He looked up from the table. “Will you come?”

  “Not right away. I need to go west. I’ve been away from Castalan too long.”

  “Well, say hello to your father for me.”

  “I will. I might take Stone with me if he’s up for flying. By the way, he and Senator Drake are best friends now. I saw them before I came here. Drunk as skunks. But I’ll come north before too long. I assume it won’t be too hard to find the country that sprung up overnight.”

  “I’ll keep a bottle waiting for you.” Aaron stood. He and Cal clasped hands. “By the way, I had a feeling you might be leaving. I left you a present with Tyrne outside.”

  “No need.”

  “Well, you might need it. I never paid off your debt to Ty Cullmore.”

  Cal laughed as Aaron left the bar. He poured himself another drink. As if he’d ever pay that debt back. He looked at the windows. Still about an hour until full dark. Where had that redhead gone?

  …

  As darkness slowly settled over Delhonne, the bright lights of the bonfires for the Festival of Clouds tinged the sky orange. The light carried out beyond the city walls to the east, but then was swallowed by the quiet darkness of the rolling hills.

  Deep in a pocket of trees to the east, a black set of eyes scanned the sky, checking for the hundredth time for pursuit. Ulsor Vinn had traveled all last night. He retraced the steps of the army he had led to Delhonne. There were few eyes along the trail of destruction they had left. When the sun had finally threatened from the east, he left the path for the safety and anonymity of the trees. He passed the day in silence. He did not sleep.

  Now it was nearly dark enough for him to continue on his long journey. The dry season looked to be holding. The Ashlands called to him. The Council of Ten must learn of Gelden Carr’s failure. Of the dragons back in the hands of the Corvale. Of Aaron Lorne. The Ashlands were not so far east. Soon he would be home.

  …

  Back in the confines of the celebrating Delhonne, Sleepy Jon Harpish had already arrived at home. He crept quietly down the hall, avoiding the squeaky boards with ease. The hour was not particularly late, but he suspected his wife and family were asleep anyway. The baby made sleep a precious commodity. His wife was still on the long path to recovery after the birth. She had been sleeping last night and again early this morning when he had stopped by.

  Jon’s day had been spent at the kennels, buried in paperwork and piles of coin. His men were eager to get paid before the Festival of Clouds started in earnest. He was sensitive to that issue given his own troubles with his navy pension. Of course it was never as simple as handing out stacks of coin. Some of the men had borrowed money from him previously and needed to settle accounts. Some wanted him to hold the money for them. Others wanted different currencies to facilitate travel. Jon feared they would be ripped off at money exchangers, especially during the festival, so he handled everything himself. He had been to the bank three times today. Funeral arrangements were begun for the men he’d lost. Some were insured and some were not, but he paid the families either way, sending Kent running from home to home.

  Jon was exhausted, eager to climb into bed. There was a single candle burning in the bedroom. His wife rolled over in bed at his entrance. In a tired voice, she said, “Hi honey. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

  Jon leaned over to kiss her, careful not to disturb the sleeping baby. He had kept his wife in the dark as much as possible during the attack. Kent had orders to move the family the second it was needed, but he hadn’t wanted to alarm her unnecessarily.

  She asked, “Are you upset we aren’t going dancing this year?”

  “No,” he said. “We’ll take the kids to the parade tomorrow.”

  “What have you been up to these past few days? Kevin said you took him to see some dragons. Said he was close enough to touch them. I told him that must have been in his imagination, because surely no husband of mine would allow his seven-year-old son near something so deadly and unpredictable.”

  Jon gambled on silence being the best course of action. He sat at the edge of the bed and removed his boots. After a minute of enjoying the stillness, he slid into the bed next to his wife. As he put his arm over her, she asked again in a tired voice, “So what have you been up to?”

  Jon thought for a moment. “Just helping some old friends get back on their feet.”

  THE END

  Author’s Notes

  Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed the first Spies of Dragon and Chalk book. If you’d like to join in on more of Aaron and Cal’s adventures, check out the next book Rise of the Falsemarked (preview chapter follows).

  To learn more about me and other titles, please visit samuelgately.wordpress.com and sign up for the mailing list.

  Leave a review or tell a friend about the book if you’ve got time. Always appreciated.

  Cheers.

  - Sam

  Preview Chapter. Rise of the Falsemarked

  Aaron Lorne sat alone in an unlit room. He was leaned back in an old wooden chair, hidden in a corner, shadows all around him. He hadn’t moved for two hours. The chair was surprisingly comfortable for a guestroom in a borderland brothel. It had a sturdy dark wood frame with only a few nicks along the legs, over which he restlessly ran his fingers, waiting. The room was paid for, selected for its location close to the side entrance of the establishment. No entertainment was requested or provided. Tonight, Aaron chased information. One of his spies stationed in the far west had been burned, his name exposed to all of Eostre and to NEST. This left Aaron with a big hole in the territory he was supposed to be monitoring and a troubling lack of knowledge as to what precipitated the sudden outing. This had brought him west.

  He could hear soft murmurs, two of his men in the hall. At a glance, they would look like regular customers, having a chat before or after a visit to one of the many rooms.
The pair were heavily armed for a night on the town, but there was no shortage of blades in the building.

  A soft double tap at the door. Finally. The pieces were in place. New voices drifting down the hall. Two more of Lorne’s men hurried a prostitute through the hallway and out the side entrance, softly offering assurances concerning her safety and compensation. She would never be seen here after tonight. The gold they provided her would more than set her up in a new place with a new name. If the operation were exposed, NEST might still find her, but it wouldn’t be easy.

  Aaron remained in his seat until he heard the exterior door close. No need for her to see his face, be able to put him on the scene if things went wrong. He rose to his feet, pulled his hood up. There was another double tap at the door. He opened it. DeMarco Sellers, the Corvale spy who had been outed while on the NEST assignment, waited in the hall. It was perhaps dangerous to use him here, so close to NEST territory, but no one knew the organization better. And he was eager to do what he could to atone for his exposure. DeMarco gave a nod and led Aaron down the hall deeper into the building. They walked the sporadically lit hallway past patterned wallpaper and plush pink carpeting. The whole operation was set up to require no speaking, no bloodshed, though Aaron itched to have a hilt in his hands.

  Pierce was already near the end of the hall ahead of them at the main staircase. It would be one flight up, then back down the hall to the room directly above the one in which Aaron had waited. The house had a single security guard stationed in the stairwell. His compensation would be nearly as much as they were giving the prostitute. He didn’t have to do anything beyond turning a blind eye. Expensive to not leave corpses behind. Pierce had the guard facing the wall well before Aaron drew close. Another who had no need to see faces. DeMarco and Aaron each took the stairs two at a time, footsteps muffled by the faded carpeting. Then another hall, and another of their men waiting outside a door gave them the all clear. DeMarco slid a knife out and opened the door. All three men entered, Aaron closing the door behind them. No sign of unwanted attention from NEST yet.

  The North Eostre Security and Transportation Company, commonly called NEST, had grown dramatically over the past six months. It was becoming clear Aaron had underestimated them, a major misstep in his role as the head of the Corvale Intelligence Circle. The landscape had changed since Aaron first introduced dragons to Tannes. Aaron, with the help of his friend Cal Mast, had managed to liberate the remnants of his old tribe, the Corvale, from their economic slavery in the city of Delhonne. With the dragon army he had amassed in the mountains, Aaron relocated his tribe and brought them under the leadership of his Lord Conners Toren. Together they established a thriving community in the mountains known as New Wyelin. The success of the Corvale was due to their position as the sole provider of dragonflight services to those who could afford them. They formed the Syndicate of the Delhonne Corvale, or SDC. Money poured in.

  The gold earned providing dragonflight in service of royalty, nobility, military, and industry was exhausted quickly in building a defensible and comfortable mountain community. The creation of housing for nearly a thousand people with no other wealth or revenue source had eaten into the massive profits of their enterprise. By the time they could turn outwards and think of utilizing their gold for expansion and security of their marketplace, they found they were not alone. Their new role and accompanying revenue streams had proven too enviable. Others had found dragons. Others had built armies.

  NEST originated in the Euris Mountains and quickly spread throughout Eostre. Almost a year ago, Aaron had started receiving reports of the quickly growing scale of the NEST operation. While they kept their fleet numbers close to vest, Aaron would estimate they now had at least a hundred-fifty dragons flying under the NEST flag. Which more than doubled the strength of the SDC with troubling ease. And no one knew how many they kept in the shadows. The organization must have started with a large stock of loyal dragons. NEST clearly had the right structure and processes in place to expand. The NEST dragons avoided the SDC, but through intimidation and violence routinely swallowed up smaller agencies and sole operatives in the dragonflight industry.

  It was that ability to expand without apparent limit that was most concerning. Usually, certain insurmountable obstacles prevented any one group of dragon riders from growing too fast. But it seemed the rules didn’t apply to NEST. They’d found a shortcut. Aaron made learning more a priority, but, just as he was making progress, his tools had been blunted. DeMarco, his eyes in the west, suddenly found his name being tossed around the street corners of Ellis and had to flee the city with NEST agents at his heels.

  All this had drawn Aaron to an aging brothel at the Tannes-Eostre border and into the room of Mal Bueray, official title unknown. A high ranking NEST official who led a group of ten dragons and ten riders, and who was known to frequent the brothels during his regularly scheduled trips into Tannes’ western territories.

  Mal was slumped sideways over the bed, fully clothed. The room was brightly lit, making Aaron wince after traversing the dark hallways. The smell of whiskey covered the unpleasant odors of the unwashed carpet and bedclothes. Mal had spilled half a bottle all over himself and the dirty sheets, no doubt under the grips of the downweed with which he had been dosed. The hope was that he would awaken with a greater headache than usual, but no suspicion about its source. The woman who had given the drug to him would be gone. Unlikely that he would seek her out. They would also add a bloodstain to the bedsheets. Nothing like a little unexplained blood to make a man leave a brothel quickly without looking back.

  Aaron gently pried the whiskey bottle from Mal’s hands, replacing the stopper. He handed it to DeMarco, who pulled a similar bottle from under his cloak. DeMarco eyed the two bottles, then poured his out until it was at a significantly lower level, restoppered it, and placed it on the nightstand. The drugged booze would leave with them. Mal was welcome to his hair of the dog, even encouraged to it. Too much to drink, a rowdy time with a whore with whom he may have gotten a little too rough. Then he passed out and spilled his bottle, so she must have taken it from him and placed it on the bedside table. And then helped herself to fair compensation, maybe a little extra. DeMarco would take it from Mal’s purse before they left.

  But on to the unpleasant business at hand. Aaron unlaced Mal’s shirt and pulled it roughly over his head, favoring speed over a gentle touch. Mal was rail-thin, roped with muscle, all joints. Old scars covered his collar area. There were more near his hip bones. This was a former bandit if Aaron had ever seen one. Maybe once the leader of roadside brigands, which would match the sketchy intel reports Aaron had seen when they were scouting targets for the operation. Mal was a bully, a thug, and a company man. Smart, but not too creative. Exactly the type to advance within NEST.

  The marks that Aaron had flown three hundred miles to see marched up Mal’s left side, onto his left shoulder, across his chest and upper back, and ended at his right hip. The tattoos were all in Vylass copper instead of Corvale black like most of Aaron’s. Not surprising. What few marks the NEST dragon riders allowed to be seen were all copper. Mal’s marks had some unusual characteristics, however. The marks were discontinued in any places which would be visible. They did not extend down the left arm as would be typical. The end point on the right hip seemed arbitrary. Like the artist had been told to stop here, rather than building the whole set piecemeal. They had definitely all been done in one or two sessions. No fading of the older ones like several of Aaron’s marks, which had accumulated over more than a decade and a half. Aaron pressed hard on one mark signifying a Chalk kill of seven, glancing up towards Mal’s face but seeing nothing to indicate pending consciousness. The skin was not raised even a little where the needles had driven the ink in. Were these real?

  Creating a false record of eastern marks was both difficult and dangerous. The easterners treated them like a religion. The mark masters were seen as holy men and guarded the secrets to their craft closely. Aaron m
oved an oil lamp to gain better light and began reading the story of the marks. He decided quickly he was looking at a true set of marks, copied onto a man who hadn’t earned them. A crime punishable by death, if Aaron chose. He wanted to learn more before he decided. Didn’t know yet whose story he was looking at. Certainly not Mal’s. But the key to understanding NEST might lay within them.

  Starting from the left hip, a parade of Chalk kills. A promising young hunter of the Vylass tribe, earning his place by traveling the borders of the Ashlands, drawing isolated groups of the evil creatures into battle. A large number. This warrior came up quickly. Jerr hounds. Bandits. More Chalk. Underlines of the marks indicating leadership. Then raids on Corvale settlements. Aaron’s people. Many raids, many dead. Aaron’s fist tightened momentarily. If he met a man who had truly earned these marks and had them on display, it would just be a matter of time before Aaron found a chance to send him to the man in the shadows. More Chalk in much greater numbers, now as a highly ranked leader among the Vylass. Vylass Class distinctions, all the way up to Class Eight. No wonder dragons bowed to the owner of these.

  But past that the marks wandered into strange territory. There were the marks of Vylass kills. No one marked kills among their own tribe. It was not intended to be a source of pride. Was this not a Vylass? Who was this? More Vylass kills. And then the marks abruptly ended. Had the hunter been caught? Hanged? Had they gotten these from a corpse? From a prisoner?

  Aaron’s breath caught. There was one he knew who fit this story. Aaron stood to leave, a pressing sense of urgency upon him, then caught himself and completed his careful examination. He would not get another opportunity to see these. It was slowly sinking in that all of the NEST dragon riders wore the same marks, all modeled after one man. And Aaron knew what man.

  He stood and gestured to the others that it was time to go. DeMarco snuffed the light and they reentered the hall. At the bottom of the stairs, Pierce held up three fingers and pointed towards the common room. The other NEST riders were still there drinking. Pierce joined the three Corvale who walked down the ground floor hallway to the side exit. DeMarco went first. The others followed. The streetlights had been doused earlier so this side of the building was dark.