Spies of Dragon and Chalk Books
Night of the Chalk
Rise of the Falsemarked
Hour of the Borhele (short story)*
Alliance of the Sunken
*Available for free at samuelgately.com
Contents
Prologue. The Bottom of the World
The Arriving Tides
Chapter 1. The Fires Set
Chapter 2. Reunion
Chapter 3. Wet Footprints
Chapter 4. A Quick Swim
Chapter 5. The Seer and the Swimmer
Chapter 6. A Drink and a Word
The Revealing Tides
Chapter 7. Lesson in History
Chapter 8. The Special
Chapter 9. Wet Cards
Chapter 10. Restless in its Prison
Chapter 11. Through the Gate
Chapter 12. The Court of Lord Gale
Chapter 13. The Forgotten Warehouse
Chapter 14. Picking Up the Trail
The Beguiling Tides
Chapter 15. A Key Unexpected
Chapter 16. The Low Roads
Chapter 17. Questions and Answers
Chapter 18. The Merciless Horde
Chapter 19. A Terrible Mistake
Chapter 20. The Only Way Open
Chapter 21. Finding the Moon
Chapter 22. To Be Forgiven
Chapter 23. The Mind Elsewhere
Chapter 24. Uninvited
The Messenger’s Tide
Chapter 25. A Crowded Room
Chapter 26. To Be Known and Feared
Chapter 27. The Hall of Whispers
Chapter 28. The Messenger
Chapter 29. Pressing
Chapter 30. Strays
Chapter 31. The Two Will Rise
The Tide of the Sunken
Chapter 32. A Divided Course
Chapter 33. Return to Gale’s Court
Chapter 34. The Burning Towers
Chapter 35. The Rescue
Chapter 36. Cleaning Up
Chapter 37. Fear Will Rule Them
Chapter 38. A Setter of Traps
Chapter 39. Hooks
Chapter 40. Cold Comfort
The Final Tides
Chapter 41. Unlit Fires
Author’s Notes
Prologue. The Bottom of the World
Jenner carefully planted his boot on the pile of skulls. The footing was uncertain. He’d already slid down other piles, generating a cascade of bones, skulls, and rags, kicking up dust that circled the tunnel and never seemed to settle. As the dust made a home in the back of his throat, he wondered for the hundredth time if he was going to die down here, leaving his mission in the hands of Geoffrey, who couldn’t have made it clearer that he didn’t give one shit about Jenner or their charge.
The tunnel was dark. What little light there was came from the round hole far above him. At least he’d been smart enough to wait until noon to descend. Jenner had tried lighting a torch, one of his early mistakes during this brief and ill-advised outing. He had underestimated how dry it was down here and the fire had leapt to nearby spiderwebs and the silk netting which hugged the walls. For a moment, it had looked like the stacks of dried bodies and bones would all go up, as if they’d just been waiting for a single flame to turn the pile into a proper pyre. It was amazing to Jenner that this had once been the site where an army had drowned. Now it was drier than a desert. No rot. No wet, moldy decay. Just desiccation and dust.
Jenner half-walked, half-slid his way to the lowest point atop the pile of dead Chalk, his arm firmly wrapped around the rope which linked him to the exit far above. He’d made the mistake with the torch. He wasn’t going to make the mistake of trusting the netting on the walls with his weight or of letting the rope get away from him. Once he’d found somewhat stable footing, his legs spread wide to provide balance, Jenner pulled the shovel off his back. He gave himself slack on the rope, then looped it around his waist. He had no idea how close he was to the bottom of the tunnel, but he knew he had farther to go.
He began digging, the shovel’s edge biting loudly into the bones below. It was hard to make good progress. Every shovelful he threw to the side sent half back, sliding across the top of the bones. There were rusty knives among the debris he had to watch out for. Jenner seemed to be accomplishing little more than burying himself, the filth rising to the level of his knees. As he sank slowly and deliberately, it became a greater challenge to ignore the dead around him. He knew little about the Chalk. Supposedly the army had all died, drowned by the Corvale and the Castalanian. Sleepy Jon had told Jenner the story himself and Jon had been here on the Night of the Chalk. Jon hadn’t known why Jenner was asking. He never would have guessed. Even if he had, Jenner would never have mentioned so desperate a fantasy, an idea that the key to Jenner’s mission may lay under this mound of dead.
A single skull rolled in front of him, seeming to look right at him as it drew closer. This one still held a knife between its teeth. Maybe Chalk didn’t die the way people did. Maybe they were just waiting for him, like a spider waits for a fly. At some point one would begin softly laughing and all the others would join in. Another fool from above has come for a souvenir and it is time to feed. Jenner picked up a skull, stared at it a moment, then threw it against the wall. Let them come. At this point his failure would mean his death. He would hang himself after the next full moon if the girl was taken. He’d already picked out the beam in his room that he’d use. He had a rope. He wouldn’t need to leave a note. Everyone would know exactly why he’d done it. Jenner kept digging, deeper and deeper.
The dust was getting into his good eye. After a moment’s indecision, he decided to cover it and leave the bad eye exposed to the clouds of dust and chalk. His job became harder as he wrapped a cloth around his head, leaving himself only his lazy, damaged right eye to work with. Jenner had never known whether the men who broke his eye had intended to do so, if that was what they had set out to do. They’d all been wearing masks, so it wasn’t like he could ask them. But it had been a fitting punishment. Even he could agree with that. It had left him mostly serviceable as a guard but still gave the whole kingdom a visible reminder of the price of failure. Relying on the bad eye made it harder to work in the faint light of the tunnel, not that there was much to see. He’d know when he found what he was looking for.
Up above, Geoffrey would be sleeping off a hangover. This was a paid vacation for him. He’d hounded Jenner relentlessly for the purse they’d been staked. Jenner had taken to sleeping on top of it. He’d left a dummy purse more accessible early in the mission and Han, the third man sent by the Queen, had stolen it in the night and vanished. This was before they even got to the city of Delhonne and learned the disappointing news that the Corvale and Castalanian were not here. They were in the far west, the western border of Eostre to be precise, busily leading a war against the Borhele. All accounts said they were losing. Everyone Jenner had asked laughed when he wondered aloud whether they could leave their commitment to come down to Camron, where they were desperately needed. The consensus was that there was not a chance. War paid well, sometimes even when you lose it. So Geoffrey began drinking, his minimal pretense of care in the mission gone. From the dark looks he occasionally shot Jenner, it might not be long before Jenner met with an accident. A knife in the night kind of accident. Geoffrey would make his way back to Camron, emptying the purse along the way. He could tell whatever story he wanted to the Queen. If he even wanted to go back.
Seeing their mission getting away from him, Jenner had quickly booked and paid for a dragon flight to Eost
re. He would have booked it for him alone, which would have left him gold to return, but Geoffrey insisted on being included. So tomorrow they would fly into a warzone with the hopes of convincing its leaders to abandon their cause, all based on a favor to an old friend and the potential of a single girl being kidnapped. Something more dramatic was needed to get their attention. Which had led Jenner to spend his only afternoon in Delhonne deep below it, piling skulls up next to him as his legs sank deeper.
The sun was beginning to slide past the tunnel mouth far above when his shovel finally struck something larger than a Chalk skull. Jenner cleared some of the debris and was rewarded with the sight of a dull, white surface. He pried around the edges and managed to turn the large object. An empty black eye socket, bigger than his hand, stared up at him. Jenner leaned in, trying to look inside of it, but he could see nothing but blackness. Fighting a small surge of panic, he began turning the dragon skull, pausing again and again to clear out the smaller bones that kept creeping into the gaps that appeared. Finally Jenner got it turned. He breathed a sigh of relief. It was here.
A sword was stuck through the dragon’s eye socket. Jenner slowly drew it out, wincing as it made a loud noise on the bone. For a moment he was certain the army around him would leap back to life, that this was what they had been waiting for. But the tunnel remained quiet, no one around to see or celebrate that Jenner had found what he was looking for. A souvenir that might gain him an audience with the Castalanian. A chance to redeem himself or just a desperate play by a desperate man.
He cleaned the blade on his cloak, then tied it to his back. He secured his shovel and began the long climb up the rope, fighting off the sensation that any moment he’d feel the cold, white fingers of a Chalk clutching at his boots. Jenner pulled himself upwards, hoping this was the deepest below the ground he’d ever go, no idea how very wrong he was.
The Arriving Tides
Chapter 1. The Fires Set
“Pay attention to the way I set these fires.”
Anders was showing off for his mistress again. She shouldn’t be here, but it seemed like she was everywhere these days. Gabriel hid a scowl. When they both turned, looking at the fires, he let the force of it loose on their backs.
“When the Syndicate riders look down, they’ll see these four fires. From above, it looks like a triangle with a light in the center. It’s a signal they can’t ignore.”
She appeared breathless. Gabriel never bothered learning the names of Anders’ women. He liked thinking of them just by their features. He called this one Curly-hair. Before her had been Sunshine, Big Butt, and Gap Tooth. He should probably get this one’s name, she’d been around for a while, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. She was pretty enough, with her brownish namesake falling just past her slim shoulders, big eyes full of wonder.
“What does it say to them? The signal, I mean,” she asked.
“It tells them they are required to land. If they pass this by, it would be a declaration of bad intentions. And then I would send our dragons after them.”
Anders was having a great time. This was what he loved. Anything that put him in the center. He was tall and good-looking and he wanted the respect he thought was his birthright. The problem was, or maybe to Gabriel the beauty of it was, Anders was just plain dumb.
Take this choice of venue for his ill-advised discussion with the approaching riders. The group was on a small plateau near the Camron-Tannes border. It was near perfectly level and round with the sides sloping sharply down to the endless rocky floor. Anders was right that the Syndicate of Delhonne Corvale dragons would come this way. It was a striking vista, dramatically lit up by the fires, rising alone above the surrounding flatlands. And it was a high visibility night, the rainclouds for once in the distance, so the SDC group would have no opportunity to pretend they couldn’t see the fires. But the Camron Air contingent was far away from any reinforcements. It must not have occurred to Anders that they didn’t know exactly how many SDC were coming and that they might be in a position to just overpower the CA and take their dragons. Not to mention, Anders’ plan was to converse with the SDC, then send them on towards Surdoore, which would mean the SDC arrive at the city before the returning CA dragons. That was just all kinds of poor strategy.
Curly-hair was awed. Gabriel was pretty sure this was all an act. She appeared dim, yet she always seemed to ask the right questions. The thought appealed to him, the idea that she was working a different angle. If she had something to hide, she could be blackmailed. He’d be happy to settle for a roll in the sheets if she was short on gold.
She looked around, breathing in deeply. “This is so much more thrilling than that tired party at the Laurent House. Why are SDC dragons coming into Camron anyway?” she asked. “Can’t you just turn them back?”
Gabriel wanted to roll his eyes. She wasn’t even being subtle any more. Anders was a fool if he thought this one was drawn in by his charm. He wondered who was paying her or if she was freelance. Gabriel wasn’t unfamiliar with the concept of collecting multiple paymarks. He’d originally gotten into Camron Air under an agreement with the North Eostre Security and Transportation Agency. He’d sent intel back to NEST for a couple years before they got broken into pieces following Hideon Bray’s death. After that, Gabriel had been left with a middling position in CA, a boring organization rife with nepotism. And one salary when he’d grown accustomed to two.
Anders ran CA operations thanks to his father’s influence with the Queen. CA was under contract to provide air security for the Kingdom of Camron. It was an easy job. They were south of the major trading routes and none of the remaining dragon service providers paid much attention to the area beyond providing occasional flights to the capital city of Surdoore. In theory CA was meant to scout and report on threats. There were none. They supported customs enforcement on goods passing through. They were pretty useless there, being unable to see through ships’ hulls. And they kept any unauthorized dragon traffic from flying over the Plate. That was about their only real task. And it provided little benefit to anyone, as far as Gabriel could see.
Anders wasn’t bothered by Curly-hair’s question, though he should have been. Camron Air had been ordered to clear this flight by the Queen. Anders apparently didn’t worry too much about CA’s exclusive air rights being suspended, though Gabriel thought maybe he should be. If the Queen could slice away at CA’s authority so easily, what was to prevent her from doing so in the future? Gabriel hated being part of such a weak organization. Maybe he could see if anyone out there was willing to pay for Anders’ neck. Not likely. Too many people were thriving off of his worthlessness.
“Here they are,” Anders said, his legs spread in a dramatic stance in the center of the fires. “Prepare yourselves.” This last remark was to the five CA dragon riders who counted Gabriel in their number. All wore the CA colors and were heavily armed. Anders turned to Curly-hair and whispered something in her ear. She giggled, then walked back towards the CA dragons, leaving Anders alone, looking upwards.
Gabriel restlessly counted the dragons in the dark night sky. He saw only four, all flying under the SDC red flag, but swept the sky in all directions looking for any way they may have masked others. He always like to have the numbers on his side. They had six CA dragons, clustered on the southern end of the plateau to leave the SDC room to land. The SDC party was unmistakably coming in for a landing. They’d seen the fires.
SDC, the Syndicate of Delhonne Corvale, now had the largest dragonarmy in any of the kingdoms. Gabriel had not feared them when Hideon Bray and NEST were around to challenge them. Now there were few who could. SDC held most of the Tannes market, the largest in the kingdoms. Dragon traffic was disallowed over Eostre, still protecting themselves from dragon armies and corporations after NEST had nearly upended their government. Camron got little traffic. That left Garen, Porcenne, and Castalan to the others.
The greatest rival to the SDC was the Order of Luxen, a rigid, entrepreneurial
operation run out of Porcenne. Their humorless riders flew a large stock of dragons from the Euris Mountains with militantly pressed, pristine sky blue flags. The only other company worth mentioning was the Garen-based Merchants’ Collective, which flew green flags and morphed flexibly with the markets.
Cal Mast led a smaller group of dragons called the Unflagged, which had basically become a subsidiary of the SDC since he got himself exiled from Castalan and ruined his nepotistic advantage in the kingdom that his father ran. The Unflagged lived off scraps from Tannes, and were not living well from what Gabriel had heard. They probably got more revenue from Mast working contracts for the SDC than they did from dragon flights. CA’s own flags were a soft orange, which Gabriel had always thought an appropriately weak color.
Gabriel stole a look at Anders, who appeared unfazed as the dragons circled ever closer. The problem with leaders who had been born rich was they had never lost anything. He had no healthy respect for the strength of others, no fear to keep him cautious.
The four SDC dragons landed, far back enough from the fires that for a moment all Gabriel could see was four sets of eyes glowing in the dark. The dragons, looking long and hard at the men who had pulled them from their flight. Then pair by pair the eyes winked out as the dragons sank their heads down to rest. Four smaller dark shapes peeled off and approached the fires.
Anders had set up a Corvale washbowl at the edges of the fire. At least he knew that much of the customs. The Corvale, a former nomadic people of the east, had introduced dragonflight to the world. They maintained a strong hold on the customs surrounding it, and the washbowl was a sign of respect.
One of the shapes walked to it. He threw back his hood and Gabriel recognized Aaron Lorne from the white pixie eye scar on his cheek. Aaron pushed the sleeves of his cloak back, briefly exposing a flash of the marks which gave him claims to the dragons, and dipped his hands into the water. He rubbed them together then splashed his face. He looked up at Anders. There was a small gesture, so slight Gabriel wasn’t sure if it was just a wavering in the firelight, and then another one of the shapes took the lead as the four walked into the triangle of flames.
Alliance of the Sunken (Spies of Dragon and Chalk Book 3) Page 1
