Aaron fought a flush of anger, tightening his lips around his cigarette.
“He says, sure, Little Pixie Eye is a bigshot now, but you should have seen him as a lad. Says you were always hanging around the edge of the fire, a quiet, moody little kid. Always trying to take on more than you could handle. Getting your charges killed, giving the guides a bad name.”
Aaron would have said something about how the older guides had always been a little protective of their industry, but Anders was charging away, gaining momentum as he spoke.
“He told me this story,” Anders said. “He said that everything you need to know about Little Pixie Eye,” Anders twisting the knife, “was how you broke when the Jerr hounds came to Ash Crossing. The Merciless Horde.”
Aaron was no longer able to mask his glare. He thought about smashing Anders’ glass on his face. Thought again about what it would take to bring this place down. Maybe burn it to ashes before he rebuilt Anders’ family legacy and planted an SDC flag in the middle of it.
“Reinhold said a bunch of guides were on a joint venture, said Little Pixie Eye led the group right into a Jerr hound stampede, then was one of the first to bolt out of there.”
That wasn’t how it had happened, but this was far from the first time Aaron had heard this particular batch of bullshit. It had been a joint venture, several groups under several guides, that much was right. They were in a valley, not long after sunup. Aaron remembered, it had started with a single hound, its long snout in the air, black, wiry fur sticking out in all directions, creating a silhouette like a pincushion on the horizon. As it crested the small hill before them, nonchalantly pausing to mark a small dead tree, Aaron had been curious but cautious. The group of hunters he was assisting with hadn’t shared the caution part. They were from Porcenne and the teeth of a Jerr hound were prized jewelry, one of the few vanities permitted men in their strict culture. They’d gone straight for the hound, not waiting to see if it was alone. The hounds rarely were. Pack animals, unless a Chalk held their leash.
Then there were a hundred, all quietly milling over the hill. Still not moving fast, but far too many, packed far too tight. Beyond them noise and dust were rising. Aaron tried to catch the eye of his lead guide, but the man was already moving towards the hunters. He saw the danger, didn’t need Aaron to point it out. They were looking at the fringes of a massive Jerr hound pack, stampeding just beyond the hill. If they turned, everyone in the valley would die.
The lead guide, that day it had been a Vylass named Kris Brennan, only made it part of the way to the overeager hunters, before the horde turned. The hundreds became thousands and they were all pouring over the hill, a flood of teeth and wiry, black hair.
Everyone ran. There was no order in the face of the horde. Every man in the valley took one look and found footspeed greater than they’d ever found before. This was no orderly retreat in the face of rising waters. This was a raging fire, an army all screaming your name in bloodlust.
It was Aaron’s misfortune that he showed up first in front of the other groups of hunters. He came around a slow bend in the valley floor, face reddened by exertion, waving to those in front of him, too winded to sound an alarm. They’d had a few moments to take in the bizarre and comical sight before they’d seen what was behind him. No wonder he became a part of their story. They’d had plenty of time to think about it as the lucky members of their party were trapped up trees much of the day, watching as the frenzied horde tore at the bark and low branches. The unlucky ones were stripped to sheer bone by the time the straggling hounds had given up and moved on, leaving desolation behind them as they rejoined the rest.
The other reason Aaron had been so linked to the tale of the event, of course, was that they wanted someone else to pin the blame on. Seven hunters vanished during the horde, plus four guides including Brennan. Those bodies needed an account. The whole story got a gloss of humor around the campfires that night as they recalled the terrified expression on Little Pixie Eye’s face. It was a smooth transition to blame. By the third night’s telling, Aaron had led everyone right into the Merciless Horde. It was all his fault.
A laughable accusation, given that Aaron hadn’t even been the lead guide of his one small group among many, but he was a convenient scapegoat, a role no one else was eager to assume. The narrative stuck. The start of a long, slow-developing story that hung around Aaron for years, the idea that he brought death with him. Bad luck. He eventually started losing what little business he could drum up. Which made him poor but at least freed him to explore the Ashlands more frequently. To spend time learning about his real enemy, the one who had taken his family and dealt the Corvale the blow that had nearly destroyed them. The Chalk.
Aaron’s lesson from the Merciless Horde had nothing to do with avoiding stampedes, or watchfulness, or anything like that. Instead, he’d learned about people’s need for a single, simple narrative when things went south. Preferably one of easy blame, justified or not. Once they found a story favorable to their position, they would choose to believe it, dismiss all evidence of contrary view, and spread it like wildfire. Aaron had run in the face of the wild horde. His charges had died, as had many others. But that he became a symbol of the failure, and his running, was more than convenient to the others who’d actually led the group into a deathtrap. Aaron had been the youngest and lowest of all the guides there that day. It hadn’t taken them long to grasp that a story of his cowardice distracted all but the sharpest minds from the question of who was truly calling the shots that had led to so many deaths.
It was frustrating to know the bullshit story still made its rounds. Probably doubled in effort and intensity since he’d made a name outside of the far east.
Anders still held the CA riders’ attention, finishing up a rendition of the story that bore little relationship to what had really happened. “So,” he turned back to Aaron, “Reinhold says that’s all I need to know about you. And when you come flying in, I’m not all that impressed. All those titles, the fame, I just see Little Pixie Eye, sitting across from me, talking a big game because of who he works for.” He waited for a moment, making sure the story sank in to his crowd of sycophants. Then he waved one of his attendants over to light a cigarette for him. “If your terms are as you say, my price is two dragons.”
Aaron looked at the empty drinking glass in his hand, then threw it back casually over his shoulder, letting it shatter on the stones. “Ownership of two dragons,” he said calmly, “for one day’s dispensation from your exclusive air rights? Fuck that. Fuck you.”
Anders shrugged and grinned to the quiet CA riders around him. All activity in the entire compound had ground to a halt, everyone listening to the conversation.
Aaron leaned back, locking eyes with Anders. “I make that deal, I set that precedent, SDC will strip me of title. Disavow me. And kill you. Instead of gaining a dragon, you’ll lose every one you hold.”
“Funny, I don’t see a lot of SDC around. I see one. One lost and confused, who doesn’t belong on the Plate.”
You’re not looking hard enough, Aaron thought. “Not a chance. I’ll give you ten thousand gold.”
“Tell you what, I’ll be reasonable. One dragon, plus your word that SDC doesn’t compete for the contract renewal.”
Aaron’s word wouldn’t stand up if SDC made a play for the contract. But it would give the CA a foothold in their arguments against their bid. It would look like the help CA gave, even so little as it was, was critical to supporting Aaron’s work for the Queen. It would help them shape the narrative, something Aaron had just been reminded the value of. If things went right, if the girl lived and the other child stayed safe, it would look like CA had a hand in that. And SDC would look ungrateful, even treacherous, as though they’d failed to reward the critical aid the smaller company had lent them. Though if things went poorly, the issue probably didn’t matter. The SDC would be run off the Plate.
Aaron thought about Cal, trapped somewhere below them. The
note from Madame Jane. The harbor will be the only way open to you. It was such a longshot that anything Aaron did would help. But could he live with the alternative? “No dragons. Ten thousand gold. And my word that SDC doesn’t compete for the contract renewal.” Miriam would be furious. Conners too. Aaron might still end up severed from his people, maybe even running from punishment, for this.
“You got yourself a deal, Little Pixie Eye. As soon as you sign on it, I’ll show you where your precious dragon is.”
“No, not mine. Not Marsail. Tyrne. I don’t need the help. My shadow does.”
Chapter 19. A Terrible Mistake
Cal woke to the sound of dripping water. The green light near the entryway was brightening. Someone was coming. He turned to wake Nalani quickly, while the sound of the water might interfere with any noise she made, but saw her eyes open in the dim light. They shared a look. Cal tightened his grip on the knife he held in his right hand.
Footsteps came around the short bend and Odell stood in the entry, clearly lit as the light from the lantern tied to his belt and the one on the table merged. He held in his hands an ornately carved weave of coral. He dropped it, indifferent to the sound of heavy pieces breaking on the floor. Then he went straight to the writing desk and sat down, showing no awareness of the intruders hidden under the table deeper in the chamber.
With the light in his eyes, Odell would be nearly blind. The key was a quiet approach and a clean killing strike. Cal slid out from under the table, allowing nothing but the balls of his bare feet and his fingers to touch the ground, his eyes glued to Odell’s back. Once out from under the table, Cal slowly crept his feet closer to his hands until he was able to stand. He straightened, the knife in front of him in case the Sunken turned. Odell was scrawling on a piece of paper, the same size and shape as the message Cal had seen earlier. Cal hesitated. He had many questions for the spy. He’d love a guarantee that they could be alone for a couple hours. But that wasn’t the case. Odell needed to die and Cal needed out from under this fucking Plate. He could wait long enough for Odell to finish the note. He’d try to keep the blood off of it, then read it over the Sunken’s body.
Cal waited in the green light as Odell scrawled in a neat hand on the paper. Both of their heads turned at the sounds of another pulling themselves out of the water at the entrance. Green light from a fresh source filled the entryway. Odell snatched his lantern in one hand, grabbing a long knife with the other. Odell stood and moved away from Cal towards the entryway. Cal stayed frozen just behind the Sunken’s back. If Odell turned his head, Cal would be seen. He swiftly reversed the motions he’d undertaken to get out from under the table quietly. He just managed to get out of the light as the face of another Sunken came into view over Odell’s shoulder. Another second and he would have been spotted. Nalani was waiting for him with a dark look. Cal shrugged. They’d have to wait for another opportunity.
“Garem,” Odell said, a hissing, displeased quality to his voice.
“I come as summoned, Odell.” The other Sunken held a similar lantern, his eyes lowered before Odell.
Odell heightened his shoulders, pushing his darkine out. He pivoted slowly back and forth, some physical display of his dominance. He lacked Gale’s height but still had a menace about him. “And where were you exactly when Lord Gale spoke to the updweller?”
“After the surface mission, I was checking the thresher levels, as you instructed me to.”
There was a long pause. “And?” Odell asked.
“Low enough to make a quick trip to the harbor with the moonrise, I think, if that is what my lord desires.”
“What I desire, Garem, is a crew of loyal Sunken who don’t have their heads up a thresher’s ass. I lead our third surface raid and none of the crew I leave behind is capable of keeping Gale from summoning and speaking to an updweller outside of my presence?” He loomed in front of Garem again, then sank back on his heels. “Who speaks second to me, Garem? Whose orders do you follow when I am not around?”
“Darrelnet.”
“No longer. He was in the throne room when Gale spoke to the updweller. He told me about the discussion and then we had words about his penalty for failing to prevent that discussion. You see it by your feet.”
Both Cal and Garem’s eyes shifted to the broken pile of coral on the ground between the two Sunken. It was the remnants of a Sunken’s darkine, Darrelnet’s if Odell was to be believed. It looked like the penalty had been a tremendous loss of status, no doubt painfully administered.
“The updweller brought up Locke’s name! Why am I hearing of Locke’s movements through the lips of an updweller?” Odell turned to the side. The lantern’s light filtered through the carvings on his back, casting strange shadows on the walls. “And now he has escaped. Several of the others attempted it but he is the only one who succeeded. The only one I want. The one who brought Locke’s name back to Gale’s ear.”
Abruptly Odell raised the knife in his hand. Garem didn’t flinch, simply keeping his eyes down. After a long moment of Odell staring at him, he lowered it. Then raised it again and smashed the hilt into the side of Garem’s face. Garem grunted as dark blood started pouring down the side of his face but held his position.
“Bah! Clean that up,” Odell said. “I’ve got a message for you to carry to the surface.” He turned back towards the writing desk, missing the angry look Garem shot his back.
Cal watched as Garem’s eyes stayed trained on Odell. After a silence during which the only sounds were Odell’s pen scratching on a scroll, Garem looked down at the floor, nudging a piece of the broken darkine with his foot. “Who will take Darrelnet’s place?” the Sunken asked.
“You desire the position?”
“Yes.”
“Take this message to the surface. Usual place. Do not linger.” Cal heard Odell delicately blew on the scrap of paper to dry the ink, then rolled it up. He placed the tiny parchment in a thin tube of black metal. “Go now. The moon will rise soon. I am aware you are not to blame for today’s mistakes. I will bear that in mind as I consider what changes must be made. Deliver the note, then return and help me hunt for the escaped updweller. If I am busy placating Lord Gale, take charge of the search. I need the updweller and I need knowledge of Locke’s whereabouts. In that order.”
Odell handed over the small tube with the note. “Keep your eyes open for Locke’s agents. I go back to Gale, to further control the damage done today.”
Both Sunken walked out, taking their lanterns. Cal and Nalani listened for the sound of one entering the water, then the other. Moments later they were out from under the table, hurrying across the chamber. Cal grabbed the lantern off the table. He looked around quickly, but, finding nothing better, drew his shirt off and wrapped it around the lantern, dimming the light.
“Quickly,” he said. “I need to catch up to Odell.”
“Why?” Nalani said in an urgent whisper, stopping in front of him. “The messenger is headed to the surface. We need to follow that one.”
Cal had an image of Odell swimming away. Would he ever get another chance to sever these disturbing ties with Cal and Aaron’s enemies? “Fuck,” Cal swore. “Fine, yes, you’re right. Let’s go.”
They lowered themselves quickly into the water by the entryway, collected their breath, and ducked under. Cal held the knife in his mouth again. The map was shoved into his pants and the lantern bundled up in his arm so that its glow was hidden. Under the water he could see two points of light headed in opposite directions. Odell and Garem’s lanterns. But which was which? Cal looked back and forth. Nalani wasn’t moving decisively in one direction or another. Finally Cal saw a tiny thread of black blood in the water. Garem’s injury. Cal began swimming in that direction, Nalani at his heels. He spared a single look back at the other light, moving farther away from them into the darkness, wondering if he wasn’t making a terrible mistake leaving Odell alive.
Chapter 20. The Only Way Open
The messenger cut swiftly
through the calm waters, giving Cal and Nalani little chance to catch their breath. Over and over they were forced to duck under the water and hold their breath until another air pocket could be reached. Each time feeling the terror that they wouldn’t find air in time. Feeling panic every second Garem strayed from their sight, sure they would again be lost. A stressful, often painful and frantic routine, but they had gained some comfort under the endless pressure of the Plate. Fatigue was their biggest threat now. Fatigue and the prospect of whatever tracked them from below, threshers or other hunters.
The path to the harbor was straight and open, the endless caves and tunnels behind them. There were long stretches where the water fell below the Plate and they could break the surface and swim normally, albeit quietly to ensure they didn’t tip off their distant prey. Garem’s lantern made him easy to follow, though they had to keep constant eyes on it as it often vanished behind ridges, around dips, through the occasional tunnel, and they were forced to swim to where they’d last seen it, hoping they hadn’t lost the trail.
The water around them was lightening and they were beginning to see more fish, signs they were nearing the harbor. Finally they rounded a slight dip in the Plate, and they could see the edge. Warm sunlight fell down in the distance, brightly outlining the Plate’s curve. Any relief was shortlived. The light illuminated the hundreds of threshers circling the depths at the edge of the darkness below. Cal was trying to estimate numbers, no idea where to start, when Garem ambushed them.
Light flared up from behind them, Garem uncovering his lantern to get a clear look at what followed him. He had hidden off to the side, waiting for the best opportunity to catch the two dark shapes far from an air pocket. When he saw their pale skin, the escaped updweller from Gale’s court and another prisoner to boot, he attacked.
Alliance of the Sunken (Spies of Dragon and Chalk Book 3) Page 14
