We are to look for bad people?
Balam’s question pulled Willem from his morose thoughts. That’s right, love. People trying to damage those metal tracks down there.
I still do not understand why they are called tracks. An animal or person did not leave them, did they?
Willem’s brows raised. No. Those are not tracks in that sense, though they were placed there by human workers.
Why did people call them that, anyway? The double-rails below didn’t look like any animal tracks that he knew of. Nor did single-rail tracks. He’d seen those in the caverns under Caer Baronel, used by the moss-carts for hauling moss around. Aeron had taken him and Sharrah down there a couple of times to visit the Live Caverns, and they’d passed a few cart tracks along the way.
The Live Caverns, as Aeron called them, were filled with plants and animals, almost all of which gave off different kinds of light. They were some of the most amazing places Willem had ever seen. The most fascinating one, at least for him, was the cavern with the lake. Aeron called it Lake Wonder, and it was a wonder indeed. There were incredible miniature ponds, made somehow as water from the lake overflowed along its edges. Small fish lived in those ponds, some even jumped, flipped through the air, between the little oases of water. And there were more fish, some quite a bit larger, that lived in the lake itself, along with various aquatic plants.
They really should take everyone to see those incredible caverns sometime. Of course, that meant Polandra would likely go along, too.
Why would people want to damage those tracks?
Hmm? Willem glanced at the tracks ahead of them. Greed, more likely than not.
Greed?
The desire to want more and more and more of something. Money, in this case.
Humans use so many words. What is money?
Did dragons ever trade things? One dragon gives another some food, maybe, in exchange for something else?
I do have memories of things like that.
Okay. We use money for trade. Say there is someone who wishes they had a cow.
Cows are delicious.
Willem chuckled. Yes, they are. Now, let’s say the person who wants a cow does not have anything that the farmer who has a cow will trade for. What the person can do is give the farmer an agreed-upon amount of money in trade. The farmer can then use the money to trade for something she wants. As long as everyone agrees on what the money is worth, then everyone can trade using the money. A cow might be traded for, say, two hundred marks, and a goat for fifty. Everything gets a money price based on its relative value and people trade money for the items.
I see, Balam said. He seemed to be slowly digesting what he’d heard. How, then, does damaging the metal tracks let someone get more of this money?
Money can be earned with tracks. The people we work for get money with the tracks we protect. If the bad people have their own tracks, too, then they also can earn money the same way. Now, if the people we work for earn half of all the money that can be made with tracks, that means the bad people can only get what’s left: the other half. But if the bad people damage the tracks below, that means the bad people can then get all of the money. Willem knew he’d oversimplified it, but the core idea remained.
It is as if there are two farmers, Balam said, and the bad farmer kills the cows of the good farmer. Everyone who wants cows will have to buy them from the bad farmer.
That’s it, exactly, in a nutshell. Willem leaned down and proudly slapped Balam’s neck. You really are the most clever dragon on Lethera.
Balam rumbled. I do not like bad farmers. They are not nice.
Neither do I, love. Neither do I.
Perhaps these patrols for the Continental Transportation Company weren’t as much of a waste of time as he’d previously thought. As much as he disliked Lord Eldin, the ‘bad farmers’ who’d taken to destroying the company’s tracks shouldn’t get away with it.
Another perk of these patrols, he supposed, was the different scenery down here. The trees were not the same as those up toward Caer Baronel. Nearly every one they flew above had shed its leaves for the winter. The land itself was a big contrast, as well. It was mostly flat. There were even areas where grassy plains stretched for miles and miles. Though, there were some hills here and there, too. The map he’d been given showed there were some where their patrol ended, a town called Pellucid. It also showed a large lake there. It might be fun for them to all go swimming in the lake once springtime rolled around. Unfortunately, Polandra would probably look just as nice as Renata in swim clothes.
How much farther do we have to go?
Willem glanced down at Balam’s head. There seemed to be a pattern to the timing of the dragon’s questions. I know what you’re doing.
Balam acknowledged nothing. Will the patrol be over soon? I would like to get something to eat, after.
You’re being an absolute best-friend. Thank you.
Balam flew without comment for two wing-beats, then he looked back, eye a red-gold in the light of dusk. It is you he is in love with.
Willem let out a breath in frustration. I know. I just wish . . . I just wish I could spend as much time with him as Polandra does.
A feeling of confusion, a gentle twisting as of a small dust-devil, came through the link. You spend more time with him than anyone other than Anaya.
I mean time on adventures. Time doing exciting things.
Is it that you want to do exciting things with him, or is it that you think he will start liking Polandra because he has adventures with her?
Willem frowned. Which was it? He stared at Balam’s unblinking eye. I think it is both. More the latter, yes, but both. My happiest memories are times spent with him doing crazy, stupid, and sometimes dangerous things. I’m scared of how he’ll feel about others who spend those kinds of times with him.
Balam turned his gaze forward again. Are you jealous of Anaya?
Anaya? No.
Are you jealous of Sharrah or Fillion?
No. Willem wasn’t sure what he was getting at. Why?
They are other people in his life, people who have spent those kinds of times with him, yet you do not worry about them.
He’d actually been worried about Fillion at one time. They’re different.
Aeron loves them.
He does? Willem grunted and nodded. Of course he does. He’s got a big heart.
But he is not in love with them.
Intellectually, he understood this. I know. Really, I do. It’s just jealousy and fear. I’ve been trying to work through them, but I have a ways to go, it seems. You’re going to have to keep helping me with that, at least for a while. Balam’s rumbling acknowledgment thrummed under Willem’s thighs.
Ahead, a few early stars presaged the coming of night. Soon, the sky would be awash in twinkling lights.
I want a cow. I do not have money, though, so a deer will do. I am getting hungry.
Willem’s lips curved in a faint smile. The patrol is nearly done. We’ll catch you something after.
+ + + + +
The low lamps along the hallway cast arcs of light across the beautifully inlaid marble floor and up the walls. The next lamp was on the left, the one after on the right, then on the left, and so on, down the passage. Tapestries hung on the walls in those lit half-circles.
Cirtis glanced at the one they were approaching. It depicted a dragon being killed in a courtyard of Bataan-Mok, Daelon’s Plaza. Manisi stood along the sides of the plaza and around the platform. The executioner stood near the center of the stone platform, next to the poor creature, axe raised.
Cirtis frowned. Such a waste.
The faint whisper of cloth came to him along with the echo of footfalls, bare feet slapping the cool floor. He doubted Lonato, his pesan, could hear the sound of the robe moving. The boy followed, one pace behind, on the left. Cirtis’s acute hearing had been problematic as a child, but it had been instrumental in his rise to Capu.
As they arrived at his rooms, he nodded to the
two guards. The one to the left of the door bowed and opened it, while the other guard pulled on the cord. It would announce his arrival to the steward, Anais. The gong could be heard faintly, though not felt, as he entered the short front hallway.
Lonato took the side passage to his own small quarters.
Once Cirtis reached the front room, the sitting room, he used hand-language to let Anais know that dinner could be served, then he continued deeper into the rooms.
It was almost certain that Anais could hear. Stewards were supposed to be deaf, were only selected from those villagers who were. Secrets unheard could not be repeated. Cirtis had noted subtle clues, however, which led him to believe that the steward was not deaf, or at least, not completely. Tonight, that hypothesis would be tested.
Cirtis dropped off a few things in the office and took the short passage to the bedroom. He removed the heavier robe that was his uniform and opened the wardrobe. Several of the same robes hung within, symbols of his position, and from below them, he selected an a’sano from among the rest of the folded skirts. After putting it on, he sat on the bed to wait a few minutes, giving Anais time to set out dinner. It also gave him time to mull over his conclusions.
Patience and perseverance would have been needed to select children, train them how to pretend to be deaf, and then get them into the Corpus Order. With as many stewards as he suspected were planted this way, it would have taken years, decades even, and absolute secrecy. Discrete inquiries led him to believe that Nesch Takatin knew nothing about stewards who could hear. There was suspicion about them reading lips, but nothing else. And if the Nesch knew nothing of it, neither did the Observers. That left only one group of people it could possibly be. Those same qualities—patience, perseverance, and secrecy—could have allowed a few Laminae to escape the hard purge, giving them a chance to rebuild, a chance to embed themselves into the Order wherever they could.
Cirtis stood. He sent off a quick prayer to Ulthis for assistance as he left the bedroom.
Dinner had been laid out on the low table at one end of the sitting room. Anais stood at her customary spot, to the side, back against the wall, eyes staring ahead. Cirtis took a seat on a pillow and filled his plate from the selections available.
Lonato entered, lips now colored a deep red. The color went remarkably well with his skin tone.
There weren’t many things that men did differently than women, but typical choice in lip color was one. The boy wished he’d been born a girl—felt he was one, trapped in a boy’s body— and lip color was one thing Cirtis could allow, at least in his rooms. He sympathized with someone who felt uncomfortable in their person, who wished they could change. And tonight, it would also give him a chance to test his theory again before plunging ahead.
Head still facing Lonato, Cirtis turned his eyes to Anais and said, “That lip color suits you.”
The steward’s gaze flicked down to the boy before staring back ahead.
If Cirtis hadn’t already been watching, he’d have missed the quick movement of the eyes. A smile curved his lips.
“It does?”
Cirtis, looking back at the boy, said, “Yes, it does.”
Lonato, seated across the table from him, smiled and began filling his plate. “That is good. I bought it in the village today but wasn’t entirely sure if it would suit.”
He’d remove it tonight after retiring to his room and wouldn’t put any more on until tomorrow night. Lip coloring wasn’t part of a pesan uniform, after all.
Cirtis took a breath. It was time to throw the dice. “I envy you, you know.”
Brows raised, the boy said, “You do, Capu?”
“You can be yourself, in a way, at least while in my rooms.”
“And you cannot, Capu?”
“You would think that being the leader of the Corpus Order meant that I could do whatever I wanted, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course.” The boy nodded and bit a strawberry.
Cirtis sighed. “It is, in fact, the complete opposite. I am bound by rules and tradition. There is much I’d like to change about the Order, and it feels as if many of our members want to change, too. Unfortunately, my hands are tied. I fear I will not be able to save us.”
Lonato tilted his head. “We need saving?”
“Do you love your parents?”
The boy looked confused. “I, ah, yes. Yes, I do.”
“How would you feel if you found out they were not your parents? How would you feel if something that fundamental to your being turned out to be a lie?”
“Capu?”
“The world is changing, Lonato. If we do not change as well, it could mean the end of the Corpus Order.”
“The end of the Order?” Long lashes framed eyes wide with fear.
“Ah, but now I’ve frightened you. I’m sorry. Let us eat and talk of other things.”
The slight shift he’d noted in Anais’s breathing could be good. Of course, it could also be bad. The knife’s edge separating the two made Cirtis’s heart beat faster than it had in many a year.
The manis should return soon, if he was successful. And hopefully, so, too, would the dragon boy. Which is why Cirtis had to do this. He needed people who could move in the dark, who could see things and do things that he could not. He was gambling with his life and the very existence of the Corpus Order.
How would the dice come up? Ulthis’s Eyes, or Yrdra’s Gate?
Chapter 12
Leday, Primory 17, 1875.
Morning
“It took you long enough to respond to my request.” Nesch Takatin took a sip of iced cider. He would have preferred chilled wine, but it was too early for such, and, too, he wanted his wits about him for this meeting.
Pivin frowned. “The delivery date fast approaches. I’ve been busy at the mines. What was so important anyway?” His brows raised. “Did you find your bird?”
Takatin waved that question away. “The bird shouldn’t trouble you anymore.”
The company man mistook the meaning. “Outstanding.”
“That wasn’t why I wished to meet with you, however. What do you know of the Dragon Craft Guild?”
Pivin shrugged. “Not much more than the fact that it exists. Why?”
“One of our patrols spotted a dragon, maybe even two, several nights ago.”
The man made a rude sound. “Sun-scrambled.”
Takatin controlled his temper. Pivin was an oaf, but there was something sinister about him. The man moved carefully and quietly. “It was at night.”
“People see all kinds of things in the desert. That’s one reason we’ve been so successful keeping people away from the flats.”
“Have you some way to create a dragon illusion?” Takatin was impressed. Such a thing could be useful.
“What? No. I merely meant that mirages make people see strange things.”
“Your people might be susceptible,” Takatin said, frowning, “but we’ve lived with mirages all our lives and are not confused by them. One of our manisi claims to have seen at least one dragon while out on patrol. If your people did not have anything to do with it, it concerns me. I’d hoped you knew something of the dragon guild, in case they had a hand in it somehow.”
“I did hear a rumor about them.”
“Oh?”
“Apparently, someone tried to kill one of their dragons.”
Takatin forced his hands to remain still. He should have positioned himself better beforehand. With a quick glance at Chu’a, he said, “Really? A lone person against a dragon? What became of the foolish individual?”
“From what I heard, he died in the attack.”
“A pity.”
“Hmm? Ah, yes. The Order hates dragons, doesn’t it?”
“And what of the dragon he attacked? Was it killed?”
“The rumor didn’t say one way or the other.”
“I see.” Takatin stared at the glass of cider. Could the guild have sent people down here? Dragons could fly quickly a
ccording to manisi training guides. Of course, a dragon hadn’t been seen in decades, flying or not, so he didn’t have first-hand knowledge of their abilities.
“Was that all?”
He looked up at Pivin. “I’m going to increase our patrols as much as we can and warn them to keep an eye out for dragons. You should see that yours do the same.”
“You need not tell us how to take care of issues that arise on our end. I handled the birder well before you took care of the bird.”
Takatin frowned. So that’s why he hadn’t heard from the man. That would make things much more difficult. “I’m not telling you how to run your people. I’m just letting you know that something may be afoot. You may choose to ignore my warning or not, as you see fit. We made money from the sale of the land. Whether or not you are successful at the mine matters not to us. That revenue is ancillary.”
Pivin chuckled. “Don’t get your robes in a bunch. I hear you.” Standing, he downed his iced cider. “Thanks for this. We don’t have many niceties at the camp.” He leaned down, set the glass on the table, and turned to leave. “I’ll speak to our patrols.”
After Piven left, Chu’a took the glasses and placed them on a side table.
The manis’s failure was disappointing, as was the other news. As far as the patrols, however . . .
He moved his hands and fingers, told Chu’a to summon the pesan. The steward returned with the girl a few minutes later.
“You called, Nesch Takatin?”
“Schedule a meeting this afternoon with Umeron Gomda. He and I need to talk about patrol routes.”
+ + + + +
It’s almost over, Willem kept repeating to himself. It’s almost over.
A thick arm of rock grew from the wall before them, stretched out, and then detached. The enchanting team ducked as it floated over and behind them, remolded into a slab, and sank to the ground next to the previous stack of granite blocks.
As the team worked, the pulses of magic that washed over Willem were heavy, insistent, and constant. It was as if the earth itself had an enormous heart, beating oh so loudly. The graceful lines of magic focus, arcing around them and through the rock walls, occasionally shivered in time to the pulsing.
A Storm in the Desert: Dragonlinked Chronicles Voume 3 Page 20
