“And I’m sure you and Renata will let me know each and every time I do something wrong.”
“Actually, we won’t. We do now as we try to teach you, but once we’re there, we will only step in if you do something incredibly stupid. After all, our harping would also draw attention.”
Aeron grunted. That was true.
Two blocks from the tavern, he forgot all his concern about the clothing. A manis patrol appeared, having just rounded a corner three streets ahead of them. He nearly froze, but kept walking. Only a slight shift in his gait betrayed his utter shock and fear.
What happened? Do you need me?
No, dear-heart. Not yet, anyway. I think we ran into a manis patrol. It had to be one, though. All five of the people, men and women, wore the same haircut as Renata and Polandra used to, they all carried bos, and they all had the look of people not to be messed with.
I will go to you.
Not yet. They haven’t taken any special notice of us.
Do not hesitate to call me if you need me.
I won’t hesitate, dear-heart.
The hand walked down the street toward them, looking about. Aeron desperately tried not to stare at them, but his eyes kept returning to the fighters. Were they watching him and Polandra? Did they know who the two of them were?
When the hand walked into the same tavern he and Polandra were heading for, Aeron stopped and stared. Blood pounding in his ears, he said, “Good gods, what do we do?”
“We do as we planned.” Polandra continued to the tavern.
“What?” He had to jog to catch up. In a fierce whisper, he said, “But they’re in there!”
“They’re older, were manisi well before I started training. I didn’t recognize any of them, so I doubt they’ll know who I am. And there aren’t any special actions to perform in a tavern like at the shrine, so you should be fine as well.” She glanced at him. “Assuming you can calm down.”
“I–I’ll try.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
Think calm thoughts, Aeron. Think calm thoughts.
“Do you love Willem?”
“Huh?” Aeron looked at her, completely confused. What did that have to do with anything?
“Are you in love with him?”
“Yes. But—what are you getting at?”
“Do you remember the moment when you realized that you were?”
He did. He’d been about to tear into the blond boy for constantly asking him if he had forgotten different parts of his riding gear. Gloves it was that time. Aeron had turned to face him, ready to yell his ears off. The fear and concern in Willem’s eyes stopped him cold, and memories of times spent with him came flooding back. That’s when Aeron realized what an amazing person Willem was, and that’s when he knew how he truly felt about his best friend.
“There.” Polandra nodded.
“What?”
“That smile. Keep thinking about him and you won’t be as nervous.”
An embarrassed chuckle escaped him before he could stop it. “You’re tricky. But you’re not wrong. Thank you.”
“Come. And it’s okay to be a little nervous. Everyone is around a manis patrol.”
Isandath was already in their customary booth in the back. Aeron noted that, as Polandra had mentioned, everyone in the tavern was more subdued than normal. Manisi did make everyone anxious, it seemed. While people tried to ignore the hand, they still cast occasional, furtive glances at the table where the fighters sat. Perhaps he’d be fine, after all, just as she’d said.
Isandath’s expression was carefully neutral as Aeron and Polandra slid onto the bench opposite him.
“I’m trying to remain as calm as I can,” Aeron murmured.
A faint smile twitched at Isandath’s lips. “Good.” With a more serious expression, he turned to Polandra. “You did not know them?”
“No.”
“Excellent.” Isandath waved down a serving boy and they all ordered. Afterward, he turned to Aeron and said, “Our friend is most eager to meet you.”
“As I am to meet him. We need to find out what his plans are so that we can coordinate with him.” He cast a quick glance at the other table. “They must be stopped. I don’t want anyone to try to kill Anaya or any dragon ever again.”
“Aeron.”
He glanced at Polandra. “I’m being calm and quiet.” Returning his gaze to the archivist, he said, “I will not have them kill any more . . . friends.”
“I’m in complete agreement.”
The food arrived then, and they were quiet for a few minutes as they ate.
“I checked into your theory,” Isandath said, glancing at Polandra. “Nesch Takatin is the one working with National Transportation.”
She tore off a piece of flatbread. “And Ghost Flats?” A quick dunk in the stew, and she ate it.
“It’s them. I found a record of the sale of property. The Corpus Order sold a strip of land to National Transportation a few miles into Ghost Flats. It runs from north of the flats all the way through them to the south, completely across Order territory.”
“It must be for a railroad line like we suspected,” Aeron said. “Fillion and the Guildmaster found a rail station just north of the flats.”
“There was an interesting provision in the papers.” Isandath shoved the empty bowl away from him. “If anything of value is discovered on the land, ore, minerals, and the like, the Order gets a percentage of its worth.”
“That, too, is as we suspected,” Aeron said. “National Transportation found something in the hills as they were working to clear a path for the rail line.”
Isandath looked at him. “What did they find?”
“We don’t know.” Aeron frowned. “The chests at the camp, which we think contain whatever it is, were guarded..”
“Whatever it is,” Polandra said, “they kill to protect it.”
Isandath looked worried. “Is the Order involved in the killing?”
“They might not be,” Aeron said. “We only saw what we think are National Transportation people setting up fake dragon attack sites.”
“Still, being involved with people like that . . .” Isandath shook his head.
“They’ve slaughtered dragons for over a century,” Polandra pointed out, “and killed each other. It’s not like the Order has been innocent of all wrong-doing.”
“Yes, but they’ve been misguided.”
“Which,” Aeron said, “we plan on correcting. But when? Did, ah, our friend mention when?”
“Indeed he did.” Isandath leaned toward Aeron. “Sunrise, two days from now, you will meet with him at the shrine, alone.”
Aeron’s stomach fell. “Alone?”
Polandra leaned forward and said, “But Renata and I were going to accompany him.”
Isandath glanced at her and shook his head. “You cannot. On this Cap—ah, that is, our friend and I both agree. His honor guard, the two manisi that accompany him when he leaves Bataan-Mok, is chosen at random, remember? It would be a disaster if one of them recognized either of you two.”
He looked at Aeron. “I’m sorry, but you will have to meet with him alone.”
Chapter 17
Duviday, Primory 26, 1875.
Predawn
The alarm chronometer’s metallic buzz pierced Aeron’s nightmare. Images of thrashing wings and bands of color throbbing violently faded quickly as he sat up and fumbled for the shut-off stud. Blessed silence filled the room.
He groaned quietly and rubbed night grit from his eyes. Once they were clear, he unshielded the small table lamp on the nightstand. “Barbs and blades but I hate mornings.”
Willem rolled over and stared bleary-eyed at him. “It isn’t even morning yet.” A shock of blond hair stuck out at an odd angle.
Chuckling, Aeron said, “I’ll get the coffee ready to go before I head off to shower. Start it in a few minutes, will you?”
Stretching and yawning, Willem nodded.
Once the pot was
ready to go, Aeron stuffed a change of clothes in his carryall. A glimpse in the den revealed Anaya still asleep next to Balam, and a check of the link confirmed it. He sent a mental hug to her anyway and headed off.
He had to hurry. Instant travel was golden and all, but traveling great distances still ran them against differing times. The roughly two hour difference between Caer Baronel and Bataan-Mok was beyond annoying. It meant he had to get up nearly three hours before sunrise here, so he’d have time to wake up, get ready, and make it in time for sunrise down there.
It was cold and dark outside, but the sea of stars above was astonishingly clear. He felt like if he reached up, he just might be able to touch those twinkling points of light.
He shook his head. Stop day-dreaming, Aeron. Or night dreaming. Or whatever. You’re on a schedule.
Hiking the carryall up on his shoulder, he hurried off.
Aeron was toweling off after the shower when he realized how not nervous he felt. On the contrary, it was excitement that filled his belly. He was finally going to meet Capu Cirtis. They were finally going to be able to start working on changing the Corpus Order.
With a smile on his lips, he put on his clothes—regular clothes, he’d change into skirt and robe in the stable—and jogged back to their rooms.
Once he finished brushing his teeth, Willem handed him a mug of coffee.
Aeron gratefully accepted it. “Thanks.” It was good and just how he liked it. “It’s prefect.” He took another sip and then changed into the a’sano and robe.
Afterward, he poked his head in the den. Time to get up, lazybones.
Anaya lifted her head and chirped at him. Balam rubbed her cheek with his.
“I still think you should eat something.”
Aeron turned to Willem. “No. You know my nervous gut. I’m not eating until after the meeting.”
“And coffee doesn’t do the same thing?” Willem lifted a brow.
Aeron grabbed his mug. “Yes, but I need coffee right now.”
Willem chuckled. “Yeah, me too.” His brows drew together and he let out a deep breath.
“We’ll be careful, I swear.”
The muscles in Willem’s jaw worked and he smiled, nodding. “I know.”
“Come on. Help me with the saddle.”
Willem, on one side of Anaya, and Aeron, on the other, worked together to saddle her and double check everything. As he tugged on straps and bindings, checking them, Aeron glanced at Willem and couldn’t help but smile. “Even doing this is better than a roast-beef sandwich.”
Willem looked over. He seemed confused. When he realized what Aeron meant, his cheeks colored slightly and he chuckled. “Noodlehead.”
After, they led Anaya to the courtyard.
Lots of people were out there—most of the dragonlinked, Guildmaster Millinith, Master Doronal and Master Canneth. Even Adept Liflin was there.
Aeron’s brows rose. “What’re you all doing up so early?”
“We’re here to see you off, idiot.” Polandra smiled. There was laughter and chuckles at her statement.
Aeron smiled. “I guess I am an idiot.” He looked around at everyone standing in the cold courtyard. “Thank you all for this.” His lips twisted. “Now I’m starting to feel nervous.”
“You’ll be fine,” Renata said.
Even so, he reached out for Willem’s hand. The warmth of it and the quick squeeze somehow made him feel better. He wondered where Sharrah was, and Cheddar, and Liara, then he recalled the time. The dorm curfew wouldn’t normally allow them out at this hour.
“Do take care,” Master Canneth said. “And remember, Anaya will be close by if you need help.”
She rumbled and butted her head into Aeron’s side.
He stroked her cheek. “I know, and I will.”
“I’ll be expecting a report soon after your return,” Guildmaster Millinith said.
Master Doronal glanced at her. “We all will.”
Aeron nodded. “Of course.”
“You should be off, though,” Gregor said. “It’s getting late.”
“Or early, more like.” Jessip yawned. He looked half asleep.
Renata elbowed him.
Aeron chuckled. “Alright. Thanks again, everyone.” He looked at Willem and squeezed his hand before climbing into Anaya’s saddle.
From the dragon door of their stable, Balam let out a rumbling bark. Anaya turned to him and returned the bark followed by a happy chirp. From around the courtyard, other dragon chirps and barks burst forth.
Everyone wanted to wish them well, it seemed. With a small smile, Aeron looked to the sky. Power coursed over and through him and Anaya as he created the gateway. Many of the colored bands, magical foci stretching from the portal above to the one in the distant South, throbbed in time with the pulsing of the spell.
Let’s go, dear-heart.
+ + + + +
What happened to the horses? As Aeron walked along the dusty trail with only the stars for illumination, the sudden thought almost brought him up short. They’d left them for that investigator woman, Master Gella. He could certainly use one now, even one as poor a specimen as his had been. Had they ever been returned to the village?
Faint light along the eastern horizon turned the sky there from the dark purple of ripe mulberries to the paler hue of plums. Sunrise wasn’t too far off. Which was fine. He was nearly there, at least according to the small map that Renata had sketched for him. He could make out what might be the shrine in the distance. It was difficult to be sure in the dim light.
About half an hour later, he was sure it was the shrine. The place was a great deal larger than he expected. Well, it covered a larger area than he expected. In his mind, he’d pictured a big building filled with golden statues and fine furnishings awash with clouds of exotic incense. A place built by the Order to condition the people of the villages to believe that the Order was something they could not live without. Instead, it reminded him somewhat of the fairgrounds at Caer Baronel. Kind of.
A short fence marked off a very large area at the center of which stood a building. It was a low structure, with wooden shutters all around. The largest part of the shrine was actually not even the building. It consisted of statues sitting about the fenced area, ten of them, and the various garden plots they each sat in the center of. From what Renata and Polandra said, paths wound between them all. The sequence in which to visit the ten stations was part of what he’d had to learn from the girls. Once the light increased, he might be able to make out more details on the statues. Right now, the twelve-foot sculptures were mere shadowy figures that towered over everything. The last part of the shrine was the Garden of Reflection, an area to the side where people could sit after their visit and think on their experience.
Surprisingly, even though the sun had yet to peek over the horizon, there were a number of people already waiting at the gate in the pale light of false dawn. Even more shocking, there were a few carts there, too, vendors hawking relics, supposedly from Daelon himself. Bits of cloth or leather from his worn robe, his blankets, and his satchel, or wood from his walking stick, and even strands of his hair. All of them claimed to have plenty to go around. How would that much be left of Daelon’s belongings from over a century ago? Aeron didn’t know what others thought of these hucksters, but he was certain they were all frauds. Ignoring their breathy and overly-pious inducements, he waited in line with the others, fidgeting.
He kept looking over the other people in line in front of him. Everyone wore the same robes as him, though of differing colors. Even so, he felt a little nervous. He couldn’t help but notice that, even in the poor light, it was obvious his skin was a shade or two paler than even the lightest person. Would anyone else notice? And his hair, too, was different. Most everyone had straight black hair, while his was a much lighter, wavy, brow—
You must remain calm.
Aeron closed his eyes. I know, love. I know. He took a deep breath and used the trick Polandra taught
him. He thought of Willem. Remembering the blond boy’s sleep-mussed hair from earlier brought a faint smile to his lips. He could do this.
I will not let him down. I will not let any of them down. And I most certainly will not let myself down.
Aeron opened his eyes and forced himself to relax.
A custodian left the building and approached the gate while another opened the building’s shutters. Once the gate was opened, visitors slowly made their way inside, most heading to the first station. At the end of the line, Aeron followed silently. The few who spoke to each other as they made their way in did so in hushed voices, which suited him fine. He needed to focus on the things he had to do once inside.
Staring at the first station, Aeron realized that his definition of garden was obviously not the same as Renata and Polandra’s.
The garden plot surrounding the first statue had no vegetables or fruits or even flowers. It had rocks. Rocks, pebbles, dirt, sand, grass, and cacti. Now, everything in the raised bed was arranged really nicely, beautifully even, but still . . .
The fact that everyone else was kneeling finally penetrated his slow brain.
Barbs and blades, Aeron, pay attention!
He found an unoccupied hassock, a woven grass mat, and knelt. It was surprisingly comfortable. When Polandra had described them, he’d imagined hard, tough stalks biting into his knees. Not so at all.
The first station was Daelon starting his journey into the Scars. The statue depicted a man striding forward, robes blowing in an unseen wind. A walking stick, gripped in his left hand, was planted firmly on the ground, a waterskin, its strap flying, slipped from his right hand, and conviction was etched in every line on his face.
Aeron’s brows lifted. The thing was actually a little inspiring. If he could gather that much courage and dedication, he was sure there wasn’t anything he could not do.
After the requisite minute or so of taking in the statue, Aeron bowed four times, once for each direction, and sat back on his heels, hands resting on his thighs. Now was the time to contemplate his own life in relation to the theme of the station: The Beginning. They had decided that five minutes was enough time to not seem in a rush. So, he stared at the statue of the founder of the Corpus Order.
A Storm in the Desert: Dragonlinked Chronicles Voume 3 Page 34
