A Storm in the Desert: Dragonlinked Chronicles Voume 3

by Adolfo Garza Jr.

  Guildmaster Millinith twisted her lips in a grimace.

  Aeron understood being averse to danger, but eventually, you had to start. Eventually, you had to do it. “Capu Cirtis’s plan is sound, but Willem is right, we can’t just hope that the patrols will run across the nahual. We need to guide them to the beasts.”

  “We are the only ones in the world who can sense nahual.” Fillion’s voice was quiet. “Just us and our dragons.” He got a far-away look in his eyes. “I was beyond lucky that Coatl chose me. But this gift, it comes with a responsibility and a promise.”

  “We will protect people,” Jessip said. “Including dragons.”

  “And right now,” Sharrah said, “dragons need protecting.”

  “You’re right, of course,” Guildmaster Millinith said. “Just . . . be careful out there.”

  Aeron took a breath and let it out. “We’ve trained and continue to train,” he said. “We’re all smart. We’re all skilled. And we will be careful.” He took in the dragonlinked present with his gaze. “Capu Cirtis is meeting with Isandath tomorrow. He’ll give him the map with the manis patrol routes then, and we can start our own patrols soon after.”

  “Good,” Renata said. “It’s time we did something besides practice.” Her look of determination was reflected in many faces.

  Chapter 18

  Hemday, Primory 27, 1875.

  Morning

  “People think we do nothing,” Capu Cirtis said. “This cannot continue.”

  He caught the flash of worry on her face. Not disagreement. Concern. She knew he was right. Flustered by his unannounced visit to her office, Umeron Kimi had yet to recover her wits.

  Hands clasped tightly, she said, “We can only patrol so much with the reduced number we have available. And we are doing something. Umeron Gomda has half the manisi patrolling the interior of the flats, looking for the dragon or dragons that have been killing people.”

  Gomda. That man was working with Takatin on some scheme, which is why Cirtis had approached the other umeron in charge of the manisi, this woman.

  “That may well be,” he said, “but people cannot see them. We need our presence to remain visible. We need to be seen helping people or protecting them somehow.”

  “Protecting them from what? Their own blindness? How can they not see that we do all we can?”

  Perfect. She was making this easy.

  Cirtis drummed his fingers on the armrest. They made soft sounds on the padded velvet. “What of those creatures that sometimes attack villagers? I hear they are hideous.”

  Her brows rose slightly. “Hmm. Their attacks have grown more frequent, recently. In fact, there was one four nights ago.”

  Cirtis sat forward. “Why did I not hear of this? What happened?”

  “I, ah, this one was dealt with with no issues, so a special report was not filed. It will be listed on the monthly summary.”

  “As what?”

  She swallowed. “An animal attack.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “We need to separate those creature attacks into their own category. Additionally, I want an incident report created for each attack by them and a copy delivered to my office within a day.”

  She sat back and her brows drew together. “Why?” Her eyes widened. “If you don’t mind my asking, Capu.”

  Cirtis smiled. “Not at all. Think of these creatures as a kind of replacement dragon. While half the manisi search for dragons miles away from everyone in the flats, people will see us defeating these things. They will see manisi protecting the villages from the horrible beasts.” He sat forward again. “Tell me, what becomes of the carcasses of the things once they are killed?”

  “I believe they are burned on the spot.”

  “No.” Again he shook his head. “That will not do. We must ensure that as many people as possible see them, that word may spread of our defeat of each and every one, like the dragon executions held here.” He sat back and drummed his fingers for a moment. “I’ll tell you what we will do. Once a creature is dispatched, its carcass will be dragged to the village square. There, the manisi will tell people to get a good look so that they can report any sightings of the dangerous beasts. After a suitable amount of time for people to look at the thing, then it can be burned.”

  “That would certainly give people a chance to see that we do more than just meaningless patrols.”

  “Exactly.” He feigned concern. “But will that be enough?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I want to be sure the entire village knows we are there, knows we are killing one of those beasts.”

  “Short of shouting it out, I don’t know how—”

  Cirtis pointed at her. “That’s it,” he said.

  The woman was perfect! She was taking the conversation exactly where he needed it to go.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “My sister recently sent me a letter wherein she described a visit to a friend of hers in the North. While she was there, a nearby house caught fire. The way the northerners warn of a fire, the way they summon help to fight the fire, is with whistles.”

  “Whistles?”

  “Yes. The number of blasts on the whistle is like a code. Three long blasts means fire, apparently. We need to get the manisi to start carrying whistles, to use them to summon other members of their hand for assistance. Because they separate when they patrol a village, the practice will make sense to their captain and they won’t suspect our real intent. Then, when the manisi use the whistles, everyone will hear the warning. Everyone will know what the manisi are about to do.” He nodded, as if he’d thought of all this on the spot. “It’s perfect.”

  “That’s actually a pretty efficient way to let distant members of your hand know something is afoot and summon them.”

  “Precisely. See about training the manisi in the use of whistles. Don’t mention the real reason we want them used, of course. And let’s use a long blast followed by a short one to warn of the creatures, the nahual.”

  “Nahual?”

  “It’s as good a name as any. Besides, I think that is what the things are called in the North. And one more thing, Umeron?”

  “Yes, Capu?”

  “I’d like a pristine carcass brought back to the medical section each week for study. We may be able to deal with nahual more effectively if we know more about them.”

  “Of course, Capu.”

  As he walked down the halls on the way back to his rooms, Cirtis had to fight to keep the smile curving his lips from getting too big. That meeting had gone exceptionally well. And he agreed with her. Apart from why the dragonlinked wanted them used, whistles would make the hands more efficient and able to respond quicker and with a better idea of what they were responding to. Why had no one thought of it before?

  Cirtis frowned. The Corpus Order was so isolated that an exceptional idea like using whistles in such a way still hadn’t made it to them. What other innovations had they missed out on? Perhaps being more open was another thing to add to the list of changes. At any rate, the meeting had gone well. The next one, in his office half an hour from now, would likely not.

  Less than five minutes into the meeting, his prediction was proving to be dead accurate. He stared at the umeron across from him.

  “And these . . . animals,” Umeron Elki said, “where will they come from?”

  Cirtis hated this sort of person. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his thumb along the handle of the tea cup. “The manisi will bring one back from their patrols each week, if possible.”

  “Hmm. Aren’t the manisi supposed to be protecting people? Why would they be carrying dead animals about?”

  “Nahual are attacking villagers. Manisi protect people from all dangers.”

  “Why study the dead beasts? They no longer pose a threat.”

  Cirtis took a sip of tea. “Why do you study disease or illness whose symptoms you can alleviate? To prevent them in the first place.”

  “That
is true. We in the medical section do study human ailments for precisely that reason.”

  Cirtis hadn’t missed the slight emphasis on the word ‘human.’

  “I’ve never even heard of these animals. I doubt anyone knows anything about them.”

  Cirtis smiled. “Trust you to get directly to the heart of the problem.”

  Concern flickered across the umeron’s face. Worried, perhaps, that he’d given ground?

  “We know nothing of nahual,” Cirtis explained, “so everything we learn by examining them is valuable.”

  When the umeron shook his head, crystals tinkled faintly. “Alas, the medical section deals with people, not . . . beasts. Perhaps the animal section can help.”

  Another deflection. Time to try some honey.

  “These nahual are closer to man than beast,” Cirtis said, “but you’re right.” He sighed. “I’d so hoped to have the most-skilled person in the Order examining the things. I suppose that honor will have to go to the second best. I’ll speak with Rowtag on the morrow. At any rate, I do thank you for making time in your busy schedule to meet with me.”

  Cirtis stood, which normally signaled the end of meetings.

  The play of emotions on Umeron Elki’s face was enjoyable to watch. Rowtag, the second best examiner, was not an umeron. Even so, there was a bit of professional one-upmanship that went on between the two.

  “W–Well,” Elki said, “I suppose, if they are closer to men . . . perhaps it would be best if I examined them.”

  “Splendid!” Cirtis forced himself to smile. “People often comment on your generosity with your time and this proves the point.” As much as he disliked him, Cirtis hadn’t lied about the man being the best in the Order. The insufferable oaf could deduce things from examining bodies like no other.

  “Well, it will be my honor to do anything I can to help with this . . . nahual business.”

  After the man left, Cirtis downed his tea. Not only had it cooled, it was merely tepid, it didn’t completely wash the bitter from his mouth. After he set the empty cup down, Anais cleared the dishes.

  Honor. There was precious little of that left in the Corpus Order, at least in the umeri. Cirtis had been forced over the years to make use of anything he could to further his plans. If he had to cajole, lead someone along by the nose, or appeal to a person’s vanity or pride, so be it. He’d do nearly anything to save the Order. Even enlist the help of the dragon boy.

  Now there was a person with a deep sense of honor. Cirtis hadn’t expected that in one so young. Though, age had no bearing on it, truth be told. At least as evidenced by many of his contemporaries that he dealt with on a day-to-day basis in the Order.

  Cirtis had mentioned how impressed he was with the boy when he met with Isandath earlier in Tranquility Garden. Unfortunately, honor and likability would not see their plans through. Aeron and the other dragonlinked would need patience and perseverance, as well. The dragons would help, too. At least when they got to that point.

  Cirtis got a little tingle in his belly thinking about one day meeting a dragon. The prospect was a little frightening and completely exciting. Did dragonlinked feel like this all the time?

  + + + + +

  Fillion grimaced. Maybe everything about investigation isn’t as exciting as I thought it would be.

  Coatl rumbled in agreement. Horses are very slow.

  Fillion leaned over a bit and looked at the convoy far below. Well, to be fair, it’s really the wagons that slow them down. As his bond-mate circled at high altitude, Fillion stared at the wagon they were most interested in. From this far up, it looked even smaller than a child’s toy, and the chests filled with valuable crystal couldn’t even be made out without field-glasses.

  Korovite. If National Transportation made fake money with all of it and started using it, how would that affect the communities of the east coast, communities still recovering from the economic collapse after the equine flu? Fillion sighed. He had no financial training at all, so he had no idea what could happen. But in his gut, he felt it would not be good.

  He patted Coatl’s neck. At least we get to spend time together flying.

  There is that. Coatl’s happy rumble thrummed under Fillion’s thighs.

  Unfortunately, they couldn’t spend that time doing fun things, like tricks, or seeing how fast they could dive, or barrel rolls, or . . . anything, really. They had to remain above the caravan and try not to attract attention.

  Following the National Transportation people had actually been easy, so far, though fairly boring. Most of the time was spent circling the much slower wagon convoy, or flying far ahead and watching from a hidden spot as they slowly caught up. An hour or so before sunset, they would stop to set up camp for the night. People would unload the other wagons, lay out camp beds, set up watch around ‘the wagon,’ start the patrols around the camp, cook and eat an evening meal, and soon after, go to sleep.

  It had been exactly the same the last two days. Worse yet, Fillion doubted the caravan made more than twenty-five miles in a day.

  At this rate it would take centuries to get to Stronghold!

  Calm yourself.

  Fillion let out a breath. I am calm, big guy. Just bored to tears, is all.

  Flying is boring?

  No, you big leather bag, but flying in circles for hours and hours is.

  There is something ahead. Maybe it will be less boring?

  Don’t be a baby, you know what I meant. What is it you see?

  A train.

  Fillion’s brows rose. Really?

  I think so. It looks like the ones from Lord Eldin’s company, the ones from the tracks we patrol for him.

  Well, I’ll never get to see it. Trains move a great deal faster than these stupid wagons.

  It is not moving.

  What?

  It merely sits near the end of some tracks ahead.

  Heart suddenly beating faster, Fillion leaned lower in the saddle. Show me.

  It took less than five minutes to get to the train. Coatl must have been bored too, because the big dragon wasted no time in getting them here.

  Far below, the scene was as Coatl had described. A train—an engine and two cars—sat about fifty feet from the end of a rail line. Oddly, a number of people idled about. They looked like rail workers, and in fact, there were wooden ties and metal rails in stacks nearby. But no one was working to extend the rail line. Everyone merely sat or stood about as if they were waiting for something.

  With a cold feeling in his gut, Fillion realized what they were waiting for. The caravan! They’re going to transfer the wooden chests to this train and it will carry them on to Stronghold.

  Fillion mentally kicked himself for not making the connection sooner. National Transportation had done it before, after all. The shipping receipt from the safe deposit box was proof of that. Instead of blindly following them, he should have been scouting ahead now and again for just this possibility.

  As slow as the damn thing was, it would likely take the caravan at least two hours to reach the train. Then, they’d spend a quarter hour or so loading the chests into one of the cars. That gave him a little time.

  Coatl, we need to fly along this rail line as far as we can.

  What of the wagons?

  They won’t matter once they transfer the chests.

  Ah, I see. You want to get to a place far ahead so that we can portal back there after letting Gella know of this.

  Fillion reached down and patted his bond-mate’s neck. Leather bag I might call you, but you’re the smartest dragon in the whole world.

  With a proud rumble, Coatl beat his enormous wings and raced north along the twin metal rails.

  Fillion sat lower in the saddle and gripped the hand-holds as they tore through the air. Now this was exciting. A gigantic smile spread across his face.

  After a few minutes, however, he realized the actual enormity of two hours. If they went the whole way full-tilt, Coatl would tire himself out well befo
re then. There’s no need to fly as fast as you can. We have a long time to go, and even at your normal flight speed, you’re faster than a train.

  I want to stretch my wings a bit. I will take breaks between.

  Fillion’s mouth crooked in a grin. The big guy had been bored after all. Sounds good.

  And Coatl did take breaks. There were long periods of slow wing beats, gliding from one thermal upwelling to another, delicate wing membranes thrumming. At these times, Fillion often spread his arms in the soft rush of air, completely relaxed and at peace, a happy smile on his lips. And there was the view, of course. Not having to keep watch over anything in particular, Fillion was able to take in the surroundings.

  The countryside was changing. There were a lot more trees, and low hills now undulated across parts of the land. They ran across clouds more often, and Coatl sometimes glided through them. Sunlight took on an almost otherworldly appearance as it penetrated the cloud vapor. Fillion lifted his hand once against the glare, and an amazing halo of light seemed to surround it.

  The sun also eventually signaled that time was up.

  Fillion twisted his lips, a little sad that it was time to go. It looks like about two hours has passed. Hover here a moment so I can set this area in mind.

  As you wish.

  When he’d done so, he and Coatl opened a gateway to Caer Baronel.

  As Fillion closed the portal, a young dragon roar drew his attention to their stable below. Kisa must be welcoming them back. Sure enough, she came barreling out the dragon door, wings held up, an excited chirp bursting forth each time her forepaws hit the ground. He was a little surprised that she was awake.

  Gregor walked out the dragon door and waved up at them, and Fillion waved back.

  After landing, Coatl let out his own chirp and leaned down to touch noses with the little dragon half his size.

  “Why are you back during the day?” Gregor said. “I didn’t expect you until tonight for your shower and food pickup.”

  Fillion grinned. “I could say that I missed you so much I had to come back . . .”

  Gregor chuckled.

  “. . . which wouldn’t be a lie at all, but the real reason is that something came up. I need to talk to the Guildmaster.”