A Storm in the Desert: Dragonlinked Chronicles Voume 3 (23 page)

Gella tapped her finger on the map. “Apparently, in ancient times, a vast, shallow sea covered this area. As it dried, it left salt behind.”

Fillion nodded. “And the sand.”

“Actually, no.” Gella looked at him. “The sand in the sample is incredibly fine and homogeneous. I think it blows in from the west with the occasional storm. That end of the Kas-Tella desert is covered by a vast sea of sand dunes.”

“The Shining Sands.” Millinith sipped her tea.

Gella glanced at her. “Exactly.” She stuck her thumbs in the waist of her pants. “Another thing I learned about Ghost Flats is that a certain shipping company has been working to expand through there for the last few months. National Transportation.”

How much coincidence was too much? Aeron and Polandra had mentioned that one of the factions in the Order might be working with this company. Another strange connection.

Millinith’s brows drew together. National Transportation? She looked at Master Gella. “Are they NT?”

The master investigator smiled. “I think so, too.”

“Hang on,” Fillion said. “So the sample led that investigator to Ghost Flats. He found National Transportation there, and he got that gritty powder from them?”

“It certainly fits,” Gella said. “I’m guessing he got the powder from a National Transportation depot or station down there. And that,” she turned to Millinith, “is why I’d like you to get me to Ghost Flats as quickly as you got here from Caer Baronel.”

Millinith frowned. “It doesn’t quite work that way.”

“What do you mean?”

Fillion twisted his lips. “We can’t open a gateway to somewhere we haven’t been.”

“You’ve used that term before.” Master Gella glanced at Fillion and back to Millinith. “Gateway. What does it mean?”

Millinith glanced at Lady Erindia. “Understand that this is a guild secret, at least for now.”

The lady’s eyes narrowed.

Millinith looked back at the master investigator. “So it is not for discussion with anyone else, if you please.”

Gella’s eyes were narrowed as well. She nodded.

“Dragonlinked, with the help of their dragons, can open a gateway, a kind of door, between any two places they’ve ever been. Regardless of how far apart those places are.”

Lady Erindia drew in a sharp breath. “Instantaneous travel?”

Millinith nodded. “More or less, yes.”

“With that pretty important limitation.” Fillion glanced at Gella. “We can only open a gateway to somewhere we have already been.”

“Exactly,” Millinith said. “And as no dragonlinked has yet been to Ghost Flats”—she ignored the look Fillion gave her—“we cannot go directly there.”

“Damn.” Gella ran her finger along the map. “How long would it take to fly us there?”

Millinith shrugged. “With three people on a dragon? Two weeks, maybe more?”

“Faster than I’d thought.” Gella let out a frustrated breath and turned away from the map. “But still, that’s such a long time.”

“However . . .” Millinith looked over the map and read the locations labeled upon it near Ghost Flats. She placed her finger on one. “They have been near here.”

Gella turned back and, hands on the table, leaned in. “Bataan-Mok?”

Millinith nodded. “Yes. It was built by and is home to an organization called the Corpus Order.”

Gella turned a measuring gaze upon Millinith. “The Shining Sands, his reaction to Ghost Flats,” she jerked her head toward Fillion, “and now this.” She stood. “You seem to know a great deal about lands so far away.”

“There’s good reason.” Millinith set her cup and saucer down. “The Corpus Order has one purpose: to kill dragons. In fact, they recently sent someone to kill one of ours.”

“What?” Lady Erindia looked alarmed.

“Fear not, my lady,” Fillion crossed his arms, “the assassin did not succeed.”

“I’d heard something about an attack at Caer Baronel,” Master Gella said. “Wasn’t the attacker killed?”

“No one was hurt, actually,” Millinith said. “We created the rumor that he’d been killed, hoping it would reach his leaders. And since then, we’ve been spending a great deal of effort learning all we can about the Order and their plans, from him and other sources.” She glanced at Fillion. “One of the things we learned is that there is a faction in the Order with an interest in Ghost Flats. Two dragonlinked have already left to investigate.”

“They have not returned, however,” Fillion said, “so we still cannot open a gateway there.”

“But no matter,” Millinith said. “The caves near Bataan-Mok are close enough for your purpose.”

“Then let’s go now.” Master Gella looked from her to Fillion.

Fillion nodded and made for the door.

“I’m sorry, but we cannot,” Millinith said. “I did not prepare for an extended absence. Would tomorrow morning be acceptable?”

Gella, who a moment ago looked like she was going to argue, raised her brows. “Oh. Ah, yes. Tomorrow morning will be fine. I’ll just beg the lady’s hospitality for the night.”

“Of course,” Lady Erindia said. “You’re more than welcome.” She turned to Millinith. “If you and Fillion arrive at half-past six, we can break our fast together before you leave.”

Millinith nodded. “Half-past six, then.”

+ + + + +

Polandra lowered the veil over her face. It made seeing more difficult at night, but the wind had picked up, carrying dirt and dust to pester her eyes. She kept to the shelter of the buildings at the side of the street.

Street. She glanced at it and one corner of her lips curved in a wry smile. Having been to the North and seen what they looked like there, she realized the so-called streets here were just open areas of dirt between buildings—rutted, dry, and dusty. And the buildings, too, seemed less impressive. Only one she could spot nearby was of stone, though a few were wood. Most were adobe, however, and there were even a few tents, albeit large and elaborate ones.

Pashi, the largest of the villages, had been so impressive to her when she was younger. Now, as she walked through it, the village seemed different. Even though it sprawled over an area greater than that of Caer Baronel, it felt smaller. No, that wasn’t right. It felt . . . less official than the Caer, less sturdy, less permanent. Like it was hanging on by a fingernail. Which was ridiculous. The villages had been here for hundreds of years. They had been much smaller, certainly, especially before the Order had dug wells for each of them.

Polandra grunted. That was one good thing to come from the bastards, she supposed. With the wells, the villages had been able to grow. Water was everything here in the desert.

The vendors were much more energetic in the cooler temperatures of night, calling out to her from the open windows as she walked by. She politely declined offers of robes, scarves, carved wooden items, knives, both stone and iron, fried items on sticks, lizards and who-knows-what beneath layers of breading, fried locusts, fried chicken, fried snake, fried bits of this and that, flatbread sandwiches, and at this shop, various types of fresh bread.

She said no to everything. Though, on the way back, a stop would be made at the bakery to buy a warm loaf for her and Aeron. The bread smelled incredible.

That would be later. She had a task to perform, first.

Aeron had been right. Ghost Flats was much too large for the two of them to effectively investigate. If they knew where the attacks had occurred, even in the most general sense, it would do much to reduce the area they needed to search. A guide would be perfect.

There were people who needed to cross the desert for one reason or another, and there were a few who would gladly take your money to show you the way. Guides made a living on both sides of the desert, shepherding people across north or south. There weren’t many, the demand wasn’t huge, but there were a few. While she and Aeron didn’t want to cross the desert, a guide would be able to show them to where the attacks were happening. Any guide worth paying would know all the local gossip and know their way around the area.

After speaking with a few people, Polandra had a name. Jakkar. He worked out of his home, a small adobe house near the north end of the village. It didn’t take her long to find it.

A few moments after she knocked, the door barely opened. A thin bar of light from the opening lay over the small porch.

“Yes?” Through the narrow gap, an eye peered out, unwashed hair above and a bearded cheek below.

“I’m looking for a guide.”

The door opened a bit wider. “Ah, yes. You wish to cross the dessert?”

“Actually, I need someone to show me to Ghost Flats.”

The gap narrowed. “A dangerous place, lately.”

“If stories can be trusted.” She took out a coin purse and shook out a few coins.

Eyeing the pieces of pale, he said, “Oh, the stories are true. Bodies and pieces of bodies have been found.”

“Well, I’m sure a fee can be arranged.” She shook out another two pale and looked at him. “Can’t it?”

He stared at the coins a moment, then looked up at her. “I’m not sure.”

Two more pale.

A glance at the coins, then back to her.

She narrowed her eyes. Two more pale clicked into the pile on her hand.

He licked his lips but said nothing.

Frowning, she made to dump them all back into the pouch.

His eyes widened. “Or! Ah, perhaps it can, after all.”

Lips pressed together, she held out her hand again. “I’ll also need the use of a horse for myself and a horse for my partner until we return.”

“Getting three horses in the village will cost me six marks.”

She was incensed. “Six marks? Do you take me for a fool?”

The door closed a bit against her anger, leaving only his eye and cheek visible. “All will be returned, save two pale each, when the horses are. They require two marks as insurance against people keeping the horse.”

That made sense. Perhaps he wasn’t lying. “Fine. But you have a horse. I saw it tied up around back. So, two horses will be four marks.”

The skin under his eye twitched and he glanced down at the coins. “As you say.” His eye turned up to her. “Meet here at sunrise?”

“That suits.”

The door opened wider and his hand shot out. “I’ll need the horse fee in advance, along with half my own fee.”

She was leery of giving him that much money, but he was reputed to be honest. “They say you are a good guide. Don’t disappoint me.” She handed him the coins.

“At sunrise.” He closed the door.

Back at the caves, Aeron didn’t seem very confident in the man.

“You gave him how much money?” He stared at her as they walked down the passage to the main room, Ikan following behind.

“It doesn’t matter.” Polandra waved off his concern. “The Guildmaster gave me money to cover expenses I might have.”

His brows drew together. “I didn’t get any.”

“She said something about me being so new and not having had a chance to earn any on my own, yet.”

“Oh. Yes.”

“The man had a good reputation among the people I spoke with. Besides which,” she looked ahead, “Ikan can find him if he runs off.”

Her bond-mate rumbled in agreement.

“I suppose.”

Anaya lifted her head and chirped at them as they entered the cave. Ikan chirped back, padded over, and sat beside her.

Kneeling at the fire pit, Aeron started piling kindling in.

“A fire? Shouldn’t you be saddling Anaya so we can get back to Caer Baronel?”

He looked up at her. “The guide said to meet him at sunrise, right?”

“Yeah.” She nodded.

“Did you note Hemet when we came through the portal?”

She glanced out the short passage leading outside, but the larger of the two moons wasn’t visible through it. “No. Why?”

He turned back to the pit and continued working. “The difference in Hemet’s position in the sky between here and the Caer looks to be about two hours worth. That means sunrise will be two hours earlier here. I don’t know about you, but I’m not sure I can get up that much earlier if I don’t get to sleep earlier, too.”

She hadn’t thought about that. “I see.”

“With everything that goes on at the stables, there’s no way I could get to sleep that much earlier.” He frowned. “Much as I hate it, we will have to stay here.”

“You don’t like it here?”

“It’s not that. I think it’s beautiful here.” He worked at piling sticks and wood for a moment. With a furtive glance at her, he said, “It’s Willem.”

“Ah, I see. You’ll miss him.”

“That, too.”

She felt a pulse of magic from him, and fire blazed within the piled wood.

“My biggest concern right now, though,” Aeron stood, “is how in Alandra’s name I’m I going to fall asleep that much sooner, even without anything going on.” He walked over to his saddle bags—they and the saddle sat a few feet from Anaya—and began unpacking them. His bo jutted up at an angle from the piled gear.

Polandra narrowed her eyes. “I think I have an idea about that.”