Rise of the Falsemarked (Spies of Dragon and Chalk Book 2) Read online

  Contents

  Prologue. Red Locust

  The Day of Arrival

  Chapter 1. Never Enough Gold

  Chapter 2. A Harvest of Bodies

  Chapter 3. The Man with the Snakeskin Hat

  Chapter 4. The Problem with Shareholders

  Chapter 5. A Known Face

  Chapter 6. The Castalanian

  The Day of Preparation

  Chapter 7. Find Your Way to Us

  Chapter 8. A Single Cart

  Chapter 9. Barbayir Beckons

  Chapter 10. Behind the Marked Door

  Chapter 11. Far More Than One

  Chapter 12. Spies of Dragon and Chalk

  Chapter 13. Hideon’s Return

  Chapter 14. Blood on the Pages

  The Day of Council

  Chapter 15. Under the Blanket

  Chapter 16. The Hearing

  Chapter 17. Whim and Whisper

  Chapter 18. Severing the Fifth Arm

  Chapter 19. The Curious Man

  Chapter 20. The Bay

  Chapter 21. The Prisoner’s Escape

  Chapter 22. Through the Bars

  Chapter 23. The First Cell

  The Day of Alliance

  Chapter 24. Regrouping at the Apartments

  Chapter 25. The Price of Information

  Chapter 26. Dragons in the Streets

  Chapter 27. Not the Right Knock

  Chapter 28. Into the Ceiling

  Chapter 29. Face the Five

  Chapter 30. The Wrong Side of History

  Chapter 31. Too Close to the Line

  The Day of Battle

  Chapter 32. Back to the Stairs

  Chapter 33. The Price of a Son

  Chapter 34. They Fade in Death

  Chapter 35. What Started It All

  Chapter 36. The Only Secret We Shared

  Chapter 37. Shields of Glass

  Chapter 38. The Torchless Path

  Chapter 39. There Will Always Be Others

  Epilogue. Stories of Bodies

  Prologue. Red Locust

  Aaron Lorne sat alone in an unlit room. He was leaned back in an old wooden chair, hidden in a corner, shadows all around him. He hadn’t moved for two hours. The chair was surprisingly comfortable for a guestroom in a borderland brothel. It had a sturdy dark wood frame with only a few nicks along the legs, over which he restlessly ran his fingers, waiting. The room was paid for, selected for its location close to the side entrance of the establishment. No entertainment was requested or provided. Tonight, Aaron chased information. One of his spies stationed in the far west had been burned, his name exposed to all of Eostre and to NEST. This left Aaron with a big hole in the territory he was supposed to be monitoring and a troubling lack of knowledge as to what precipitated the sudden outing. This had brought him west.

  He could hear soft murmurs, two of his men in the hall. At a glance, they would look like regular customers, having a chat before or after a visit to one of the many rooms. The pair were heavily armed for a night on the town, but there was no shortage of blades in the building.

  A soft double tap at the door. Finally. The pieces were in place. New voices drifting down the hall. Two more of Lorne’s men hurried a prostitute through the hallway and out the side entrance, softly offering assurances concerning her safety and compensation. She would never be seen here after tonight. The gold they provided her would more than set her up in a new place with a new name. If the operation were exposed, NEST might still find her, but it wouldn’t be easy.

  Aaron remained in his seat until he heard the exterior door close. No need for her to see his face, be able to put him on the scene if things went wrong. He rose to his feet, pulled his hood up. There was another double tap at the door. He opened it. DeMarco Sellers, the Corvale spy who had been outed while on the NEST assignment, waited in the hall. It was perhaps dangerous to use him here, so close to NEST territory, but no one knew the organization better. And he was eager to do what he could to atone for his exposure. DeMarco gave a nod and led Aaron down the hall deeper into the building. They walked the sporadically lit hallway past patterned wallpaper and plush pink carpeting. The whole operation was set up to require no speaking, no bloodshed, though Aaron itched to have a hilt in his hands.

  Pierce was already near the end of the hall ahead of them at the main staircase. It would be one flight up, then back down the hall to the room directly above the one in which Aaron had waited. The house had a single security guard stationed in the stairwell. His compensation would be nearly as much as they were giving the prostitute. He didn’t have to do anything beyond turning a blind eye. Expensive to not leave corpses behind. Pierce had the guard facing the wall well before Aaron drew close. Another who had no need to see faces. DeMarco and Aaron each took the stairs two at a time, footsteps muffled by the faded carpeting. Then another hall, and another of their men waiting outside a door gave them the all clear. DeMarco slid a knife out and opened the door. All three men entered, Aaron closing the door behind them. No sign of unwanted attention from NEST yet.

  The North Eostre Security and Transportation Company, commonly called NEST, had grown dramatically over the past six months. It was becoming clear Aaron had underestimated them, a major misstep in his role as the head of the Corvale Intelligence Circle. The landscape had changed since Aaron first introduced dragons to Tannes. Aaron, with the help of his friend Cal Mast, had managed to liberate the remnants of his old tribe, the Corvale, from their economic slavery in the city of Delhonne. With the dragon army he had amassed in the mountains, Aaron relocated his tribe and brought them under the leadership of his Lord Conners Toren. Together they established a thriving community in the mountains known as New Wyelin. The success of the Corvale was due to their position as the sole provider of dragonflight services to those who could afford them. They formed the Syndicate of the Delhonne Corvale, or SDC. Money poured in.

  The gold earned providing dragonflight in service of royalty, nobility, military, and industry was exhausted quickly in building a defensible and comfortable mountain community. The creation of housing for nearly a thousand people with no other wealth or revenue source had eaten into the massive profits of their enterprise. By the time they could turn outwards and think of utilizing their gold for expansion and security of their marketplace, they found they were not alone. Their new role and accompanying revenue streams had proven too enviable. Others had found dragons. Others had built armies.

  NEST originated in the Euris Mountains and quickly spread throughout Eostre. Almost a year ago, Aaron had started receiving reports of the quickly growing scale of the NEST operation. While they kept their fleet numbers close to vest, Aaron would estimate they now had at least a hundred-fifty dragons flying under the NEST flag. Which more than doubled the strength of the SDC with troubling ease. And no one knew how many they kept in the shadows. The organization must have started with a large stock of loyal dragons. NEST clearly had the right structure and processes in place to expand. The NEST dragons avoided the SDC, but through intimidation and violence routinely swallowed up smaller agencies and sole operatives in the dragonflight industry.

  It was that ability to expand without apparent limit that was most concerning. Usually, certain insurmountable obstacles prevented any one group of dragon riders from growing too fast. But it seemed the rules didn’t apply to NEST. They’d found a shortcut. Aaron made learning more a priority, but, just as he was making progress, his tools had been blunted. DeMarco, his eyes in the west, suddenly found his name being tossed around the street corners of Ellis and had to flee the city with NEST agents
at his heels.

  All this had drawn Aaron to an aging brothel at the Tannes-Eostre border and into the room of Mal Bueray, official title unknown. A high ranking NEST official who led a group of ten dragons and ten riders, and who was known to frequent the brothels during his regularly scheduled trips into Tannes’ western territories.

  Mal was slumped sideways over the bed, fully clothed. The room was brightly lit, making Aaron wince after traversing the dark hallways. The smell of whiskey covered the unpleasant odors of the unwashed carpet and bedclothes. Mal had spilled half a bottle all over himself and the dirty sheets, no doubt under the grips of the downweed with which he had been dosed. The hope was that he would awaken with a greater headache than usual, but no suspicion about its source. The woman who had given the drug to him would be gone. Unlikely that he would seek her out. They would also add a bloodstain to the bedsheets. Nothing like a little unexplained blood to make a man leave a brothel quickly without looking back.

  Aaron gently pried the whiskey bottle from Mal’s hands, replacing the stopper. He handed it to DeMarco, who pulled a similar bottle from under his cloak. DeMarco eyed the two bottles, then poured his out until it was at a significantly lower level, restoppered it, and placed it on the nightstand. The drugged booze would leave with them. Mal was welcome to his hair of the dog, even encouraged to it. Too much to drink, a rowdy time with a whore with whom he may have gotten a little too rough. Then he passed out and spilled his bottle, so she must have taken it from him and placed it on the bedside table. And then helped herself to fair compensation, maybe a little extra. DeMarco would take it from Mal’s purse before they left.

  But on to the unpleasant business at hand. Aaron unlaced Mal’s shirt and pulled it roughly over his head, favoring speed over a gentle touch. Mal was rail-thin, roped with muscle, all joints. Old scars covered his collar area. There were more near his hip bones. This was a former bandit if Aaron had ever seen one. Maybe once the leader of roadside brigands, which would match the sketchy intel reports Aaron had seen when they were scouting targets for the operation. Mal was a bully, a thug, and a company man. Smart, but not too creative. Exactly the type to advance within NEST.

  The marks that Aaron had flown three hundred miles to see marched up Mal’s left side, onto his left shoulder, across his chest and upper back, and ended at his right hip. The tattoos were all in Vylass copper instead of Corvale black like most of Aaron’s. Not surprising. What few marks the NEST dragon riders allowed to be seen were all copper. Mal’s marks had some unusual characteristics, however. The marks were discontinued in any places which would be visible. They did not extend down the left arm as would be typical. The end point on the right hip seemed arbitrary. Like the artist had been told to stop here, rather than building the whole set piecemeal. They had definitely all been done in one or two sessions. No fading of the older ones like several of Aaron’s marks, which had accumulated over more than a decade and a half. Aaron pressed hard on one mark signifying a Chalk kill of seven, glancing up towards Mal’s face but seeing nothing to indicate pending consciousness. The skin was not raised even a little where the needles had driven the ink in. Were these real?

  Creating a false record of eastern marks was both difficult and dangerous. The easterners treated them like a religion. The mark masters were seen as holy men and guarded the secrets to their craft closely. Aaron moved an oil lamp to gain better light and began reading the story of the marks. He decided quickly he was looking at a true set of marks, copied onto a man who hadn’t earned them. A crime punishable by death, if Aaron chose. He wanted to learn more before he decided. Didn’t know yet whose story he was looking at. Certainly not Mal’s. But the key to understanding NEST might lay within them.

  Starting from the left hip, a parade of Chalk kills. A promising young hunter of the Vylass tribe, earning his place by traveling the borders of the Ashlands, drawing isolated groups of the evil creatures into battle. A large number. This warrior came up quickly. Jerr hounds. Bandits. More Chalk. Underlines of the marks indicating leadership. Then raids on Corvale settlements. Aaron’s people. Many raids, many dead. Aaron’s fist tightened momentarily. If he met a man who had truly earned these marks and had them on display, it would just be a matter of time before Aaron found a chance to send him to the man in the shadows. More Chalk in much greater numbers, now as a highly ranked leader among the Vylass. Vylass Class distinctions, all the way up to Class Eight. No wonder dragons bowed to the owner of these.

  But past that the marks wandered into strange territory. There were the marks of Vylass kills. No one marked kills among their own tribe. It was not intended to be a source of pride. Was this not a Vylass? Who was this? More Vylass kills. And then the marks abruptly ended. Had the hunter been caught? Hanged? Had they gotten these from a corpse? From a prisoner?

  Aaron’s breath caught. There was one he knew who fit this story. Aaron stood to leave, a pressing sense of urgency upon him, then caught himself and completed his careful examination. He would not get another opportunity to see these. It was slowly sinking in that all of the NEST dragon riders wore the same marks, all modeled after one man. And Aaron knew what man.

  He stood and gestured to the others that it was time to go. DeMarco snuffed the light and they reentered the hall. At the bottom of the stairs, Pierce held up three fingers and pointed towards the common room. The other NEST riders were still there drinking. Pierce joined the three Corvale who walked down the ground floor hallway to the side exit. DeMarco went first. The others followed. The streetlights had been doused earlier so this side of the building was dark.

  The group headed back into the alley, crossed a street and then were quickly on the outskirts of the small trading village. They walked east down a country road for a quarter mile, then turned off into a clearing. DeMarco paused to light a cigarette, then waved his match three times in the dark. After a moment a responding match was struck off in the clearing. The small light also waved three times. The men walked towards it. A Corvale operative was standing in the middle of the clearing, surrounded by the dark shapes of the dragons they had come in on. There were five for the five men.

  “Red Locust – Lorne to Toren,” Aaron Lorne said to the group, the only words he’d spoken during the entire operation. He lit a cigarette. The other men jumped into action at the unusual orders, quickly huddling. Aaron could hear them discussing outpost and dragon locations. He dragged on his cigarette, forcing himself to be patient. The Red Locust would pull every single available SDC resource into getting Aaron to Conners Toren at the SDC headquarters at New Wyelin as swiftly as possible. He’d never used the command before. None of the five or six Corvale authorized to use it had.

  Aaron held a mouthful of smoke, quietly running his fingers across the pixie eye scar on his cheek. So the NEST riders were falsemarked and that was how the organization was growing so swiftly. The loyalty of dragons could be earned in a few ways, none easy. The eastern tribes of the Corvale and Vylass traditionally marked their warriors with tattoos. The marks chronicled victories, enemies slain. Aaron Lorne was one of the first to discover dragons and learn that the mystical creatures were predisposed to serve marked men. Aaron’s extensive marks, gained over his many travels, alone and with Cal Mast, had given him the keys to a dragon army hidden in the mountains. When others sought to imitate his success, many a Corvale and Vylass warrior put the pieces together and headed to the mountains themselves. Dragons were extremely rare and dangerous. But it was not the scarcity of dragons that made an expansion like the NEST’s impossible. It was the scarcity of marked warriors to claim them. NEST had found a way to cheat by copying one man’s real marks onto his soldiers. They must have someone with talent doing the marking. In the past, others had tried faking marks to earn the loyalty of dragons. The dragons could always tell. Something in the closely guarded art of mark making, known only to the mark masters among the Corvale and Vylass. The attempted deceivers were generally torn to pieces. Dragons did not appreciate su
bterfuge.

  “Aaron,” said DeMarco, finally breaking the huddle and approaching, “we would send an unmanned dragon east to the Vercount relay. They should have three ready. Two to advance the order, one to spell you. By the western side of the Great River we can have full support lined up. We’ll send an unmanned backup in a more southerly route, around Landor. I ride with you until we clear NEST territory.” The last statement was more a question.

  Aaron nodded. “I’ll give the unmanned a five minute headstart. Get the notes written.” DeMarco turned back and the men huddled again, this time to mask the light of a small lantern as they hurriedly wrote out the ciphers for a Red Locust between their present location and Conners Toren. Once written, one of the notes was fastened to the fastest unladen dragon, who was directed to fly to the Vercount relay. The dragons had no interest in human vocabulary, but they did remember and understand the names of a limited number of places. Off it went into the eastern night sky, briefly blotting out the bright stars as it flew to the horizon.

  The backup, taking the Landor route, would leave after Aaron and DeMarco. That left one dragon for the remaining four men. They would need to head east on foot, saving the dragon for scouting under cover of night, avoiding the attention of NEST. It wasn’t Aaron’s problem. He had enough to worry about. He blew smoke into the cold air, watched the winds carry it west, towards the enemy. Could he smell it? Did he know Aaron knew who he was?