Night of the Chalk (Spies of Dragon and Chalk Book 1) Page 14

  There was another silence.

  Cal, still looking tired, took advantage of the lull in conversation and stood. “I’m going to grab a smoke outside,” he told the group, rising from the table. “Back in a minute.”

  Jon followed Cal with his eyes as he crossed the barn floor. To the group he said, “Here’s the thing that intrigues me. If we’re trying to get into the head of this enemy, we know a bit about what he wants. He wants you dead, Aaron. And fast. Those enemy dragons attacked you on sight. They might have known you were coming, or they might have had orders to kill anything else in the sky. The same night you crash, your enemy sends an assassin. When he sees Cal leave the next night with the dragons, he sends Zarus Coff and three dragons after him. Maybe he thought it was you on the dragons, maybe he wants Cal dead. Once he gets Cal, sure, he’s gonna kill him just to keep him quiet about the fact that the attackers were Chalk. And Cal’s clearly your ally.

  “But think about it this way. You’re the target the first night. The second night, whoever is riding a dragon is the target. What if this guy is not interested in you personally, Aaron? And what if this isn’t an attempt to capture the dragons? What happens if you die? I assume the dragons aren’t about to just bow down and follow the next guy. And capturing them has to be more trouble than it’s worth. Sure, I’ll bet plenty of people would do their best to tame them and wouldn’t mind a few deaths learning how to control them, but there’s a reason things have actually been pretty quiet here at the stables. No one else would even know where to begin. Right now you’re the key to unlocking the dragons. You’re needed to make them worth anything. So, I assume you die, the dragons leave, and Delhonne quiets back down. If I’m Gelden Carr, or whoever we’re dealing with, I want you dead so the dragons leave. Maybe I want control of the skies. Maybe I’ve got something to hide. Maybe something else. But when I see that you’re letting Cal ride them, now he’s another key to unlock these dragons. The threat is spreading.

  “Frankly,” Sleepy Jon said, glancing around the table, “if I’m this guy, this meeting is the last thing I want to have happen. If I’m watching the stables and I see more allies arriving, and I already know you’re willing to share your secrets about the dragons, I want this to stop. If I’m Gelden Carr I would try to kill everyone at this table, tonight, and wipe out this dragon threat once and for all, get back to whatever I’m doing in the Lower Sweeps or wherever else. And I wouldn’t wait for everyone to scatter. I’d attack here.”

  There were a few nods around the table. Aaron opened his mouth to reply when a large crash came from above their heads, followed by several more. Something had just landed on the roof, several somethings from the sound of it. The soldiers outside raised the alarm. They were under attack.

  “Good timing, Jon,” Aaron said. He jumped to his feet and ran to the edge of the second-floor platform. Jon drew his sword and joined him. There were more crashes from the rooftop. Miriam and Conners had both produced knives. “Lights,” Aaron said. Miriam and Conners moved swiftly to douse the lamps in the corners of the loft. Aaron returned to the table and grabbed the lamp in the center. There were more noises from outside, a few thumps as the assassins leapt to the ground, a few clashes of steel indicating that some of the guards were under attack.

  The grinding of a saw on the roof joined the growing clamor. “Come on, Cal,” Aaron said under his breath, staring at the far barn door. The dragons were rising to their feet, looking for the source of the disturbance, ready for bloodshed. The Dura Mati jumped down from the loft and stood in the center of the dragons, wielding his war hammer. Since he hadn’t been told otherwise, he would protect the two dragons he considered his.

  Cal’s head poked around the door. He looked up to Aaron for instruction. Jon watched as Aaron raised the lamp so he could clearly be seen, then raised a fist to his temple. Cal gave Aaron an agitated look as he received the signal, but nodded and swiftly withdrew. Aaron blew out the lamp, plunging one end of the barn into darkness, only the lamp near the far door still burning.

  “Stay here,” he said sharply to Jon, Conners, and Miriam. Jon, who had been staring after Cal, turned towards Aaron to ask about the sound of the saw, but realized he was already gone.

  Chapter 21. Break Interrupted

  As Jon was wading into the mind of their enemy, Cal stepped just outside the barn and paused to roll a cigarette. Normally Cal enjoyed the strategizing part of the game. Tonight he was still shaking off the hands of the Chalk on him, the mocking laughter of Zarus Coff, his knees grinding into the ground as he waited to die. He lit the cigarette, grim face briefly framed by the light of the match. Then he leaned back against the barn wall and inhaled deeply.

  The night was calm. Torches lit portions the courtyard, placed to throw light on the open spaces but keeping the few guards in shadow so they did not make easy targets. Some of the guards spoke quietly. It was early in the evening shift and most had energy to spare. Cal remembered the guard duties he had pulled with traveling caravans, an odd mixture of boredom and worry that seemed to slow the passage of time. They were usually more concerned about getting caught slacking by the boss than caught unawares by bandits.

  A loud thump sounded from the roof of the barn, followed immediately by another. Cal saw a dragon, not one of theirs, clear the overhang of the roof and veer off to the north. It was an attack. More thumps followed. Three more dragons followed the first. They were dropping a payload of assassins, maybe two men per dragon. Cal’s mouth tightened around his cigarette as he drew his sword and dagger as quietly as possible.

  A dark shape blotted out the torchlight as it crashed down hard a few feet in front of him. It was a man, dagger drawn. He was faced away from Cal, but rising quickly from the fall. As his knees straightened, Cal switched his left handed grip on his dagger so it faced downward, then leapt out of the shadows and buried the dagger deep in the man’s neck. He channeled the frustration of the past night into the stab, which nearly took the head off the man, spraying blood on both of them. Cal pulled the blade out with the same force, then slid back into the shadows as the assassin crumpled to the ground. He took a final drag off the cigarette then let it fall out of his mouth, stamping it out when it hit the ground.

  He studied the overhang, waiting for another visitor from above. The guards were now in motion, yelling loudly that they were under attack. He saw a few aiming loaded crossbows at the roof and letting fly. A few arrows flew back at the archers. One striking home was greeted with a grunt of pain. With no new arrivals to keep him company, Cal slid around the door to see what was happening inside. He peered inside, letting the light of the lamp on the interior of the barn catch his face. Across the barn, Aaron saw Cal, then held a lamp to his face and raised his fist to his temple.

  Cal sighed. He was being directed away from the battle. He had learned long ago to respect Aaron’s directions in battle. For the Corvale, it was the height of juvenility to refuse direction from a leader during battle, no matter how shameful it seemed to run and hide. He guessed Aaron didn’t like having all the targets clustered in a single complex. They were making it pretty easy for Gelden Carr, if that’s who was behind the attack.

  Cal slid back around the door, looking out at the courtyard and pondering his options. A dash across the courtyard would expose him to crossbow fire. If he stayed put, he could pick off the next couple men that dropped, but they might come in a crowd. They surely had some better plan in place than dropping down one by one. He edged to the corner of the barn, limiting the distance between himself and the wall, looking for something up he could use to climb over it. He was now at the closest edge of the barn to the wall, only about fifteen feet separating the two. There was a barrel that would work. Any archers on the roof would have a bad angle, at least until he was going over the wall. Cal took off running.

  Halfway to the wall, he saw two men running around the back. They saw him and moved to intercept. Both wore primarily black with some red stripes and carried swords
. He recognized neither. From the way they moved eagerly towards him, he guessed they not only recognized him, they stood to make a bonus off his death. He’d seen this before.

  Though both excellent swordsman, Cal and Aaron subscribed to different fighting styles. Cal had been trained in swordplay from a young age, largely for recreational purposes. For a long time it had been a sport like any other. Cal favored fast, dramatic attacks, forcing his opponents to react. He liked to roll the dice first and get the extra turn on the Talent board. Aaron, on the other hand, learned swordplay as the youngest, smallest of the hunting parties he was forced to cook and fetch water for, and later guide through the wilderness. Aaron had developed a slower defensive style, in part to stay alive long enough for the more experienced warriors to swoop in for the kill. As he grew older, he mastered the technique of allowing his opponent to make the first mistake. Cal preferred to allow his opponents nothing.

  He sprinted towards the men, giving them no time to position themselves or communicate a strategy. Both held their swords in their right hands, so he planted his right foot near the center of the two, then parried the sword of the man on his right, spinning away across his body. This brought him away from the second man and brought him close to the exposed left side of the first, in which he buried his dagger deep. He let the dagger go, backing away to allow the second man to come around his dead friend. Cal feinted as if to hide behind the falling man, then leapt directly into him, thrusting the sword hard just in front of his chest, past him to catch the other unaware. The blade dug deep into the man’s torso, and Cal immediately drew it back and followed with another thrust to the front of his neck.

  Cal bent to retrieve his dagger but a crossbow bolt clattered into the ground near him. He straightened and ran for the barrel against the wall. Another assassin rose out of the shadows, but Cal had no time to dally anymore. He ducked his left shoulder and swung his sword out in a vicious upwards diagonal slash, catching the man’s throat and spraying his blood all over the wooden fence. Good, his friends would know which way he’d left the complex. Cal jumped on the barrel, then flipped over the wooden fence, allowing his hand to drag in the bloodstain, effectively turning it into an arrow pointing over the wall.

  He hit the dirt outside the fence hard, carrying his roll forward. He jumped to his feet with his bloody sword out, but saw no one in the alley. With a backwards glance, he ran across the alley and then up the other side into the street.

  As he reached the end of the street, he turned to check behind him. Four or five dark shapes pursued him down the alley. It looked as if one or two had loaded crossbows. It was a footrace now. He’d have little chance with those odds. He glanced at his left hand and realized it was bleeding from a shallow cut, the last assassin’s sword. With a quick check of the sky above the stables revealing no dragons, friend or foe, Cal took off into Delhonne.

  Chapter 22. A Cultured Affair with a Little Fish

  The hunt passed quickly through the nondescript neighborhood of the stable, into the Crestland bar district, and from there into the more prosperous City Center. Cal turned often, taking advantage of his knowledge of the back passages of the city he’d spent the last few years running around. If he had to guess, and at that point he didn’t have the luxury of putting off decisions, he’d say that several of the assassins who pursued him knew the city well and knew where he would likely go. There was something about the pursuit pattern, never too bunched, professional. It seemed every time he had moved them to create an opening to the places he wanted to go, they had anticipated him. They had played this game before. Cal wanted to get to his home or the Castalan embassy, both south. If that didn’t work, the Corvale House might, but it was also south, the one direction they seemed focused on preventing him from going.

  They were also getting bolder as the streets of the City Center grew more crowded. Cal saw the professionally prepared noose tightening, right around the same time he rounded a corner and observed a large gathering of Delhonne’s rich and noble in front of him. They formed a long chain in front of a large party at one of the grander estates in City Center, the mansion of the Marquis Flegonne. The gaily lit street was brilliant with white lamps, illuminating the luxurious horse-drawn carts of arriving men and women in formal attire. The mansion itself was bathed in light and decorated with hanging lamps and white and gold banners. White and gold appeared to be the colors of the evening. Cal noted that many of the arriving nobles had selected white horses to draw their carts and adorned them with gold fringed white bridles.

  Interestingly enough, Cal recalled that he actually had an invitation to this event, as did Aaron. They had looked at it briefly, laughing over the delicate and expensive stationery and adding it to the pile. Now, with a gang of mercenaries with murderous intent after him and a recently foiled kidnapping plot fresh in his mind, the party looked like a more attractive option than it had before. Cal hustled out of the shadows, joining the throng of excited young noblemen and women on foot. He turned back to try and observe the reactions of his pursuers, but couldn’t find them. It was a new game now. Cal realized he was getting more than a few hard looks. He hastily sheathed his sword.

  Cal still stuck out though. For one thing, he was wearing black. Nearly everyone else had on some mixture of white or gold. He was also covered in dirt, the aftereffect of leaping the fence. He’d have to find an opportunity to blend in a little better if he wanted to use the party to shake off his new friends.

  Cal politely let a few small groups pass him as he reached the party’s entryway, a guardhouse that had been converted to a reception area. He wanted to observe the mechanics of the entry process. He tried not to get distracted by several passing gorgeous women in white and gold dresses. They passed their invitations to a smiling doorman who placed them in a large glass bowl. Two immaculately uniformed private security guards flanked the gold curtain which would lead to the courtyard, which the guards held open as the groups passed through. The doorman’s smile faded as Cal stepped in front of him.

  “I fear I have forgotten my invitation,” Cal said.

  Without taking his dark eyes off Cal, the servant started to raise his right hand to beckon the security guards, but the hand was caught by a swiftly moving butler. The butler lowered the man’s hand and slid past him to extend a warm smile to Cal.

  “Mr. Mast, we are delighted to have you. Would you please follow me?”

  The butler bowed slightly and gestured to a small door to the left rather than through the curtain. Cal headed for it, resisting the urge to smirk at the doorman. The butler overtook Cal and opened the door to a small outer chamber, probably a barracks, which had been repurposed for the party into a full wardrobe, complete with white and gold adornments on the walls.

  “May I offer you a jacket, sir?” the butler asked, removing a formal white and gold jacket from a clothes rack.

  Cal nodded. The butler snapped his fingers, and another servant appeared and began wiping down Cal’s boots and brushing off his pants.

  “And the sword? May we have it cleaned and sharpened for you?” Cal knew this was a standard tactic to deal with houseguests who arrived improperly armed for festive occasions. It enabled the host to politely disarm his guests and enabled the guests to save face.

  Cal nodded again, unbuckling the sword belt and handing it to the servant who had finished with his boots and pants. He wondered what they would think when they drew it and realized it was covered in fresh blood. He decided he didn’t care.

  The butler held out the coat. Cal slid into it. An excellent fit. He presumed, correctly, that the next move would be for the butler to escort him directly to the Marquis. It seemed Cal’s stock among the nobility had taken a significant step forward in the past two days.

  The butler led Cal through the crowd in the courtyard, his hand politely but firmly planted on Cal’s elbow. The courtyard was packed with guests, a mix of the old and established and the young and fashionable. Cal was guided towards an olde
r man at the center of a small group of laughing nobles.

  The Marquis Flegonne noted their approach and wrapped up his story, subtly sending the still laughing group on its way with the skill of a master socialite. He had long gray hair with matching mustaches and sideburns. He wore a gold and white uniform in a military fashion.

  “My Lord,” the butler said, “Mr. Cal Mast has just arrived.”

  “Wonderful, marvelous!” the Marquis replied, seizing Cal’s hand in his and pulling him in for an enthusiastic hug. “So glad you made it. These are always such drab affairs, but now we have a keeper of dragons here! Tell me, will Aaron be joining us?”

  “Regretfully not, Marquis,” Cal replied. “I would not describe this as a drab affair however. You’ve really outdone yourself. I was very glad to find myself at your gates.”

  The Marquis stepped to Cal’s side so they were shoulder to shoulder and he could put his arm around him and examine the crowd critically. “Indeed? I do appreciate the attention to detail of my staff. My wife is no doubt having the time of her life.” The Marquis gestured to a hovering servant with a tray of fluted wine glasses of a sparkling white-gold wine, one of which Cal accepted gratefully.

  The Marquis, taking a fresh glass, continued, “But we men favor the action, yes? Tell me, is there much good hunting in Castalan?”

  “Not much. There are some bear in the northern parts, but the south has been overhunted and crisscrossed with roads. Sport fishing is more of an attraction.”

  The Marquis squeezed Cal’s shoulder. “I love a good hunt. Or a good hawking session. One must speculate on how a dragon would factor in there. What an outing that would be! I’ll tell you what, you simply must join me for a hunt and bring along one or two of those beasts. How does that sound, eh?”

  Cal smiled and said, “Sure. That would be great sport.” Privately he thought there was zero chance of that ever happening.