A Storm in the Desert: Dragonlinked Chronicles Voume 3 Read Free Page A

at a corridor juncture. He returned the salute, though less crisply, and turned down the hallway on the right. He shot a quick glance back at the guard. How many members truly believed? Whatever their number, all of them had been lied to. How would that guard feel if she discovered the truth? Or this ojon, following behind his pesan charge—how would he be affected? Would they all feel as if the floor had fallen out from beneath them? As if a thousand cactus needles had suddenly pierced their hearts?
    Relax, Takatin, relax.
    He glanced around the hallway. Low, evenly spaced floor lamps glowed along the corridor, three-quarters shielded for the night. Shadows lay across the marble floors and walls, steady areas of darkness covering stone and tapestry alike. There were no people, however. Finding himself alone, he wiped sweat from his lip and took a moment to collect himself.
    Too much wine.
    He continued on to his rooms along the emptying hallways.
    Truths. If the Capu wanted a truth, how about the truth of the Dragon Craft Guild? Its formation a month ago had changed everything. If he hadn’t heard it from Piven, he wouldn’t have believed it.
    ‘Will this affect how the Order does things?’
    Idiot. Of course it would change things. Someday. Takatin didn’t want to wait that long, however, and had adjusted his plans accordingly.
    Unfortunately, Capu Cirtis’s ploy with the manis would interfere with them. A ploy that had nothing to do with what the man had blathered on about. Takatin suspected the Capu’s real intentions, despite what he’d tried to intimate. So it was good that before the manis left, Takatin took a quiet meeting with him and told him what to do instead, when and if he found the boy and his dragon.
    + + + + +
    “Enough.” Yiska waved his arms and the boy grew silent. They were alone in the large choral chamber.
    “I’m sorry, Umeron Yiska.” The lad stared at the ground. “I don’t mean to let the rest of the choir down, I really don’t.”
    “These individual lessons will be pointless if you can’t concentrate, child. What troubles you?”
    The boy nibbled his lip. “Everything.”
    Yiska motioned to the chair next to him. “Come now, everything?”
    Sitting, the boy said, “Can you not feel it, Umeron? The air in Bataan-Mok is thick with . . . something. I can’t help thinking that a dark menace approaches.”
    Yiska did feel it, this foreboding. Rumors flew, whispers caught the ear, and unease spread. “Aye, I feel it, too. I think everyone does. But I have faith in the old ways. If we maintain them, we’ll be fine.” He smiled at the boy. “We can destroy Yrdra’s evil dragons, can’t we? Nothing can stand against us. The strength of the Corpus Order will let us weather anything.”
    “Yes.” The lad nodded. “You’re right. And Ulthis willing, I’ll try for manis when I get older to show those dragons what the Order can do.”
    “That’s the spirit.”
    “Have you ever seen one, Umeron? A dragon?”
    “Oh yes, I saw many in my earlier years. Frightful creatures. Big, powerful, twitchy things. But they are no match for manisi, no match for the Order. Keep that in mind and you’ll be fine.
    “Now, off with you. It’s late. We’ll continue with practice tomorrow.”
    The boy stood and bowed. “Thank you, Umeron Yiska.” Smiling, he ran off.
    Yiska leaned back in the chair. The heavy mood that had settled over Bataan-Mok the past several months was a boon, actually. Comfortable people were complacent. Anxious people were not. They wanted to feel safe and migrated to those they felt could protect them. Alliances were growing as those who’d once refrained from taking a side now joined in. Of course, the core cause of all this disruption was how far the Corpus Order had wandered from the true path. They needed to return to the old ways.
    In those days, when the manis patrols left Bataan-Mok together on the way to their various routes, they looked like a small