A Storm in the Desert: Dragonlinked Chronicles Voume 3 (25 page)

Magic washed over Fillion and Coatl as he created the gateway to the caves in the South. Moments later, an orb of swirling, cloud-like wisps appeared before them among the predawn stars. A bright blue sky peeked from its center.

Fillion reached down and patted Coatl’s neck.
Let’s go to the caves.

Two strokes of his wings and they were into the portal and through the other side. Clear blue skies and a bright yellow sun greeted them.

“How is it so late in the day, here?” Master Gella sounded shocked.

Fillion turned his head. “We are quite a bit farther east now. The day has progressed more in these lands.” He saw her nod before he faced forward again.

They hovered above the caves and the tall spire, and all around them, the dusty land of the Scars stretched far and wide. Like terrible wounds, the ravines that gave this area its name carved deep gouges into the ground, while mesas and rocky outcrops rose high above it. Fillion took a moment to admire the view from where Coatl hovered, a hundred feet in the air.

Northwest should be ahead of them. That’s the direction they’d been facing when he created the portal. He unsnapped the leather cover on his wrist-compass and confirmed.

Alright, big guy. Let’s get some altitude and find this Ghost Flats place.

With a rumble, Coatl headed for the horizon, taking them higher into the sky.

As the ground shrank below, Master Gella’s grip grew tighter. Fillion turned his head and shouted over the rushing air. “Master Gella, I dare say you’ll break a rib if you continue to wrap your arms tighter.”

They loosened, but only slightly. “I do apologize. How, ah, high are we?”

“For normal flying, like right now, we usually stay about a thousand feet up. Dragons can be mistaken for a bird this high.”

She swallowed, and her eyes were a little wild.

Most new riders experienced a little panic. Fillion, like the other dragonlinked, knew what to do. He pointed. “Keep your gaze on the horizon, ma’am. Eventually, you’ll get used to flying enough that you can even look straight down. But for now, just look at sights far away. Imagine that you are on a tall building in, say, Delcimaar.”

“Buildings don’t move.”

He laughed. “Perhaps not. But still, look at far away things for now.” She held him so close, he felt her nod.

Smiling, he settled in for the long flight. From what he remembered of the map, it would be well over an hour before they reached their destination.

He was not wrong. The trip had been taking so long, in fact, that his eyes were getting heavy.

Something is different ahead.

Fillion’s entire body twitched. Lulled nearly to sleep, his bond-mate’s sudden voice had scared him.

As Coatl’s grunting laugh vibrated through the saddle, Master Gella leaned forward. “What is it?”

Fillion frowned.
You nearly scared the life out of me!
Turning to the master investigator, he said, “Coatl says something is different ahead.”

“Different?”

What do you mean, different?

Can you not see it? The land ahead is white.

White?

White.

If he squinted, he could just make out something near the horizon. “Coatl thinks we are near.” He pointed. “The color of the land is changing, there.”

“I see it.” A squeeze at his waist. “Let’s get over there.”

The ground below changed from dirt and rocks to a nearly smooth surface lined with cracks. At least it looked that way through the binocs. It reminded Fillion of the mud left after a pond dried, except it covered miles and miles all around. That in itself was odd, but nothing compared to what lay beyond. It was as if a giant had taken an enormous white sheet and laid it over the ground.

Fillion patted his bond-mate’s neck.
Follow it to the right, until we get to the end.

Coatl banked north and they flew along, searching. Eventually, they reached the edge of the flats. Just beyond them, up on higher ground, sat some sort of structure. While Coatl hovered at a distance, Fillion looked over the building. It reminded him of a mail station, except it had a wooden platform along one side. He could just make out the words ‘National Transportation Station 36’ painted on a sign above the platform.

There is a man inside.

“Whatever the building is used for, it belongs to National Transportation. Coatl says there is someone inside.”

Master Gella held out her hand. “Let me have a look.”

He gave her the binocs.

After a moment, she said, “It’s a railway station. National Transportation must have built this ahead of getting the metal rails to this point. We’re on the right track.” She smiled. “No pun intended.”

“Should I have Coatl land so we can talk to the man in there?”

“No. Do you see how the building is oriented? The tracks that will be built next to it will run north-south. Let’s head south, back into the flats, and see if we find anything more. I want to learn as much as I can before we announce ourselves to anyone.”

An hour later, they came upon strange, geometric shapes carved out in the salt, large squares of fairly consistent size. The things were pretty far in from the east border of the flats and likely would not have been noticed had Coatl not seen them.

As they hovered far above, Fillion looked about.
Do you sense anyone?

We are alone.

Take us down, then. I’d like to get a closer look.

The shapes were formed by the salt having been scraped from the ground to a depth of a few inches. Some of the hollows were less than five feet across, but most were quite large, ten or twenty feet at their widest. The remainders of what appeared to have been large piles of salt sat next to each shape, and several sets of wagon tracks, deep ruts in the salt surface, led away to the east.

Fillion, hands on his hips, looked about, stumped. “Some sort of strange art?”

“I’m thinking it’s a salt farm.” Guildmaster Millinith, squatting next to an enormous cleared square area, reached down and grabbed a handful of salt crystals and chunks.

“Ah, yes, of course.” Master Gella nodded as she took in the shapes around them.

“Salt
farm
?” Fillion frowned. How did you grow salt?

“Sure.” The Guildmaster dusted off her hands and stood. “They come gather up salt, take it back, grind it to a uniform small size, and then sell it.”

“Oh. Kind of like a mine?”

“Except there’s no mining. The salt’s on the surface.”

“What about dirt, or sand?” Fillion squatted and poked through the crust of salt, looking for a decent-sized chunk. “I wouldn’t want to bite down of that while eating.” He found a rather large crystal, about the size of a marble, and pocketed it. He wanted to show it to Gregor.

The Guildmaster looked around at the flat whiteness. “We’re dozens and dozens of miles from the nearest open area of dirt. And, as long as they don’t scrape too deep, all they’ll get is salt. The only other impurities will be so fine, windblown powder, really, that you wouldn’t even notice it.”

Fillion grunted. “I see.”

“For all I know, they may even refine it further once they get it back to wherever they are from. Maybe they wash the salt and let even those impurities settle out before drying the salt again.” Guildmaster Millinith shrugged. “Who knows?”

“Let’s continue on.” Master Gella turned and made for Coatl. “This is interesting, but has nothing to do with the Corpus Order nor with National Transportation.”

“Let’s take a water break, first.” Fillion grabbed three canteens and handed them out.

“Good idea.” Guildmaster Millinith opened hers and drank deep.

After satisfying his own thirst, Fillion offered the remainder to his dragon.
Thirsty, big guy?

A little, thank you.

Coatl tilted his head back, mouth open, while Fillion poured the rest in.

After gathering the canteens, Fillion stored them away, and they resumed their search.

It was kind of peaceful, he thought, flying over the vast salt flats. And, too, Master Gella was more confident. No more stranglehold. Her hands rested at his waist.

Perhaps an hour later, Coatl stopped and hovered.

People ahead. I think it is a patrol.

“Possible patrol,” Fillion said, grabbing the pair of field-glasses. “There’s four. Two on horseback, and two driving a large wagon. They’re heading south toward the hills ahead. I don’t think they’re manisi, though.”

“Let me see.” Master Gella reached for the binocs. “Hmm. They’re not wearing a uniform of any sort, just nondescript clothing. I suppose they could be National Transportation people.” She lowered the glasses and handed them back.

“They must be. Who else would be out on the flats?”

Fillion and Master Gella turned to Guildmaster Millinith.

“This is the narrowest part of the desert,” Master Gella said. “If people cross, they do so on this end.” She frowned. “Still, the flats are very desolate. I’d want to cross farther east where there are tall shrubs and other breaks from the sun. And why cross with a large, empty wagon?”

Guildmaster Millinith looked at Fillion. “Can we follow them?”

After another look through the binocs, Fillion said, “I don’t think so. They’re traveling too slowly. Coatl can only hover with three people on his back for so long.”

“Let’s continue south, then,” Master Gella said. “We’re almost to those hills. We can wait for them there, then follow them if they head southwest.”

Fillion nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

Let’s keep going, Coatl.

Fillion hoped they worked for National Transportation. They were the only group of people they’d found so far. There had to be something bigger than that station somewhere in the flats. Maybe these people would lead them there.

+ + + + +

“Keep your voice down,” Polandra hissed. She frowned. Aeron was so loud, sometimes. “Sound travels farther than you think out here.”

Aeron rolled his eyes, but he did lower his voice. “I wasn’t that loud. And they’re pretty far away.”

Polandra pointed out and about. “Look around us. What do you see?”

He frowned. “Uh, rock, dirt, the hills, and out there, lots and lots of salt.” Pointing back below the ridge, he said, “And those pathetic excuses for horses.”

The nags were tied several yards below, but the tops of their thin bodies could be seen above the other end of the rocky rise. Polandra agreed with his assessment of the poor creatures. The sound of shifting pebbles and sliding gravel came from them occasionally as they nosed about for something to eat. They could certainly use some fodder.

Looking back at Aeron, she said, “The flats have nothing on them. No plants, no rocks, just flatness and salt. And the hills are nearly as barren, for the most part. Not many plants at all, no trees.”

Aeron shrugged. “Yeah, so?”

“So, the flats have nothing to block sound, and sound reflects off of almost everything in the hills. There’s nothing to absorb sound.”

“Fine.” He crossed his arms. “I’ll just go out of my mind quietly, then.”

“Besides, there will be another manis patrol, eventually. There have been eight so far.”

“I know. I’m just bored.” He scooted up and peeked over the top of the rise. “You know, we’ve been here over three hours, but as often as patrols have gone by in that time, it can’t be the same hand. There’s no way one hand could walk around that entire camp and be back that quickly.”

Polandra was thinking the same thing. “We found the missing manisi.”

“Mmm hmm.” He lifted the field-glasses to his eyes. “And it sure as hells isn’t dragons killing the people here in the flats. I knew there was something strange going on here.”

She twisted her lips. “You were definitely right about that.”

“I wish we could see more of what’s going on in the camp. Most of those tents look like they’re just places for workers to sleep. But a few of them are really big. And what’s that building in the hillside for? There aren’t any other permanent structures. What are they doing in there? With those gigantic piles of dirt nearby, it looks like they dug into the hill to build it.”

“We have to wait until dark to even think about getting closer. In the meantime, we’ll note their patrol patterns and times and use that to sneak past without being seen.”

Aeron made a non-committal sound. “What’s weird is that none of those people in the camp, other than the manisi, look like they’re from around here. Wrong clothes, wrong hair, wrong skin tone.”

“Isandath said that one of the factions was working with outsiders. National Transportation, right?”

“True. All those others must be from the company.” He crawled back down and sat next to her. “The weird thing? Not one company logo or sign anywhere. The tents, the buildings, they’re all unmarked. Those people aren’t even wearing uniforms of any kind. Well, except the manisi. But they hardly spend any time in camp. They just patrol around it.”

“One thing’s certain: they don’t want people to get near.”