A Storm in the Desert: Dragonlinked Chronicles Voume 3 (35 page)

“Guildmaster, Dragonlinked, it is good to see you both again.” Master Gella’s voice, she was being quiet, came from the shadows. With her dark attire, she was nearly impossible to see.

“What news?” Guildmaster Millinith dismounted.

Fillion hopped off and patted Coatl on the neck.

Master Gella gestured toward the north. “They’ve set up camp for the night a few miles from here. It’s taken them two days to travel this far with the laden wagon.”

“How many chests are on it?” Fillion hadn’t been able to see the wagon at the National Transportation camp. None of them had, save Gella. The wagon had been under a large tent the whole time.

“Fifteen.”

Fillion’s brows rose. “Fifteen?”

“Keep your voice down,” Master Gella whispered, harshly. “We’re not that far from the station.”

Fillion’s cheeks warmed for the second time in less than half an hour.

“Let’s get in the trees. They’ll help muffle our conversation.” She led them into the darkness.

“How do they have so many chests?” Guildmaster Millinith crossed her arms.

Master Gella shrugged. “They must have been stockpiling them in the building as well as under the tent. I saw them bring several out to the wagon the next day, then only one every couple of days.”

Fillion made sure his voice was low. “Have you gotten a look in one?”

“No.” She shook her head, then smiled. “But we will tonight.”

Her plan had sounded simple to Fillion at first, but now that they were carrying it out, he saw a few places where something could go wrong. Beyond that, maintaining complete silence the entire time put his nerves on edge. It was essential, she’d said, and there was no disputing the point. Any sound could carry far in the quiet night.

The ground on this hill overlooking the camp was as good for sneaking around as she’d mentioned. The path she chose, up the back side of the hill, had nary a loose rock or pebble. Watching where you stepped, taking care not to trip, and avoiding fallen twigs and branches, however, were all made more difficult with only the dim light that Master Gella allowed. Still, the odd red-hued glow she’d enchanted was better than no light at all, he supposed. Red light was harder for people to notice in the dark, she’d explained, and besides, she’d cleared a path for them earlier. Even so, it took them a while to get to their destination.

When they reached the spot a few yards shy of the top of the hill, they all took a moment to rest. Fillion stretched a bit, trying to loosen tense muscles. Guildmaster Millinith sat on a jutting rock and played with a bit of her hair, twirling it around her finger. Master Gella carefully set down her carryall and removed a few items from it.

A small blanket or towel of some sort, it was difficult to see what it was, went on the ground. Atop it, she placed a few tools and a small kit of some sort. She then extinguished the glow from her shoulder and placed a new one on the ground near the tools.

Reiterating the need for silence—she held a finger to her lips—she then pointed to the stone outcrop that made up the top of the hill. She approached its lower edge and got down onto her belly. Fillion did the same, as did Guildmaster Millinith. In silence, the three crawled up the rocky ground to the crest.

Down below, just beyond the base of the hill, was the camp.

There was a brief pulse of magic—a flash of goose-bumps across his body. He glanced at the investigator, but she just held a pair of field-glasses to her eyes, saying nothing. With a mental shrug, he did the same.

The view through the binocs was off. As much as he tried to adjust them, everything had a slightly blurry appearance.

She must have used Meturato’s Gloom.

Fillion’s body twitched and he almost dropped the field-glasses.

Good gods, man, you nearly scared the piss out of me!

The humor he felt through the link only served to annoy Fillion.

Gella turned and stared at him, brows drawn together.

Looking at her, he tapped his temple and then made talking motions with his hand.

She shook her head and appeared even more confused.

He set the binocs down, lay one thumb over the other, and flapped his hands like wings. Then he pointed back to where they’d left Coatl, tapped his temple again, and made talking motions with the thumb and fingers of his hand.

Her brows rose and she nodded, then she turned her attention back to the camp below.

Fillion looked down through the binocs. Coatl was probably right. The slight blurriness matched what you saw looking out from within that enchantment. One of the women had created a pocket of gloom around them so they wouldn’t be seen from below, just like at the camp in the flats. Now that full night had fallen, even if someone happened to glance this direction, the patch of darkness likely wouldn’t be noticed.

The camp was fairly small. It was essentially a campfire, a makeshift rope paddock for the horses, and three wagons. Several people lay asleep in camp beds, blankets laid on the ground, another on top for warmth, and a coat or some-such rolled up for a pillow. The beds surrounded the lone campfire. There were other sources of light down there, too—four large glows had been enchanted on the ground around the wagon he and the masters were interested in. A guard stood in front of each of those sorcerous orbs, facing away from the wagon, away from the light that could hinder their vision. One guard watched from in front of the wagon, one from either side, and one from the rear. Other guards, Fillion spotted four, walked the camp’s perimeter in a patrol. He noted that their gazes seemed to always be directed outward, alert for any intruders.

Just as Gella had said, there was no way they could approach the small camp unseen, much less the wagon. But that wasn’t her plan.

The back of the wagon faced their hiding spot. The investigator must have chosen this hill because of this vantage point. It would be essential. Wide, flat-topped chests were plainly visible in the wagon, stacked three high. They looked big. He also noted that each one bore a heavy padlock.

Movement drew his attention. Master Gella was nodding to Guildmaster Millinith. They must be starting. Fillion drew in a deep, quiet breath and watched the wagon through the binocs.

Eyes on the top chest of the rear stack, Fillion nibbled on his lip. He felt another pulse of magic, but kept his eyes below. He couldn’t be sure, he had no idea what size the chests actually were, but it appeared that the chest rose perhaps an inch. If he hadn’t known what was about to happen, he wouldn’t have noticed it.

The rear guard noticed something, though, because he turned toward the wagon.

Fillion held his breath. What had happened? The guard must have heard something. Had the wagon creaked with the shift in weight? Heart pounding in his ears, Fillion watched the guard look this way and that. Would he notice the crate was floating?

Finally, after what seemed ages, the guard faced outward again.

Fillion closed his eyes and let out a quiet breath. That was the part he thought would be easy! What in hells would happen on the other parts of the plan?

Returning his gaze below, Fillion checked on all the wagon guards. They were as motionless as before. They merely stood watch, staring ahead.

This next step was the second most likely to fail. Hands clamped on the binocs, he watched as the crate began rising slowly. If anyone happened to look at the wagon right now . . .

Fillion quickly checked on the wagon guards again. They continued to stare ahead, apparently not noticing anything. Golden.

The chest was now about half its height above those next to it.

Why was the Guildmaster moving it so slowly?

Inch by inch, it rose, its leisurely pace driving Fillion to distraction. Once clear of those beside it, however, it rose much more quickly and stopped, floating, fifty feet in the air. Then, after another magic pulse came from his left, it almost disappeared. Almost.

It was curious. He thought the night sky was pitch black, at least the parts where there were no stars. Not so. The absolute black of the gloom spell showed up against the not-as-black-as-he’d-expected night sky. It wasn’t horribly obvious, but if you knew exactly where to look, you could see it. Still, to those in the camp, whose eyes were not night-adjusted, the chest, or rather, the dark splotch, was likely invisible.

Fillion took another little breath of relief. As long as no one thought to look in the wagon itself, they had some time to examine the wooden chest.

The small patch of darkness made its way over to them on the hill. The only sound was the faint scrape of them crawling down from the summit and, once they stood, their faint footfalls as they returned to the blanket of tools. Guildmaster Millinith lowered the crate to the ground and removed the gloom enchantment.

It was big. Four feet long and maybe a foot and a half wide, the chest stood about a foot or so tall. It reminded him of a footlocker or clothing trunk, but made of sturdy-looking wood. The padlock was also bigger than he’d thought. It was larger than his fist.

Fillion watched Master Gella examine the heavy-looking hunk of metal and rivets. Mindful of the need for quiet, he kneeled next to her and whispered, “You know how to pick locks?”

“It’s one of the many skills used in investigation,” she whispered. “Unfortunately, this is a multi-disk barrier lock. Unpickable. If we had a great deal of time, I could defeat it with other methods. Alas, we do not.” She started examining the chest itself. “Luckily, National Transportation was only trying to prevent their own people from getting inside. Secure padlocks are a good deterrent when the crates will be mostly under guard, so they didn’t take as much care with the containers themselves. The hinges are on the outside of these.”

She retrieved a few items from her carryall and began working on the metal joints. After a minute or so with an odd-looking clamp and a quick enchantment, she removed the pin from the first hinge and carefully set it down on a small pad. The remaining two hinges were handled in similar quick fashion.

She then cast an enchantment on the chest and studied it from different angles. Apparently satisfied with what she’d seen, she removed the spell and carefully lifted the lid from the end with the defeated hinges. Using the same care, she leaned the lid, still latched to the now useless padlock, on the ground.

They all stared inside at four stacks of—

“Glass?” Master Gella sounded disappointed and a little angry. “They killed him for glass?”

Fillion reached in and carefully removed a clear sheet of what certainly looked like glass. About a foot across, the thin plate didn’t seem to be even a quarter of an inch thick. He hefted it. “This feels heavier than glass, though. And the shape they cut it into is strange, kind of geometric.”

“You don’t mine glass.” Guildmaster Millinith kneeled and removed a sheet to examine. “Could they have cut these from some kind of crystal?”

Master Gella turned and stared at her, eyes narrowed. A dagger appeared in the investigator’s hand. She dragged its tip across a sheet inside the chest. It left no mark. Again she tried to score it, she leaned on the dagger, even, but still it left no mark.

“Good gods,” she whispered. “It can’t be.” The third time she tried, entire body pressed down on the dagger, the blade slipped and shot sideways, embedding itself in the side of the chest.

It left no mark.

“Gella,” Guildmaster Millinith said, “what do you think it is?”

Ignoring her, Master Gella returned the dagger to whence it came and pulled out a small pouch. She stuck her finger and thumb inside and removed a pinch of something. She dropped it, a powder, near the edge of the plate. Pressing down with her thumb, she rubbed it in. It scratched the clear material. She then dug in her pocket and removed a 5 mark piece. The powder scratched it as well.

Brows raised, Guildmaster Millinith stared at the scuffed mark.

“Garathel’s great—” Master Gella glanced at Fillion. “Hammer.”

“What is it?” He recognized the pouch now. It was the one from the bank.

“It can’t be.” Guildmaster Millinith carefully returned the sheet of crystal she carried to the crate and stared at its contents.

“It must be.” Master Gella looked at the crystal plate Fillion still held. “It’s Korovite. And they’ve got fifteen crates of it in this shipment.”

“
This
shipment?” Guildmaster Millinith looked at her. “There’s more?”

“Everyone’s still at the National Transportation camp, still working. If this was it, if this was all they had, they would have broken camp and moved on.”

Fillion struggled to keep his voice low. “What is Korovite?”

“It’s what marks are made from,” Guildmaster Millinith said. “It’s what
all
our currency is made from.”

“It is a very rare crystal,” Master Gella said, “highly resistant to damage. But its most remarkable feature is that it can be enchantment locked. That is the reason it is used for currency. Only one mine exists—” She frowned. “Only one mine
existed
, at least before this.”

Fillion glanced at the sheet of crystal and, with shaking hands, placed it back in the crate. You could make money of any denomination you wanted with those. No wonder that investigator had been killed.