Dragonhaze: A Dragonhall Chronicles novel (The Reasoner Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  Dragonhaze

  The Reasoner Trilogy book 1

  Mirren Hogan

  Copyright © 2018 by Mirren Hogan

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover art by Ryan Katryn Digital Art

  Edited by Rebekah Dodson

  To Stephanie for the awesome beta reading, and Jesse because he’s a heck of a guy.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  About the Author

  Also by Mirren Hogan

  Prologue

  The sharp smell of ale mingled with smoke from the tavern's fire. Even without it, the taproom was stuffy. The pungent odour of bodies gathered together after a long day added to the ambience. The Dragon's Heart was no fine establishment, but it wasn't without its charms. If one didn't breathe in too deeply.

  Daven Issel pulled out a stool from under the bar and sat. He rested his elbows in front of him. It was early; the mat which covered the bar top was dry. He turned his eyes to the bartender, trying to get his attention. A tall man with a stooped back, he nodded and passed Daven a mug of ale. Daven passed him a silver braid which would ensure the ale kept coming, and sat back to sip. He preferred wine, but here in the Heart you drank ale, or marked yourself as an outsider.

  He'd learnt that on his first visit here. Stares and mutters cast his way confused him until the bartender chuckled. "Ye'll look fancy," he'd said, "fancy gets robbed."

  "I'm sure the city reasoners—"

  The man turned to spit on the floor beside him. "Hazing reasoners got better things to do. As long as you don't get killed, they don't care if no one steals a few braids here an' there."

  Daven frowned. "Surely it's their job—"

  By the expression on the man's face, Daven had much to learn. "In this part of Paryos, no one admits to seeing nothin' if the reasoners come knockin'."

  "I see. I'll have an ale then."

  "Aye." The bartender nodded.

  Fortunately, the ale here was better than average.

  Daven sipped and turned to watch the other patrons over the rim of his glass.

  A woman sitting near him wore a second-level librarian pin on her chest. A few seated around a table were government workers, mostly apprentice or first-level roustabouts; road washers, gardeners or the like.

  A man with a first-level insignia coupled with a builder's emblem marked him as an overseer. Given the deferential way the others at his table treated him, he had their respect. Maybe because he was buying.

  As a second-level healer, Daven would have to defer to him too, if the situation arose. Shame that didn't mean the man would also pay for his ale.

  He put down his empty glass and was about to signal for a refill when the window on the other side of the tavern shattered. He barely had time to register the ceramic pot which landed several metres away before it exploded in a shower of shards.

  The impact knocked Daven off his stool and across the tavern. He slammed into the wall and fell to the floor, winded for several moments.

  He caught a panicked breath and scrambled under the table close to him. blood pounding in his ears. The solid wooden tabletop gave him a moment of security—however false. The builder lay a metre away, eyes staring, a gash in his forehead sporting a splinter of ceramic. Several of his workers lay around him, some with limbs missing.

  Laboured breathing drew his eyes. The librarian lay on the floor beside an upturned table in an increasing puddle of her own blood.

  Daven started crawling toward her. Voices through the broken window made him hesitate.

  "Maybe now they'll listen."

  The voice chilled him. He froze, heart racing, waiting for the moment they stepped inside and discovered him still alive.

  His eyes flitted between the librarian and the window. He wasn't watching when she died.

  Chapter One

  Kaida Laithorn tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, still dark red even though she was past her fourth decade, and stepped toward the platform. In a bustle of wood, steel and steam, the train rounded the bend and drew into Tsaisa station. It let out a sigh and a squeal of brakes, slowing with a huff and coming to a stop.

  Kaida craned her neck as people disembarked and pushed past her to leave. She mumbled an apology for not stepping aside fast enough. A teacher with third-level insignia pinned above his breast glared at her, taking in her rank pin with a contemptuous sneer before turning away.

  She flushed at his retreating back, but bit her tongue. Her pin showed she was only a first-level weaver, considered a menial job at best. The draakin pin, displayed below that, served to further diminish other's judgment of her.

  She let out a soft sigh and turned to see Daven stepping down from the train. His long, straight tunic and short jacket were more fashionable than Kaida's own. A second-level healer, even a young one, earned significantly more braids than she did.

  Daven's smile looked forced. He lowered his suitcase to the wooden platform and gave her a brief embrace.

  "Hello, Mother," he said, drawing back and not quite meeting her eyes. He looked tired.

  "You know Risper and I could have picked you up?" Kaida said, speaking lightly. She didn't want to begin this reunion with a rebuke, but the journey from Paryos by train was a long one.

  "I didn't want to be a hassle," Daven said. His expression suggested that was only half true. Had he arrived home on the back of her dragon, people would talk.

  She gave him a sidelong look that said she didn't buy it. "Daven—"

  "You know what people are like." They'd had this conversation so many times it was like an old dance. One Daven was clearly tired of.

  Kaida did know. No one minded a ride when they needed one, or wanted to reach the other side of the republic in a matter of hours, but associate with a draakin—

  "Well, you're here now," she said, dropping the subject.

  "Yes." Daven leaned down to pick up his case.

  "And how are you?" He was never the most talkative, but she wasn't used to seeing him quite so sullen. The explosion at the tavern in Paryos must have really rattled him. Of course, why else would he have come here? Tsaisa was a backwater at best. No place for an ambitious young man.

  "I'm fine." Kaida gave him look of disbelief and he added, "Really".

  She closed her mouth before she chided him. He was clearly not fine, but he'd speak to her in his own time.

  "All right, I won't push you," she said, "but at l
east think about it. Or speak to your father."

  Daven gave her another look and she dropped the matter. He hadn't been close to his father since long before his parent's divorce, but maybe that would change with Daven back in Tsiasa.

  The walk to the Dragonhall was a short one; up a well-trodden path. A few weeds grew along the side amongst the rocks. They'd be removed eventually by a work crew, when one was assigned here. Other parts of Dargyn were considered a higher priority, like the capital Paryos, where most of the young people went as soon as they were of age.

  Away. That was where most people seemed to think she should take herself. Perhaps they were right. Dargyn no longer needed dragons. They had served their purpose a hundred years ago. Now people wanted to forget the war and anything which served as reminder. The dragons, the hall, the draakin themselves, they all belonged to the past.

  Their boots echoed as they walked under a stone archway and into the central courtyard. Once bustling, now only a handful of dragons rested themselves on the rooftop of the three story tall Dragonhall. Nestled beside it, the annex once housed draakin when the hall became full. Now it served as offices for government officials and accommodation for those employed by the railway. Another arch across the courtyard led to Tsaisa town, and the mountains of Dargyn.

  A few workers passed by here and there, some using the hall as a shortcut to town, but otherwise they met no one until they reached the dining room.

  It was big enough for hundreds of people, and they had it to themselves in the hour before lunch, bar two women in the kitchen making meals for whoever would be buying them. Kaida usually didn't have the braids to spare, but she'd saved enough to buy one for her son.

  It was his homecoming, after all.

  "What would you like?" She pulled the precious braids from the pouch she kept in the bottom of her bag. They felt cold against her palm: four flat coins, with holes in the centre and braiding stamped around the edges. In the early days, when draakin were considered the elite of Dargyn society, they were made from silver and gold, strands of metal lovingly braided into the shape of a ring. Modern braids were cheaper to make and not valued for the metal they were made from, but the currency they represented.

  Kaida had a silver braid and three copper braids. Half a week's wages on the palm of her hand.

  "Mother," Daven said, "you know I can pay."

  Kaida did and that was the problem. She was the parent, and her son felt the need to look after her. She was neither old nor infirm. The world had simply turned its back on her and there was nothing she could do to rectify the situation. While it might be possible to pass on the bond with Risper, her dragon, to someone else, she had no desire to do it, even if someone would take him. It pained her to think what might happen when she died. The bond would be a heavy burden for Daven to even consider. Reason only knew if he might want to take it, or if Risper would find him suitable. If not her son, then she'd no idea who. The dragon should outlive her by at least a couple of generations. Unless…

  She shook her head, not wanting to consider that.

  "I can manage," she replied. "Do you think you can find us a seat?"

  Daven looked around the empty hall and shrugged, "I can try." Evidently his humour hadn't fled altogether.

  Kaida watched him walk away, his back straight, shoulders squared, all the confidence of someone in his mid-twenties. Why not, the world should be at his feet. Her eyes travelled down to take in his boots; the like of which she couldn't dream of affording.

  She told herself she was happy for her son and went to order bread, cheese, fruit and juice and water for herself. Handing over all those braids to the serving woman made her feel ill, but she swallowed it down and carried the tray to the table.

  She sat opposite Daven, pulled her lunch toward herself and started eating. Every few moments, she'd look at him, worry in her eyes. He was distracted, distant. Had they grown so far apart, or was he just deeply troubled?

  "How is Risper?"

  His question took her aback. "He's well," she replied. "He's looking forward to seeing you." Of course he would. In spite of everything, Daven had always doted on him and—unlike most people—dragons had very long memories and an excellent ability to retain detail. Risper would probably tease Daven over something he'd done when he was ten. He was more pedantic than an old government official at times, and was certainly more wise. Of course, only those with the bond could communicate mind to mind with a dragon, and even then he knew more of her thoughts than she did of his.

  The word magic was only ever spoken at a whisper in Dargyn, and had been so for the last century. Add dragon to that and most folk would be looking for the reasoners to remove her from the premises. It wasn't that people weren't aware on some level, but they preferred not to think about it, like they put the war from their minds as though it might erase the past.

  "I'm looking forward to seeing him. I thought I might buy him a sheep to celebrate my homecoming," Daven smiled, this time a little more relaxed, even if the tightness remained around his eyes.

  Had he suggested he buy a lamb for Kaida to eat herself she might refuse, but she would never refuse food for Risper, and Daven knew it. She nodded and bit into her bread, hoping the action would hide the flushing of her cheeks. It was a vain hope, she knew. Her face turned as red as her hair at the slightest cause.

  She ignored the knowing look on Daven's face and washed her bread down with water.

  "Are you done?" she asked. At his nod, Kaida stood and returned the tray to the dispensary.

  They headed toward a doorway to the staircase that wound through the middle of the Dragonhall and led to the roof. It was her favourite place to be, partly because Risper spent most of his time there, and because her former husband never went there. Although he was employed in the munitions factory several minutes away, Del claimed the food was better here. She suspected he had another agenda.

  She was panting by the time they reached the top, but the view which unfolded in front of them was always worth the effort. West was the wide expanse of the sea. In every other direction she saw green; fields and forest. Train tracks ran in a straight line until disappearing around a hill.

  The best view of all was Risper, his silvery-white body lying curled in the sun. His muzzle revealed touches of black, matching his wingtips. He opened his catlike eyes and regarded them for a moment before returning to sleep.

  Kaida turned to face Daven. "All right, now tell me why you're here. Really." She might be meek in public, but she was still his mother.

  "I like it here?" he suggested.

  She cocked her head at him. "You come back once a year and you never travel with a bag the size of the one you have." She nodded toward where he'd left it near the top of the stairs.

  "I—" He turned pale and looked like he was going to be sick. He turned his face away and swallowed. "I could have helped someone. She was alive. And—"

  She licked her lips and tried not to react too quickly, or too strong. "And what?" she prompted, managing to keep her tone gentle.

  "I was scared," he admitted. "I was terrified they'd see they left someone alive and come in and kill me."

  His words chilled her. "They?"

  "It wasn't an accident," he said, "someone threw a pot through the window. It must have contained black powder, or some similar substance." He shrugged. This was his father's area of expertise, not his, but clearly, he'd learnt something from Del.

  "Why would anyone—" She trailed off. He'd have no more answers than she would.

  "I could have helped her. Maybe I could have saved her. But I hid, and she died." He turned away but not before she saw a tear on his cheek. "I'm a coward," he added in a mumble.

  Her heart ached at his expression. "You did the sensible thing," Kaida said, "you lived." She felt tears prickle her own eyes.

  "Yes, I lived, but for what?"

  "You're a healer. You save people all the time. One person dies and—"

  He swung bac
k so fast she took a step back. "She died because I did nothing. I hid like a hazing coward. And then I ran. All the way home to my mother because I'm too scared to stay in Paryos. Once the second attack—"

  "The what?" She blinked at him.

  He frowned. "There's been several. Mostly on places frequented by people working for the governor or the reasoners."

  "Oh haze," she gasped. "Well I'm glad you came home. It's not safe—"

  "What better place for a healer than amongst those who get hurt?" he asked.

  "Here, where you won't." She spoke like a mother, and knew he wouldn't accept it.

  Chapter Two

  He is stubborn, Risper noted. His voice in her mind sounded amused.

  "You've just noticed?" Kaida asked. "He might hear her thoughts, but she always preferred to respond out loud. Her father had done the same and she'd appreciated feeling included. Besides, people were suspicious enough of draakin without assuming they were plotting where no one could hear. Not that many stuck around to listen. Out here on the Dragonhall's wide rooftop terrace, there was no one to hear, but she did it anyway.

  Oh no, I've had my suspicions for quite some time. I thought perhaps it bore mentioning under the circumstances. Risper always spoke in such a formal way it made her smile. She'd once asked him the reason and he'd simply said he'd always done it. He reminded her of an old grandfather, wise and worldly, at odds with the way he lowered his head to let her scratch behind his blunt, right horn. In that, he reminded her of a cat.