by P D Dennison
“Master, if there is nothing else for this evening, we’ll take our leave of you, but first I wish to see the eggs once before we retire back to the Pipe & Flagon.”
“Certainly, I’ll accompany you. In fact, we’ll all go.”
Rostioff led them all out and down the winding hallways and staircases. Postgaar estimated it at ten levels below the surface. The companions were all very weary from their long day of travel and the stairs seemed to go on forever. Down into the deepest dungeon and past many a seasoned and hardened guard. Rostioff may have sent off an army to defend the land, but he had left plenty of them here to defend the clutch.
At last they arrived at the door to the hatchery. Rostioff unlocked the three locks on the door knocked and asked for the bars to be removed from the inside as well. He then chanted quietly under his breath and removed the final charm that held the door in the form of a Mystic Lock spell that only he knew the trigger words for. A white sigil appeared in the air before the door briefly and then disappeared, signifying Rostioff had dispelled his magick and they could enter the chamber.
Manya stepped through first with her eyes wide in wonder. A great relief swept over her to see that so many eggs saved. She did a quick count of twenty-four in total. She went around gently rapping on the eggs with her knuckles and listening to them in turn. The companions stood watching intently for a few moments and then Turynn, Postgaar, and Kaldrinn retired to sit in the hall and wait, preferring the cool stone hallway to the hot steamy hatchery. Only Ravak stayed, enthralled with the whole affair and quite eager to be the first of his people to ride a dragon since the end of both the First Age of Shaarn and of the Dragon Rider Clan of old. Manya knocked on one of the eggs and rose with a start.
“What is it?” asked Rostioff.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say this one is ready to hatch.” She gave another little knock on the egg and this time it jumped.
“Sure enough it is! It would seem Graxxen did a better job at fostering these eggs than we’d thought,” she exclaimed. She put her ear to the egg and shushed them all. “Ravak, if you don’t mind, might I borrow one of your axes a moment?”
“Of course.” He handed one to her.
She used the heel of the axe to rap a tiny little hole into the shell. The little beast within was driven to a fit. The fight began. Rostioff, Ravak, and Manya gently and quickly moved the other eggs aside to let the little dragonling fight for freedom. If the creature was not strong enough to break free of the thick dragon egg shell, it would likely not be strong enough to survive on its own in life. The rap on the shell simulated the mother dragon’s one bit of aide that she instinctually offered her young in cracking the shell to help begin the hatching process.
The egg rocked violently as the little beast threw its legs into the shell. The crack grew wide and split into many smaller cracks around the tiny hole Manya had chipped into the surface. The hard kicking continued from within until finally the little dragonling tipped the egg right off its makeshift nest and it cracked on the floor.
The fighting stopped for a moment and then resumed again. Crack! Crack! Crack! It was the creature’s beaked snout that was banging at shell. His tiny beak popped through the shell and he began to growl and hiss. His little forked tongue could be seen flitting in and out as he broke off tiny pieces of the shell with his beak. The hole was big enough now that a little clawed fore claw could be seen reaching out. It began to pull at and crack away pieces of the shell until finally a small, milky eye emerged. It looked out at them all and went silent for a second, then cried out a tiny very non-threatening dragon roar.
Crack! Crack! Crack! The dragonling was kicking at the shell again to send another ripple of cracks through it. Crack! Crack! Crunch! This time both of its legs pushed fully through the bottom of the shell and it stood up. The whole scene appeared quite comical to see the egg standing up on its own with a little beak growling and hissing at the top. The dragonling stumbled around this way and that with the trio watching in awe.
Ravak called out to the others, “Come in here! You’ve got to see this!”
They entered the room with very sleepy and disinterested faces until they saw the egg walking about the room crashing into this and that as the three already in the room and the guard posted in the hatchery all tried to keep it from knocking into the other eggs. They all made a circle about the egg and watched with great amusement as the dragonling worked to be free. Finally it tipped back and landed hard on the rough-cut slate floor, cracking in half. Before them all lay a very roly-poly red female dragonling. Manya pointed out the female genitalia as the dragonling lay kicking on its back, trying to right itself.
“Well, that’s not quite what I had in mind,” said Rostioff disappointedly. “I’d hoped for a male to fertilize the other eggs and speed things along.”
Ravak knelt on the ground next to the little red dragonling clearing the goop from her eyes. He had a hand on her neck and his fingers in her mouth, pulling out bits of shell and mucous. He pulled out a big glob of crud and shell and she let out a happy little cry as she breathed in a big gulp of air, snuggling in close to him. He held her so she just assumed him to be her mother. Manya rushed to his side and wrapped the top half of the little dragonling in her cloak. In spite of the great heat and humidity in the room, the door sat open and the little dragonling shivered with the slight draft that entered the hatchery.
“Shut the door.”
Manya cradled the dragonling as best she could from the midsection up and Ravak moved over to close the door.
“Manya, you will raise her to adulthood for me. We’ll teach her the ways of honor and righteousness and when she is grown, I shall ride her in combat with one of Postgaar’s fine Mithril Lichslayer axes to put an end to Graxxen and his Dracolich. I shall name her Blaze.” Ravak rubbed her head and she cooed up at him.
No one said a word to this, not even Rostioff. He trusted Manya and he knew the Winter Wolf to be wise beyond his seasons. Maybe, just maybe, this was the man to tame and ride their first dragon. After all, he had it in his blood.
They all gathered close and smiled as they talked and laughed. They’d forgotten about how weary they were from the road, no longer grumbling. The dragonling gave them hope they might one day win the war.
About the Author
P.D. Dennison is a writer from Regina, Saskatchewan, Canada. He spent years working in marketing and promotions for major fast food companies and local businesses. Before that he was a fine dining chef working in the best restaurants and hotels the little city of Regina has to offer. He enjoys hiking in the hills of the Qu’Appelle Valley with his wife Jackie and their two dogs Flash and Ruby. He is an avid outdoorsmen and also enjoys fishing, camping, archery, snow shoeing, barbequing and gardening.
He is a lifelong lover of epic fantasy and high adventure. As a child he spent thousands of hours playing role playing games. He is also a huge fan of comic books and has quite a collection of comics and collectables. He loves sci-fi and horror movies. He hates black licorice, turnips and liver especially together.
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