A Hatchling for Springtide (Santaclaws Book 2)

by Marc Secchia

  Reaching over, Shanryssill stroked the newborn hide with a healer’s deft touch. “Aye. Ye are our Dragonmas gift. Our miracle. We shall never forget.”

  Nuzzling his mother’s hand, she made a new sound. Sh-rrrr. Then, as Shanryssill’s long tresses tickled that tiny diamond nose, she sneezed and repeated, Sh-rrrr!

  Violet Elven eyes crinkled with delight. “Hear that? She knows my name already!”

  “Awesome!” Keir agreed.

  The mite purred with an air that assured him he knew nothing but that his socks were about to be blown off, regularly, by her undeniable awesomeness.

  Kalar shifted uneasily upon his chair. “Speak ye plain in the noo, my King. What exactly are ye asking of us?”

  Daryan said, “As I said, I dinnae believe the danger to be imminent, but I mislike the talk I hear, and can readily project what may come to pass. Therefore, long before the Springtide thaw, I would like to receive the surprising news that ye have disappeared quietly into the night. Perhaps there might be a family emergency out in the Arabaxa Jungles. Ma’am?”

  His mother nodded slowly. “We’d need time to prepare. To train and strengthen ourselves. I cannae travel this day nor tomorrow, but I could see that given time, exercise and the right diet …”

  “We may now’t enjoy the luxury,” Kalar put in grimly.

  “Nae, my husband. We dinnae ken that day.” Dinnae ken? It always surprised Keir how perfectly his full-blood Elven mother spoke the Human mountains dialect. “Let’s get Rhyl in here. She needs to be part of this briefing.”

  “I’ll do it,” said his father, and promptly roared, “RHYL!”

  Shanryssill punched his shoulder. “Ye!”

  The dragonet gave a hiss of surprise and aimed a token snap in the direction of that unexpected sound.

  Kalar the Axe eyed her balefully. “And?”

  Apparently, that was grist to a hatchling’s fires, because her body distinctly heated up at the confrontation. “Still ye,” he said, laying a soothing hand upon her spiny back. “Yer family.”

  Krrrr?

  “Well, he’s my Dad,” he explained. “Generally speaking, eating family is frowned upon in this household.”

  His father chuckled merrily at the droll humour. “Peace, little one. We are family and cannae be ow’t else. I am little accustomed to yer kind. Come.” Kalar extended his hand. “Family?”

  The hatchling’s fires subsided. She took a chary sniff of his blunt, scarred knuckles, huffed out a breath, and then arched her back with a purr, demanding a scratch – every inch the miniature despot. Certainly never short on personality, this one!

  In a moment, Rhyl knocked at the door, entered, and almost fell over her feet in shock. “My King!”

  Daryan’s beard framed a big, gleaming smile. “Rhyl. Please join us.” And before she could genuflect, he began to replay their conversation word-for-word.

  Wow. That was a handy political skill!

  After finishing his solo exhibition of eidetic auditory recall, the King returned to the present, saying, “One more thing ye need to be aware of. It is rumoured that some of the Certanshi might be able – by some dark art – to take on the shape, form and visage of Human men and women in order to come secretly among their enemies.”

  Kalar growled, “Shape-changers? That’s a – that was a myth, my liege.”

  “Pray that it is just a myth, old friend.”

  Keir said, “As in …”

  Daryan said, “Exactly as ye think, lad. They are able to infiltrate our ranks, spy upon us, change their features and perhaps body shape over a period of time, all the while plotting to replace that person with a copy. Rumours of dark powers have been around for as long as the Certanshi. I cannae speak for certainty, but there have always been reports and inexplicable incidents in the lowland towns that point to the truth of this conjecture. Be on yer guard, I adjure ye! In the noo, lad, I sensed ye were about to make a different comment?”

  “Ah, well, I …” he spluttered, caught off-guard by the bizarre assertion. “I had been thinking, we could buy a little time. Say we visited Harik and Meritha for a week, sometime before the thawing. That location’s much harder to sneak up on than our house here in town. Then, we disappear, with a brief pause in our planned journey.”

  “A pause?” the King queried.

  “Sire, is the treasury situation as dire as I’ve heard?”

  “Aye, lad. Moths and rats outnumber the coin by a considerable margin. What are ye up to this time? More magic?”

  “Nae, now’t any form of true magic. But I believe that, if we follow my plan, ye might around Springtide happen across a hitherto undiscovered cache of Dragon gold located in Drakabis Valley. A tonne or two, say. Maybe more.”

  The King’s eyebrows arched. “What?”

  “Aye. I can mark ye a site on a map where this treasure hoard might just magically materialise, given the right opportunity. Call it a little … family legacy.”

  He stroked the hatchling meaningfully.

  She purred, and made slit fire-eyes at the King. Feline, aye, but no cat ever had eyes that burned like hers.

  Daryan scratched his beard. After a moment, he smiled, “Kalar, may I borrow yer son for my Council? He’s ten times sneakier than any of them.” His parents laughed knowingly, making his pointed Elven ears heat up until he could have toasted bread. “But please. Dinnae ye tarry, alright? I hope to be wrong about my suspicions, but I might be all too right.”

  * * * *

  Keir had expected once word of a miraculous cracking of the shell got out, that the first problem would be a line of the curious banging down their door to see the dragonet, but it was not so. What did happen was that his wily father asked several of his old military friends to spread contradictory rumours about Shanryssill’s ‘delicate’ recovery, product of something between an unexpected miracle, a fabulously rare herbal remedy concocted by her niece, arcane Elven magic and Giantish lore General Ja’axu had unearthed in the castle archives.

  Ja’axu herself fuelled these rumours by visiting several days running to perform Giantish dances around the house – great foot-stomping, foundation-quivering, roaring affairs both indoors and out – to the bemusement of the neighbours and stomach-aching hilarity from the twins. Each time after her exertions, she briefed Keir, Rhyl and his parents about the real information she had discovered.

  One hundred anna before, there used to be a lucrative trade right across the Pentate in herbs, minerals and rare magical elements essential to the diet of growing and adult Dragons. These elements were sourced from as far afield as the Dwarven mines and citadels of the far West, the canyons of the Giant Realms, the towering jungles of the Elves, and special crops cultivated by Human farmers. They sourced the rarest magical elements from starfall collected by the Northern Tundra Elves.

  However, this trade had summarily died out with the disappearance – overnight – of all Dragons and their Guardians from Tyanbran. That was in the Annum 804, eighty-three anna before the current calendar anna.

  Nigh eighty-four, Keir reminded himself. A lifetime ago. Might there still be people of ninety-plus anna about who remembered the Dragons from their childhood?

  Visiting on the evening of the hatchling’s seventh day of life, the General said, “Nae hide nor hair of any lore could I find as to what exact dietary supplements or combination thereof might have been required by which individual Dragon. As was reported all over the Pentate, and in wider Tyanbran, not only did the Dragonkind disappear with appalling suddenness, but they erased or perhaps stole many key records before they left. What I can tell ye, Keir, is that yer hatchling may very well require trace elements or rare herbs that can no longer be found in most places nowadays, save at the Giant academy of Barûd-dûm-Layura – where the old traditions have been preserved by some die-hards who believe that the Dragons will one day return.”

  Keir said cheerfully, “They had the rights of that, ma’am.”

  Ja’axu dwarfed the
chair she sat in. It protested as she leaned forward, placing her hands flat on the table. Her mahogany face was grave, the dense muscles of her shoulders bunched into fearsome mounds. He tried not to feel intimidated, but failed.

  The quarter Giantess said, “That’s why I must urge ye to travel East, Keir! Sooner or later, she’s going to need something that we simply dinnae have access to. Ye must make Barûd-dûm-Layura yer destination. There she can grow in peace, and ye can learn the ways of Dragons from masters of the old lore.”

  “Only a small battalion of problems with that idea,” Kalar interjected at once. “The Darûz-anêd-Mykûn – that’s what the Giants call their realms, Keir – used to be reached by skirting the southern edge of the Amarinthian Bulwark, heading East. That region is now deep Certanshi territory. Assuming yer now’t mooting that as a viable route, Ja’axu, ye must mean to find passage to Barûd-dûm-Layura from the northern aspect? That entails traversing the remotest Elven territories, some of which are openly hostile or Wildfey, until ye reach the Synaxa Jungles, where even the Elvenkind fear to tread. Passing through, ye must navigate over four hundred miles of the worst, wildest Darûz to reach Barûd-dûm-Layura itself. To say that trip is not for the faint of heart, is an understatement.”

  Keir shook his head. “Wildfey?”

  Shanryssill said, We say Wyldefey – originally, a movement that encouraged the Elvenkind to return to the fundamental truth or purity of their nature, it led some tribes to choose to live wild in the deepest jungles. Eschewing all morals or values we would regard as civilised, they took to living as beasts. In time, either their choices or something in the environment changed and twisted their innate Elven magic into unrecognisable forms. Some regressed so far, they became in nature more like flora – the carnivorous, flesh-eating sort. Now they are called Wyldefey, the untamed ones. They are ruthless predators.

  He blinked. Alright, Mom. I did not know that. “And – how did ye say that other word, Dad – Darûz?”

  “Dah-ROO-ez,” boomed the Giantess, turning the syllables into a blast of sound that practically flattened Keir’s hair. The hatchling woke with a start, spitting and baring her fangs. “Dinnae ye worry none, little one. Darûz. What d’ye ken of the Giant Realms, son?”

  Headshake. “Regrettably little, ma’am.”

  “Good. Imagine a huge chunk of dough ye have patted flat upon the top. Now take a few kitchen knives and chop it up into little pieces. Ye should make a right mess of it. Magnify that image in yer mind until ye have a huge, bare highland plateau criss-crossed by a trackless mess of canyons up to six miles deep. Next, fill those canyons with five hundred types of savage avian predators that live only to strip the flesh off yer wee scrawny bones, and down below, where some canyons are filled with water, there live the Serpentine Dragons. They come in a range of delightfully poisonous colours, bright crimson or striped, luminous orange and black, say, so as ye can see them coming from afar to devour ye. Their young feed in voracious swarms of thousands. Those critters are about as long as yer arm, and one-third of that is fangs. The big daddy Serpentines can reach three to four hundred feet in length. The bigger they get, the tastier they are.”

  The General smacked her lips sharply.

  Keir jumped. “Oof. So, how d’ye plan to get through?”

  “One, ye have to be a Giant. Or, be accompanied by a Giant. Two, ye sail an Amphibi-Motile right through the thick of it. All-purpose vessel. Water, land, air and caverns. Best fun ye ever had.”

  “Fun?” he echoed weakly.

  Visions of shoals of dragon fish eating him alive? No thanks!

  “Indeed. Now, I’m only a quarter Giant so that might cause a few issues, but I’m also the only Giant ye have, so I plan to be yer gracious escort for that part of the journey. Plus, I’ll be recruiting for the cause. Haven’t seen too many Giants about these parts of late, and I can tell ye one fact for now’t, they loathe the Certanshi with a hatred as deep as Tyanbran’s own roots. Ye’d tremble to see a Giant army roused to a battle fury.”

  “Why?” Rhyl asked quietly, the first word she had spoken during the entire conversation. Keir thought she looked troubled. Did they have to take her home to whatever awaited her there? From the few hints that had been dropped, he understood it was a complicated, painful situation.

  “Well, the Certanshi used to hunt us for sport, and then they would throw the captives into cages full of Ogres as a choice treat for their pets. Kind of spoiled the friendship, ye might say.”

  She spoke casually, but murder dwelled in her eyes.

  Keir shivered.

  Sensing the change in mood, the tiny hatchling shrank into his lap, where from the cover of his arms she hissed at nothing in particular. Fsss! Then, she began to lick her paws with fastidious attention to every nook, cranny and scale. Listening. Amazing how much she took in already – although, her primary need appeared to be for sleep. How much had the effort of healing his parents taken out of her? Might she have damaged … something?

  Fretful fellow, wasn’t he? However, how did one learn to relax and trust considering all his family had been through during the last few anna?

  Kalar said, “Yer certain about this Dragon diet business, Ja’axu?”

  “That’s what the records show. I conclude there would nae be trade without need, right? Was there now’t in the caverns beneath the Dragon Kings that ye saw, as could shed light on this puzzle, Keir?”

  “No. Most stood empty and had been for anna, those I examined.”

  “Purposefully emptied?”

  He stared into the Giantess’ black eyes, before nodding slowly. “Aye, I suspect so.”

  “But she ate her eggshell,” the Elfmaiden put in.

  “A diamond diet? Well, that could weigh on a kingdom’s budget,” the Giantess observed drolly. “Ye feeling a wee bit peckish, little one? Munching up the furniture next?”

  Ja’axu smiled across the table at the hatchling. To the surprise of everyone seated around the living room table, the hatchling’s sharp ears pricked up for the first time as she tried to copy the General’s expression. First, the fangs peeked out from beneath her lips. Then, the corners of her mouth quivered and widened, but the unfamiliar muscular effort made her forked tongue flop out, which puzzled her. She ended up achieving a comical, lopsided half-smile, before everyone started laughing and she buried her face in Keir’s lap with an annoyed hiss.

  Embarrassed!

  “Yer showing us emotions?” he whispered in delight.

  Krrrr! She batted his fingers away with her right forepaw, but kept her razor talons sheathed.

  He rather preferred having all of his fingers.

  Shanryssill said, “The Aryssillati Clan may well be able to confirm or deny the dietary theory, as they kept oral histories where others relied upon written texts. The other option would be to go seek out the Dwarves. They too had Dragons and Guardians. But the Dwarven territories lie far beyond the Certanshi front lines, beyond the Arangar River and the flaming deserts. That’s five times the distance, and ye’d have to be pretty well motivated to attempt that journey.”

  “Walk in the park,” said Kalar.

  “Hitch a ride across Tyanbran on the back of a comet and be there tomorrow,” Ja’axu agreed.

  Apparently, everyone was into wry understatement this evening. Keir gave the dragonet another little squeeze, wondering how under good Mauve he could possibly work out which of these seven hundred or more rare ingredients she might need for her optimal growth. Might as well search for a mouse’s winter burrow beneath all the mountain snows. They stood as much chance.

  Or would the nose know, so to speak?

  Rising, the General said, “I’d best return to my duties at the castle. Many plans to hatch, my friends. Many plans. When I hear certain important news, I shall tarry awhile. But I plan to meet ye at high summer at the Gæoté-tay-Vænar – the Sacred Tree just outside the Synaxa Jungles. Dinnae ye be late.”

  “Aye,” said Kalar.

&nbs
p; “Better practise yer wrestling, lad,” she said to Keir, smacking his back as she passed by. “We’ve a return match to plan.”

  “Erm …”

  Kalar’s face cracked into a huge grin. “Oh? Ye dinnae tell me now’t about that, son.”

  Rhyl giggled, “Basically, she sat on him. But Keir did beat her in a foot race, so I feel that payback was due.”

  Keir made a face at his cousin. “So, yer training at unarmed combat with Dad tomorrow, right? Can I help, Dad? Please? Come on, just a strangle or two, so I can see what colour her face turns? Dad. Be nice. Dinnae ye love me?”

  “What’s it worth to ye, lad?”

  “Excuse me!” Rhyl almost howled. “I dinnae get a say in this –”

  “Nae. Ye get to practise on Keir first, and that’s an order. Think ye can follow orders … for a change?”

  “For a change?” To the family’s delight, Rhyl’s face heated up to a fine take on crimson-tan. Then, she snapped out a terrible rendition of a Human salute. “Sir. Commander, sir!”

  “Very good,” Kalar chortled. “At ease, soldier.”

  Chapter 3: Hijinks

  AFTER THE SLEEPLESS, FIVE or six times a night feeding madness of that first week, his dragonet began to settle down, both in terms of appetite and the extremities of her anxiety about Keir’s presence. Still laughably unsteady upon her paws, she followed him about most of the time when she was not sleeping in her favourite spot right beside the hearth fire. He was down to waking but three times a night now.

  His eyes did not just have bags. He owned a pair of heavy, well-padded sacks.

  Plus, he was now fairly terrified of having a baby of his own, one day. Did parents ever sleep again? How did they survive the insanity?

  The start of that second week was also the first time in months that Shanryssill took a walk outside the house. She had been building up to it, first shuffling and then walking around the living room, or pacing up and down the short corridor between the bedrooms. She helped Rhyl tend to their herb garden, and looked after the twins, quietly preparing them with words here and new teachings there. Her strength was not great, but it was amazing to him how it bloomed daily. For his part, Kalar still walked with a severe limp, but he said that the pain had significantly diminished. Now, he practised with his axe in the evenings, when he could clear the room and swing the weapon without fear of chopping random arms off by accident, or if the weather allowed, out back. He and Keir installed poles, ropes and dummies in the barn and turned the space into their private assault course.