A Hatchling for Springtide (Santaclaws Book 2)

by Marc Secchia

  He came face to face with his father, arms outstretched in the act of helping him. “Nae help needed there, son?”

  “I … I guess now’t. Thanks, Dad.”

  That was one big boulder. He slapped his clothing and ruffled the worst of the grit and dirt out of his hair, before being bowled over by an ecstatic dragonet. Keee-irr! Apparently licking rubble off him and eating it was all part of the service. Her forked white tongue darted in and out, lapping at the dust. Clearly, Miss Rock Muncher fancied the mineral-rich taste.

  “All good?” Kalar asked.

  “All’s well with the world,” he grinned.

  “Liar,” Rhyl snorted.

  “Fine. I remain the dirty-kneed waif my mother has always accused me of being. Oh look, Arami, yer arm’s broken.”

  Shanryssill, interrupted in the act of checking him over, whirled with a low cry. She had a moment, however, to reach out and clip his ear at his matter-of-fact tone. “Keir! Have ye nae heart?”

  “Excuse me – Mom! Honestly?”

  The little platinum-haired girl examined her wonky left forearm as if it were the greatest gift she had ever seen. Arami might protest the fuss, but she lapped up the attention and concern every bit as shamelessly as a certain diamond-scaled rascal he could have prodded with a very short stick just then. She was also heck of a brave. Why she was not screaming the place down, he had no idea. Could it be that the body sometimes blessedly shut off the pain response?

  Clean break, his mother declared. Let’s get this set for ye, Aramyssill-my-princess.

  The little girl scowled. That’s cousin Rhyl’s job. Is she going to be a real Princess, Mommy? One day?

  Only if the fates change, dear one, Shanryssill said.

  Keir pictured himself giving Prince Zyran a firm buffet. ‘Just ye remember to do right by this lass, hear me?’ When Storm bared her fangs, he realised his emotions must be radiating off him like heat off a fire, yet again. Keir emoting? What else was new under good Mauve?

  Kalar clapped him upon the shoulder. “Och aye, son. All’s well, ye say?”

  “Apart from that wee mosquito out there that just bumped the mountain and dropped it on top of our heads, I meant,” Keir clarified. He cocked his head. The wind’s moaning had ceased, leaving behind it a silence that was every bit as eerie.

  Father gave that an annoyed snort. “Follow me. Diamond, see to our lass, will ye?”

  Krrrr-krrrr, she nodded.

  Axe in hand, the Commander trotted straight off toward the worst of the trouble. Of course. Ran in the family, didn’t it?

  Chapter 16: Snowflake

  TEN MINUTES LATER, KALAR scratched his beard. The scouts rubbed their chins collectively, an Elvish mannerism of bafflement. Keir picked the last bits of grey rubble out of his hair.

  “Santazathiar’s oath! I swear a balcony stood right here an hour ago,” his father complained.

  “And a cliff trail,” Laran put in. “What could do that?”

  “Dinnae ken, lad.”

  All Keir saw was the sheared-off end of the tunnel which still smelled slightly acrid, as if burned, and the endless cloudscape beyond.

  He quipped, “Beautiful view, eh?”

  “Och aye, because it’s the view we’re all worried about,” his father snapped, then gave him an apologetic grin. “Who let out the grumpy River Troll, eh?”

  He pointed. “Look.”

  All eyes followed Auroral Storm Diamond as she slunk toward what appeared to be a window to the sky. The edges were that perfectly cut. Her tail was still. Each paw was stretched out and placed with the utmost care as she moved low to the ground, her colour changing toward the sooty greys and tans of the local rock. Yet she moved with speed. Before Keir could take three steps in pursuit, she stood right on the edge, gazing out over the cloudscape with a fierce, uncompromising mien.

  That silhouette struck him as unexpectedly majestic, despite her diminutive size. This must be the way Dragons loved to gaze upon their domains from the high places of the world.

  In a moment, his toes curled inside his tough Ogre-hide boots two inches from a cliff that cut away vertically to the billowing clouds half a mile below. There was definitely no balcony left, apart from a metal strut jutting rather forlornly out of the cliff face. The rest had been blasted away.

  The dragonet quivered with the intensity of her questing.

  He knelt. What is it, girl? What’s out there?

  Her scales were as hot as living coals, but he kept his hand firm upon her slim neck.

  The dragonet inhaled deeply, three times. In through the nose. Out through the mouth, so heatedly that her breath steamed around their faces. She shook her head in clear frustration.

  Turning to him, she tried to articulate, Keee-irr, wirrit. Wrr … sss. Grr-grr-sss …

  Dangerous?

  Grr, she rasped in agreement, and then made a derisive rattling noise deep in her throat. Apparently the danger was dismissed – for now. Indeed, the deep purple clouds of the great Darkfall on this northerly flank of the mountains were beginning to dissipate, turning lighter shades of mauve and violet-white before his eyes.

  Exactly what had struck a few minutes ago? Why?

  Could there be more to the phenomenon of Darkfall than Human or Elf had ever imagined, he wondered – a beastly or even paranormal element? Had some beast summoned this storm and hurled it against the Dragon Kings peaks?

  Setting down his pack, he rooted about for his crampons. Guess who was about to –

  “Think ye can monkey-climb around the corner and take a look, son?” his father asked, right on cue. “Maybe string us a rope to what’s left of the cliff trail?”

  “Aye. Then I will carry Arami –”

  “I’ll carry her.”

  Keir gave him the look he reserved for his father’s stubborn-as-a-Yak moments.

  To his further surprise, Storm strutted between them, flicked her wings, and gave them each a measured glare. Right. Being told off by a newborn mite was not on his list of recent high points.

  “Och aye, lad? I’ll box yer ears good an’ proper, hear me?” His father chuckled gruffly. “I guess I’ll settle for providing some solid anchorage, eh?”

  “The best.”

  * * * *

  Being Elves, a fifty-foot traverse of cliff using a couple of lengths of rope with a mile’s vertical drop beneath the feet was a mere traipse in the jungle. Suitable sport for eighty-anna-olds. Arami, roped to his back for the climb, told him at least ten times that she was so not scared of now’t, just like her big brother. Keir did not have the heart to tell her that apparently, fears developed as one grew older. Fears about loved ones, the future, and about seeing these folk to a safe tree deep in the trackless greenery … to name but a few.

  Joining the group on the narrow trail, he knelt to untie his sister and let her loose. Despite her splinted arm, she danced fearlessly up to Narini, hiding on the safe side of her mother, to tell her that she was there to take care of her. Keir loved that protective passion in her.

  Auroral Storm Diamond explored up ahead, also unafraid.

  Watching them idly, processing his inner contemplations as he often needed to, Keir waited for his father to complete the traverse before he went back to loosen the ropes and gather them again. Nobody knew what the conditions would be like lower down the Tranbyss Pass, following that gigantic storm. Deep snows were likely. Passable or impassable, remained to be seen. Returning, he sat beside his father upon a small boulder to coil the ropes and stow the pitons.

  Could Sankurabi Bloodfang’s shadow stretch this far? Surely not. Yet, he could quote the fatherly Commander chapter and verse about never making foolish assumptions regarding strategy. He must see his family and these Elves safe to the Arabaxa Jungles. That was paramount. Would anyone be surprised if more enemies awaited them on this side of the mountains?

  Just now, seeing his father’s expression in profile, he elected to save his dismal thoughts for later.

 
Dad was sky-gazing.

  Kalar loved a good mountaintop. He loved panoramic views, and this was among the best Keir had ever seen. The storm had washed the skies clean to the palest mauve. Straight to the North, one gazed out over primarily Human territories – medium peaks diminishing into a pretty patina of low, fir-green wooded hills and azure-clad valleys that meandered toward the edge of the escarpment about seventy miles away, beyond the range of Human sight. There, he knew, the luxuriant jungles began as if the divide had been carved out by the godlike claws of Santazathiar. That was Elf territory; his mother’s birthplace and his own. One could follow the trail farther East, skirting a vast crescent of snow-capped peaks all the way beyond the horizon to the Human Kingdoms of the Pentate, and eventually arrive at the wild Cyantar Ocean. No-one ventured into the Cyantar, not to dip in so much as a toe.

  Said toe was unlikely to survive the experience, not to mention anything that might or might not still remain attached to the toe.

  Somewhere beyond the jungles, lay the vast Northern Tundra. He was hazy on the geography, but decided the tundra must be north to northeast of the jungles – again Elven territory, apart from several Human enclaves he understood belonged to a tribe also once rescued by Santazathiar. They were called Eskimos, a strange word for a Human tribe who spoke their own unique tongue and hunted upon the frozen sea-ice, he understood, trading and living peaceably alongside the Northern Tundra Elf clans. How wonderful!

  East, crossing more than seven hundred miles of jungles both tame and unspeakably wild, lay the Giantish Darûz which he would have to navigate to reach the fabled city of Barûd-dûm-Layura, the one place where General Ja’axu claimed that Dragon lore might yet be found. Ja’axu had laughingly suggested that her people could be relied upon to flout the rules and carve their own path in defiance of all sanity and logic. Just like Dwarves in that respect. Although Giants and Dwarves were not enemies, they also did not get along. Opposite sides of Santaclaws’ talon, was the saying, and a jolly good thing they lived on the opposite ends of Tyanbran or there would have been no end of trouble.

  Before braving the journey to the Giant territories, he must see his family to a safe haven.

  His father said, “Imagine flying out there, eh son? Dinnae ken such wonder could live in one’s soul save that a person should experience it for themselves.”

  “Ye think she’ll take a Dragon Rider?”

  “Ye think she’ll stay that size, lad, the way she eats?”

  “I’m just worried about perching my privates on a living lightning bolt,” Keir chortled, indicating the relevant region with a wry grin.

  His father smiled, “Och aye, cannae say I’d want a burn just there. I like how ye laugh at the adversities of life. I like the man yer becoming, Keir; it does a father’s heart right proud.”

  He ducked away in embarrassment, fiddling with adjusting the straps of his trail pack before slinging it onto his back. After the longest time, he turned and said, “Dad, d’ye think I’m up to it? This whole … being a Dragon Guardian … shebang?”

  Kalar the Commander had a penetrating stare that he must have used many a time to terrify soldiers, and perhaps even to cow River Trolls. Keir caught the full brunt of that stare now. Soon, he grunted and stroked his beard reflectively, before saying, “Lad, fathers all over Tyanbran could nae answer such a question without prejudice. Even were I yer Commander I could but point to yer courage, ingenuity and never-say-die attitude. Also, I’d suggest that underpinning all that is a quality of integrity that amazes this man, but then again, ye could dismiss all that as the ramblings of a man who loves ye as his son.”

  “Aye, Dad, ye do like a good ramble.”

  “But I’ll tell ye this for now’t, lad –” his thick, beringed finger stabbed toward Keir’s heart “– Santaclaws himself thinks yer the man. He chose ye. Give that a proper chewing over, why dinnae ye?”

  Leaving that small emotional avalanche in his wake the axe man stumped off down the trail, negotiating the rough, boulder-strewn parts with care for his weak knees.

  Keir stared at his father’s back. Sure, Dad. Nothing to it.

  His heart squeezed inside his chest like a bowl of hot mush. Amazed and humbled in equal measure. He was so fortunate. Could he have asked for any finer father?

  Or a stranger fate?

  His baby had wandered out of sight on a trail barely two feet wide above a mile’s drop. That reminded him, she could not fly yet. Keir hustled to catch up. Surely even Elven parents worried about their children swinging about the jungle canopy with impunity?

  The precarious path wound above a yawning drop that the clouds reluctantly sucked away from, as if satisfied at last that their stormy business was concluded. Nefarious storms hiding nefarious entities! He had plenty to mull over, indeed, and more to the point, the light azure snows slowly exposed down below looked deep and powdery and altogether uninviting. Eventually, he found his way around to where the trail joined the slope they had climbed previously with all the carts of food bound for Amarinthe, and he understood how even the Rangers must have missed this tiny, well-concealed side route. Interesting. Those Dragon Guardians of old had been nothing if not fond of keeping their secrets.

  The Elves had gathered near the trail, discussing options.

  His left eyebrow peaked. Oh! The saddle between the Dragon Kings was covered in a sheet of ice. All the footing of the ice rink King Daryan liked to set up in the castle gardens during the coldest months.

  “Ice storm?” Kalar said, glancing at Keir for confirmation.

  “Och aye, looks like a beauty,” said he. “Ye alright there, Mom? Cold butt? Ye need Dad to –”

  She rubbed her behind. “Nae, but I’ll kick yers for free if ye’d like, ye and that cheeky grin yer flashing about all chipper-like. I slipped and fell, ’twas all.”

  An Elf fell? Downright deadly, the footing.

  Any bright ideas this bright morn, cousin-most-bright? Rhyl said, grabbing his elbow as she too did a little ice dance of her own.

  Easy there, he said. Not so far …

  Father reached out to tweak his wife’s behind fondly. “Aye, I’ll tell ye what passes for beauty around here, and that’s a truth well spoken.”

  Cue an episode of parental osculation. Not that they needed any excuses.

  While his parents misbehaved themselves, Keir tested the footing with the sole of his boot. Not good. The entire slope, as far as the eye could see, had been entombed in a layer of clear ice that looked to be between four and ten inches thick. Boulders became smooth glassy mounds. Pebbles were mere ripples in the ice, and the sparse high-altitude grasses looked to have been beaten flat by a great roller, before being sealed away. The switchbacks lower down would be precarious.

  How would his father’s knees take walking on this surface? No chance. The last thing he needed right now was a twisted knee when they still had many miles to walk to Garrikar Town.

  Dad still had his hands on Mom’s … Aha! he chuckled. Dad, you’ve just given me an idea.

  Surfacing for breath, his father said, Have I? Can’t imagine how.

  Mom, Dad’s behind is pretty well-padded, right?

  Oh, very, she trilled with laughter, seeing his point at once.

  Kalar scowled, “Och nae, ye rascal! What are ye up to this time? Cannae any man fondle his wife inappropriately in a public place?”

  Perfectly acceptable in the Jungles, Shanryssill smirked, rather pinker of cheek than she had been a few minutes before. Kalar-my-heart, Keirthynal means we should slide down on our behinds.

  Oh. Sounds – his father wrinkled his nose humorously – like a rather chilly idea. I assume we’d have to use padding?

  I’m pretty sure the Elves would need it –

  His cousin pinched his arm. And woefully skinny saplings, too.

  Could you imagine Prince Zyran on this – Keir clamped his mouth shut. This time, Rhyl’s pinch was not a friendly one.

  A few of the Elves exchanged startl
ed glances. Councillor Varanthyal stroked his chin meditatively. Keir did not at all enjoy his expression, but after a moment, the man simply nodded. My compliments on a deception well executed, honoured-Rhyllaryssill. You two will make a very fine match, despite the barriers that must now and do lie between you – greater even than those faced by Kalar and Shanryssill, I believe. I pray Santazathiar’s blessings upon your discerning a beneficial path forward.

  She bowed rather stiffly. Thank you, honoured-Councillor.

  Her glare at Keir was all too accusatory.

  Sorry, he whispered, but she had already turned away in a cold fury.

  * * * *

  Auroral Storm Diamond was not the only creature that morn rather unimpressed with Keir’s brainwave. Elves did not generally regard scooting down trails upon blankets, jackets, backpacks and indeed any cushioning material, as wholly congruent with their sense of dignity. He twice tried to argue that perhaps swinging from or rappelling down jungle vines was not so very different, and received a bevy of dark glares that made him clamp his jaw shut. The dragonet flat-out baulked at the idea of sliding down on her paws. Keir tried to take her onto his lap. All twenty-four talons extended to swiftly make the point that this notion was a poor one.

  They had an argument that largely consisted of him wheedling and her expressing her innate stubbornness with growls, talons, fangs bared and a gleaming but decidedly chilly shoulder.

  His morn was proceeding well.

  Come on, you terrible mosquito muncher, the others are already well on their way.

  Grr.

  Indeed, his family had taken to scooting along quite nicely now, Dad with Narini sitting between his legs and Mom pretending to let Arami control their shared jacket. Rhyl turned to wave at him. Hurry up!