Hatch (The Dragons Of Laton)

by Stevens, James

  To Tracey, Nicole and Ashley, without their encouragement this story never would have been written or told.

  To Zalso, Keith, Eri, Elizabeth and Richard whose input was greatly appreciated and needed!

  And most of all, my thanks to God who makes all things possible!

  Hatch

  The old woman peered towards the heavens as a streak of light flashed past the crescent moon and continued south across the night sky. Such an event a few days before a dragon hatch was a powerful omen to those who believed in such things. There was a time when she herself would have announced it to the kingdom as a sign of things to come. But now, she had all but forsaken those beliefs and lost her trust in the stars and her faith in the prophecies. Too much had changed and too many had died to allow hope to remain in her ancient heart.

  She slowly walked back inside her dilapidated house and removed the teakettle from its place above the fire. Her withered hands trembled slightly as she poured the steaming liquid into an earthen mug. The sweet aroma of herbs and spice reminded her of her youth and days surrounded by gleaming palace walls in the royal court. The most powerful kingdom in the world had shattered as easily as the fluted glasses that had held their wine

  She gasped as the tea leaves floating in her cup formed the perfect shape of a dragon. What purpose were these omens after everything had been destroyed? She closed her eyes and let the image of light replay in her mind. Something extraordinary was about to happen. Or something terrible. Only time would tell.

  ***

  Chapter 1

  The Nest

  Sweat beaded heavily across Ammon’s brow. The heat from the furnaces was nearly stifling and cleaning out the ash from the bins meant being uncomfortably close the roaring inferno behind the iron door. The thick hinges glowed dull red and shimmered in his vision as he drew the long metal rake out of the small hole beneath the door that allowed for removal of the ash. With a sigh he scooped the ashes into two tin lined wooden pails, then leaned the rake against the wall. Stepping back, Ammon kicked the latch on the side of the furnace and the heavy door swung open to reveal a bed of white-hot coals. Squinting against the blistering heat, he quickly shoveled in fresh coal past the showers of sparks and smoke. Satisfied that the firebox was full he used the handle of the shovel to slam the door shut and a resounding clang echoed through the chamber. He once again wiped the sweat from his face and leaned against the wall to catch his breath.

  It was a routine he had done a dozen times a day and soon it would be over. He’d kept the four furnaces in the Nest going for nearly a year and now the late summer’s new moon marked the end of Incubation, which meant his job was almost finished. He hadn’t decided where he’d go next, but he wasn’t worried. Not yet anyway. With a grunt, he grabbed the handles of the heavy ash pails and carried them to where an ash chute was carved into the stone near the stairs. The chute was simply a steep, narrow tunnel leading down to the street where a wooden oxcart waited to catch the ash. Standing on his toes, he hefted each pail up and dumped it down the chute, listening to the skittering sounds as the unburned coals tumbled down.

  At seventeen Ammon was short for his age, but his muscles were strong and hard from the strenuous work in the Nest. As an orphan, he knew how lucky he was to work for a wage; anything was better than starving. When Keeper Calis came to the marketplace looking for cheap laborers, Ammon practically begged for the job as a tender working the furnaces in the Nest. Certainly the work was difficult and the conditions less than pleasant, but food was provided, and in the dead of winter, the furnaces kept the entire Nest warm.

  The inside of the Nest was a marvel few people had ever seen. Cleverly carved inside of a small mountain was a large room with a towering ceiling twenty feet high and more than double that in length and width. One wall was dominated by a set of thick wooden doors mounted on massive hinges that opened out to a sheer cliff overlooking the city of Gaul below. Once a year those doors were open for the dragons to come and lay their eggs, then they were sealed shut for the Incubation. Four iron and stone furnaces placed in each corner of the large room provided a constant, steady heat throughout the Nest. Ammon’s job as the tender was to keep those fires going.

  Now that the furnaces were done, Ammon filled a small pail with water from the rain barrel and turned to his next task. In the center of the Nest floor was a bowl shaped depression nearly four yards wide. It was as deep as a man was tall and its steeply sloped sides were polished smooth as glass. A year ago, a large black dragon had laid six eggs there. Five of them were nearly half the size of Ammon, but the sixth was no bigger than his head. At the edge Ammon used his foot to push a coiled rope ladder over the side and, with the handle of the water pail in the crook of his arm, he climbed down to where the eggs lay. Carefully, he inspected the bone white leathery shells for any sign of weakening or discoloration that might indicate it had gone bad.

  It was rumored that less than half of all dragon eggs hatch, which made them highly prized by the king’s knights. Ammon suspected that rumor was true when Calis offered to pay one gold talon for each egg that hatched. Ammon grinned hopefully. Perhaps he might see four hatch! Four gold talons was a lot of money, enough to support him for quite a while. To give the eggs their best chances of hatching, each day he moistened the shells with a damp cloth and turned them gently. He held little hope for the small egg, though. While the others swelled in size, their shells stretching taut, the little one remained unchanged. Had the shell changed color, he probably would have thrown it down the ash chute as trash.

  Just as Ammon had finished turning and wiping down the last egg, he heard the footsteps of the keeper coming up the stairs. Quickly, he threw the cloth into the pail and started climbing the rope ladder. His head just cleared the top of the Nest in time to see the keeper’s velvet boot swing forward. Gripping the rope tightly, he braced against the impact as the blow glanced off the side of his head. He barely managed to keep from toppling over backwards and landing on the eggs. Dazed, he looked up, unsure if he should continue climbing out or descend to the relative safety of the eggs. It was unlikely that Calis would come down after him, or even could for that matter. The man’s oversized stomach and stubby legs could never navigate the flimsy rope ladder. Ammon stepped back down into the Nest and waited.

  The keeper snorted and his jowls swung as he scowled down at Ammon with a thick tongue. “Slacking, eh? I oughta come down there and drag you out by yer ears! If anything happens to them eggs, it’ll be yer hide, and you’ll wish ya’d never been born!”

  The fat keeper removed a dainty lace handkerchief from his sleeve and dabbed at the sweat glistening above his close-set eyes. “Make sure this place is spotless come mornin’ or I’ll beat ya like a thug! Them knights will be here t’morrow evening for hatch and I don’t want no bad impression on ‘em!”

  Ammon stared at his feet, trying to look respectful. “Yes, sir, spotless.”

  Calis tucked the kerchief back in his sleeve and grunted. “And I’d best not see any sign of youse either, so be sure yer in the tender’s chambers with the door shut before evening meal or ya won’t get a single talon!”

  With a sniff, he waddled off out of Ammon’s sight. The footsteps faded as they went down the stairs and at the bottom the door slammed with a loud crash that echoed through the chamber. Sighing in relief, Ammon leaned against the polished side of the Nest and slid down beside the eggs. Idly he reached over and gently stroked the side of the small one. Calis didn’t come into the Nest often, but when he did, he was increasingly abusive. Ammon knew he just had to tolerate it a few more days, and then he could collect his money and move on. Just a few more days and he’d be free.

  Standing onc
e again, he brushed a stray strand of blonde hair out of his eyes and again climbed the ladder. The rest of the afternoon he spent sweeping the already spotless floors and daydreaming about gold. Wisely spent, a few gold talons could get him through until next winter, but then what? He frowned in thought. If he stayed on another year as a tender, he might have enough to buy a small farm in the Outerlands. He had no desire to live in the city, and most of the useable land nearby would be much too expensive anyway. The outland areas were sparsely populated since the war with the barbarians, but he’d grown used to isolation since he started working as a tender. In fact, he liked the peaceful solitude he’d had in the Nest, with the exception of the occasional visit from Calis. The simple daily routine was the only consistency he’d ever had in his life besides hunger.

  The creaking sound of the stair door opening marked the evening mealtime, and he heard the solid clunk and scrape of a wooden bowl being slid across the floor. He checked the furnaces once more before descending the stairs to collect his bowl and retreated to his chambers for the night. The thin, tasteless mush barely filled his belly, but at least it kept the hunger pangs away. He dropped the empty bowl on the table beside his bed and sighed. Tomorrow was the final day, the hatching. Stretching out on the tiny cot, he stared at the ceiling and watched the shadows dance from the flickering tallow candle. His mind drifted as he thought of his gold and the next week of celebration when the entire city celebrated the hatching with pies and cakes shaped like eggs. He licked his lips and wondered how many of the fruit filled pastries he could buy. Sleep crept up and settled on him slowly.

  A searing white light shot through his brain as a voice thundered. “AMMON?”

  He leapt to the side of the bed, his heart beating wildly in his chest. The candle had burned down to nothing in its small holder and blackness surrounded him. Forcing himself to calm down, he listened intently but could only hear his own heartbeat. Minutes passed and he still heard nothing. Was it a dream? It sounded so real! Shaking his head, he rose from the cot and fumbled his way through to the doorway. He peered into the dark and could just make out the glow from the furnace doors. Barefoot, he carefully made his way around the Nest. Reflections from cracks around the furnace doors threw fingers of light across the darkened room, but nothing moved.

  Shrugging his shoulders, Ammon chuckled at himself for jumping at voices heard in his dreams and stumbled back to his bed. Tossing the thin blankets aside, he flopped down on the cot and yawned. Strange how the voice had sounded so real, so clear, like the blast of a trumpet echoing over the hills. He closed his eyes and tried to get comfortable. This time sleep did not come easily, and he lay there for hours unable to think of anything else. When he did finally doze off, fitful dreams of the voice haunted him the rest of the night.

  Sunrise came with the dull ringing of the morning church bells, and Ammon gratefully arose. His morning breakfast waited at the bottom of the stairs, and it consisted of the same cold gruel he’d had for supper. He spooned the thin mixture into his mouth with one hand while he stoked the coals of the furnaces with the other. Soon he had the fires roaring in two of the four furnaces. No need to fire the other two, it was already promising to be a hot and humid day. He couldn’t help but think it was possibly the last time he would clean the ashbins unless he signed up again. After dumping the ashes down the chute, he refilled the water pail with clean water and clambered down the rope ladder to moisten the eggs. After tonight he would have one last duty to perform before he was discharged and paid. He would have to clean out the discarded shells and dead eggs after the hatchlings had left. Once he’d collected his pay, he’d have to find lodging in town and then decide what he would do next. The laying season was still a month away, so he had time to decide on whether to stay or not.

  After the last egg had been carefully cleaned and turned and his chores were done, he returned to his chambers to pack his belongings. From beneath his cot he retrieved a small bag and dumped its contents onto the bed. A handful of copper talons and a metal fishhook tumbled out, and he studied them ruefully before pushing the coins deep into his pocket. Tomorrow his pouch would be heavy with gold, but for now he was painfully broke. Flipping open the flap of his shoulder sack, he dumped a few pots and pans in beside his tinderbox. Then he folded a faded brown cloak and a spare shirt over the top. He was going to need clothes soon. The thick leather shirt and breeches he wore had been very effective for stopping the sparks and embers that shot from the furnace, but they were seriously worn. Perhaps that should be his first investment.

  He dropped the sack to the floor and reached under the cot. His hand slid along the edge of the wooden frame until his fingers found the small knothole that had fallen out. It was there he hid the one thing he had of value, a thin golden ring that he wore on a string around his neck as he slept. He’d had it for as long as he could remember, although he couldn’t quite recall how it came into his possession. Slipping it onto his finger, he held it up to catch the candlelight. The intricately carved dragon design that completely encircled the ring glittered as it moved, revealing the astonishingly tiny detail. He smiled slightly before taking it off and slipping it inside a hidden pocket sewn in the sack. He could have sold it many times but could never bring himself to do it. It was the only connection he had to a past he could barely remember. He’d kept it with him, always carefully hidden, especially since he’d come to the Nest. If Calis had ever found it Ammon was sure the fat man would accuse him of theft and take it away before throwing him out on the street, or worse, have him brought before the King’s Guard for punishment.

  Ammon tied the sack closed and stretched. For the first time in almost a year he had nothing to do. It was barely past noon and hours before Calis and the knights would arrive. Normally he’d be hauling coal up to the bins at this time, but there would be no need of fires tonight. He descended the stairs and pushed the door open just wide enough to peer through before stepping outside. Blinking in the bright sunshine, he stood in the doorway and waited for his eyes to adjust. A rickety old ox cart stood haphazardly to the left of the door beneath the ash chute. A thick mound of black and gray ash piled unevenly against the high wooden sides and it listed precariously into the otherwise empty street. The noise of people shouting and the clanging of horseshoes against the cobblestones drifted up the hill.

  With a quick look around, Ammon reached down and jammed a small stone into the door so it wouldn’t latch shut. It wouldn’t do to be locked out of the Nest today of all days. Calis would very likely have a fit worthy of a pig in a poke if he knew Ammon was outside. Hooking his thumbs onto his belt he tried to look innocent as he casually made his way down the street. He didn’t plan to be gone very long, just enough to stretch his legs.

  Rounding the corner at the end of the street, Ammon found himself shoulder to shoulder with a river of people streaming in and out of the little shops surrounding the Nest. Dust swirled heavily as farmers with heavy carts goaded tired looking oxen to the warehouses down by the riverside. Ammon breathed deep as a hundred different aromas flooded his nostrils. The smell of breads and smoking meats from the foodware shops mixed oddly with the heavy stench of burning metal and coal of the blacksmiths and the pungent refuse of animals. Ammon eyed one woman carrying a basket of pastries, and his mouth watered as he considered spending some of the few coins he had brought with him.

  A murmur arose above the din of the crowd and suddenly people started pushing to the sides of the street. Caught in the human tide, Ammon was carried further down the street and into an alleyway beside a small shop. He could hear shouting growing closer, but he wasn’t tall enough to see over the shoulders in front of him. Backing up, he bumped against a low bench about a foot tall. Stepping gingerly so as not to tip it over, he climbed up and looked towards the commotion coming towards him.

  A large man with a thick staff walked down the center of the street, poking and pushing anyone not able to get out of the way fast enough. Behind him pranced a hu
ge black stallion trimmed with black armor and tiny bells on the reins. Its hooves were polished and glinted in the sunlight as brightly as the fine silver chains dangling from the sides of the saddle. Astride the great steed sat a man suited completely in black armor like a great ebony statue. On one arm he carried a plain black shield, while large gauntlet covered hands gripped the reins confidently. The visor of his black plumed helmet was up, exposing pale flesh and cold, cruel eyes.

  Ammon whistled softly to himself in admiration. A knight! A real, live Dragon Knight! Ammon could barely keep his knees from buckling as the thrill ran through his spine. He’d heard of the knights of course and even seen dragons flying high overhead, but had never been this close before. As the figure drew near, the helmeted head turned towards him and in a mixture of awe and fear, Ammon stumbled off the bench and pushed his way back up the street.

  The low rumble of voices from the crowd picked up again after the knight passed. Shopkeepers again shouted their wares and Ammon idly browsed among them, but little seemed interesting after seeing a real knight pass by. At least nothing seemed interesting until he walked past the blacksmith and saw a small sword placed among the tools and implements for sale. Curious, he removed it from its worn leather scabbard and inspected it closely. Despite the plain grip and an unadorned pommel, the strange gray metal blade was flawless as if newly honed. It was smaller than the long two handed swords the knights carried, and very different from any other sword he’d seen. Holding it out in front of him, Ammon smiled. With his small size, it fit him perfectly.