Tirate smiled and slid the map towards Boris. “An untrained link is a liability to the kingdom. I want you to bring the dragon back to me. Kill the boy if necessary, but a rogue link must not be allowed to continue. That is the law.”
Boris reached out with a large callused hand and ripped the map off the desk and stalked to the door.
“Oh and Boris? You are to leave immediately. Don’t come back without him, I want that dragon back. Take as many men as you feel necessary, but I think you can handle this alone.”
Boris hesitated slightly before giving a curt nod. “Yes, sire.”
Tirate watched him storm out the door with satisfaction. It was unlikely the boy went north, but if he were headed into those mountains, Boris would find him, though it would likely take weeks if the boy had any skills at all. By the time Boris returned Tirate would have the entire King’s Guard under his control and Boris would come back as powerless figurehead until he could be dealt with. Perhaps an accident could be arranged for Boris and they could hold a double funeral for the King as well. Tirate’s mood suddenly improved for the first time in days. To celebrate, he rang the tiny bell again and ordered tea to be brought.
***
Boris could feel his pulse throbbing in his temples as he marched towards his chambers. For some time he’d been blocking Tirate’s attempts to control the Guard. Until now he’d managed to keep his position of captain only because he was also King Erik’s personal advisor and friend. Sadly, with Erik’s declining health and Tirate the only heir, it was just a matter of time before his position was eliminated. He had hoped he could at least serve until Erik’s death, but as Tirate gradually took power, it was becoming more obvious that was unlikely.
So now he was being sent north on a wild goose chase to catch a tender that ran off with a hatchling. Although it was a large area, it was surrounded by immense mountains and bordered by the raging Olog River. Only a fool would try escaping into that wasteland. It was much more likely that the boy had gone over the bridge and escaped to the south and they simply hadn’t found him yet. Still, it bothered Boris how a tender had managed to link with a dragon. The protocols of a hatch were strictly enforced and, except for the knights and the keeper, no one was allowed in the Nest until dawn. It was unthinkable that the boy could come close enough to actually link.
There would be repercussions for the boy without a doubt. By law, only royalty and appointed knights were allowed to link. In all the recorded history of Gaul, such a thing had never happened before and was, at the very least, a royal offense. The most likely scenario was that the boy would be pressed into knighthood for training. Despite what Tirate ordered, there was no way to take the dragon away. When a hatchling emerges from its shell, it seeks out a kindred heart and forms a link that can only be broken by death. Even just separating the boy from the dragon would not be easy, as young dragons are notoriously protective of their links. He hoped the boy, when found, would return peacefully and quickly before Tirate took the crown.
Boris sighed and shook his head sadly. The chances of that were slim. Everything had changed three years ago after the strange death of the Erik’s dragon Laud. It was rare that a dragon died before its link and the toll it took on the old king was profound. As time passed, he became increasingly recluse, gradually assigning all of his duties to others and appointed Tirate to oversee them. An audience with the king was all but impossible now without first petitioning Tirate. For most, trying to sidestep around him would be fruitless anyway. Everyone knew Erik’s reign was about to end, and Tirate stood in line for the throne. Once Erik died, Tirate could take the crown the moment he was linked to a dragon.
Boris planned to retire before that day came. Perhaps after he’d finished this mission was as good a time as any. Years ago he’d inherited his family estate in the country. He rarely visited but always kept it staffed with servants. It was a comfortable place of moderate size, certainly big enough for him and Ellis to live out the rest of their days in peace. He stopped one of the pages in the hallway and made the necessary arrangements to have all his belongings brought there.
By the time he’d eaten his midday meal, Ellis was waiting in the courtyard, saddled, and loaded with several weeks provisions. Two thick leather belts encircled the dragon’s massive girth between his front and rear legs. Behind his wings on each side were large oilcloth bags filled with the supplies. Nestled between his shoulders at the base of his neck was the great leather saddle, polished and gleaming in the sun. Ellis put his head close to the ground and let out a great snort as Boris strode towards him.
Boris rubbed the big black nose affectionately, the only part of his body that wasn’t covered in scales the size of a man’s fist. A deep rumble of appreciation echoed from inside the huge chest. Boris slowly walked around the dragon, methodically checking the harness and girths, and rubbing his hands down the sides looking for loose scales. Most were still black as ebony, but a few gray ones appeared here and there, scattered across the large body like stars in a midnight sky. A larger dragon than most, Ellis was just beginning to show his age. Even so, he was an impressive sight to behold and Boris took great pride in being his rider.
Stepping into the stirrup, Boris swung into the saddle and buckled himself in.
“Well, Ellis old friend, shall we fly together as we did in the old days?”
As if to answer, Ellis unfolded his great wings, leaned back on his haunches and leapt into the air. With each powerful stroke, whirlwinds of dust rose across the courtyard. Slowly circling upward, they climbed higher and higher until the city was far below them. Looking around, Boris noticed a line of dark clouds forming on the horizon.
“We’d best get as much searching done now and decide where we’ll be taking shelter before that storm comes in!”
Even from high up, Boris could still hear the low rumble of the river Olog as it wound past Gaul. Rushing out of the northeast mountains, it was nearly fifty yards wide before it made a sharp turn around the city and headed northwest towards the mountains again. The ancient builders of Gaul had chosen this location well. Using the impassible mountains to the north as the base of a giant triangle, the river's drastic change of direction neatly closed the other two sides. Except for an easily defendable bridge leading south there was little chance of a successful invasion.
Boris turned his eyes north. If that’s where the boy headed, then the river and the mountains have him boxed him in. How long it would take to find him was another matter. The land between the city and the mountains was rugged and stretched for miles. Only one small road led into the wilderness and it didn't lead far. Previous efforts to farm and log the area had failed. Strewn with large boulders, the rocky soil made it nearly impossible for plowing or twitching lumber with horse or oxen. So it was left as a hunting ground for the dragons to find wild boar which heavily populated the area.
As the forest became denser, they began to fly closer to the ground. It would be too easy to hide beneath the branches of some of the thicker trees and not be seen. Besides, it would be easier for Ellis to pick up a scent or see movement. A dragon’s sight, hearing, and sense of smell were legendary, and that was one many reasons why they were so highly prized by the Kings Guard. Even without those senses, an opposing army stood little chance against a dragon. Their scales were harder than good steel and their strength immeasurable. Combined with the obvious advantages of flying, their mere presence had kept peace in the land for two decades after the war.
Boris’ memories of that distant war were far away now, replaced by pure exhilaration as the wind whipped his thinning hair and blew his moustache back. He felt the pull of the earth as Ellis climbed in altitude before banking a turn to the left, heading back for the next sweep. Smiling, Boris patted Ellis gently. It was more than just duty that had kept him in the Guard this long.
Half way through the next pass, Ellis cocked his head to one side, his nostrils flaring as he breathed in deeply. He’d caught the scent.
> “Ahhh, so the lad did pass this way, eh?” Boris chuckled. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be a wild goose chase after all.
Below them was a good-sized swamp littered with boulders, dense trees, and brush with no good place for Ellis to land. Mentally, he marked the position in his mind and urged Ellis onward to look for a clearing of some sort. There was no telling how long ago the boy had passed through, and he wanted to try to narrow the gap before the oncoming storm. Some distance away, they found a large open meadow where they could easily land. Ellis swooped in, back-beating his tremendous wings to slow his landing.
Once on the ground, Boris climbed down and began to search for signs of the boy. The grass was almost waist high, and the only tracks he found were from deer passing through. At the edge of the woods he found a large bee’s nest in a dead tree but nothing else. He walked back to the meadow where Ellis patiently waited. Overhead the sky was filling with darkening clouds.
“No sign of the boy yet and that storm looks like it'll be here soon. I think we’d be better off on the other side of the field away from those bees. My hide isn’t as thick as your scales.”
Boris mounted back up and Ellis lumbered across the field. Even with his large strides, it took several minutes to cross the meadow to the opposite side near the edge of the woods. Experience and the ache in his bones told Boris that the storm was building quickly as he made camp. He set up a low tent beneath two evergreen trees, then gathered several armloads of firewood and tied a canvas over it to keep dry. Ellis backed himself under the thick boughs of some tall pines that would shelter him from the worst of the coming rain.
As Boris began cooking himself a meal over a small fire of dry, smokeless wood, Ellis suddenly picked up his head and peered intently towards the other side of the meadow. Boris yawned and waved his hand at the dragon.
“Oh relax, it’s just that big bees nest I found. Probably getting ready for the storm too.”
Snorting softly, the large head sank slowly to the ground, but the black eyes remained suspiciously fixed towards the woods on the far side.
That night the storm came in with a fury. Torrential rain whipped across the open field and threatened to lift the tent off its poles. Boris slept soundly through it all, his snoring carried away by the wind. Only Ellis was close enough to hear, and with his massive wings wrapped tightly around him, neither the snoring nor the storm interrupted his sleep.
***
By morning the storm had eased to a light rain. Ellis flew off in search of a meal while Boris started a fire and prepared his own. He was finishing his second cup of coffee when Ellis returned. The woods were full of wild boar and deer, and finding a meal big enough for a dragon wasn’t too difficult. By midmorning they were packed up and Boris once again scouted the area. Rain had washed away most of the tracks but a few traces still remained.
He nearly burst out laughing when he realized the boy had passed within five hundred yards of his camp. He'd had enough sense to skirt around the open field and away from sight, so he must have known he was being pursued. Yet he took no care in hiding his tracks, or at perhaps didn’t know how. Boris hurried back to Ellis. With any luck, he’d have them in custody by noon.
Flying low, they swept the area looking for fresh signs of the boy and dragon. Stopping wherever there was a place big enough to land, Boris would scout the woods on foot and look for tracks. The ground eventually gave way to more rocky terrain and scraggly brush, with fewer trees for cover. They flew on for what Boris decided was a reasonable distance for someone on foot to cover and landed again, searching the ground for any traces.
Boris grumbled under his breath. “We should have seen him by now. We’ll have to backtrack, he couldn’t have gone any further than this on foot.”
Boris continued on foot while Ellis flew in circles overhead watching for movements. It was early afternoon when Boris finally signaled the big dragon to land for a break. Years ago they would have gone from dawn to dusk, but Boris was mindful of his aging dragon spending too much effort staying aloft. He was frequently reminded of his own age limitations as he scrambled over the rough terrain of boulders and scrub brush. His knees ached from the effort and a bruise on his hip throbbed after slipping on a damp rock slick with algae. Ellis landed in the only open area he could find, atop a small hill littered with stones and loose shale. Scrambling up the steep slope, Boris made his way up to meet him.
The rain had stopped and a few light fingers of a misty fog draped across the mountains in the distance. From the hilltop Boris could see a fair distance around him and he studied the terrain. Large chunks of granite thrust up between thick blankets of brush and scraggly trees. The ground twisted and turned unpredictably with shallow ravines and short boulder covered hills. Shaking his head, he realized there was a million places in this tortured land someone could hide. Either the boy was incredibly smart, or incredibly lucky. Reaching into one of the saddlebags, he retrieved a water skin and some dried meat and sat down.
Chewing thoughtfully, he considered his situation. He knew his quarry was somewhere in this area. The problem was that even if he could see him, there was no way to get to him easily. There were very few places a dragon could land here. If the boy exposed himself, Ellis might be able to swoop down and snatch him, but Boris doubted anyone would be fool enough to allow that to happen. Pursuit on foot was certainly out of the question. His best option was to continue to track him from the air and wait for him to emerge into a more hospitable terrain. If the boy decided to stay hidden, it could take weeks, maybe months to extract him. There was nothing left to do but watch and wait and hope he made a mistake.
Boris smiled and took another swig from the water skin. He didn’t have to wait long. In the distance he could see a thin line of smoke rising.
***
Fulgid was gone again when Ammon awoke and the fire had died out. The rain had slowed to a steady drizzle, but inside the cave was dry. Shivering slightly, he rummaging through his sack for his hooded cloak and slipped it on. His stomach was unwilling to wait for him to build another fire, so he ate the cold congealed stew of fish and roots. It still tasted better than the gruel he was used to eating everyday at the Nest and it was certainly more filling.
He dropped the wooden spoon back into the pot and slid towards the light at the opening of the cave and pulled up his pant leg. An angry purple bruise surrounded his swollen ankle and any movement of his foot nearly brought tears to his eyes. There was no possible way he could walk, but he didn’t think it was broken. He pulled his spare shirt from his sack and cut the sleeves off with his knife. Wrapping them tightly around his ankle, he then bound two sticks on either side of his leg with the leather ties from the oilcloth. Pushing himself to his feet, he took a couple clumsy steps before the pain became too unbearable.
Shuffling outside the cave, he leaned back against the stone. It had been dark when Fulgid led him here, and as he looked around, he was amazed he’d gotten to the cave at all. Thick brush grew so close together that there was hardly any space between them. Ammon couldn’t see where he’d come through in the night, and the rain had washed away the tracks. How the little dragon managed to find this in the dark, he wasn’t sure, but he certainly was grateful.
A glitter caught the corner of his eye, and he turned his head in time to see Fulgid coming out from under a nearby bush with a pheasant in his jaws. Walking up to the cave entrance, he laid the bird at Ammon’s feet, sat down and looked up questioningly with his head tilted to one side.
Ammon grinned and picked up the bird. “Looks like I owe you another meal, eh?” The dragon stared at him unblinking. “Well, we’ll save it for dinner. We still have fish left over from last night.”
Ammon eased himself down onto a rock and talked as he plucked and cleaned the bird. Fulgid watched and listened with keen interest, occasionally playfully chasing at a feather that drifted too close. At first Ammon talked about working in the Nest and caring for the eggs. He talked about his pla
ns for the gold he would have earned and working as a farmer. He even talked a little about being an orphan and about the few memories he had of his early youth like the image of his mother’s face. All the while, the little dragon sat quietly as if understanding each word.
Finally he held up the prepared bird and looked at Fulgid. “Ready for the fire!”
He used the sword to cut down some branches and made a crude spit inside the cave. Then, using the staff like a crutch, he gathered small armloads of branches from the surrounding brush until he had a good-sized pile of firewood stacked in the back of the cave. The effort of walking back and forth caused his ankle to throb, and he winced as he slid to the floor. He made a small pile of twigs and leaves under the spit and reached into his sack for his flint box. As rummaged around inside the bag, his fingers found the hidden pouch containing his ring. He pulled it out and slipped it off the cord before placing it on his finger like he had a million times before.
Finely crafted of gold, the ring was engraved with the image of a dragon with its mouth open and its teeth exposed. A finely contoured head connected to a serpentine body with wings folded back. Its long tail wrapped all the way around the ring until it reconnected at the head to make a complete circle. The fine detail even showed tiny scales covering the body. Holding it up, he compared the artwork to Fulgid, who sat still as a stone in the cave entrance, facing outside. The artist had come very, very close to imitating Fulgid.
Hatch (The Dragons Of Laton) Page 5