“Find them and find them NOW! I don't care what you have to do! I want them back!”
As the men scattered, Tirate charged down the hallway fuming. He hadn't expected Boris to come back for provisions for at least another week and he certainly didn't anticipate an escape from the palace with Erik. Boris had to be stopped.
A grinning young pageboy running up the hallway skidded to a stop at the sight of Tirate, his smile melting.
“You!” He bellowed. “What have you seen boy? Anything unusual?”
The color drained from the boy’s face as he shook his head. “No Sire!”
Tirate snarled. “Then be on your way before I have you whipped.”
“Yes sire!”
The boy broke into a run and flew down the hallway at an impressive pace.
Chapter 6
To The North
Ammon practiced with the sword as the last rays of the sun disappeared over the horizon. The repetitive motions were nowhere near as graceful as Boris’ fluid-like movements, but the blade felt more comfortable in his hands each time he picked it up.
He moved from one stance to the next, careful to keep the majority of his weight on his good leg, and began the slow dance again. He held the sword at arms length until a slight movement on the horizon caught his eye. Shielding his eyes from the glare, he focused on the tiny black dot rapidly approaching.
“A dragon?” He murmured.
Hastily he thrust the sword back into its scabbard and hobbled towards the cave. Boris wasn't due to return until morning and from what Boris had told him he didn’t think it could be one of Tirate’s men, but why take the chance?
“Fulgid get inside before he sees you!”
Sprawled across a rock just outside the entrance, Fulgid yawned and lifted his head at the approaching dragon and then lay back down.
“Fulgid!”
Ammon fumed. It would be impossible to hide with those bright golden scales lying out in the open! The dragon was getting closer, making a straight line for the cave.
Ammon begged. “Fulgid will you PLEASE come inside?”
Lazy amber eyes glared up briefly at Ammon, and with a disgruntled sigh, Fulgid rolled to his feet and ambled inside. Exasperated, Ammon moved deeper into the cave and tried not to make any noise. Minutes passed before a shadow darkened the cave entrance and Boris' booming voice shouted his name. Confused, Ammon looked at Fulgid.
“You knew it was him didn’t you?”
He limped outside and looked up. Boris rode Ellis so low over the cave, the dragon’s belly was almost touching the boulders as they passed overhead.
“Ammon, can you hear me?”
Cupping his hands to his mouth Ammon shouted, “Yes!”
The dragon turned and passed over again. “I need your help! There is a clearing to the north about a quarter mile, can you make it there?”
Ammon frowned. Boris needed his help? He looked doubtfully at his foot. The poultice had helped considerably in just a few days and the swelling was down. As long as he had it splinted with branches, walking around the campsite wasn’t too bad. Making his way through the brush however would be a different story. He could probably do it, but it would be slow going at best. The big dragon circled as Boris waited for his answer.
“Yes, but it will take me awhile to get there!”
Boris had been kind and had treated him fairly. If Boris needed help, the least he could do was try. Besides, he suspected the man wouldn’t ask for help unless he really needed it.
Boris’ voice echoed against the rocks as they passed over again. “Meet me at the clearing as soon as you can!”
Without waiting for an answer, the dragon turned north and disappeared behind the trees.
Ammon hurried into the cave wondering what Boris could possibly need his help for. Had he been injured? If so, he’d need the medications he'd left behind. Ammon stuffed what he could into a sack, but there was no way he could carry it all with his bad ankle. Fulgid nosed one of the smaller sacks of food and Ammon chuckled.
“I don’t suppose you'd carry some of this would you?”
To his surprise, the little dragon slipped his head through the strap of the sack and looked up at him expectantly. Ammon gazed down in wonder.
“Sometimes I think you really do understand what I’m saying!”
He used a few leather straps to tie the sack securely on Fulgid’s back and smiled. “You aren’t exactly a pack mule, but it’ll do!”
***
It was well past midnight by the time he reached the edge of the campsite where Boris had a large fire going. The crescent moon gave just enough light for Ammon to see the dark outline of Ellis in the center of the clearing. He shook his head in awe. How something that large could fly was beyond comprehension!
Fulgid nudged him from behind and Ammon paused to scratch the little dragon behind the ears. “Will you get that large? How will I ever feed you?”
Fulgid bounded past him towards the fire and Ammon followed. Two figures sat on a log beside the fire, one bundled tightly in blankets and hunched over. As they approached he could hear Boris’ baritone voice.
“Ah, here they are now!”
A shock of gray hair framing a drawn face and sunken eyes peered out from under the blankets. The stooped figure suddenly bolted upright as Fulgid stepped into the light of the fire. Boris chuckled as he threw a thick branch into the flames, sending up a shower of sparks.
“This is Ammon, the tender I told you about, and this…this is Fulgid. From your expression, I’d say he speaks for himself, eh?”
The old man sat with pale blue eyes staring in disbelief. Boris turned to Ammon and grinned.
“Ammon you should kneel, you are presenting yourself before King Erik himself!”
The King? Gaping, Ammon managed to drop to one knee and lowered his head. King Erik? Boris brought the king here?
Despite his fragile appearance, King Erik’s voice was clear and strong.
“Boris, you know how I hate that! Arise Ammon, come sit and tell me about this wondrous gilded dragon of yours!”
Nervously, Ammon sat beside the king and retold the events of the past week, careful not to leave out a single detail. Erik listened carefully, occasionally nodding or raising an eyebrow in wonder. Fulgid curled around the fire reflecting the light off his mirror like scales, sending thousands of tiny bright dots dancing across the ground.
***
Boris hammered the last tent stake into the soft moss-covered ground beneath a twisted pine and peered up at the star-studded sky. Although the tent was certainly big enough for the three of them, he had no intentions of sleeping in it. During the war he’d shared a tent with Erik many a-time and the experience had been painful. The man had a nasty habit of kicking and yelling all night, so tonight, Boris would sleep out in the open.
He unloaded his bulging saddlebags and noticed with satisfaction that Shane had restocked them with enough supplies to last them for a month or more. He pulled out a package of the dried meat and biscuits and carried them to the fire where Erik and Ammon sat talking. Before dropping the meat into the boiling pot over the fire, he tossed a piece to Fulgid and watched as it bounced off his nose and landed in the dirt. The little dragon sniffed halfheartedly before putting his head back down, leaving it untouched.
Raising an eyebrow Boris crouched down and whispered softly. “You feeling okay little fella?”
With one finger he gently scratched behind Fulgid’s ear, but the dragon didn’t move. He sighed and turned his head to watch Ammon talking with Erik. The boy hadn’t noticed. Mentally he counted off the number of days since the hatch occurred and shook his head sadly before going back to work setting up the camp.
***
Erik calmly observed the young man beside him as they talked. There was something familiar about him that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Although shy at first, with a little prodding, he spoke freely, and the story he told was shocking. The fact that Fulgid ha
d hatched at all was incredible. Dragon eggs always hatched about midnight of the last new moon of summer. No one really knew why, but it was theorized that they needed to avoid the distraction of light and sound to establish their links. If they miss that brief window of opportunity to link after hatching, they soon die.
He closed his eyes as he remembered attending a hatch in his youth; watching a nervous knight stumble back and distracting a young dragon as it crawled from the Nest. The horror he felt as it cried out in anguish, desperately searching for the link that would never be. The hours it took for the pitiful creature to die. It was for that very reason only a few were allowed to attend a hatch.
Softly he sighed. Not once in the young man’s description of the past few days had he mentioned being able to feel his link with the odd-colored dragon. By now Ammon should have been able to sense Fulgid as easily as he could feel his own hand. Sadly, it was probably for the best. Mutated and stunted, it was amazing the dragon had lived this long. If the link had completely formed before it died, as all stunted dragons do, the boy would have been devastated. The severing of that link was like having your soul ripped out and thrashed, a feeling Erik knew all too well. It had been three long years since Laud had died. Those three years had seemed like an eternity. He hadn’t rode on a dragon since. His grief and his disease didn’t allow him to get any closer than his chamber windows. The ride here with Boris had brought it all back again with painful clarity.
Boris pushed a bowl of stew into his hands and they ate in silence. He forced himself to eat as much as he could, but his appetite was as weak as he was. Placing the bowl beside the fire, he announced he was going to bed. He’d had more activity in this one day then he’d had in a year and he was exhausted. One look at Ammon was enough to see he wasn’t in much better shape. The long hike on his bad foot had worn on him and he looked tired.
Erik placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder and whispered. “Come to the tent and sleep. As I recall, Boris snores like a raging dragon! Last time he and I shared a tent I spent the whole night kicking him to make him stop!”
Ammon grinned and nodded in acceptance before followed him into the tent.
***
Boris stayed up well into the night watching the flames die down. Fulgid still lay curled up very close to the fire.
“You’re going to break that boy’s heart, you know that?”
Fulgid didn’t move and Boris grunted. He stood and stretched, listening to his joints as they popped. Once more he tried offering the remaining stew to the little dragon, but Fulgid just turned his head away. Boris shook his head sadly before giving it to Ellis who was more than happy to finish it off. After cleaning the bowls, he slid into his bedroll and stared into the night sky. The stars shone down brightly and a partial moon had risen half way up the sky. He drifted off to sleep wondering if he should tell Ammon what to expect or let him learn on his own. He decided he’d have to tell him. Ammon wouldn’t have recognized the signs, he was too new to Dragonhood. He would tell him in the morning. After all, a man should know when his dragon is dying.
***
Ammon slept fitfully that night. Dreams of suffocation, squeezed by his own skin haunted him. Desperately he tried to call out into the darkness but found he had no voice. He awoke in a cold sweat, gasping for air, only to fall asleep and dream it again. By morning he wondered if he’d have been better off staying awake and listening to Boris’ snores. As the early sunlight brightened the entrance to the tent, He slipped out, careful not to disturb Erik. Boris already had a fire going, and the smell of bacon and eggs drifted through the camp. Fulgid still lay curled around the fire in the same spot he’d been the night before. At the edge of the clearing, the looming shape of Ellis lay stretched out, his giant wings opened to catch the first warming rays of sunlight.
Fascinated, Ammon stood marveling at the creature until Boris came and handed him a steaming cup of dark black liquid. Accepting it gratefully, he took a large sip and gagged as the bitter fluid scalded his tongue.
Boris chuckled and slapped him on the back. “That’s made from the finest beans in Southern Gaul! Nothing better for getting the blood moving in the morning.”
Gesturing at Ellis with his own cup, Boris smiled. “You can go see him if you like, he won’t hurt you.”
Ammon nodded politely and waited until Boris returned to the fire before discretely dumping the contents of the cup on the ground. He wasn’t sure he wanted his blood to move if it required drinking that vile fluid. As he cautiously walked towards Ellis he realized the dragon was even bigger than he imagined. In the darkness of last night he had thought Ellis was big, but now in the daylight he was downright intimidating. His jaw dropped as he stared in stunned silence.
Just ten paces away rested a massive foot armed with long talons easily big enough to carry a full-grown horse. Ebony scales the size of dinner plates covered the entire beast like armor, and sharp fangs protruded from the mouth. Eyes as dark as coal and as big as Ammon’s head watched him approach, leaving nothing unnoticed. As its gaze swept over him, Ammon’s stomach turned with the sudden realization he was little more than a morsel if the dragon decided to make a meal of him.
His knees suddenly felt weak and he decided to return and see if breakfast was ready. It was definitely daunting to be so close to a dragon and he doubted few men stood against one in battle without becoming unnerved. It was no wonder Tirate wanted a dragon!
Fulgid was different though. He felt no fear around the little dragon, at least, not anymore. It wasn’t because of his small size, or that he’d hatched in his arms. Despite the fact that those little claws and teeth could inflict serious injuries, he didn’t just didn’t feel any fear. He knew, without knowing why, Fulgid would never harm him.
Erik was up and sitting with Boris beside the fire slurping cups of that foul black liquid and talking in low voices. The thin old man actually looked better than he had last night but Ammon couldn’t decide why. The talking stopped as he got closer and both men suddenly seemed interested in the contents of their cups. Ammon picked up a plate that Boris had set aside for him and began to shovel food into his mouth. Between bites he decided to break the silence.
“Ellis is amazing! I’ve never seen a creature so large before!”
Boris dropped his cup next to the fire and exchanged a brief glance with the king.
“Ammon, we need to talk.” The serious tone of his voice was unmistakable. “You don’t know much about dragons…which isn’t your fault. So you wouldn’t know what to expect because you’ve never been educated…not that it would make things any easier I suppose.” Boris fidgeted uncomfortably.
Erik mumbled under his breath. “Get on with it!”
Boris looked sideways at the king, then stared at Fulgid who still lay curled up close to the fire.
“Yes, yes of course. I uh, I will, it’s just…” Clearing his throat, he turned and looked Ammon straight in the eye. “Fulgid is dying.”
Ammon let the plate slip out of his hands.
“Dying? What do you mean? He’s fine!”
Boris shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, son, but he’s not. When was the last time he ate? Dragons have a bottomless pit for a stomach. He should be begging for food and he isn’t. He hasn’t left that fire since you got here and that means he’s cold. He shouldn’t need a fire this time of year to keep warm. He’s sick, Ammon, real sick. I had hoped this wouldn’t happen but it has, and I’m afraid there isn’t anything we can do about it.”
Ammon stood up. “No! I know him better than you do. He’s NOT sick!”
Just because he hadn’t eaten all day didn’t mean anything. Angrily he picked up one of the sausages that had fallen from his plate and waved it in front of the golden nose. “Here, Fulgid, show Boris he’s wrong! You just weren’t hungry right?”
The little dragon didn’t move, his amber eyes reflected the flickering light of the fire as he stared into the embers. Kneeling beside him, Ammon whispere
d softly.
“Fulgid? You aren’t really sick are you?” He dropped the sausage and began to scratch him gently behind the ear. “What…what’s wrong with him?”
Boris rested his hand on Ammon’s shoulder. “There are several things I’m afraid, the worst being that he is stunted and that color mutation doesn’t help. Mutated dragons don’t live long. Besides that, I don’t think he ever shed his first skin. A dragon has to shed their scales to make room for their growing body. If they don’t shed, it will crush them. Normally it happens in the first few days after they’ve hatched. It’s not an easy process, and you have to use the link to coax them through it. I don’t know if it’s because of his mutation or because Tirate interfered, but your link was never fully formed. Without that link, the dragon becomes lost and loses its will to live.
Hatch (The Dragons Of Laton) Page 9