This isn’t your fault Ammon, and there is nothing you could have done to change it. I’m sorry, son. I wish it were different.”
Ammon felt a tightening around his chest as he looked down at the little dragon lying motionless beside the fire. It wasn’t fair! Fulgid was just a baby, barely a week old, and he was dying? No this wasn’t Fulgid’s fault, it was his. If someone else had formed the link the dragon would have lived. Nothing in Ammon’s life had ever turned out right, why should this have been any different?
He slowly got to his feet. “I’m not your son.”
Stiffly he limped to the tent and closed the flap behind him before throwing himself down on his bedroll. He clenched his teeth as hot tears built up behind his eyes. “I was better off alone!”
Boris started after Ammon, but Erik stopped him.
“Let the boy go. He has to deal with this on his own terms. When the time comes, I’ll talk with him. I think only someone who has lost a dragon can know how it feels.”
Boris winced. “Yes, sire. I was only trying to look out for the lad, I can’t help but feel…”
He was interrupted by a dark shadow passing overhead. They both looked up to see a dragon wheeling in the sky and several more in the distance. Swooping low, the rider of the first dragon yelled down to them.
“Captain Boris! Permission to land sir?”
Puzzled, Boris leaned to Erik. “That is my Second of the Guard, Theo. What is he doing here?”
Boris turned and surveyed the clearing. With Ellis crouched in the end, there was room for one dragon to land, but only just barely. He signaled back to the rider and watched as the dragon swooped down from the sky and skidded to a halt. The rider dismounted and approached them at a trot.
Placing his fist to his chest, he dropped to one knee before Erik and bowed his head. “Sire, Second of the Guard, Theo reporting. I bring with me knights loyal to your crown!”
Erik raised an eyebrow at Boris. “Tell me, Theo, how many knights are with you?”
Raising his head, Theo smiled. “One hundred and fifty-seven knights, twenty three trainees and eighteen newly hatched.”
Boris coughed. “One hundred and ninety-eight dragons and riders? And what do you expect to do with them?”
The kneeling knight frowned. A slim, handsome man of middle years, gray had not yet touched his hair, and his eyes were bright as he looked at Boris.
“As you know, Tirate had removed most of the loyal guardsmen from duty, forcing them into retirement or discharging them to be replaced with his own men. The very day you were sent north, the rest of the knights were removed from service and sent out of the armory with their dragons, even the newly hatched! Many of us stayed in the city trying to decide where to go while our dragons remained outside in the hills. Yesterday, Shane, the warehouse supervisor came and told us you’d been sent north to find a boy and hatchling.”
Glancing at Erik, Theo continued. “Early this morning word came from the palace that King Erik had died during the night, and now that Tirate was linked, he would be crowned after a brief mourning period. Shane had told us that his claim of having a mutant dragon was false, but we’d been disbanded, so what could we do? Then a young pageboy from the palace came out to the tavern spreading the word that you’d taken the king from the palace. We didn’t believe him until he showed us this ring!”
Smiling, he handed the ring back to Boris. Turning back to Erik, the knight lowered his head. “Sire, the Knights of Gaul are at your disposal. Say the word and we will besiege the palace and take back your throne from Tirate!”
The King of Gaul sat silent for a moment. “Not yet, sir knight. A king must think of his subjects as well as his enemies. The people of Gaul do not deserve to be in a war and my time as their king is drawing to a close. In my seclusion I have neglected too many of my duties as king and allowed Tirate’s corruption. It is as much my fault as it is his. An evil allowed to grow as long as this has will take time to root out, and a single siege may not do it. The hearts of the people must be won back too.”
Boris nodded in agreement. “This will take time and planning. Tell me Theo, where is Shane and the rest of your dragons?”
Theo’s face turned grim. “The young page said Shane was arrested and imprisoned before we left. The rest of our group is gathering at a large clearing near the base of the mountains in the north where the Olog River passes through. I was on my way there with a hatchling and his link when I saw your camp. We’ve been searching for you, but expected you to be further north than this.”
Boris turned to look at Theo’s black dragon and could see a rider still astride the dragon with a small gray hatchling clinging to the larger dragon’s back. “I think it would be wise for us to join them there, and plan our strategy.”
Erik nodded his head. “Yes, Boris, I agree. Unfortunately we have some unfinished business here that must be taken care of as well.”
Boris looked at the still form of the small golden dragon next to the fire and sighed. “Yes, sire, we do. I’m afraid that with the two of us and all our gear, there won’t be room on Ellis for Ammon and his dragon, if it lives long enough to travel that is. I’ll have to make two trips.”
Theo looked around in confusion before his eyes settled on Fulgid. His eyebrows rose in surprise. “So this is the dragon Tirate wants? Is it alive?”
Boris shook his head. “If it is, it won’t be for long, I’m afraid.”
Theo’s shoulders dropped a bit and his voice softened. “My condolences to his link.”
Boris looked at the tent at the edge of the clearing. “I’ll tell him that I’m bringing you north and that I’ll come back for him. I have a shovel in one of my packs that I’ll leave by the fire. I suspect he’ll need it soon.”
***
It was a long time after Boris and the others had left before Ammon finally left the tent. The fire had died down to a few smoldering coals and beside it, plainly visible in the sunlight lay Fulgid. A hard lump formed in his throat as he forced himself to look at his dragon. He collapsed to his knees and ran his hand across the cool snout. The amber colored eyes were closed and bits of ash dust from the fire had drifted over his body like snowflakes. Dusting them off with his hands, Ammon lifted the limp form and held him close to his chest, cradling the small head in the crook of his arm. The golden scales seemed paler than they had before. He put his face down against the dragon’s chest and closed his eyes. If only there were something he could do…
Ammon never heard the hollow sound of the shovel hitting the back of his head or the echo of laughter as the world went black.
***
He awoke with a splitting headache that threatened to burst from his skull and his hands wouldn’t move. A wave of nausea rippled through his stomach and he forced his eyes to open. Blinking in confusion, his eyes slowly came into focus. His hands and feet were bound together tightly with rawhide rope and he hung upside down from a pole carried on the shoulders of two men. Swinging back and forth with each step, he tried to orient himself. What happened? Who where these men and why were they doing this? Where was Fulgid?
He could only see the back of one man clearly, but he could hear them talking. A gruff sounding voice belonged to the man in the front.
“A tidy little reward these two will make! Enough I say to keep me in wine for a month!”
From behind, a high pitched, nasally voice snidely remarked. “Olms, ya never could save a copper! Not me! I plan on investing it!”
The laugh of the man named Olms sounded like two rocks rubbing together. “Investing, aye Pock? Not likely! If I know you, it’ll all be in a card game before dinner, and tonight you’ll be crying in your bed as broke as ever!”
Pock’s shrill voice sneered. “At least I got a chance to make my money back instead of spilling that rotgut down my throat!” Olms roared with laughter.
Ammon tried to speak but his tongue felt like a piece of leather. Working moisture into his mouth he finally rasped. “
Where are you taking me?”
Pock gave him a sharp kick in the small of his back that sent him swinging wildly on the pole and he grunted in pain.
“Nothin’ you need worry ‘bout little piggy! Just Tirate himself wants to see ya!”
Ammon gritted his teeth. “Where’s my dragon?” He demanded.
Pock snickered, “Oh? Your dragon ya say? I’ve seen no such thing! Right Olms? Nothin’ at all! Course I do have a lovely lump of gold in this sack, would ya like a look-see?”
Something hit Ammon in the ribs so hard it knocked the wind out of him.
Olms growled. “See here Pock! You be careful with that carcass or Tirate will have both our heads swinging from the city gates!”
Pock cackled with glee. “Ya can’t damage a dragon! Them scales is harder than steel! Drop ‘em on the ground and ya as likely to break a rock than give ‘em a scratch!”
Ammon squeezed his eyes shut in anger. Fulgid’s body had been just tossed in a sack and would probably be sold in a market. The little dragon deserved better than this, and he was helpless to do anything about it.
It was late afternoon when the men carried him into a small clearing where three horses were tied. Ammon was thrown over a saddle and strapped down like a bag of grain, and the sack containing Fulgid was tied to the side. The men pushed the horses at a hard run through the thick woods and Ammon bounced painfully the whole way. It was nighttime when they arrived at the gates of the palace with the exhausted horses blowing and sweating. Olms cut the ropes from Ammon’s feet and the two men half dragged him down the halls as he tried to force his wooden legs to move.
They stopped at a large iron strapped door with a barred window and Olms rapped on it with his knuckles. After exchanging a few muffled words through the opening, the door swung open, and he was dragged down a hallway and shoved into a small windowless room. The heavy door to the room slammed shut, cutting off all but a thin trickle of light through a narrow opening at the bottom of the door. It was just enough for Ammon to see the ropes on his wrists, and he tore at them with his teeth until they worked loose. He rubbed circulation back into his hands and looked over the tiny room. Widthwise, if he spread his arms he could touch both walls and lengthwise there was just enough room to stretch out on the bare floor.
Tired and in pain, he lay down on the cool stones and closed his eyes. It didn’t matter anymore. Fulgid was gone. He had no place to go and no place to live. His sword and all his belongings were gone, even his gold ring. He’d taken that off and left it in the tent so he wouldn’t lose it digging Fulgid’s grave. The two men had probably searched the camp and taken everything of any value anyway. He wanted to howl in fury, but he had nothing left.
***
Boris returned to the camp to pick up Ammon just before dark. The dragon was gone and the shovel had been moved from where he had left it. He sighed. So the dragon finally died and Ammon buried it. He lifted the flap of the tent and saw Ammon’s belongings still inside but no sign of Ammon. He probably needed the time alone. He wouldn’t have been able to go far with that ankle though.
Boris began packing up the rest of the camp while he waited for Ammon to return. As he rolled up the bedroll he saw something flash as it fell from the blanket. He picked it up and looked carefully at the finely crafted gold ring engraved with a dragon. He knew it belonged to Ammon; he remembered seeing the boy wearing it the first day they met. An odd thing for a penniless tender to own and he had intended to ask about it, but after seeing Fulgid he’d forgotten. He slipped it into his pocket and finished packing everything else and pulled down the tent. As he placed everything neatly into the bags on Ellis’s sides, he remembered the shovel. He went back to get it and as he picked it up he saw a dark wet stain on the blade. Peering closer he realized it was dried blood and cursed.
In the fast-fading light, he found the footprints of two men leading away from the camp heading south. Tracking them in the dark would be difficult, and they had a good head start on him already. If they had horses waiting where the terrain was better, they’d be within the city long before he could catch them. Cursing again, he quickly headed back to Ellis and took to the sky.
They flew as far south towards the city as he dared. He didn’t want to get any closer to those crossbows than he had to. Getting shot and killed wasn’t going to help Ammon or anyone else for that matter. He peered into the fast growing darkness and grated his teeth. If Tirate had time to install those crossbows inside the city, he may have more scattered throughout the nearby woods. Circling low, Ellis picked up a scent and snorted. Boris’ knuckles cracked as he gripped the hilt of his sword. As he feared, he was too late. Whoever had taken Ammon had already made it to the city and was out of his reach. Frustrated, he turned Ellis back north. That boy had the worst luck in history.
***
It was well after dark when Boris reached the camp next to The Wall. The faint light of the rising moon illuminated the sheer face of a line of mountains that had been thrust violently up from the ground by some ancient cataclysmic event. From the air he could see campfires evenly spaced in neat rows near the bank of the Olog River. Even from a distance he could hear the water roar as it rushed past the camp and disappeared through a massive split in the mountainside.
Theo had chosen this site for good reason. The Wall and the Olog secured the camp on two sides. Any attacking force would be slow getting across the rugged wasteland, and then would then have to penetrate nearly two hundred dragons and knights to reach the king. Attack from the air was impossible considering all of the dragons were following Erik.
He let Ellis glide in to land on his own. Dragon eyes could see much better in the dark than his eyes ever could and Ellis had no problem choosing a spot. When Ellis came to a stop, Boris slid down and gave the black dragon an affectionate scratch behind the ear. It had been a long day for both of them, and it wasn’t over yet. A young trainee followed by a gray hatchling came running and offered to lead Ellis to his evening feed of several large wild boar carcasses. Nodding thankfully, Boris watched until Ellis began to eat before he headed to Erik’s tent.
The king’s camp was nestled in a small hollow carved into the cliff wall by centuries of wind and weather. A tent the size of a small house glowed warmly from the lights within. Lifting up the flap, Boris ducked and entered. The king sat with Theo at a makeshift table in the center. Several maps were scattered across the length of it and bright lanterns hung from the ceiling on short ropes, illuminating everything. Their heads rose in unison as he entered and Erik’s face broke into a sad smile.
“Well, Boris my old friend, it seems we’re at a crossroads. Theo seems to think Tirate’s declaration to claim the throne is not just treasonous, but an act of war. Although I agree it is certainly dishonorable, he could hardly do worse than I have these past few years.” A frown crossed his face and he continued. “Anyway, he won’t get the support of the Royal Court without a dragon. The kingdom won’t follow a leader without proof that he linked a dragon and he hasn’t got one.”
Boris stood silent for a moment, then nodded. “It is an act of war, and he has a dragon now. A golden one.”
Surprised, Theo stood up. “What? How?”
Boris threw his gauntlets onto the table in disgust. “By the time I got back to Ammon, he was gone. Taken by force. The dragon too. I don’t know if either of them is alive or dead. The dragon is more than likely dead but that won’t matter to Tirate. If he already spread the rumor that he’d linked to a sickly dragon then a dead one would be easier for him to handle I suppose. He’ll put on a show of mourning just as he’s doing right now for your supposed death, Erik, and nobody will be the wiser. The Court already thinks you are dead and if Tirate has a…had a dragon, and the law was fulfilled.”
Bowing his head towards Erik, Boris continued. “We could have proved him a liar just by bringing you back except…pardon me for saying this, sire…I hardly recognize you myself in your condition. We’d be hard-pressed to prove
your identity to the Court before Tirate interfered.”
Theo sank back into his chair and cursed under his breath, and Erik tapped his chin with his forefinger thoughtfully. With a deep sigh, he looked at the two knights.
“As much as I like the boy, even if he still is alive, I must put the needs of Gaul above all else. Our first priority is to get that dragon back before Tirate can use it. Without it, he cannot claim the throne easily. Once we have the dragon, then we can free Ammon.
Traditionally a week of mourning is observed throughout the city after the death of a king. On the seventh day the new king has his coronation. Tirate has that much time to convince the Court he is linked. During the mourning period, he must allow all twelve of the Court members to view his dragon and satisfy them before they’ll offer their support. Today is the second day, we have very little time.”
Hatch (The Dragons Of Laton) Page 10