Hatch (The Dragons Of Laton)

by Stevens, James

  Centuries ago this city was nothing more than a small mining operation owned entirely by the House of Celest. When a large deposit of calentar was found, the population grew, and Laton quickly became the largest city in all of DoTaria, which elevated the House of Celest to the most powerful of all the Houses. Because Laton was originally just a mining town, there was never a royal palace, and when it was announced that the Seat was moving to Laton, the House of Celest objected. They were willing to accept the throne, but they refused to give up the only thing they owned, the very land the city was built on. Without the land that was their birthright, their House would be dissolved to nothing. I suppose if they had owned land elsewhere like most Houses do, none of this would have happened.”

  Confused, Ammon began to rub his temples. Politics always gave him a headache. “So why didn’t the Seat just use part of the palace and leave the rest to the House of Celest?”

  Stalwart shrugged. “Because the law states that the Seat and the Place of Power must be one. There can be no division, it must be whole ownership, otherwise whoever owns the Place of Power could have too much influence on the Seat. The debate went on for years before the smaller Houses began to take sides. Each side demanding either Celest surrender their birthright, or the royal family surrender the throne to Celest.

  The deep division might have led to war if the Kala-Azar hadn’t suddenly become such a problem. Even after all this time there are still feelings of doubt as to the validity of either side as ruler.”

  Ammon felt as if his head was spinning. “Okay, but what does all that have to do with me?”

  Stalwart flinched uncomfortably. “The merger Sasha proposed and accepted by the Hall combined the two Houses into one, effectively ending the dispute. Now the Seat rules at the Place of Power.”

  Ammon looked over at Theo. “Do you understand what he’s saying?” Theo shook his head.

  Stalwart grimaced uncomfortably before continuing. “The Hall has the ability to merge a House with another…in this case by marriage…if it decides it is for the greater good of the kingdom.”

  Ammon felt his jaw drop. The man couldn’t be serious! “Are you telling me the Hall just…married me…to someone?”

  Stalwart nodded. “Yes sire, I’m afraid so. You will be required by the Hall to merge the head of your House to the head of the House of Celest.”

  Ammon felt the heat rising into his face. “And who would that be may I ask?”

  Stalwart looked away from Ammon to stare uncomfortably at the ground. “Uh…well sire, the head of the House of Celest would be the Lady Sasha.”

  ***

  Sasha slowly returned to her chambers from the Hold. It was strange that the attack of the Kala-Azar seemed almost planned. It definitely was not typical of the unorganized and random attacks in the past. She fervently hoped it was mere coincidence.

  She pushed the heavy wooden door of her chambers open and entered the sitting room where a small pot of water steamed over the fireplace. A cup of tea would be welcome after such a stressful day. She lifted a poker and stirred the dying coals in the hearth. Her ancient ears barely heard the soft footsteps behind her and she turned to admonish El for trying to sneak past her again.

  “I specifically instructed you to…gahh! No! No! It isn’t possible! It cannot be you! NO…! Please NO!”

  The wrought iron poker slipped from her grasp and fell noisily to the floor, unheard by anyone else in the palace.

  ***

  Ammon was furious as he stormed into his chambers. How dare that crazy old woman do this to him! How dare this bloody Hall agree to it! Of what use was the power he possessed as king if he couldn’t even decide who he married? Fulgid scurried past into the sitting room just as Ammon slammed the door behind him with a satisfying crash. If he knew how, he would immediately call another Gathering and renounce the throne and everything that comes with it. In fact, if Sasha had been there, he’d gladly have handed it to her and be done with it. Forced marriage was wrong, but being married to that crusty old pile of rags was more than he could handle.

  He unbuckled his belt and tossed his sword onto the polished desk and sulked into the bedchambers. Fulgid walked beside him and suddenly stopped in mid step to stare at the balcony curtains. His ears swiveled and his head twisted to look at Ammon and then back at the balcony. Ammon carefully drew the curtains back to reveal El standing there, her tear streaked face was red and her eyes puffy.

  With a snort, he walked back into the room and dropped into a chair and propped his feet up on a table. “What do you want?”

  El sniffled, dabbing at her eyes with a small lace handkerchief. “I’m sorry Ammon! I wasn’t…I didn’t know! I mean, I knew she was up to something, but I didn’t know what! Honestly, I had no idea! I can’t believe she’s done this to you!”

  Ammon rubbed his temples with his fingers. “I nevered want to be king, but they forced me into becoming one. As if that wasn’t bad enough, now they’re marrying me off to a crotchety old woman old enough to be my grandmother! You know what, El? All I ever wanted was to live a quiet, peaceful life farming. When Erik said my life was no longer my own, I didn’t fully understand what he meant until now. Married! Pah!”

  El gingerly sat on the edge of the table by Ammon’s feet. Her voice was so soft it was barely audible. “I’m sorry. I wish it were…I wish I could change it for you, but I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  Ammon closed his eyes and swallowed. A hard lump formed in his throat. “You can’t, El. It’s already done. From what Captain Stalwart told me, all that’s left is the ceremony, and I guess the Hall wants that done as soon as possible. Today!” He took a deep breath. “Perhaps it would be best if you go now.”

  She sat quietly for a moment, then nodded. Her fingers brushed his hand lightly and then she left without saying another word.

  He sat for a long time with his eyes closed, resisting the urge to break something. Any minute now they’d knock on his door and they'd escort him back the Hall where he'd be forced to marry an insane old geezer. Queen Sasha. He ground his teeth. He’d be anything that this was what she had in mind all along! What would happen if he refused? It wouldn’t matter; the merger would happen even if he weren't there.

  He didn’t move or answer when the page knocked on the door. After the second knock, the page opened the door slightly and announced the Hall was in session and waiting. With a slow nod, he acknowledged the boy, but sat a bit longer anyway out of spite. Let them wait a few more minutes. Besides, wasn’t being late for your wedding was supposed to be good luck or something? If it was perhaps the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

  The door swung open and Boris thumped his way in on crutches. He eased himself down on the edge of the bed and rubbed a knuckle across his thick moustache. “In all my years, I can’t say I’ve ever met anyone who led a life quite like you. There are people who dream of excitement and pursue adventures with all their might, but never really find it. You however, seem to attract it like flies to a manure pit. You know, some people might consider you a very lucky man.”

  Ammon snorted and jerked his thumb at the door. “Lucky? Have you seen my bride?”

  Boris nodded. “Aye. Well, there is that. Not exactly what you had in mind I’m sure. But perhaps she’s more than what she appears? Let’s hope so. If not you can always hope to go blind…and deaf. Losing your sense of smell probably wouldn't be so bad either.”

  He groaned as Boris’ hardened face split in a wide grin. With a weak laugh Ammon spread his arms wide. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to take my place would you Boris?”

  The big man’s laughter boomed through the bedchamber. “No, I think not! She’s much too old for my taste, but I’ll tell ya what I will do. Once this ceremony is over, come down to the Hold with me. Mabel cooks almost as well as she can sew, and she’s been pushing food down my gullet since I arrived here. There is enough leftovers to feed even that bottomless pit of a stomach of yours!”

 
Ammon reluctantly stood up and waited for Boris to get to his feet. “I think I’ll take you up on that invitation Boris. At least for ten, maybe twenty years or so.”

  After Boris had left, he and Fulgid waited at the Hall door while the page announced him. Numbly, he climbed the steps of the platform to stand in front of the large, gaudy throne. A kings duty. A life not his own. The last glimmering hope of a life of farming finally faded away to nothing and he idly wondered if he'd ever see his plantations or find out what type of crop coffee was.

  A thin old man leaning heavily on an elegantly carved cane stood unsteadily beside the throne. His back stooped low and his hands were twisted harshly with arthritis. He thumped the cane loudly three times against the floor and cleared his throat. When the room was silent he spoke in a frail voice. “As the next senior speaker, it is my duty to perform the ceremony of Merger by Marriage. The wisdom of the Hall has accepted and approved the proposal set forth by the House of Celest. The Merger of these two Houses will mend the rift and bring unity back to the DoTarian nation. Bring forth the Heads of the Houses! House of Les, step forward!”

  Ammon hesitantly moved forward to stand silently beside the man. Ancient fingers reached down and grasped his wrist with surprising strength then forced his hand into the air. “I see before me, Ammon, House of Les! Now step forth the head of the House of Celest!” A long silence filled the room. Annoyed, he banged his cane against the floor. “I say again, House of Celest, step forward!” There was a long, silent pause, and he dropped Ammon’s hand and in irritation motioned to one of the pages. “Go to her chambers and find her!” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and mumbled just loud enough for Ammon to hear. “You’re a braver lad than me to marry that lizard of a woman, I’ll say that much!”

  Several long moments later, the Hall doors opened and the page entered leading El who carried a small bundle in her arms. The page hurried up the platform and leaned forward to whisper in the ear of the speaker. The old man’s eyebrows suddenly rose, and he stood up as straight as he could and shouted, “I have an announcement! This young lady has terrible news I’m afraid!” In a soft voice he coaxed El to come closer. “Go ahead my girl, tell them!”

  Ammon could see El’s face was pale and streaked with tears. She held up the bundle she carried and her voice broke as she spoke. “My grandmother Sasha…is dead! The Kala-Azar…” The bundle in her hands unraveled to reveal heavy blood soaked stains in the rags that Sasha had worn. “This is all that was left!” She sobbed. “She’s dead!”

  The Hall was silent except for her weeping and Ammon could take it no longer. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, and as she buried her face in his chest, she dropped the rags on the floor. They stood there for a long time, with the whole Hall watching in quiet respect.

  The withered old man finally stepped forward and gently separated them. His old voice creaked like a broken hinge as he spoke. “Listen to me, my dear. She lived her life the way she wanted and refused to change for anyone. I’ve never known her to even consider a compromise until she set this motion before the Hall, and that agreement still must be fulfilled. Now child, you must answer me. In the absence of your elder sister Eithne, do you, Eliva, represent the House Celest?”

  El nodded and closed her eyes as the old man raised her hand with Ammon’s and clasped them firmly together. Then from his pocket he produced a long gold and silver ribbon and in an intricate pattern, carefully bound their hands together. “Ammon, head of the House of Les. Eliva, head of the House of Celest. In the name of unity, the authority of the Hall declares your Houses as one! In the eyes of God and before the Hall of Knights and all of DoTaria, this union is forged and cannot be broken. As Speaker of the Hall, I declare Ammon and Eliva, House of Les-Celest, the rightful king and queen of DoTaria! The Merger is complete! Long live your majesties!”

  As the speaker stepped back and bowed, the hall erupted in a deafening roar as the knights of both DoTaria and Gaul rose to their feet and applauded. Dazed, Ammon leaned down and spoke into El’s ear just as Fulgid leapt onto his back and perched on his shoulder, “Could you tell me something?”

  She nodded as she wiped a tear from her cheek.

  He leaned even closer so only she could hear. “Did we…just get married?”

  ***

  A large pile of paperwork lay neatly stacked in the center of the desk in front of Ammon. Several times a day a representative from the Hall brought him important documents that needed to be reviewed and signed. Each time he pretended to stare at it thoughtfully before placing it aside with a promise to look it over carefully. Later, Erik would read it to him and make his recommendations. He shook his head in wonder. How the kingdom managed to accomplish anything with so many projects that required approval was beyond him. If it was so important, why didn’t someone just take care of it? Why did everything need to be written down as a proposal and presented to him before it could be carried out? If the roof needed repair, just get it fixed instead of wasting two days for a signature while the water poured in! It was enough to make him want to pull out his hair.

  Fortunately, Erik was skilled at seeing through the fluff as he described it, to determine what the writer of the proposal wanted. Once, Erik laughed as he read off the price of twenty gold talons for the repair of a fountain in the square. At his advice, the document was sent back with orders from Ammon to strike the man’s name from the palace workers. Although harsh, word would spread, and there would be less chance of another trying to overcharge the palace.

  Today he was alone in his chambers with Fulgid, who had curled up comfortably on one of the overstuffed chairs. It had been a month since Sasha’s death and the merger of El’s House with his. He was relieved that it was El instead of Sasha, but it still made him uncomfortable. He hadn’t had the opportunity to find out how El felt about it yet, he’d only seen her once briefly since they were married. No sooner had the ceremony ended and she closed herself into her chambers and refused to see him.

  He felt torn. Although it was true he had not been a willing husband, for reasons he couldn’t explain, he wanted to see her again. He had grown to relish the awkward conversations with her and how his stomach fluttered when they talked. She teased him terribly, yet he enjoyed her company. It was all very confusing.

  He leaned back in his chair and stretched as he gazed out the window. The morning sun streamed through a cool foggy mist rising off from the mountains in the distance. “Fulgid, I need to get out of this room for awhile. Want to go with me to the Nest and visit Derek?”

  He knew he didn’t have to ask. Fulgid liked Derek and at the mention of his name the little dragon was off the chair and bounding for the door, looking back to see if Ammon was following. “Just a moment, I have to wear my sword any time I leave my chambers remember? Palace rules.”

  He rolled his eyes as he belted it around his waist. Each day Boris and Stalwart came to instruct him in his sword lessons. At first the two men bristled at each other, each one interrupting the other’s lessons as if trying to out do the other. By the end of the first day. they’d spent more time arguing with each other than teaching. As the days passed, they began to view each other with mutual respect, and both agreed that he should carry his sword anytime he was outside his quarters for both protection and as a symbol of honor to the DoTarian’s.

  He followed Fulgid out the door of the royal quarters and headed towards the stairs. The halls were crowded with various craftsmen who respectfully stopped working and bowed as he walked past. He acknowledged them as politely as he could and quickened his pace so they could return to their work. Repairs to the palace were progressing slowly but steadily as the scattered population began to return, bringing with them skilled workmen.

  The fourth floor badly needed attention to make the knights quarters habitable, as well as most of the top two levels. Derek had taken it upon himself to oversee the repairs of the Nest using the few Gaul craftsmen that had accompanied them t
hrough the tunnel. Despite his gentle nature, the DoTarian’s kept a respectable distance from him at all times and few would venture onto his floor.

  Ammon knocked politely before entering the Nest. It looked far different now than the dark and dingy place where he and El had discovered the large clutch of dragon eggs a month ago. Oil lamps glowed brightly in every corner, casting a warm glow on freshly swept floors and walls cleared of cobwebs. On a large table near the tender’s room was a mound of fresh fruit, blocks of cheese, and breads. He couldn’t help but smile at the feast when he remembered the cold gruel he had lived on. A few well-placed words to the royal kitchen from him had insured that Derek would be well fed.

  The big man was diligently stoking the coals of the furnaces, and Fulgid gleefully ran to greet him. Derek’s broad face broke into a grin as he lifted Fulgid with a massive hand and plopped him onto the shoulder of his thick leather shirt. “Hi, Fulgid! Hello, Ammon!”

  Ammon smiled. After the ceremony in the Hall, everyone would only address him as ‘your majesty’ or ‘my king’ and treated him as such. Derek however, acknowledged everyone in the same, simple way regardless of his or her position. Ammon liked that. “How are things here, Derek? Are they bringing you enough to eat? Do you want me to have more sent up for you?”