In the last few rays of sunlight, a brief flash on the streets below caught her eye, and she leaned forward to see what it was. A dark figure quickly moved from the shadows of one building to another, obviously trying to avoid being seen. Following closely behind was a small gold dragon.
She frowned as she watched Ammon’s movements in the fading light. He was obviously heading towards the southern gate, which could only mean he was heading towards the tunnel. His insane plan to slip through some hidden crack to distract an entire army while the dragons and knights cleared the tunnel entrance truly frightened her. It would be too easy for him to be killed, and she seemed to be the only one who recognized the danger. Even so, work on the tunnel wasn’t supposed to begin until tomorrow, and she knew from their descriptions that it took more than an hour to pass through to the other side.
She watched as he slipped around the corner of a building and out of sight. “What are you up to, Ammon?” She bit her lip in disapproval. If he was going to do what she suspected, he was likely going to get himself killed.
***
Ammon waited until after the evening meal before he strolled out of the palace, as if going for a leisurely walk. He knew it was unlikely anyone would question him about the bundle he carried under his arm containing the dark cloak. After all, as king, he could walk the city anytime he chose. He knew what he was about to do was risky, but he had realized after he thought Boris was dead that he couldn’t stand the thought of losing anyone else. The information he would gather tonight would be invaluable despite the danger. Erik was right, war had a price, and he wanted to make sure the cost was as minimal as possible.
His plan was really quite simple. He would slip out the crevice after nightfall and stay hidden in the shadows. Although there were a few dark clouds building up over the mountains, tonight’s full moon should offer enough light to see the layout of Tirate’s defenses. It would take about an hour to estimate the number of men and the locations of the crossbows, then he would return back through the passage. He smiled smugly. With any luck, he’d be back before midnight.
Once outside the palace walls, he camouflaged Fulgid’s gleaming scales with an old sackcloth, then slipped into the growing shadows of the buildings and hurried towards the gate. Fulgid trotted behind him, and as they crossed the sunlit square, he looked back just in time to see Fulgid’s sack slip off. He paused for a moment and tied it securely back into place. He had thought one sack would be enough to cover the little dragon, but it left parts of him exposed. From a distance the brown cloth made Fulgid look like some sort of strange dog except for the golden feet poking out.
Once they passed through the gate, they sprinted into the cover of the trees and began the trek up the hill. It wouldn’t take long to reach the entrance to the tunnel. A path had been cleared through the woods as the mined calentar was brought down to the palace, and the open trail made traveling easy. He slowed to a walk to conserve energy. He didn’t want to be too exhausted to defend himself should something go wrong.
The entrance of the tunnel was lined with rows of glass-covered oil lamps, and at the end was a large pot filled with oil. Further inside was a large lamp with a very small wick that was left alight for lighting the other lamps. Ammon picked up one of the full lamps and held the wick to the tiny flame. A puff of smoke rose as it sputtered to life, and he pushed the protective lens into place and looked down the dark passageway. “Are you ready, Fulgid?” The little dragon paused to swivel his ears and looked curiously back into the woods and then trotted down the tunnel.
The light cast shadows on the stone walls that moved and twisted with the surface of the rock. Only the crunch of gravel under his feet and the click of Fulgid’s claws made any sound as they walked. The oppressive weight of the mountain felt as if it were pressing down on him, and it was a relief when the tunnel opened up into the calentar cavern. Evidence of the recent mining lay about everywhere. Picks, shovels, and wooden wheelbarrows were scattered about, but the amount of crystals still seemed impressive as the lantern’s light bounced and reflected on their surfaces.
One particularly large crystal, the size of a man, lay on its side atop a four-wheeled cart waiting to be pulled out. Ammon ran his hand over the smooth surface in awe. If each dragon needed only a handful a day, once pulverized, this crystal alone would be enough for many months. It was not the largest of the crystals either. Some of the bigger ones were as wide as a large oak tree and reached twenty to thirty feet up to the ceiling. Those crystals would probably last years.
He picked his way across the cavern to the small crevice and placed his lantern on the ground. He would have to make the trip in the dark. Any light seen coming from the hole would instantly give him away, and it would be difficult to carry anyway. He removed his sword from belt and laid it beside the lantern, then followed Fulgid headfirst into the blackness.
As the walls scraped against his back and shoulders, he realized the space felt narrower than before. The months of sword training and better food had built up his muscles noticeably, and it was a little more effort to work his way through the crevice. He squirmed his way down on his belly, and eventually he poked his head out from behind the rock in the face of the wall where their camp had been. Wrapped tightly in his sackcloth, Fulgid was waiting patiently in the dark beside the opening.
The moon lay partially hidden behind thick clouds that swirled past, and a rumble in the distance signaled a coming storm. Light from a multitude of campfires dotted the field where the dragons once resided, and rows of tents glowed from the lanterns within. Ammon silently climbed out the rest of the way from the crevice and pulled his dark cloak over him, careful to stay deep in the shadows.
The nearest tent was more than two hundred feet away and Ammon kept close to the wall where the shadows were darkest. He moved quietly towards the river and the collapsed tunnel exit. As he got closer, he could hear voices drifting over the sounds of the Olog River. He dropped to his hands and knees and crept closer with Fulgid beside him.
Fifteen small campfires arranged in a semi-circle surrounded the tunnel exit. Beside each fire sat several men and at least one of the big crossbows. Beyond them was another, larger semi-circle of fires and the shadows of more crossbows in the distance. Ammon pursed his lips in thought. With that many crossbows they could maintain a steady hail of the thick, spear-sized bolts raining down on the dragons emerging from the tunnel. The diversion he needed to create would have to be huge, big enough for all of the men stationed here to think they were under a major attack from another direction.
Fulgid’s ears suddenly twitched, and he turned to look behind them. Ammon strained his eyes in the dim light but could see nothing. He turned his attention back to the fires and tallied up what he thought was a good approximation of men. Forty crossbows with two men each arranged in two semi-circles around the exit. From where he was, he couldn’t count all the individual tents or fires in the field, so he guessed there were roughly two hundred tents. That number made sense if they kept the crossbows manned round the clock in three shifts. Satisfied that he had gathered enough useful information, he slipped deeper into the shadows and followed the wall back towards the crevice.
Fulgid crept slowly in front of him. His sack covering made a soft, whisking sound as he moved. Several times he paused to listen, his ears quivered uneasily at some unseen threat, and he would wait until it passed before continuing on. They were only a few yards away from the crevice when Fulgid suddenly squeezed himself tight to the wall, and Ammon did the same. A man appeared and walked towards them holding a torch high. Ammon held his breath and instinctively reached for his sword before realizing he’d left it in the cavern. The man veered off behind a pile of large boulders and the torch faded from sight. With a sigh of relief, he again moved forward and bumped into Fulgid.
“C’mon, Fulgid! Let’s get out of here before we have any more close calls!” Fulgid looked back at Ammon, but didn’t move.
The whisper of
a familiar voice rose from the darkness in front of him. “Quiet! You’ll get us both killed making that much noise!”
Ammon jumped in surprise and banged his head against the rock wall. “El? What are you doing here?” he hissed.
The voice was filled with irritation. “Trying to keep you from getting killed! Now will you please SHUT UP before someone hears you?”
Angry, Ammon moved past Fulgid towards the voice. “Dragon spit! El, I don’t have time for this right now, we have to…ugggh!”
He was interrupted by a sudden, blinding pain in his right side that took his breath away and with an involuntary moan he fell face first into the dirt. The shadows around him rushed in as he tried to move. “El?”
***
El cursed something she knew was far from ladylike. Even in the faint moonlight she could see the arrow jutting out of Ammon’s chest beneath his right arm. He lay motionless and she quickly placed her hand on his chest to see if she could feel him still breathing. The man with the torch was cautiously peering from behind a boulder some distance and was holding up his torch to see if he’d hit his prey.
With a low growl, a Fulgid started towards the man but he stopped with El’s urgent whisper. “No Fulgid! If he yells the whole camp will be down on us in seconds! We’ve got to get Ammon out of here!”
Fulgid reluctantly turned back and gripped the shoulder of Ammon’s cloak with his teeth and dug his claws into the dirt. Quickly, the two of them dragged Ammon the last few yards back to the crevice. When they got to the opening they backed into the hole and pulled Ammon in by his left arm. The arrow jutting from his ribs banged against the stone and a low moan escaped from Ammon’s lips. Fulgid leaned across Ammon and neatly snapped the shaft of the arrow off with his teeth. Then he and El pulled Ammon in the rest of the way and began to gradually work their way up the crevice.
***
Pock was sure he’d seen a shadow moving along that rock face. To be sure, he ducked behind a boulder, dropped his torch, and fired an arrow at it. He was beginning to think that perhaps he was imagining things when it moved again and disappeared behind a rock. He drew his sword and approached cautiously. There were scuff marks in the dirt and a pool of blood leaving a trail behind a boulder. He shoved the boulder aside and held his torch up to the blood smeared on the edge of the hole. So it seemed he’d hit his target after all.
He smiled to himself. “Ah, so they are still in there, eh? Well that one won’t live long if Grody’s poison is as effective as he says it is!”
He picked up the broken shaft of the arrow and twirled between his filthy fingers. “Now if they be spying on us, then they must have some plans of returning after all! Lord Tirate will want to hear about this before he heads back to Gaul!”
He slid his sword back into its scabbard and chuckled gleefully. This kind of information could mean a few more gold talons in his pay! He turned and trotted back towards the tents, taking a shortcut through the brush rather than the cleared path. The faster he got there, the sooner he could tell Tirate.
He was about to step around a strangely shiny boulder when it suddenly moved. He jumped back in surprise and held his torch up to see a gray, glistening body and large mandibles that suddenly began to click eerily. Small unblinking black eyes stared up from the ugly head as it looked at him.
In shock, he dropped the torch and drew his sword to instinctively strike at the revolting creature in front of him. The blade bounced off harmlessly, and as it turned to face him, he stabbed and slashed at it with all his might. He almost had time to scream when, with a twitch of its bulbous tail, the strange creature suddenly launched itself at him with incredible speed.
***
Both El and Fulgid were panting heavily by the time they emerged hours later into the cavern dragging Ammon behind them. Her hands were numb and bleeding, and her knees and elbows were rubbed raw. It had taken far too long to pull him through the crevice without being able to check his wounds.
The lanterns they’d left behind produced enough light that she could see his face, and it scared her. His eyes were partially closed, and his face was terribly pale. His lips were bluish, and he didn’t respond when she shook him. Fulgid paced the length of his body, stopping to push his limp hands with his nose. El spat out the dirt that had accumulated in her mouth. Curse the fool! How could he do such a stupid thing?
She pushed a stray strand of hair out of her face and then rolled Ammon gently onto to his left side. With her belt knife, she carefully stripped off the blood-soaked cloak and held the lantern up to investigate the wound. He was wearing his armored vest, but the arrow had passed through the armhole and struck him in the chest below his arm. Gently, she slipped her hand beneath the vest and slowly felt his back until her fingers found the tip of the arrow emerging beneath his shoulder blade. Judging from the angle, it had glanced off his ribs and spared his lung, but the injury was still quite severe. His breathing was shallow and ragged, and his body felt cold to her touch. She knew she had to do something and soon. With the amount of blood he was losing, there was no way he’d live long enough to get to the city.
She pulled back her hood and wiped her hands on her shirt. Although her grandmother had often been harsh and controlling, she truly wished she were there right now. As a skilled healer, she’d know exactly how to remove the arrow and treat the wound. El hung her head. Her grandmother would also have told her she could do this herself. It wasn’t like she had any other choice anyway. She slipped off the pouch she always carried from around her waist and emptied its contents on the cavern floor. Of the handful of tiny vials, she selected two, shepherd’s purse and an ointment of leopard’s bane, and then she looked around the cavern.
Near the wall the miners had stacked a pile of firewood beside a large barrel of drinking water. Several mugs and a small pot hung on a metal rack over a blackened ring of dead coals with a makeshift chimney that rose up to the ceiling and out of sight. El quickly arranged some kindling and struck a small fire, then dropped the shepherd’s purse into the pot and left it to boil.
She turned back to Ammon and gently propped him into a sitting position. Carefully, she used her belt knife to reach underneath and cut away at the heavy fabric that held his armored vest together. The blade dulled quickly against the dragon scales, but she kept at it until she could peel it back from his side. Then she pulled off the remains of his blood-soaked shirt and ripped it into strips. She spread a thick layer of ointment across the cleanest ones and put them aside.
When the tea was ready, she poured a cup into a mug and forced it into his mouth. Weakly, he shook his head and murmured, but she pushed it past his lips and waited until he swallowed it. When the cup was empty, she reached behind him and grabbed the arrow tip with trembling fingers. “This is going to hurt, Ammon, but it has to be done. I’m sorry.” He screamed as she yanked it out and then went limp and slumped forward. She eased him down to his left side and wrapped his chest tightly with the ointment-soaked bandages and strips of cloth. Fulgid anxiously hovered nearby, nudging Ammon’s hand with his nose and looking at El expectantly.
She wiped her hands with a rag and shook her head at the little dragon. “I’ve done all I can for now. It seems I spend most of my time patching him up, and does he appreciate it? I doubt it!”
She tossed the rag down and looked thoughtfully at the four-wheeled cart loaded with the large crystal. “Fulgid, could you help me move that?” El knew that dragons were intelligent, but it still surprised her when Fulgid bounded over to help pull the heavily-laden cart closer to the crevice. Then, using every bit of her strength, she pushed the crystal over the side and it slid down the hole and out of sight, slamming and banging until it came to a sudden stop with a sickening thud.
She dusted her hands off in satisfaction. “Nobody will be following us up through there and Ammon won’t be going down either. Two problems solved at once.”
Gently, she lifted Ammon onto the cart and draped his cloak over him. Then sh
e used the heavy leather cargo straps to tie him on securely and hung the lanterns on each side of the cart with the rest of the tea. She gripped the handle with both hands while Fulgid tugged on one of the leather straps, and they began to pull him up the long tunnel. It was a long trek back to Laton and the sooner they got there, the better it would be for Ammon.
It was deep into the night when they finally reached the tunnel exit and she could hear the rain long before she could see it. The dark clouds that were gathering when they left had turned into a raging storm. Cold winds whipped the hillside and sheets of rain lashed deep into the tunnel opening. Streaks of lightning split open the sky with a deafening roar.
El groaned in frustration. If she tried to pull Ammon through that he’d freeze to death before she even got near the city! She moved the cart deeper into the tunnel away from the wind and blocked the wheels with stones. Ammon’s face was pale and he was shivering violently beneath the cloak. She frowned and tucked the cloak tighter around him as she mumbled to herself. “Somehow I’ve got to find a way to keep him warm. His hands and face are as cold as ice! We need a good fire, but with this rain, where will I get dry wood?”
Hatch (The Dragons Of Laton) Page 31