***
The days of forced rest were beginning to wear on Ammon. Despite El’s best intentions, he felt confined as if his clothes were too tight. An overwhelming urge to stretch and escape the confines of his bedchambers gnawed at him, making him restless. The wound in his side still ached, but he was sure a bit of exercise would help. Shortly after breakfast one morning he announced his intentions of to visit Derek in the Nest.
El rolled her eyes as she tried talking him out of it. “You hardly need to bother checking up on him. You know those eggs couldn’t be better cared for.”
It was true, but he missed his frequent trips to the Nest. He sat fidgeting and scratching until El finally relented on the condition that she accompanied him to make sure he didn’t overexert himself. He agreed eagerly, and as they readied to leave, he stopped at the bedchamber door and looked in. Fulgid lay stretched out on the bed. “Aren’t you coming with us to see Derek?”
With a muffled groan, the dragon rolled onto his back and stuck his feet in the air. Ammon chuckled. “Alright, sleep in if you like, but Derek will be disappointed!” Arm in arm, he and El left his chambers and slowly climbed the stairs to the Nest.
Derek was sitting on the edge of the Nest dangling his tree trunk sized legs over the side. One of the Gaul Knights sat beside him and both turned their heads as they entered. He had met most of the knights of both Gaul and DoTaria but barely knew more than a dozen by name. However he knew this particular knight simply because Tashira was the only female.
Derek jumped to his feet as they approached and ran to grab a few chairs from the side of the room so they could sit down. “How are you feeling, Ammon? Shouldn't you be in bed resting? Would you like a cup of tea?”
Ammon shook his head and wheezed. “No thank you, Derek, we just came to visit and see how you were doing.”
Derek stood uneasily, shifting from one foot to the other. “I’m okay and the eggs are doing well! I turn and clean them just like you showed me, but I'm still not sure about that big egg, it keeps getting larger and larger. Are you sure you don’t want a cup of tea? I can put honey in it for you!”
Ammon rubbed his aching chest, and again shook his head, as he winked at El. “No thank you, I’ve had more than I can stand lately! Now, about that egg, it’s still getting bigger?”
Derek’s eyes shifted towards the Nest. “Yes, it keeps growing, but the shell is still soft and there are no marks on it. Are you sure you don’t want tea?”
Tashira spoke up from her seat on the edge of the Nest. “Yes, Derek, I think tea for King Ammon is a wonderful idea!”
Derek practically ran to the back for his teakettle and Ammon and El looked questioningly at Tashira. She shrugged her shoulders and swung her feet up to sit cross-legged facing Ammon. “He’s been terribly worried about you since you were injured. If you don’t let him do something for you he might just explode.”
Ammon grunted faintly and rubbed his chest. “Yes, I suppose so. Though I swear if I have any more tea I’m just as likely to explode myself.”
Tashira snorted, and her tightly braided ponytail swung back and forth as she shook her head. “Wait until you see his teacup!”
Derek returned with a cup so large that Ammon had to grasp it with both hands. As he struggled to find a way to hold it, he whispered to El. “This isn’t a teacup…it’s a flaming soup bowl with a handle!”
El nodded absently as she stared curiously at Tashira's gray dragon scale armor. Ammon shrugged and tried unsuccessfully to sip the tea. He was finding it increasingly harder to breathe and his chest seemed to tighten more with every breath. Perhaps El had been right, it was too early for him to roam about.
El left her seat to kneel beside Tashira. “Excuse me, but I’ve never heard of a female knight before. Are they common in Gaul? Is their training different and was it difficult to link with a dragon? Do you always wear your armor?”
The two quickly became so immersed in conversation that Derek had to call their names repeatedly before they heard him. When they finally realized it, the big man simply pointed a huge finger at Ammon sitting lopsided in the chair. The large teacup slipped from his hands onto his lap and spilled to the floor in a steady stream.
“He don’t look so good!”
Ammon felt like there were iron bands around his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs with each painful gasp. The wound in his side throbbed mercilessly and the skin around it felt as if it would burst. He forced his eyes open to see El beside him, her face clouded with worry. He tried to focus on his breathing, but each labored breath became more difficult than the last.
El’s voice was frantic. “We need to get him downstairs quickly!”
Tashira placed a hand on El’s shoulder and nodded to Derek. “He can carry him to your chambers easily. I’ll stay here and tend the eggs for him.” With a firm but sympathetic grip, she took El's hand between hers. “Take good care of him El. We need him…and you. We can talk more later.”
Derek reached down and effortlessly scooped Ammon up into his massive arms as if carrying a baby and followed El quickly down the stairs.
Ammon faintly muttered between gasps. “Need…Fulgid!”
As they burst through the chamber doors El waved a hand at the couch for Derek to lay him down, but Ammon weakly shook his head and pointed to the bedroom.
“Bring me…there…quickly!”
Frowning, El nodded to Derek and the big man strode into the bedchambers and stopped. El whisked past and froze with her mouth open.
Fulgid lay stretched on his side across the center of the bed. The blankets, sheets and mattress were completely shredded beyond recognition and feathers littered the floor of the entire room. A low groan came from the little dragon and he slowly raked his claws down the covers, making fresh slices.
Ammon spoke softly but clearly. “Put me down beside him, he needs me.”
Obediently, Derek gently laid Ammon next to the Fulgid as if placing a newborn in a crib.
Ammon placed a pale hand on the golden neck and whispered. “I’m here now.”
El stepped forward, confused. “Ammon? What is wrong with…?”
Ammon held his hand up and shook his head. “Please!” He returned his attention to Fulgid. “It's alright my friend, we can do this.”
Fulgid stretched himself across the mattress, sank his claws deep into the mattress and moaned pitifully, writhing in pain. After a few minutes he stopped, and his tongue hung from the side of his mouth as he panted, then it started again, and he cried out louder and longer than before. Once more he rested before he gripped the bed and released an ear-piercing howl of agony that ended sharply with a loud crack like the breaking of stone. He squirmed and wiggled as another muffled crack rose from beneath his body. Finally he arched his back sharply and a pop sounded across the bedchambers as the scales covering his body suddenly split apart, revealing a layer of shiny new scales underneath. Moments later he stepped out of his old skin, leaving behind a small mound of scales on the shredded mattress.
Sweat beaded across Ammon’s brow and he draped a hand over the exhausted dragon, scratching him gently behind the ear. “It’s over my friend. It’s over.”
***
Tirate paced in front of the palace window overlooking Gaul. The latest report Diam had given him was not what he wanted to hear. He knew it was too much to hope for that Erik and his accursed dragons had perished when the cave collapsed. The events of that day still haunted him as rumors spread of a golden knight with glowing eyes and a gilded demon that killed dozens of men. He knew those numbers had been greatly exaggerated, but with each new telling the story grew as it spread through the entire kingdom. He was sure it was that boy from the Nest, but he seriously doubted the timid youth could wield a sword well enough to kill anyone.
That miserable mutant dragon was certainly capable of causing considerable damage. He rubbed the deep scar on his face as he recalled his last encounter with it. He had severely underestimated the t
enaciousness of the beast, a mistake he’d never make again. At least he had the satisfaction of knowing Boris was dead. The first victims of his dragon killing war machines. Many of Erik's knights were skilled at warfare, but none so much as Boris Dejias. His death would have severely demoralized the rest and robbed Erik of a superb military leader. The big question was, where did they go?
He had expected any attempt to return would have been made already. It was now mid-fall and although the daytime temperatures were still warm, the cooler nights would start to affect the dragon’s ability to fly. Even if they had found a cavern inside the mountains big enough to hold of them, they still would need a steady supply of food and a way to keep warm. He had his men comb the countryside and there was no sign of the nearly two hundred beasts. He had to consider the possibility that if they hadn’t moved by now they may already be dead.
But suddenly there were bizarre reports coming from the north. Each day one or two men would suddenly go missing from their posts, leaving behind nothing more than bloodstained clothing and sometimes a broken sword. He suspected that somehow that little mutant dragon found a way out. No full-grown dragon could make these attacks without being seen.
In a sadistic way, it made him happy to think it might still be alive. He wanted revenge for the pain and embarrassment he had suffered. He wanted to skin it alive and fashion a suit of golden armor from its shining scales to replace the steel it had shredded. It would be months before the blacksmiths could make him a replacement, he had them all busy fashioning hardware for the crossbows. He had no other choice but to use bits and pieces from the armory to make a complete suit. It fit poorly but at least it was made mostly of dragon scales, so if he ever did meet the little beast again it wouldn’t have such an easy time tearing his flesh.
A faint stirring behind him reminded him that Diam was still waiting for his orders. He turned sharply on his heel, pulled back the chair, and sat down at his desk. He selected a quill and spoke quickly as the tip scratched across the paper.
“I want the debris cleared from inside the cave. If the boy and his mutant are still alive we'll go in after them. I won’t sit back while they pick us off one at a time. Our crossbows are more than a match for a dragon. If he's alive, then there may be others. If they try to escape while we clear the rubble then have the guards pick them off the moment they exit.”
Diam wrung his hands and cleared his throat meekly. “Yes sire, but your guards are…reluctant…to enter the mountain. At least willingly.”
Tirate finished writing and placed the quill back in its holder. He sprinkled sand over the script and blotted it dry before handing it to Diam. “That is what this is for. Since I increased taxes to pay for the mercenaries, the prisons are full of those unable to pay, and more arrive every day. This document gives you authorization to use them as laborers to pay their debt. If you need more, I have a list of those who supported Erik’s regime. Have them arrested under whatever pretenses you feel appropriate. Let Erik’s own people die clearing the way.”
“An excellent plan sire! I shall start immediately!” Diam bowed as he shuffled backward toward the door so he didn’t see Liah until after he’d bumped into her. He turned sharply and his eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, I’m sorry my…Queen! I beg forgiveness!”
Liah sniffed and brushed at her gown as if an animal with mange had rubbed against her. Her voice was icy as she leveled a hard stare at the man. “If you ever do that again, I’ll have your head cut off and hung in the square.”
Diam visibly paled, and he bowed low once more before quickly leaving.
Liah sauntered around the desk and began to rub Tirate’s shoulders. “I don’t how you tolerate that man. I don’t trust him. If you like, I could…remove…him for you.”
Tirate never raised his eyes from the document he was reading. He reached over his shoulder and lifted her hand from his shoulder, then twisted it down, forcing her to crouch beside his chair. His voice was cold as steel. “How many times have I told you never to stand behind me? Diam is my secretary and will remain that way until I have no further use for him. Just as you may remain queen as long as it serves my purpose. Now leave me. I have work to do.”
He released her and she rose to her feet, rubbing her hand. With only a hint of mockery, she curtsied and briskly left the room. He rubbed his eyes in aggravation. She could have tried to kill him easily enough. He knew her knife was hidden just inches from her grasp in the hem of her dress, but it would have been too obvious who did it. It was a risk to keep her nearby, but right now he needed her. With the news of a golden dragon reappearing in the north, some of the Houses began to question if he had indeed linked with that dragon after all. The elaborate hoax was beginning to crumble, and until the new mercenary troops arrived, he couldn’t possibly quell an uprising.
His sudden, unexpected royal wedding to a stunningly beautiful woman quickly redirected the public’s attention perfectly, and the protests had temporarily quieted. If they rose again he’d have to find another distraction. Perhaps he’d announce she was with child. As much as he hated children, eventually he would need an heir.
***
Liah stormed into her bedchambers and slammed the door. The man had no idea how close she came to slitting his throat. Frustrated, she drew one of the knives from behind her belt and threw it at the door where it sank deep into the wood with a solid thunk. The only reason she hadn’t killed him a dozen times already was because she liked the prestige and adoration of being a queen, a much better position than her previous employment. Until now, she had merely been just another assassin for Tirate until the fiasco with that horrid little dragon and that insufferable boy. That was her first and only failure, and the memory of being forced to shovel tons of fly-infested dragon dung was almost more than she could bear. If she ever got the chance to repay that insult, she would be sure to make it painful.
She shivered at the thought. If Tirate’s men hadn’t attacked Erik’s camp so quickly, she probably would have been discovered hiding beneath the dung. As soon as she realized there was a battle looming, she covered herself in the largest pile she could find and waited.
She looked at herself in the mirror and adjusted her hair. She was beautiful and she knew it, but that day in the woods was beyond humiliating. It had been no small feat to convince Tirate’s men to bring her to him, especially covered as she was with filth. The miscreants had thrown her in the river headfirst before they would agree to it. If she’d had any knives, she’d have stabbed every one of them.
She flashed a brilliant smile into the mirror as she thought about the things she could now do as queen. Once Tirate had taken care of that horrid little golden beast, maybe she’d ask for a necklace made from its scales. As for Ammon, the boy was pretty enough to look at, so maybe she’d have him as her personal slave. When she tired of looking at him, she'd send him out to shovel manure for the rest of his life.
She dabbed a little powder to the end of her nose and gazed at her reflection. She had always taken particular care of appearance, but her nose was by far her favorite feature. Powder and paints could disguise many flaws, but a badly shaped nose could never be hidden. Many men had been led to their doom with no more than a wink of her eye, and her looks had been the key to becoming the queen of Gaul, the most powerful woman in the world! Never again would she touch a shovel, not for the rest of her life!
***
Ammon sat beside El patiently and waited as Boris eased himself into a chair in front of the breakfast Kyle had spread before them. The flames in the huge fireplaces of the royal sitting room crackled and popped, sending tiny sparks up the chimney. The first frost of the year covered the windows, but inside the palace was quite comfortable. Below them in the Hold, the furnaces churned out a steady supply of heat that radiated up into every room, and the numerous fireplaces added extra warmth. Neither Ammon nor El felt any affects of the chill outside, but the cold seemed to effect Boris, and he moved stiffly. Fulgid seemed to p
articularly enjoy the warmth as he lay stretched out in front of the fire snoring contently.
Boris wasted no time devouring his meal, and when he finished, he leaned back in the chair and patted his stomach. “Between Kyle and Mabel, if I keep eating this well I’ll soon be as big as Ellis.”
Ammon and El exchanged glances and tried to hide their smiles. Since Boris’ return, Mabel had taken it upon herself to feed and care for him. Now that his health had returned, he was quite capable of doing it himself, but she still insisted on doting over him. It seemed everyone but Boris knew her true intentions. He poured himself a steaming cup from a large pot of black liquid and gestured at Fulgid in front of the fireplace.
“Speaking of getting bigger, that dragon of yours still hasn’t grown much since his last shed has he?”
Ammon looked over his shoulder and shook his head. Even stretched out as he was, his body still wasn’t much bigger than a large cat with a tail that was easily as long as the rest of him. “I think his tail has gotten longer but the rest of him seems about the same. How big do you think he’ll get?”
Hatch (The Dragons Of Laton) Page 34