The Dragon's Egg (Dragonfall Book 1)

by David A. Wells

  “Just that you left by boat.”

  “Goddamn it, Zack.”

  “What did you want me to do? The Dragon Guard scare the hell out of me.”

  “Did they say anything else?”

  “No, not really, just that Britney got arrested for helping you escape.”

  Frank grabbed his hair with both hands and turned away from Zack before turning back quickly and taking him by the shoulders.

  “You have to go. Right now!”

  “But I came all this way to warn you. I want to know what’s going on.”

  “No, you have to go.”

  “But why?”

  “For starters, because if my grandfather sees you, he’s going to kick your ass.”

  “But, I just want to help.”

  “Trust me when I tell you, you don’t want any part of this. Just go home.”

  “What about Britney? If you come back, they’ll probably let her go.”

  “Britney will be all right,” Frank said. “Her father is an important man. Look, Imogen came home to get away from her husband because he beats her. He bribed the Dragon Guard to arrest my grandfather and brother, then tied Imogen up for the trip back to Rogue City. We’re going after her. That’s all I can tell you right now.”

  “Oh … I like Imogen. She’s pretty.”

  Frank closed his eyes and sighed. “If you come with us, the Dragon Guard will be after you too.”

  “I hadn’t thought about it like that.”

  “I have to get back to the dock. Just remember, if my grandfather sees you, he’ll knock you on your ass.”

  Zack nodded dejectedly and took the reins. After a few steps, he looked back, but continued on toward K Falls when he saw Frank watching him.

  “What did he want?” Hound asked when Frank returned to the boat.

  “To be included.”

  Hound snorted and shook his head. “The kid has no idea.”

  Frank did a quick inspection of the boat before taking the key and heading back to the warehouse.

  Cyril had a small pile of supplies waiting for them. “Top off your packs,” he said. “We might have to make do in the wild for several days.”

  He pointed to a bundle atop another pallet. Frank frowned as he unrolled it and found a sturdy leather belt with a long knife and a hatchet that looked more like a tomahawk upon further inspection.

  “What am I supposed to do with these?” Frank asked.

  “You wanted a weapon. I just gave you two.”

  “May I?” Hound said, taking the hatchet without waiting for Frank to give permission. He stepped outside and hurled it at a big cedar thirty feet away, burying the blade deeply into the heavy bark. “Not bad,” he said. “With a bit of practice, you might be dangerous with that thing.”

  “Huh,” Frank said. “I didn’t know an axe could be thrown like that.” He went to the tree and struggled for a moment to extract his new weapon, finally putting his foot against the trunk and nearly falling when the blade came free.

  Ben and John returned a few moments later.

  “No one would sell,” Ben said.

  “Damn,” Cyril said. “I guess we’re on foot. Load your packs up and we’ll head out. Oh, did you remember to drop that letter into the post for me?”

  “Yes,” Ben said, nodding. “Who’s up in the Deschutes Territory?”

  “Just an old friend,” Cyril said.

  Chapter 7

  “How often do the Dragon Guard patrol this road?” Cyril asked as they set out.

  “Once a day,” John said, adjusting his pack.

  “It’s pretty close to evening … it’s a good bet they’ve already come this way,” Cyril said. “If we hear horses, everyone get into the woods and hide.”

  The road was cracked and broken. A strangely angular spider’s web of light green moss decorated both sides of the pavement like the filigreed hem of a robe. Bits of moss clung to the cracks in the middle of the road where the cart wheels and horse hoofs had missed them.

  Firs and cedars lined the sides of the road, filling the crisp air with a sweet fresh smell. The undergrowth was sparse and littered with fallen trees in various stages of decomposition. Boulders, pockmarked with lichen, were scattered across the forest floor.

  “Is that a marker?” Ben asked, stopping to point through the trees.

  John peered into the forest and nodded, turning back to the road without a word.

  Ben lingered for a moment. The marker was nothing more than a stone pillar six feet tall and two feet around. He trotted to catch up when the rest of the party kept walking.

  “Doesn’t look like much. I wonder how they keep the stalkers out.”

  “Magic,” John said.

  “Well, I know that. But how?”

  “The markers are enchanted by the priests,” Cyril said. “Each one bears a series of dragon runes on the far side. The stalkers can sense them.”

  Ben fell silent, looking at a tree with clumps of thick green moss on one side.

  “I like the way the forest smells,” Homer said.

  Ben smiled at his dog. Homer was always pleased by the simple things.

  While they walked, Ben thought about magic and the dragon. He had so many questions, but he knew that answers would not be forthcoming. Growing up, he’d hounded his grandfather with his curiosity about everything. Cyril had always been willing to indulge his questions on just about every topic … except magic.

  Ben always felt, almost intuitively, that Cyril knew more about the subject than he would say. But all his grandfather had ever offered was that magic wouldn’t be magic if we understood it—it would be science.

  In light of recent events, he decided to try again.

  “How does magic work, Grandpa?”

  Cyril looked over to his grandson and smiled sadly, nodding to himself as if some prerequisite had been met. He took a few moments to formulate his thoughts, as was his habit when Ben asked questions with particularly complicated answers.

  “Magic is largely a function of the presence of dragons, though not exclusively so. In fact, every culture in human history has stories of wizards and witches.”

  Hound snorted dismissively.

  “You doubt the existence of magic?” Cyril asked.

  “Well, not now,” Hound said. “I buy the part about the dragons, but myths and legends are just that.”

  “Perhaps I would agree if we were talking about a handful of stories,” Cyril said, “but we aren’t. When every culture in the world for thousands of years has handed down similar stories, it becomes more difficult to dismiss the underlying concept.”

  “If magic was here before the dragons, then why wasn’t it commonplace?” Hound asked.

  “Because it requires a level of will that most people simply don’t have,” Cyril said.

  Ben felt a tingle of dread in his spine, but he couldn’t quite place why. “What does willpower have to do with magic?” he asked.

  “Everything,” Cyril said. “Will is the very essence of magic.”

  “I thought dragons were the essence of magic,” Frank said.

  “In one sense they are. Dragons have a different relationship with reality than we do,” Cyril said. “A dragon can perceive and interact with other planes of existence and with the beings that live there. Dragon magic is largely the product of those interactions and the bargains made with the denizens of those worlds.”

  “Then how do the priests cast spells?” Ben asked.

  “That is the crux of the matter, isn’t it?” Cyril said. “As it turns out, any conscious being with sufficient will and knowledge has the ability to cast spells when in the proximity of a dragon or a dragon artifact.”

  “You mean I could cast spells if I had a dragon artifact?” Frank asked, suddenly very interested in the direction the conversation was going.

  “What’s a dragon artifact?” Hound asked.

  “Any part of a dragon, from scale to bone to blood, is an artifact. And yes, wit
h the right knowledge anyone can use magic—if they have an artifact.”

  “So if I find a pile of dragon shit, that makes me a wizard?” Hound said.

  Cyril chuckled, shaking his head. “No. Though I have heard stories of people using excrement to wield magic, it rarely turns out well for them. Besides, you don’t have the knowledge. Without that, attempting to bargain with beings from other realms is usually fatal.”

  “So how did the real Wizard do it?” Ben asked. “How did he fight the dragons with magic?”

  Cyril fell silent, shrugging and shaking his head.

  Homer barked softly. “I smell horses.”

  “We have to get off the road,” Ben said.

  Cyril looked to his grandson and nodded agreement without a word, heading through the trees toward a cluster of boulders entirely overgrown with moss.

  “Why?” Frank said. “We’re the only ones here.”

  “Listen,” John said, cocking his head into the gentle breeze. “Horses, maybe six or seven. Step lightly. We don’t want to leave them a trail.”

  Everyone crouched behind the boulders. Ben found himself holding his breath as the clip-clop of horses grew louder.

  John lay down on his belly, peeking around a boulder, a fallen fir bough draped over his head.

  Frank started to poke his head up to get a look, but Hound pulled him back down and admonished him with a glare. In the space of two minutes the horses had passed and the sound of hoof on broken pavement was fading into the distance.

  John sat up and frowned. “I wonder why they have your friend.”

  All eyes turned to the Highwayman.

  “Zack was riding with one of the Dragon Guard. His hands were tied to the saddle horn.”

  Cyril closed his eyes and shook his head.

  “Why would they have Zack?” Ben asked.

  Hound looked at Frank with a withering glare.

  “What?” Frank said.

  “Are you going to tell them or am I?”

  “Oh, that,” Frank said, offhandedly. “Zack followed us to Rocky Point. I sent him home.”

  “What?” Ben said.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Cyril said. “And what, exactly, did you tell him?”

  “I didn’t see the point in telling you,” Frank said. “I told him to go home and he left—nothing to tell.”

  “What did you tell him, Frank?” Cyril demanded.

  Frank shrugged helplessly, shaking his head, his hands up and open.

  “And why would they even be following us?” Ben asked.

  “Maybe they’re not,” Frank said.

  “Nash was leading them,” John said. “Seems like too much of a coincidence.”

  “What did you tell Zack?” Cyril asked again.

  “Nothing, really. Just that we were going to get Imogen back.”

  “Damn it, Frank. Why do you think I kept Zack in the dark?”

  “I had to tell him something to get him to leave, so I told him the truth,” Frank said.

  “That still doesn’t explain why they’re following us in the first place,” Ben said.

  “How should I know? Are we going to stand here and argue or go get Imogen? We’re losing daylight.”

  “What aren’t you telling us?” Cyril said.

  “Nothing!” Frank said, turning away angrily and heading back to the road.

  “He’s right about the light,” John said, looking at the sky.

  “How much farther?” Cyril asked.

  “Couple hours, more in the dark.”

  They caught up to Frank a few minutes later. He was walking fast and breathing heavily from the exertion.

  Cyril stopped him with a hand on his arm, turning him around when he tried to pull away. “Listen to me. We’re in great danger here. Our lives are at risk. You can’t be keeping things from us.”

  “I didn’t think it was important,” Frank said.

  “Maybe it is, maybe is isn’t,” Cyril said. “Either way, we need to know.”

  “All right,” Frank said, holding his hands up in surrender. “Can we go now?”

  Cyril scrutinized him for a moment before nodding.

  As the light fell, the forest seemed to close in. All of the sounds that added to the sense of natural beauty during the day transformed the night into a threatening and foreboding place. Shadows cast by the sliver of moonlight seemed to move of their own volition. Ben was already nervous when a howl of frustration and rage shattered what little calm he had left. It sounded like a wolf at first but became a scream of such unnatural fury and pain that Ben froze to the spot.

  “What the hell was that?” Frank whispered.

  “Stalker,” John said.

  Homer whined softly.

  “What do we do?” Ben said.

  “Nothing,” John said. “We’re inside the markers.”

  “How much farther?” Cyril asked.

  “An hour or so.”

  “We’ll make better time with some light,” Cyril said as he took a candle lantern out of his pack.

  “Won’t that give us away?” Frank asked.

  “Not until we get closer.”

  As they moved through the night, the dim glow of Cyril’s lamp did little to calm Ben’s nerves. He replayed the sound of the stalker in his mind, trying to reconcile his understanding of reality with the wholly alien shriek of the beast in the darkness.

  He jumped when Cyril put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Dwelling on it won’t help.”

  “I know, but I don’t know how to un-hear that sound.”

  “So don’t try. Simply recognize it for what it is.”

  “That’s just it,” Ben said. “Nothing of this world is supposed to make a noise like that.”

  “And therein lies its power to evoke fear,” Cyril said. “The stalkers may look like animals, but they’re not. The unnatural quality of their shriek is the product of dark and terrible magic—and so is the fear you feel when you hear it.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that was a spell we just heard?” Hound asked.

  “Not a spell, but magic nonetheless.”

  “How do you know all of this?” Frank asked.

  Cyril shrugged. “I’m an old man. I lived through the Dragon War.”

  “You never talk about it,” Ben said.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Quiet,” John said, stopping them with the urgency of his whisper. “We’re getting close.”

  Cyril snuffed out his light, plunging the world into darkness so inky black that Ben felt a flutter of fear. He swallowed hard and willed himself to focus on his breathing, centering himself with one of the many meditative exercises that his grandfather had taught him over the years. Several slow deep breaths later, his fear receded. He smiled to himself in the dark, noting how well the technique actually worked.

  “See the light?” John asked.

  “I do,” Homer said. “I smell horses too … and food.”

  “We’re getting close,” Ben said, his eyes adjusting enough to see the flicker of firelight through the trees.

  “Slow and quiet,” Cyril said. “We’ll stick to the south edge of the road until we get closer, then we’ll move into the forest.”

  As they crept along and drew nearer to the Lake of the Woods waypoint, they could see the growing light from several fires and torches. When they rounded a bend in the road, the campground came into clear view not five hundred feet away.

  Cyril motioned for John to lead them into the forest. They moved even more slowly, taking pains to avoid making noise. When they came to a fallen log just inside the wood line, they stopped.

  From their position they could see the Dragon Guard barracks off to the side of the camp. The small building was built of stone with stout doors. A low wall ringing the roof provided cover for the two sentinels standing watch.

  Three parties were camped in the area, each circled around blazing fire pits. Two had wagons or carts parked nearby. Cyril pointed to the thi
rd.

  John nodded, scanning the wood line and pointing to a string of boulders scattered just inside the trees at a point close to the camp in question. He set out without a word, moving into the cover of the forest’s shadows, slipping through the night like a ghost.

  Ben found himself struggling to move quietly. Every step seemed to find a dry twig or branch. Fortunately, the occupants of the camp were sufficiently preoccupied that they didn’t notice.

  When they reached the boulders, John pointed through the dim firelight. All eyes fell on Imogen. She was sitting with her back to a hitching post just outside the warmth of the fire. Her hands were bound to the post, a blanket was draped over her shoulders. Enzo and one of his men were sitting closer to the flames, talking quietly while the rest of his men appeared to be sleeping.

  “I can probably get close without being noticed,” John whispered.

  “Then what?” Frank asked.

  “Then we fight,” Hound said.

  “I’d prefer to cut her loose and slip away without notice,” Cyril said, scanning the campground.

  They watched as Enzo got up from the fire and stretched. He squatted down in front of Imogen and said, “As much as I’d like to share my bed with you tonight, you’re in far too foul a mood.” He adjusted the blanket around her shoulders and smiled. “Are you warm enough, my darling?”

  “Go to hell,” she snapped.

  He shook his head sadly. “We were so happy. I hate that you can’t get past this.”

  “Get past this? Are you fucking kidding me? You stole my baby!”

  The Dragon Guard atop the barracks looked over toward them as their conversation became more heated but made no move to intervene.

  “He was our baby, and his loss pains me as much as it does you.”

  “Liar! Everything about you is a lie. But the biggest lie of all is the idea that I ever loved you. What I felt for you was a fraud, just like you. It was nothing but smoke and mirrors—a spell cast by your precious priest.”

  Enzo smiled, nodding agreement. “And you’ll feel exactly the same way again, right after the priest works his magic on you. By day after tomorrow, this will all be a distant memory and we can get back to our life together.”

  “Not if I gut you before then,” Imogen said.

  “Which is precisely why you are going to spend the night tied to a post instead of in my bed,” he said, patting her cheek and laughing at her attempt to bite his hand as he snatched it out of harm’s way.