The Dragon's Egg (Dragonfall Book 1)

by David A. Wells

  “Retreat!” Nash shouted.

  The stone moved with agonizing slowness, leaning away from them like a tree bowing in the wind. Then there was a louder cracking sound and the entire menhir fell forward and down a dozen feet in an instant, a mosaic of fissures spreading across its surface in a second. The giant pillar fell away, the top end gathering speed as it traced an arc to the ground below.

  And then it hit.

  The earth shook with a single jolt, pitching Ben forward. He landed on his knees, then fell onto his chest, his head going over the edge of the shelf. For all the world, it felt as if the ground below was pulling on him, drawing him toward it. With a surge of panic, he scrambled away from the precipice. Cyril grabbed him and dragged him farther back.

  The trigger stone exploded into a thousand pieces ranging in size from an apple to a horse, all picking up speed as they tumbled haphazardly down the slope toward the trail, gathering scree and dislodging boulders along the way.

  Ben and Cyril approached the edge as closely as they dared to watch what they had wrought. A chaotic cacophony filled the late morning air as dozens of boulders bounced and bounded to the forest floor, liberating stone and scree with each impact.

  Small sections of broken shale began to slide. Then one by one, they bumped into others and grew into a larger slide, until, all at once, an entire section of the mountain dislodged and began to move with increasing speed and energy toward the trees below.

  The Dragon Guard tried to flee the onslaught. All but one were swept away in the storm of stone, carried to their graves, buried under thousands of tons of rock in a matter of a single minute’s time.

  For two hundred feet, the slope was scarred bare, stripped of all vestiges of the trail and leaving the way entirely impassable.

  “I’d say your plan worked rather well,” Cyril said.

  “Except for the part where you triggered the avalanche without me,” Ben said.

  Cyril shrugged unapologetically and started to make his way down.

  “I’ll find you!” Nash’s voice floated up to them on the breeze. “I’ll see you burn!”

  “She’ll have a hard time picking up our trail now,” Cyril said.

  “Until she finds another stalker,” Ben muttered.

  “There is that. We should go.”

  Ben swung over the face of the shelf and pushed off, dropping to the ground amidst his family and friends.

  “That was really loud,” Homer said. “You could’ve warned me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Nash sounded happy,” Hound said, a smile creeping up one side of his mouth.

  “Yeah, I probably should’ve waited until she got closer,” Cyril said. “Fortunately, she’s alone and she’s on the far side of the slide. I doubt we’ll see her again.”

  Hound snorted. “I’ll take that bet. That bitch is pissed.” He smiled like he knew something about it. “She ain’t never gonna stop now.”

  “Is there a trail that leads around this?” Cyril asked John, gesturing to the rocky mountain face.

  John considered the question for a few moments, finally shaking his head. “None that would be fast enough for her to catch up with us.”

  “Good,” Cyril said. “She’ll probably return to Lake of the Woods for reinforcements. Let’s see about getting back to the trail without joining our friends at the bottom.”

  Several hundred feet of steep, scree-covered slope lay between the boulders and the edge of the scar. The trail was two hundred feet below, down highly unstable terrain.

  “This is kind of a dumb place to be,” Homer said.

  Ben snorted, looking sidelong at his dog, then frowning to himself as he began to see the situation from Homer’s perspective.

  “Can you make it without falling?”

  “Depends on how much the ground moves.”

  Ben started to worry.

  “Why don’t we just go back up to the ridge?” Frank asked, attempting to climb the steep, and already unstable slope that they’d slid down to get to the boulders in the first place. He made it nearly a dozen feet before the ground beneath his feet gave way, sweeping his legs out from under him. He fell face-first and slid back down to the outcropping.

  “Goddamn it!” he shouted, scrambling to his feet.

  “Keep your voice down,” Cyril said. “We don’t need to attract any more trouble than we already have.”

  “Fine. What’s your plan?”

  “I think we can tie a rope off to that rock,” Cyril said, pointing to a small boulder jutting three feet out of the scree. “From there we can slide to that cluster of rocks below, which gets us a hundred feet closer to the trail.”

  “Then what?” Frank asked, looking out over the proposed route and shaking his head. “If we make it there, we’ll be stuck. Besides, how are you going to get a rope over to that rock in the first place?”

  “I’ll take it,” John said.

  “Are you crazy? You’ll fall for sure,” Frank said.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Frank opened his mouth, closed it abruptly and turned away, shaking his head.

  “I don’t see the next step either,” Ben said.

  Cyril shrugged helplessly. “It’s the only viable path.”

  Ben blinked a few times, reality dawning on him quite suddenly. There was no other way and they couldn’t stay where they were.

  “Tie off to that stone there,” Cyril said. “It looks solid enough.”

  Once the rope was secured to the stone, John tied it around his waist. Hound took up the slack, wrapping a loop around his back.

  “Be careful,” Imogen said.

  John smiled as he looked for solid footing past the edge of the boulders. Finding only loose rock, he stepped farther out, testing his weight carefully. The ground gave way, sending a section of small rock cascading down the mountain. He steadied himself with the rope and reached out again, finding some purchase on the ground he’d just cleared of surface rock.

  He pulled himself back and looked at Ben. “I need your spear,” he said.

  Ben handed over the freshly cut sapling.

  John used the butt of the spear to knock the loose rock free, causing a constant clatter of minor avalanches down the mountain face as he slowly, cautiously, and painstakingly made his way across the scree field to the boulder.

  Ben found himself holding his breath as John neared his goal. Suddenly his footing gave way and he slipped onto unstable ground. He tried to use the spear to steady himself, but when he put his weight on it, it slid out from underneath him, dislodging another section of rock. He let the hastily crafted weapon fall lest he go with it, but to no avail. Despite his desperate attempt to find purchase, there was none to be had. The ground beneath him shifted and moved, taking him with it as it broke away and began to slide.

  He scrambled to his feet, and though wildly unsteady, he managed to remain upright long enough to grab hold of the rope tied around his waist. Using it as an anchor, he ran in stumbling and haphazard fashion across the top of the flowing avalanche toward the boulders, crashing hard into the rock face. By the time he shook off the pain, the avalanche had run its course, taking a section of the scree field with it and leaving an area with more stable and solid footing across a wide swath.

  Hound pulled him up and he sat down, taking a moment to collect himself.

  “Are you hurt?” Imogen asked.

  John shook his head without looking up. “Nothing that won’t mend.”

  “Looks like you cleared the way,” Ben said.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Frank said. “I bet I can get across now.”

  John untied the rope and handed it to Frank.

  Frank dropped his pack and stepped carefully, steadying himself with his left hand against the upslope, placing his feet slowly and tentatively. The ground was solid. Though wet and slick in spots, the loose stone had fallen away, leaving much better purchase. Before long, Frank reached the rock, a stout boulder nearly four f
eet tall, anchored to the earth as if it were part of the bedrock. He tied the rope off, creating a taut line for the rest of them to hold on to as they traveled across.

  Imogen went next, then Hound carrying Frank’s pack. Both made it safely without mishap.

  “How are we going to untie the rope at this end?” Ben asked.

  “I’ll do it,” John said.

  “You sure you’re up to it?” Cyril asked. “You took quite a hit.”

  John nodded, rubbing his shoulder.

  “All right,” Cyril said. “You’re next, Ben.”

  He nodded, hesitating for a moment before taking the rope in hand and moving into position.

  “You ready, Homer?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  He put Homer to his left, placing a hand on his back to steady him.

  “Stay with me.”

  “Where else would I go?”

  Ben gave his dog a sidelong look and reached out with his foot, testing the ground before committing his weight. Homer was more tentative, like a dog being called into the water who wasn’t sure he wanted to get wet. Ben waited for him to make the leap. After several moments of indecision, Homer scrambled out past the edge of the boulders, staying right beside Ben’s leg as he slowly moved away from safety and out into the expanse.

  “It’s okay, just stay close to me,” Ben said.

  “I couldn’t get any closer unless I was sitting on your head,” Homer said.

  Ben chuckled, taking another step. As he shifted his weight forward, the ground suddenly gave way, sweeping his legs out from under him. He slid beneath the rope, holding on for his life, putting tension on the line and sliding several feet down the mountain before the rope arrested his descent.

  He reached frantically for Homer but just missed him as he slid past.

  “Homer!” Ben shouted, watching his best friend slide away from him. He thought about letting go and looked plaintively to his grandfather for help that he knew wouldn’t be forthcoming.

  “No, Ben,” Cyril snapped. “Hang on.”

  He looked back to Homer, now stumbling toward the section of slope that had already been stripped of rock by the avalanche. He watched helplessly as a kind of fear he’d never known gripped him. Homer gained speed, though he maintained his footing, now sledding down the mountain on his front paws and his butt. He raced past the rough patch that used to be the path and continued toward the level ground below.

  Ben felt pain and panic welling up in his chest and realized that he was holding his breath. The helplessness was nearly complete. He had no power. He could do nothing to help his friend—all he could do was watch and hope.

  He hung there by one hand, his eyes fixed on Homer as the dog neared the bottom of the slope. When he began to tumble the last fifty feet or so, Ben felt his heart fall. The idea of losing Homer was more horrible than almost any other thing he could imagine. His dog had been there all his life—a constant companion with unquestionable loyalty. The prospect of his death took Ben to a place beyond sanity.

  When Homer reached the pile of rubble and debris littering the forest floor, Ben watched him come to a rest and lie still. He reached out to him with his mind, but there was only silence. His world began collapsing in on him.

  “Ben, you have to make it to the rock,” Cyril said.

  He ignored his grandfather, his eyes fixed on the still form lying so far below, each interminable moment building on the next. Homer didn’t move … and his voice was silent in Ben’s mind.

  “Ben!” Cyril snapped, drawing Ben’s attention reluctantly away from Homer. “You have to get to the rock. Focus! Bring your mind back to the task at hand and put aside your worries. They can’t do you or Homer any good.”

  “But he’s not moving,” Ben said, his voice breaking and a lump welling up in his throat that threatened to dissolve what little composure he had left.

  “Homer’s tough,” Cyril said. “And you can’t do anything to help him from where you are. Get to the rock.”

  Ben didn’t move, still hanging by one hand, still watching for any sign of movement so far below.

  “Ben, I want you to use the detachment exercise that I taught you,” Cyril said. “Step outside yourself and look at the situation from the position of a disinterested observer. Do it now.”

  It felt like a betrayal, like he was forsaking Homer, to tear his focus away from him, but he did it anyway, imagining that he was standing aside and watching from a safe, uninvolved place.

  He saw himself in his mind’s eye, hanging by one hand, the jaws of death reaching for him. Only then did he realize just how precarious his situation was. If he fell, the outcome wouldn’t be good. From the perspective of the detached witness, it was blindingly obvious that he couldn’t do anything, couldn’t know anything for certain until he was able to reach Homer. That thought snapped him back to reality and gave him the strength to resist the onslaught of emotion tearing through him.

  He set his feelings aside and focused on the task at hand, pulling himself back up and regaining his feet before carefully but quickly traversing the distance to the rock.

  “You okay?” Imogen asked.

  Ben shook his head tightly. “I have to get down there,” he said as he peered at the cluster of boulders that was their next step on the way back to the trail. He held his hand out to Rufus and said, “Anchor me.”

  Hound took his wrist, his grip much firmer than the footing beneath Ben’s feet. He stepped out past the rock and pushed at the ground with his boot, dislodging a section of scree and creating a minor landslide. Unsatisfied with the result, he reached farther and kicked still more free. After his fourth attempt, a large swath of rock fell away, clattering and tumbling as it went.

  Ben nodded to himself, looking down the mountain a hundred feet to the backstop of rock below. Under other circumstances he would have hesitated, taking a more cautious approach.

  “Ben, wait,” Imogen said.

  “No,” he said, sitting down and easing himself out onto the slope. He slid on his butt with his feet out in front of him, gaining speed quickly, a cluster of pebbles joining him in his rapid descent until he hit the boulders he was aiming for. He quickly got to his feet and started to look for the next step to the path … unfortunately, there wasn’t one, at least not one that would get him there intact.

  They would need to use the rope to descend close enough to the path to slide the rest of the way, and even then, they risked tumbling to their doom.

  “Come on,” he shouted to the others before climbing up the rocks to see if he could get a look at Homer. The lump in his throat began to swell anew when he saw that his dog still wasn’t moving.

  Again, he reached out with his mind and heard only silence in return.

  Hound came clattering down next, followed by Imogen and Frank. The three of them made it with a minimum of bruising, though all three were clearly sore from the slide.

  Ben looked up at his grandfather. “We’ll need the rope!” he shouted.

  John took a firm grip on the rope before carefully working his way down the edge of the boulder. When it pulled taut, he used it to steady himself as he walked out over the treacherous landscape. As he moved along the arc described by the rope’s length, he gained speed until he was running, passing the apex of the arc and continuing on to the section of slope that Ben had freed of loose rock before letting go and sliding the rest of the way.

  Then Cyril untied the rope and slid down to join them.

  Ben snatched up the rope as it cascaded down the hill, then hurried to the other side of the rocky outcropping, searching for a suitable place to tie off. He wasted no time in finding one, slipping over the edge and onto the unstable ground. He hadn’t gone ten feet when the scree began to slide. He lost purchase and found himself hanging by a thread again. When the slide had run its course, he continued to the end of the rope.

  “Ben, wait,” Cyril said.

  He let go, sliding the rest of the way to the
trail … but he didn’t stop there. His inertia took him over the edge while he frantically sought a firm handhold. He found one a few feet past the path, arresting his fall and giving him a moment to search for another handhold.

  It took a minute, but he managed to climb back to the trail just as Cyril reached it, stopping himself with far more control than Ben had.

  Cyril hugged his grandson without a word, then held him out at arm’s length and eyed him sternly. “Being reckless won’t help Homer.”

  “I have to get to him,” Ben said, looking down at his dog. “I have to know. If he’s alive, he needs my help.”

  “I know, but it won’t serve Homer to get yourself killed. Right now, we need to help everyone else get to the path without going over.”

  Ben tore his gaze away from Homer and nodded, anxious to be on his way.

  “We’re ready,” Cyril called up to Imogen, who was dangling from the end of the rope. She let go, sliding toward them, but not so quickly that they couldn’t easily stop her when she reached the path.

  Hound and Frank came next.

  John untied the rope and let it fall.

  Cyril looked up at him, then handed the rope to Hound. “Tie this around your waist and leave equal lengths on either side,” he said. “Frank, Imogen, you take one side, Ben and I will take the other. Rufus, your job is to keep John from going over.”

  The plan worked, though somewhat haphazardly. Both men went over, but both were stopped by the rope. As Ben and the others struggled to arrest their fall, he wondered if maybe Hound should have been on an end instead of in the middle, given his strength and weight.

  With everyone safely on the path, Ben started scanning for a way down to the bottom, but he could see no direct path that didn’t involve a sure death.

  “Could I borrow your monocular, John?”

  The Highwayman handed over the little telescope.

  Ben held his breath as he looked at his dog, searching for any sign of life. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw him breathing. Even with the monocular, the distance was too great to be certain.

  “We can get down there if we go through the trees beyond the scree field,” he said, slipping past the others and starting out without discussion.