His mind turned to the stories he’d heard about the war. There had been four leaders of the resistance: the Wizard, the Dragon Rider, the Monk, and the Dragon Slayer. All four had managed to conceal their identities, an impressive feat in and of itself. All four had fought and prevailed against the dragons for years until the last dragon defeated them. After that final battle, they vanished from sight, presumed dead and gone.
Ben had been three years old when the war ended and the dragon proclaimed victory. That was the year his father and mother had died. An uneasy feeling began to turn in his stomach.
“Do you remember my mother?” he asked Homer.
“No,” he answered sleepily, lazing in the bright sunlight.
“I think I know the truth about my past.”
Homer grumbled, rolling to his feet and going to Ben, nosing him on the chin. “Keep it to yourself. It’s not safe to talk about it.”
“I know,” Ben said, scratching his dog’s head. “But it’s also not safe to remain ignorant. I have questions that need answers.”
“When the time is right, Cyril will tell you what you need to know.”
“Like how it is that you can talk,” Ben said.
Homer grumbled again and flopped over on the mossy riverbank. “The sun feels good.”
Ben looked at him and shook his head.
Chapter 19
“We have to go back,” Frank said nervously.
Everyone looked at him like he’d lost his mind.
“Chen had a dragon-bone amulet,” he said. “We need it.”
Cyril looked down, shaking his head sadly.
“It’s too dangerous,” Imogen said.
“Not half as dangerous as trying to fight these people without weapons or magic of our own,” Frank said. “Besides, Chen killed most of the Dragon Guard and John wounded Nash. She’s probably on her way back to the Lake of the Woods right now.”
When nobody tried to argue, Frank got to his feet and hoisted his pack.
“Let’s go, right now, while we have the chance.”
No one moved to get up.
“Are you kidding me? We can’t pass up this opportunity. We have to have that amulet.”
“And what would you do with it?” Cyril asked without looking up.
“Magic,” Frank said with exasperation.
“You know nothing of the powers that you wish to wield,” Cyril said. “You would only harm yourself or those around you.”
“This is unbelievable,” Frank said. “We need an edge. Even without the amulet, there are weapons back there—swords and those fire rifles the Dragon Guard use.”
“The blades might be of use, but they aren’t worth the lost time or the risk,” Cyril said. “As for the rifles, I doubt they would function in our hands, or worse, they may do us harm for attempting to use them.”
“What are you talking about?” Frank said. “They’re just guns … and we need guns.”
“No, they’re not just guns,” Cyril said. “They’re almost certainly enchanted, and that means you wouldn’t be able to use them.”
“How do you know?” Frank said. “Is this just one more thing you’re holding back?”
Cyril sighed but made no effort to argue.
“Okay. Rufus and I will go while you wait here,” Frank said.
“Think so, do ya?” Hound said, looking at Frank with a mirthless grin.
“Come on. You know better than anyone that we need more guns.”
“I do, but not those guns. If Cyril says they’re dangerous, I believe him.”
“Why? Why do you all follow him so blindly? He’s made the wrong decisions at every turn. If you’d just listened to me, we’d be in Rogue City by now and Imogen would have her baby back.”
“Or we’d be dead,” John said.
“Just drop it, Frank,” Ben said.
“Or what? You gonna hit me again?”
It was Ben’s turn to sigh. “I said I was sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t fix my nose,” Frank said. “You owe me. Come with me. We can go get that amulet and their weapons.”
“It’s not going to happen, Frank. We’re headed west.”
“If your apology meant anything, you’d take my side,” Frank said.
Ben stood up and strapped on his pack, looked Frank in the eye and turned away from him, heading west along the river.
“One of these days, you’re going to need my help,” Frank said. “We’ll see how you like it then.”
“Now can I pee on his leg?” Homer asked.
“Tempting, but no,” Ben said.
They followed the river for several hours, Frank bringing up the rear, muttering curses and occasionally shouting them. Everyone tried to ignore him, which only antagonized him further.
“He’s going to be a problem,” Homer said.
“I know.”
“Maybe we should have let him go back on his own.”
“He wouldn’t have,” Ben said. “He needs an audience … and people to lean on.”
“Goddamn it!” Frank finally shouted. “We have to turn back. We can’t just leave magic behind us.”
Everyone stopped.
Cyril looked around for a moment, checking the sun in the sky as it slid west.
“We’ll rest here for a few minutes,” he said. Then he walked over to Frank and said quietly, “Don’t you think they’ll be waiting for us there?”
“Who? Nash was injured and her men are all dead.”
“The men we saw were killed, but there may have been more,” Cyril said, holding his hand up to stop Frank from objecting. “But I’m far more concerned about the bird. It hasn’t been following us since we escaped, but it’s still out there somewhere. If I had to guess, I’d say it was waiting for us to come back for Chen.”
Frank frowned, shaking his head as he worked through Cyril’s warning. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “It’s just a bird. Rufus could blow it out of the sky.”
Ben watched his brother and grandfather argue.
“Maybe I should encourage him to go look for that amulet,” he said to Homer. “At least that would give me a chance to talk with my grandfather without fear of him overhearing us.”
“He wouldn’t find it,” Homer said. “But that might be fun, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“Chen gave it to Imogen while you were out,” Homer said.
“What?”
“He told her to keep it a secret.”
Ben started laughing.
When Frank and Cyril stopped arguing and looked at him, he realized they could hear him and decided to use his strange behavior to his advantage, striding up to Frank like he meant to hit him again.
“I’m tired of your whining,” Ben said loudly. “If you want to talk, then tell us how you got us out of jail.”
“I told you—”
“No, you didn’t. If your story were true, the Dragon Guard wouldn’t be hunting us. If you bailed us out like you said, according to their rules, they wouldn’t be the least bit interested in us. So tell me, how did you get us out?”
Frank glowered at him, shaking his head. “That really hurts, Ben. You’re my own brother, and you don’t even trust me.” He touched his nose tenderly and made his way around him, heading west along the river.
“There’s something there,” Homer said.
“No doubt about it,” Ben replied, sharing a sad look with his grandfather as Cyril put a hand on his shoulder.
“Whatever the reason for their initial interest, they have greater reason for hunting us now,” Cyril said quietly.
“I know,” Ben said, holding his grandfather with a deliberate look. “Frank’s right about one thing—you’ve held back important information. Sometime soon, we’re going to have to talk about that.”
Cyril looked down sheepishly. “When it’s safe, we will,” he said.
Ben nodded, heading out to catch up with Frank.
After several hours of walking, John st
opped to check the position of the sun. They’d followed the river as it turned northwest. Now it was bending around due west.
“We’d make better time on the road,” he said, pointing through the trees up the rise to the north. “It runs along the Red Blanket into Prospect where it meets up with the old highway.”
“You think its safe?” Cyril asked.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” John said, “but it’s faster.”
“What do you know about Prospect?”
“Abandoned … about a year ago.”
“Well, I guess it’s in our path.”
John nodded, turning toward the road. Ben was silently grateful for the even ground of hard-packed dirt. The road was overgrown with grass but the foxtails were still too green to be a nuisance. More importantly, he saw no evidence of recent passage.
Homer grumbled when a gentle rain began to fall. Ben tossed up his hood and trudged on. They saw little in the way of wildlife, mostly birds and squirrels—nothing large enough to be a threat. Ben suspected that the stalkers had chased off most of the larger animals … he didn’t blame them for leaving.
The day wore on and his boots and pants got progressively wetter and heavier. Worse still, his coat started to soak through. He didn’t complain out loud, but he did wish for a break in the weather, something that didn’t look to be forthcoming given the monochromatic grey of the sky. The rain wasn’t heavy, but it was steady and unrelenting. By the time they saw an old rusty sign for the city of Prospect, he was cold, wet, and miserable—his coat entirely inadequate to the weather.
“Maybe we can find a place with a roof for the night,” Hound said.
John had stopped, staring at the dilapidated buildings that had once made up the tiny town. At its height, Ben guessed that the place had been home to a thousand people.
Now the buildings were broken down and overgrown, moss clinging to the parts that were shaded by trees. Several of the houses had collapsed in on themselves.
“Doesn’t look like anybody’s been here for a long time,” Imogen said.
“Doesn’t mean they haven’t,” John said, not making any move toward town.
“Let’s find someplace dry,” Frank said. “One of the houses is bound to have a roof.”
“We should be cautious,” Cyril said.
“Of what?” Frank asked.
“Scavengers … stalkers … bandits. Take your pick.”
“Is that smoke?” Ben asked, pointing toward the north end of town.
John squinted into the rain, nodding after a moment.
“Are you sure?” Frank asked. “Looks like a cloud to me.”
“It’s not,” John said. “Someone lives here.”
“All the better,” Frank said. “Maybe we’ll find a hot meal.”
“Wishful thinking,” Hound said. “Odds are better that we’ll end up being the meal if we aren’t careful.”
“Oh God,” Imogen said. “They wouldn’t really eat us, would they?”
“Maybe not literally,” Hound said, with a half grin.
“Better to avoid them,” John said. “People who live in places like this tend to be desperate.”
“Where else are we going to stay?” Frank asked. “We don’t have much light left, and I’d rather not sleep in the rain.”
“Let’s find a place at the south end of town and try to avoid notice,” Cyril said. “With any luck, we’ll be on our way before they know we’re here.”
John scanned the ruined town again, turning off the road and heading toward the backyards of the line of houses running along the south side of the road. He picked his path carefully, stopping often to watch and listen for any sign of a threat, but the houses were all vacant, cold and broken. The road ran east to west for several hundred yards before turning north toward the hazy streamer of smoke rising in the distance.
“I don’t think anyone lives on this end of town,” John said, “and a few of these houses look intact enough to keep us dry for the night.”
“Pick one and let’s get out of this rain,” Hound said.
John pointed to a house they had passed a few moments before. “Roof’s intact,” he said, walking back the way they’d come.
The old fence surrounding the backyard was broken in several places, the boards having come loose and fallen into the tall grass, allowing easy access. John slipped through and carefully approached the back door, stopping for nearly a minute, listening intently. Satisfied, he motioned for the rest of them to remain quiet while he opened the door. When the hinges creaked, he winced and came to a standstill. He waited for several moments before stepping inside.
“Do you hear anything?” Ben asked Homer.
“Nothing but John and the creaky floorboards.”
Ben deliberately released the tension in his shoulders. Something felt off about the place—the entire town just didn’t seem right.
A few minutes later, John returned, moving less cautiously than he had when entering.
“Empty,” he said.
They filed inside. The place smelled of mold and rot. The air was stale and cold, but it was dry. A few of the windows were broken, but most remained intact and dirty enough that they were difficult to see through. John led them into the living room.
Old chairs and a couch surrounded a low table, all set on a moldering rug atop the hardwood floors. Tracks of a raccoon or some other small mammal led upstairs, but there was no indication that people had been there in a very long time.
“Looks like they left in a hurry,” Imogen said, leaning in close to examine a number of framed pictures on the wall.
“Stalkers’ll do that for ya,” Hound said.
John drew the heavy curtains shut across the front windows. “We should be careful about light,” he said.
“Let’s get some wood for a fire,” Frank said. “We could probably burn that table.”
“Not tonight,” Cyril said. “The smoke might alert the town’s inhabitants.”
“Oh, come on,” Frank said. “It’s almost dark. Nobody’s going to see the smoke at night. We’ll keep it small.”
“No, Frank,” Cyril said. “It’s too dangerous.”
“But my clothes are soaked and I’m tired of being cold. We need a fire.”
“Not tonight. Hang your clothes on a line and wrap up in your bedroll. You’ll be warm enough.”
Frank clenched his jaw and shook his head, glaring at Cyril, but when nobody else sided with him, he did as he was told.
Ben drew first watch. He sat listening to the sound of rain on the roof, expecting something bad to happen. The darkness inside the house was nearly complete, but the only thing he heard was the sound of the rain. When his watch ended, he was grateful to wake Hound and curl up in his blankets.
Chapter 20
Ben woke to a commotion sometime during the night and saw light flickering across the walls of the room. He could hear Frank and Cyril whispering intensely.
“I told you no fire,” Cyril said.
“It was my watch,” Frank said. “I was cold … and I’m tired of you telling me what to do.”
“You jeopardize us all.”
“Bullshit,” Frank said, his voice rising. “Go back to sleep, old man.”
Hound and John woke up as well.
They all froze at the sound of footsteps upstairs. Not those of a man, but of a barefoot child running across the floor.
“What was that?” Imogen whispered.
No one responded, everyone holding still, straining to hear whatever came next.
Laughter echoed down the staircase, a child playing.
“I thought you checked upstairs,” Frank said to John.
“I did,” John said, pulling on his boots.
“Sounds like you missed a kid,” Frank said, turning toward the stairs.
“That’s no child,” Cyril said, stopping Frank with a hand on his arm and a warning in his eyes.
Frank took in Cyril’s expression with a glance and look
ed back to the staircase. Footsteps started down the stairs, boards creaking under bare little feet, slowly, tentatively, as if a child were sneaking up on someone in a game of hide-and-seek. Then, in the space of one step, the sound changed into heavy boots bounding down toward them. All eyes were on the landing. Three rushed steps later, the sound transformed into a howl of such inhuman anguish that Ben felt his blood freeze in his veins.
A shadowy apparition hurtled down the stairs, indistinct in form and inky black. It crashed into the wall at the landing, its entire smoky substance exploding like a hurled ball of tar, but then coming back together just as quickly and coalescing into something that could not be. A creature of darkness. It had no eyes or mouth, no claws or fangs, but it radiated malice and fear. The wall where it had hit was scorched and smoldering.
While all eyes were on the beast, the front door burst open with such force that the top hinge broke free, the door slamming against the wall with a crash and coming to rest at a sickly angle. The thing in the landing spun in a ball of blackness, tentacles whipping out a few feet every now and then, leaving black scars on the surfaces they touched.
Ben felt visceral fear well up within him with such intensity and gibbering madness that he nearly lost all sense of himself and bolted for the door.
Imogen screamed.
Standing in the threshold of the front door was another beast, this one seven feet tall and looking for all the world like Satan himself. Reddish-black skin, chiseled muscles, horns sprouting from his forehead, a barbed tail, and hateful glowing red eyes.
“Hold!” Cyril shouted.
Frank cried out in terror and ran. Somewhere in the distance, Ben heard the back door burst open as Frank fled into the night. Then he realized that he was up and holding his sword, facing the twin beasts with Homer growling at his side.
“Be gone!” Cyril shouted. “You have no power in this world!”
Both beasts roared in rage. The spinning blob of darkness darted across the room toward Ben. He swept aside, bringing his blade up and through the thing, but there was nothing there. The apparition passed him, tentacles whipping overhead as he ducked away. It hit the wall with a loud thud, vanishing with a shriek, leaving a black stain.
The Dragon's Egg (Dragonfall Book 1) Page 19