The Dragon's Egg (Dragonfall Book 1)

by David A. Wells

  Carlyle held his eyes for several moments before nodding. “Go on, make preparations for the night guard. I’ll be along shortly.”

  After the man left, Carlyle approached the cell, stopping well out of arm’s reach.

  “I didn’t want to do this,” he said, “but I’m not sure I have much choice now. Two Dragon Guard representatives arrived from Rogue City a couple of days ago. My deputy is probably headed to talk with them right now. And he’s right about the consequences if I let you go.”

  “Did the wanted poster say what we’d done?” Cyril asked.

  “No, just names, pictures, and some pretty big numbers.”

  “My daughter’s husband gave their firstborn baby to the priest,” Cyril said. “She left him and came home to me. When he came for her, we fought back. That’s our crime.”

  Carlyle frowned, shaking his head in dismay. “Doesn’t sound like much of a crime to me.”

  “No, not at first anyway,” Cyril said. “I think they’re more upset about the eight or ten Dragon Guard we killed trying to get away from them.”

  Carlyle blinked a few times, going very still. “That’s a lot of blood.”

  “Not nearly as much as I’m willing to spill to protect my family,” Cyril said. “Mark my words, Sheriff, if you choose to serve the dragon, then you’re choosing to serve evil.”

  “Like I said, I need to think,” he said, walking out the door, leaving them alone in the cell.

  “What the hell are we going to do now?” Frank asked. “If the Dragon Guard are here, we’re screwed.”

  “I can’t argue with that,” Cyril said, taking a seat on one of the benches lining the walls.

  Ben sat down next to him and leaned in close. “I still have that revolver,” he whispered.

  “I know, but that would draw too much attention. Keep it hidden for now, but be ready if things get violent.”

  “What are you talking about?” Frank asked.

  “Give me a minute, Frank,” Cyril said. “I need to think this through.”

  “What’s there to think about? We have to get out of here.”

  “I agree, but we’ll have a far better chance with Carlyle’s help, if he decides to give it. If we make our move now, it’ll force his hand.”

  “So what? We just wait for someone else to decide our fate?” Frank said.

  “Sometimes doing nothing is the best strategy,” Cyril said.

  “I might agree with that in principle,” Hound said. “Don’t much like the feel of it in practice.”

  “Carlyle has the reputation of an honorable man,” John said.

  “It might be better for him if we escape without his help,” Imogen said.

  “Who cares about him?” Frank said. “We have to think about ourselves.”

  “And once we’re out?” Cyril said. “How many of these people would you kill to escape?”

  Frank started to say something but thought better of it, instead turning in a huff and running his hands through his curly black hair.

  The door opened and the deputy entered with two Dragon Guard on his heels, both dressed in riding leathers and crimson cloaks. One was marked with the single rune scar while the other was scarred on both cheeks.

  “Just like I said,” the deputy whispered.

  The lead Dragon Guard held up the wanted poster to compare pictures, nodding appreciatively to himself.

  “The six of you have caused quite a stir,” he said. “The prices you command make me wonder at your value.”

  Cyril didn’t bother to get up or even meet the man’s eye.

  Hound stepped up to the bars and folded his arms across his chest, offering nothing more than a shrug.

  “Come now, the priest himself has taken an interest in you. That simply doesn’t happen. Perhaps if you help me understand, I can make your transport to Rogue City more comfortable.”

  “This is all a mistake,” Frank said. “We’re just travelers who look like the wrong people.”

  The lead man looked at his companion and then laughed, his demeanor turning deadly serious a moment later. “First, you will address me as Dominus. Second, if you lie to me again, I will personally cut out your tongue. Do you understand?”

  Cyril was up, placing a hand on Frank’s shoulder in an instant.

  “There’s no need for that, Dominus,” he said. “As you said, the priest has taken an interest in us. Honestly, I don’t know why that is, but then I don’t know your ways very well either. It may be that he wants to talk to us, which would require that my grandson keep his tongue.”

  The Dragon Guard narrowed his eyes at Cyril, cocking his head to one side, before turning on his heel and heading for the door.

  “So when will I get the reward?” the deputy asked, following behind in a rush.

  Cyril stepped over and took Imogen’s hand, closing his eyes for a moment and then watching the door intently. It closed but didn’t quite latch. He let go of his daughter’s hand with a grin and a wink. She looked from him to the door.

  Cyril turned to Ben and said, “Call Homer. He might be able to bring us that key ring.” He pointed to a peg on the far wall.

  “You think his dog is going to break us out of here?” Frank asked incredulously.

  “Pretty sure of it,” Cyril said.

  Ben stepped up onto the bench and looked out the window. After a few minutes, he saw Homer peek around the corner of a nearby building.

  “The door’s unlatched,” he said to him. “Come inside the building … and be careful that nobody sees you.”

  “The guy they sent after me couldn’t find his ass with both hands,” Homer said, nearly vanishing into the rapidly growing shadows.

  A minute later he nosed his way into the building.

  “Bring me the keys,” Ben said aloud, just for appearances, pointing at the ring.

  Homer trotted over, reached up with both front paws on the wall and took the key ring in his mouth.

  “I don’t believe it,” Frank said.

  “Told you he wasn’t stupid,” Ben said.

  “We could leave your brother here,” Homer said.

  Ben just chuckled as he knelt down and took the keys, giving Homer a scratch behind the ear. They were out of their cell a few moments later and had their weapons soon after that.

  “Did you see any way out of town?” Ben asked Homer.

  “Just the two gates, but there are a few places along the walls with gaps big enough that I could squeeze through.”

  “Could we?”

  “I doubt it.”

  Hound took a moment to check the other cabinets. The first contained blankets and pillows. The second held uniforms. The third was locked, but opened with one of the keys. He smiled broadly at the contents, holding up a box of shotgun shells.

  “Is that a rifle?” Frank asked.

  “Yeah, but I doubt it’ll do you any good,” Hound said, pulling out a weapon made of plastic and tech metal. It looked like a typical rifle, except the muzzle had a hole no bigger than the diameter of a push pin.

  “Why not?” Frank said, taking the weapon.

  “No power cartridge,” Hound said, pointing to a rectangular opening along the underside of the weapon just in front of the trigger guard.

  “What is it?”

  “Gauss rifle,” Hound said. “If we had power for it, it would definitely be worth taking, but as it is that thing’s just a club.” He pulled out another small box, nodding to himself. “These might come in handy though.”

  “What are they?” Frank asked, clearly disappointed by the uselessness of the powerful weapon he held.

  “Pistol bullets,” Hound said, stowing them in his bag with the shotgun shells. “I suspect they fit the guns the sheriff and his deputy carry.”

  A cat screamed in the distance. Everyone froze, straining to listen. Shouts filled the small town, followed by the sounds of men running to take up defensive positions.

  “Never thought I’d be glad to hear that,” Cyri
l said. “Let’s go. Stay to the shadows and keep Bertha quiet unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

  “You really going to carry that around?” Ben asked Frank.

  “Well yeah, you never know if we might come across the … what was it that it needs to work?” he asked, turning to Hound.

  “Gauss rifle power-cell,” Hound said. “And I can pretty much guarantee you won’t find one.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” Frank said.

  “I thought you might. Just remember, if we get into a fight, that hatchet is a better weapon than a tech rifle without power.”

  Cyril cracked the door and peeked out, waiting a moment before opening it just enough to stick his head out. He looked back and nodded, leading them out into the night, stopping at the corner of the building and scanning the shadows for any hint of threat before racing across the alley behind the jail and in between two houses.

  The stalker screamed again. Shots rang out, followed by more shouting.

  Cyril headed for the wall at the edge of town. At each road or alley, he stopped in the shadows, watching carefully for several moments before running across into the cover of darkness again. Many of the houses had lamps hanging beside the doors, all burning brightly as if they served to ward against evil. The doors remained locked and the shades were all drawn. All the townspeople who weren’t manning the walls were huddled inside their homes.

  “There’s someone up ahead,” Homer said to Ben.

  Ben tapped Cyril on the shoulder and motioned toward the wall. They came to a halt, remaining in the alley, waiting and listening.

  Two men walked by, each holding a lantern high, both nervously looking up at the wall as if they expected a beast to come over at any moment.

  From the direction of the north gate where they’d entered the town, Ben heard someone scream in pain. Then more gunshots added to the tension in the air. The two men on patrol hurried off toward the sounds.

  “We’ll move along the wall looking for a way out,” Cyril whispered. “If we don’t find one before we reach the south gate, we’ll have to fight our way through.”

  “I’ve got one grenade round left,” Hound said. “I could just blow a hole in the wall.”

  “Let’s save that option for now,” Cyril said. “I don’t want them to notice we’re gone and we might need that round later.”

  Hound nodded in the dark.

  When they reached the timber wall, they moved cautiously and quietly, slowing when they approached a guard tower occupied by a single man whose attention was directed entirely outside the town.

  Once past the light of the tower’s lamp, they moved more quickly, searching without luck for a break in the wall. There were a few gaps wide enough to reach through, but none large enough to accommodate a man.

  When they neared the corner of the wall and another tower, an alarm bell began to ring. One of the two men in the tower quickly raised his lamp, throwing light onto the perimeter road.

  “Stop!” he shouted.

  “The prisoners have escaped,” the second man yelled.

  Both brought their weapons to bear, a tech bow and a crossbow.

  “Run,” Cyril said, racing in between the nearest houses and out of view of the tower. Reaching the alley behind the row of houses, he turned north into town, heading back the way they’d come.

  “Where are you going?” Frank whispered harshly.

  “Shut up and follow me,” Cyril said over his shoulder without slowing. He raced up the narrow alley without concern for stealth until he reached the guard tower that they’d already passed under. He turned into the gap between two houses and crept up to the threshold of the tower’s light, peering out of the shadows at the guard.

  The man was now alternately scanning both inside and outside the town.

  “Get the rope ready,” Cyril whispered. “Don’t move until I give the signal.”

  He poked his head out, looking both ways before withdrawing quickly. Sounds of men approaching reached them followed by a scream of pain and terror. All eyes turned up toward the top of the tower. A mountain lion had the man by the throat, shaking the life out of him before tossing his corpse to the road and turning its malevolent black eyes down toward the town.

  “Come,” said a voice from behind them. They all whirled to see two Dragon Guard several streets away looking straight at them. The lead man beckoned to the stalker. “These are your prey.”

  The stalker screamed and leapt onto the roof of one of the houses right next to them.

  “Run toward the posse,” Cyril said, slipping out into the relatively well-lit street and running, hands up and open, toward the dozen men coming their way. An arrow whizzed overhead, driving deeply into the stalker but with no effect.

  “Ignore the prisoners!” Carlyle shouted. “Kill the stalker!”

  Cyril and the others ran toward the wall and out of the way, giving the townsfolk a better line of sight on the stalker. Shots cracked overhead and bowstrings snapped. The stalker roared in rage but wasn’t deterred by the onslaught of arrows and bullets.

  When Ben reached the wall with the rest of his friends and family, he turned back and watched as the stalker leapt to the ground and began to approach, snarling with malice and anticipation.

  The Dragon Guard reached the road behind the stalker a moment later.

  “Hold,” the Dominus shouted.

  The stalker stopped, looking back at him with a tortured whimper.

  The Dominus fixed his gaze on Cyril and commanded, “Lay down your weapons and surrender.”

  Ben looked from the Dragon Guard to the townsfolk. Carlyle locked eyes with Cyril.

  “The Dragon Guard sent the stalkers,” Carlyle said. “Take them!”

  “Your whole town will burn for this,” the Dominus said.

  “Yeah, but you’ll die first,” Hound said, raising Bertha and firing his last grenade round at the stalker-cat, hitting it in the head. The explosion sent blood and meat splattering across the road, killing the stalker and leaving little more than a bloody stump where its head and neck used to be.

  John loosed an arrow at the Dragon Guard, hitting the lesser-ranked man in the chest and dropping him to his knees, the riding leathers he wore providing nowhere near the protection of their customary black battle armor.

  “What are you doing, Sheriff?” his deputy said in horror.

  “Protecting Shady Cove,” Carlyle said.

  The Dominus ran off in between the houses, fleeing for his life.

  “After him,” Carlyle barked.

  Most of his men complied, but the deputy and two others turned on Carlyle.

  “No, we need them,” the deputy said. “We can still collect the reward and we can beg the Dragon Guard for protection.”

  “You idiot,” Carlyle snapped. “Didn’t you see the man command the stalker. They sent them to scare us into submission.”

  “You’re wrong,” the deputy said, his hand moving slowly toward his pistol. “You’re not fit to be sheriff.”

  Carlyle’s eyes went flat and hard. “This job isn’t about money or power. It’s about doing right by the people.”

  “Not any more,” the deputy said, going for his gun. He didn’t manage to clear the weapon from its holster before Carlyle pulled and shot him through the chest, bringing his pistol to bear on the other two men a heartbeat later.

  “Lay down your weapons or die.”

  Both hesitated until the deputy fell face first into the dirt.

  The sound of Rufus racking another round into Bertha got their attention.

  “I suggest you do as the man says,” Cyril said.

  Both men laid down arms and stepped back slowly, looking from Carlyle to Hound.

  “You know the way to the jailhouse,” Carlyle said to his two former posse members.

  “And us?” Cyril asked.

  Carlyle looked at them and sighed. “Frankly, I’d like you to get the hell out of my town.”

  “Walk us to the ga
te and we’ll be on our way, Sheriff.”

  “Good enough.”

  Chapter 23

  “I still don’t see why he wanted that gauss rifle back,” Frank said. “It didn’t even work.”

  “Maybe ’cuz it was his,” Hound said.

  Frank huffed, shaking his head.

  They’d walked down the road for an hour or so before turning into the forest, heading west for another hour before stopping to make a cold and dark camp.

  Dawn brought a deep blue sky filled with fluffy white clouds. Ben couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty of it. The air was clear and fresh and the forest was filled with bright green shoots and new leaves.

  After a cold breakfast, they set out cross-country due west. The terrain was anything but forgiving—steep rises leading to sharp ridgelines and even steeper descents into valleys cut by trickling streams all running toward the Rogue River. Fortunately, the forest was thick enough that there were plenty of trees they could use to aid in their ascent and slow their descent, but not so thick that it hindered travel.

  Occasionally, they came across old roads cut through the forest centuries ago and mostly neglected over recent decades. Only the absence of mature trees and the presence of tall grass marked their locations.

  While they made slow progress, they began to feel a sense of safety in their relative isolation. Tracking them through the rugged forest would require a stalker or dogs or a very skilled outdoorsman. Even if the Dominus had survived Carlyle and his posse, it was inconceivable that he could have reached Rogue City, rounded up soldiers and returned to lead a search overnight. It would be at least a day before the Dragon Guard would find their trail and even longer before they’d get close enough to pose a threat.

  “Where are we going to go after we get Imogen’s baby back?” Frank asked when they stopped at a stream to rest and eat lunch.

  “I have a friend up north, in the Deschutes Territory,” Cyril said. “He’ll take us in until we can decide what comes next.” He glanced at Ben with an unspoken admonition to remain silent.

  “You know the dragon will be moving north soon enough,” Frank said.

  Cyril nodded. “By the time he’s ready to take another territory, we’ll have moved on.”