by Sam Ferguson
“Nursery Master,” he mumbled aloud as he wrung his hands. He closed his eyes and almost stopped to turn around. It wasn’t the fear of King Geldryn’s anger that made him shrink. No, it was the shame. How had the atorats gotten into the nursery?
He approached the final door in the tunnel. A heavy portal of onyx gilded in gold leaf separated him from the king’s council chamber. Shaking fingers reached out and seized the knob. Algearon took a couple of breaths to steady his nerves, and then he pushed the door open and stepped through.
The light was blinding. Red and white flames rose in five columns in the chamber. A line of gold connected each column so that a golden star sparkled under the firelight. Beyond the star pattern was a pile of gold and jewels so tall that it would take twenty dwarves standing on each other’s shoulders to equal its peak. Algearon eyed the mound warily and stepped into the chamber, moving to stand in the center of the star pattern on the floor. He quickly glanced at the murals around him in the dome shaped chamber. They depicted auroras floating lazily over the land of Kendualdern, giving life to the first plants and animals. Above the auroras, in the upper most parts of the chamber, was a painted dragon of pure light. Every color imaginable stretched forth from this dragon, forming and giving birth to the auroras that fed the life below. Algearon brought his gaze down to the mound of gold. A couple of nuggets fell, clinking and tinking off other nuggets and jewels and creating a minute avalanche of treasure. A moment later more gold and jewels fell and up rose a snout from within the pile.
“Algearon, what news have you?” a silvery voice asked. Jewels and gold fell to the floor all around, scattering across the chamber as the mighty dragon rose to stretch out from the pile. Her golden wings flared out and her red and yellow forelegs extended before her as she stretched. She flipped her tail in an almost feline manner while her gold-speckled green eyes bore down on the dwarf.
“Forgive me, your highness,” he said with a deep bow. “But I must deliver my report directly to King Geldryn.”
“What of Siravel?” she asked in a smoky whisper. “Does the queen not merit a report?”
“I mean no disrespect,” Algearon said as he focused his eyes on the floor.
Siravel slowly moved in closer, sliding her snout just above the floor in front of Algearon and forcing the dwarf to look at her. “The egg that bears the red spot, is it safe? You know that it is mine, do you not?”
Algearon nodded and then turned his head to the side, avoiding her gaze. “I regret that tradition binds my tongue, and I am forbidden to share the report with any but King Geldryn.”
A tendril of silvery smoke slithered out and around the dwarf, circling his neck and shoulders. “So then, tell me nothing, only nod your head if the egg is unharmed.”
Algearon knew better than to rely on the sweet tone in Siravel’s voice. He knew the difference between a request and an order.
“My queen has ever been one to bend the traditions and rules set out for our kind,” a thunderous voice noted. Algearon turned to see his master enter the chamber from a side tunnel. Black as night, with dull, ridged scales the dragon entered the bright room and turned his red-speckled brown eyes toward Siravel. “In any case, I have never been one to withhold information from her,” he said. He turned to Algearon and locked gazes with the dwarf.
Algearon felt a sudden sting in his eyes. He did not flinch. He was more than accustomed to the pain, and knew to expect it. The sting gave way to a dull burning that crept behind his eyes and into his head. When the connection was complete, he felt only a flow of energy coursing through him, quickening his blood and relieving his tension. “Atorats attacked the nursery,” Algearon said in his mind.
Geldryn’s nostrils flared and a spark of rage could be seen farther down the deep tubes of his snout. “What of the nursery?”
Algearon felt the flow of energy intensify. He tried to answer the king’s question, but the king was too impatient to wait, even for a thought. Instead he searched Algearon’s mind, poking and prodding through the dwarf’s memories and recalling the images that the dwarf had seen. Geldryn hissed and pulled his gaze away. The connection broke. Algearon’s head jerked forward slightly and he stumbled two steps before regaining his balance. “The spotted egg is safe,” Algearon said quickly.
“Atorats attacked the nursery,” Geldryn said gravely.
“How did the atorats gain access to the nursery?” Siravel snarled.
Algearon shook his head. “I do not know as of yet, my queen. However, I am having preparations made to transfer the crowned egg to the upper nursery. It is deeper inside the mountain, and easier to defend.”
“But there is only room for one egg in the upper nursery,” King Geldryn said.
Algearon nodded. “That is correct, but I believe it best.”
“It has been several centuries since we have produced a crowned egg,” Siravel said.
Geldryn turned away from Siravel at that comment. He brought his head down low and curved his neck so that he could bring his right eye close to Algearon. “Then it is time to relieve you of your title as Nursery Master,” Geldryn said.
Algearon froze rigidly. The last dwarf to hear those words had suffered a terrible, fiery death following a mishap that destroyed only one egg in the nursery. The atorats had done more damage than that. “Whatever you will of me, I am yours to command,” he said resignedly.
“Algearon, you have been a good steward, but I shall need you to assume personal care of the crowned egg.”
The dwarf started to flinch, expecting the worst, but then when the words sank in his mouth fell open and he looked up to his king with wide eyes. “You are not displeased with me?” he asked.
“There is no fault for last night’s attack other than the blame that lies with the atorats. I saw the carnage as you saw it, through your memories. I can see that there is nothing more you should have, or could have done. We have not seen atorats in my dominion for well over an eon. There was no reason to suspect them now.” Geldryn retracted his head and stood tall over the dwarf. “Go and appoint a successor to be Nursery Master. That successor will manage all of the nursery affairs in the main nest. You will go to the upper nursery with the crowned egg. I require that you move all of your belongings there as well. From this moment on, you shall remain with the crown egg. You shall be given the title of Royal Hatcher and your authority among dwarves shall be chief among all who deal with eggs, hatchlings, and lessor dragons. You shall answer directly to me.”
“And to me,” Siravel put in. “That is my egg also.”
Algearon nodded. “I shall get to it immediately.”
Chapter 4
Hermean sat atop a log sharpening his axe. The grainy stone scraped and tore at the rough edges and nicks on the steel until it was smooth as wet marble. He pulled the blade up close to his right eye and squinted as he inspected the blade. He plucked a red hair from the side of his cheek, ignoring the sting as the follicle pulled free of his skin. He slowly moved it to the blade and smiled wickedly as the blade first cut through the hair sideways, and then split it down the middle.
“That will do just fine,” Hermean said. He turned back to see his drake lying in the cool grass, absorbing the golden warmth from the sun from the clear skies above. “Ready for some hunting then?” Hermean asked the drake. The blue and green speckled lizard cocked its head to the side and then clawed at the ground lazily. “We have some atorats to find,” Hermean continued. “Forlean spotted a few of the cursed things burrowing into a knoll just south of here.”
The drake snorted a poof of smoke and growled.
“I’ll let you eat your fill if we kill them all,” Hermean promised. Great turquoise wings stretched out, shading the dwarf from the sun. The drake rose to its feet, and then bowed its head and torso to the ground. “Good boy,” Hermean said as he climbed up into his leather saddle. He slid the axe into an iron ring fastened to the side of the saddle and then slipped his thick, iron-toed leather boots into the
stirrups. “Let’s get on up.” The drake leapt into the air, jerking the sturdy dwarf back in his saddle and forcing him to hold onto the saddle-horn.
The beast ascended above the emerald trees, giving them both a good vantage over the valley floor below. They coursed along with a stream, looking for any additional sign of the large atorats. Hermean eyed the banks of the stream. The drake moved silently through the air as easily as a sparrow might glide over the trees. The drake twitched its snout left and right, flaring its nostrils on occasion but not altering its course.
Hermean reached over and patted the leathery beast on the side. “If you smell one, let’s take it down.” The drake flew on as if it hadn’t heard the instruction, but Hermean knew it had. He knew, also, that it would not hesitate to kill an atorat if given the chance.
The minutes rolled by quickly as they sailed over the valley. Neither saw any sign of anything larger than a deer until they came to a fork in the stream. Forlean had said that the knoll was to the south, but instead the drake kept on eastward. Trusting that the drake had caught wind of a target, Hermean slowly pulled his axe free from its place and hunched down low in the saddle. He could feel the drake’s tail twitching behind him. The beast had done that many times before, usually right before crashing down upon some prey. The dwarf tensed in anticipation.
They soared over a large oak tree and then the drake turned to dive straight down. Hermean held close as smaller branches broke under the drake’s assault. He smiled wide, his chest grew warm, and his right hand started to tingle, as it always did before a kill. Suddenly the drake leveled out and the pair crashed down atop a large, writhing mound of fur. Something shrieked horridly, piercing Hermean’s eardrums and causing his head to ring.
Up the dwarf went, leaping from his saddle and out beyond the atorat beneath his drake. A second atorat snarled and hissed as it moved up against the oak’s trunk. Hermean hurled his axe end over end. The blade struck its mark perfectly, nearly severing the large beast’s head from its body. The atorat rolled over the axe, convulsing and jerking wildly just before it expired. Hermean ran to the corpse, yanked his axe free and then wheeled around just in time to catch an attacking atorat directly in the mouth, cleaving the top of the giant rat’s snout clean off. The animal screeched and jumped around frantically. Hermean moved in, kicking it in the ribs and knocking the beast down to the ground before finishing it with a single chop to the neck.
The dwarf then stood still and scanned the area around them. The drake put its snout in the air and its nostrils flared. Hermean watched the drake for several seconds as it turned this way and that to filter the air. After a moment, the drake bent down and bit a massive hunk of flesh out of the atorat beneath it. Hermean then knew the area was clear.
Hermean wiped his blade clean on the nearest atorat’s fur and gave his drake a few minutes to finish eating. The drake plunged in, tearing sinew from bone and chewing loudly as blood dripped down its throat. The dwarf stood vigilant, turning his head this way and that, keeping watch over them both while the drake ate. For a while he could only hear the obnoxious sound of the drake chewing and ripping its way through the atorat, but after some time he caught the faint sound of something moving in from behind them. Hermean let his axe slip forward in his hands, readying himself to turn on a moment’s notice. He made an almost inaudible click with his tongue against the roof of his mouth. The drake paused mid-bite and looked up to Hermean. The dwarf winked with his right eye. The drake gave a short snort and then went back to its meal.
A soft rustle of brush made Hermean’s ear twitch backward. A second later he turned with his axe and nearly took Forlean’s head off as the sneaking dwarf tried to surprise Hermean from behind. Hermean’s axe ripped Forlean’s spear out of the dwarf’s hands and Hermean followed in with a heavy shoulder rush, knocking Forlean onto his back.
“Whoa!” Forlean shouted. “You got me.”
Hermean’s drake exploded into the air above them, busting through low-hanging branches and ripping Forlean’s orange and red drake out of its perch above. The two drakes splashed into the nearby stream, with the speckled blue and green drake on top, pinning Forlean’s drake in the water with barely enough wiggle room to keep its snout above water.
“Will you never learn?” Hermean said as he extended a hand down for Forlean.
“Old habits die hard,” Forlean offered.
“Why one should make a habit of having his arse handed to him is beyond me,” Hermean replied. “You haven’t ever gotten the drop on me, and I don’t think you ever shall.”
“Ah, but pride precedes the fall, my brother,” Forlean said as he took the proffered hand and pulled himself up to his feet.
“It’s not pride, it’s just the truth,” Hermean said. He turned to his drake and whistled. The drake responded by letting the orange and red drake up.
“Galandel, return to me,” Forlean commanded. The orange and red drake stepped onto the dry land and shook the water from its head and tail before making its way back to Forlean and standing near him. Forlean reached out and grabbed the iron chain dangling from the saddle horn and hooked it to the iron loop on his chest armor. “Still haven’t named your drake?” Forlean asked.
Hermean shook his head. “Perhaps later,” he said with a frown.
“It’s been a decade since Zaraven was killed,” Forlean said.
Hermean bristled and narrowed his eyes on his younger brother. “Don’t,” he warned.
“I’m only saying that I think enough time has passed. You can let yourself bond again.”
Hermean waved his brother off. “Go get your spear,” he said.
“You should also use your saddle chain,” Forlean said pointedly. “The bond and the chain are for more than friendship, they are for your protection.”
“I have been a hunter for decades before you were a suckling babe. Do not presume to lord over me. I know what I am doing.”
Forlean reached a hand out. “It wasn’t your fault.”
Hermean shook his brother away and then moved toward his drake. He snapped his fingers and the drake came to him, bending down so he could climb onto the saddle. “When you and your pathetic lizard can sneak up on me, then you may offer me advice. Until then, keep it to yourself.”
Forlean frowned. “You can’t go to the nest alone,” he said. “Hummenger was able to get the information from the atorat that was captured. According to Hummenger, there are about two dozen of the nasty things crawling around that area, and they are establishing a nest.”
“Then you had best gather the other hunters and have them meet me there.” Hermean placed his axe in its holder and then slipped his boots into the stirrups and patted his drake on the side. “Let’s get on up,” he said. The drake launched into the air, propelling them both above the trees in less than a second.
Moments later Forlean was riding his orange and red drake next to Hermean. “The other hunters are already waiting,” he said.
“You gave the order without my consent?” Hermean asked.
Forlean shook his head. “Not at all. It was Queen Siravel. She commanded it after Hummenger’s report.”
Hermean nodded and pointed out to the southern horizon. “Lead on, brother.”
Forlean urged his drake ahead and they flew effortlessly above the trees for almost ten minutes before Forlean pointed out to a grassy knoll off in the distance. “They are there,” he shouted back as he pointed out a deep, dark hole that led down into the burrow.
Hermean nodded and then peeled off to the west, where all of the other hunters were waiting in a nearby clearing. Forlean hadn’t told him where they were, but then he hadn’t needed to. Hermean’s drake had sniffed them all out and already alerted the dwarf to their location. They landed in the middle of a group of fifty dwarves atop small drakes. They all looked up and raised their weapons to salute Hermean, but none of them made a sound. Hermean dismounted his drake and thumped onto the bending grass and hard-packed dirt. He motioned with
his hand for the hunters to gather in close. Forlean remained above, circling the clearing and keeping an eye on the group, as was customary.
A sturdy, black-haired dwarf with a stark beard woven into a single plait beneath his chin and adorned with silver clips and rings stepped forward. His metal armor clanked and the spikes sticking out from his pauldrons still had some of the crusted blood from the latest skirmish on them. A wide, pinkish scar ran from the dwarf’s brow, across the left eye and down to the jaw bone.
“Brinwal, I was unaware you would be with us,” Hermean said with a forced smile. Hermean was not squeamish, but even he shrank a little inside when Brinwal was around, especially when he saw that gray, dead eye looking back at him.
“Queen Siravel sent us,” Brinwal replied. Brinwal turned and pointed to a group of five more dwarves dressed in similar armor sitting upon a flat gray boulder. “She thought perhaps you could use some help in the burrow, and that you could leave some of your hunters above ground to round up any atorats that attempt to scurry away from our grasp.”
“Always an honor to work with the expeditionary forces,” Hermean said. Despite his uneasiness around Brinwal, he was glad to have the added strength there. The expeditionary forces were masters of difficult combat, above or below ground. Some were even rumored to be able to swim in the larger rivers and lakes, which was almost unheard of for the stout dwarf folk.
Other hunters moved in close and Hermean nodded as he counted them, making a mental note of which hunters were present, and how best to put their strengths to use. “Glorin, Doural, and Seifen, take seven other archers with you and create a ring around the knoll. Once we go ink the burrow, if anything comes out that isn’t a dwarf or a drake, you kill it.”