by Sam Ferguson
Sipik, the other skyte, sat for a moment longer and then asked, “Shall we both go to the spawning chamber? Perhaps one should go to Teratheal’s chamber?”
Siravel let out a low, throaty chuckle. “She has agents of her own, I would not send either of you into her pit, lest I lose you and expose myself. I have already lost one skyte.” Through the connection, Siravel experienced the grief and pain the two skytes felt at the mention of their brother. “I am sure that your brother, Rivik, dances among the stars from which he was born,” she said aloud as she severed the connection. While she was sorry for their loss, she had no desire to share their pain.
Titik and Sipik flew out of the small chamber, through the queen’s door, and disappeared from sight.
“Do bring me back something useful,” Siravel requested.
*****
Sipik and Titik flew near the top of the tunnel, where the shadows helped them hide as they weaved in and around the stalactites that hung down like wicked fangs of the mountain. Their wings beat furiously, yet they flew silently over the heads of dwarf and dragon alike. Skytes, unlike other dragons, were able to communicate with each other almost exclusively using the connection. The main difference being that unlike other dragons, they did not need to look at each other to establish the connection. As long as they were within about fifty meters of each other, they could communicate freely. Mentally they spoke to each other, keeping tabs on where the other was flying and what each of them saw as they navigated their way to the spawning chamber.
They both knew the risk. King Geldryn fiercely guarded the spawning chamber, and with good reason. Each queen, except the high queen, rotated through the spawning chamber and also shared it with the breeding dames. The only other beings allowed in the chamber were a select group of dwarven guards and nursery workers, and that was only because there was no chance of the dwarves becoming interlopers. Only once had a male dragon gone into the chamber. The poor fool was torn asunder, as was the breeding dame he had tried to mount.
Queens were allowed to leave the kingdom if they so chose, but as long as they were in the kingdom, their utmost loyalty was required. Breeding dames, on the other hand, had no right to leave. Once chosen by the king, theirs was to serve in the spawning chamber to help create new dragons. Any deviation from this calling would be met with a horribly ferocious punishment, as that particular pair had so tragically discovered.
The pair of skytes had more to worry about than just the king, however. They were small enough that the dwarf guards could kill them, potentially. The skytes also knew that the dwarves would not hesitate to do so if they caught them. Therefore, they remained as close to the ceiling as possible.
As they flew closer to the chamber, they could smell the distinct, musty odor associated with the den. The skytes stopped and grabbed onto a stalactite, watching as four dwarves pushed a large cart out of the chamber. It held a trio of eggs.
“Drake eggs,” Titik noted.
Sipik nodded. “Each egg is almost exactly one meter tall. The hunters will be glad to have some new drakes, I am sure.”
“Come.”
The pair used their claws to hang onto the ceiling as they crawled forward. As they approached the den, the ceiling opened up to rise two hundred meters above the floor.
“I will go to the top, and keep an eye out for trouble,” Sipik offered.
“I will skirt around the side and look for Teratheal.” Titik moved to the right of the chamber. His minute, sharp claws clattered on the stone ever so softly as he scurried into the chamber. Here there were neither torches nor fires. Only the light from the tunnel broke the darkness within. The darkness helped the queens and breeding dames to remain calm while laying their eggs. In this moment, it also helped Titik remain calm and assured that he would be hard to discover.
A low moan came from below.
Titik stopped briefly and looked down. One of the breeding dames was on her side, her tail extended straight behind her. A trio of dwarves was busy about her hind quarters, obscuring the view. Titik had never witnessed an egg being laid before, so he waited.
The breeding dame was a lesser dragon by the looks of her. She was ten meters in length and Titik guessed she was roughly seven meters tall. Given her small size, Titik was unsure exactly how the king had managed to couple with her, given that he was many times larger than her.
“Water,” one of the dwarves said.
“She had a rough go of it,” said another.
“Just get the water,” the first snarled.
The dragon moaned again and two of the dwarves moved aside as a bloody bulb slowly pushed its way out of the vaginal opening. They squatted down, their hands wrapped in great leather gloves that covered them up to their armpits. The dragon lifted her head and moaned terribly. It was obvious that she was in pain. Titik turned his head to get a better angle on the egg. He could hear the shell sliding and scraping against the soft scales of the dragon’s underbelly. Her lower half shook and trembled and Titik could see her muscles spasm as she pushed.
After a few minutes, the bulb stuck out nearly half a meter, narrow end pointing out. Titik couldn’t tell what kind of egg it was, there was far too much blood smeared on the shell to know. All he could do was sit and wait if he wanted to find out.
“Titik, what are you doing?” Sipik asked.
“I have never seen this before,” he replied.
“You can easily find another dragon laying an egg outside the spawning chamber,” Sipik said. “Why must you watch one of the king’s mates? Your dawdling could expose us.”
Titik ignored his brother and continued to watch. Though it might be true that he could watch other dragons lay their own eggs, he wanted to see this one. This was an egg born of the high king. That made it unique, even if it wasn’t a crowned egg, it was guaranteed to be larger, smarter, and more powerful than any egg spawned by a normal pair of dragons outside this chamber. That made it infinitely more intriguing to Titik. He wondered what it would be like to be as large as the high king. To make every foe tremble and quake with only a footstep, or to rend the clouds with a single roar! That was true power.
“It’s stuck,” one of the dwarves said below.
Titik forgot about his daydream and looked back to the egg. The dragon moaned and cried out in pain. She even snarled and snapped at one of the dwarf guards, sending him running away toward her tail.
“Come on, slide your hands around the sides and stretch boys,” one of the other dwarves said. “Gently now, and make sure your gloves are good and wet!”
Titik watched in fascination as the dwarves moved their hands in around the egg, pulling and stretching the dragon so the egg might have a bit more room to squeeze through. They sloshed water over the egg and their arms before slipping them back in time and time again. A bit of blood coursed out from one side and splashed over the dwarves’ boots.
“Steady boys, no time to get squeamish,” one of the dwarves said.
The dragon moaned again a long, low wail. Then Titik heard something between a crack and a gurgle as the egg suddenly lurched forward.
“Catch it boys! Break the fall!” The dwarves moved speedily, each lining up and effectively catching the egg to guide it down gently to a pile of straw. The egg flumped down onto the pile and the dwarves each whistled and praised each other for the good work. The breeding dame flopped her head back down onto the stone and groaned as she closed her eyes.
“Did she die?” Sipik asked. “Can’t tell if she is still breathing from here.”
“She is breathing,” Titik said. “Though I imagine she is not anxious to be trying that again.”
“Well, at least she will have a few years before her next cycle comes around,” Sipik commented.
Titik noted that this egg was half again as large as the others they had seen. “Looks like a full dragon,” he said. Then he scurried off around the side wall, satisfied that he had finally seen such an event. He made his way to the back of the chamber,
where the other queens were gathered together. He leapt from the wall and flew quietly in the darkness, keeping close enough to the wall so as not to draw attention, but far enough away that he could fly with some haste toward the back of the massive chamber.
He flew for several minutes. The spawning chamber was much larger than he had anticipated. The musty odor only grew stronger the farther in he went, but it wasn’t altogether unpleasant, just extremely potent.
Suddenly a queen arched her head up and sniffed the air. Titik lighted to the wall and held very still, barely breathing. He watched her carefully. The light from the entrance did little to pierce the darkness here. Now he relied solely on his ability to separate the shades of darkness to discern what was rock and what was beast. Titik counted at least seven queens, each ranging thirty to fifty meters long. His only solace was the fact that with such large dragons, any death would be a very quick one if discovered.
“Hear something Gloriel?” one of the queens asked from some distance away.
“Maybe she thought she saw Geldryn coming back,” added a second.
The queen with the raised head snorted and a spark of fire flared out from her nostrils. “You are only jealous that he has chosen me lately, Belindal,” the queen spoke.
“Ah, so Gloriel thinks she is the new favorite?”
The dragon queen stuck her head up a bit more and got her forelegs under her just enough to push up slightly so she could turn her neck around and look toward the other queens. “Well, let’s just say that when he is with me he doesn’t have to worry about my joints cracking under the pressure.”
The other queens laughed.
“Are we talking of Siravel now?” another queen chimed in.
“The queen is not going to like that,” Sipik said.
Titik agreed. “I do not want to be the one she digs that memory from.”
A flash of fire shot out through the air and one of the queens growled. The bright flame illuminated a honey-colored dragon approaching the others. It was Teratheal, Titik knew. All of the queens quieted down.
“I will admit that I am eager for the dusty queen to step down and fly to the north, but I do not think it wise to discuss such things in the open.” She dragged a talon along the side of the first queen who had spoken. “She has been on edge lately, and I already told you all of the skyte she sent to follow me.”
“Yes and I am sure that eating the poor creature has garnered you no favor with Siravel,” another queen put in. Some of the others sniggered.
“Laugh if you will,” she said. “But I do not recall King Geldryn calling out your name the last time he was here, nor the time before that Belindal.”
Again, some of the other queens laughed.
Another dragon raised her head and snarled. A flash of white flame broke through the air. Titik tried to hug closer to the wall, for fear that the queens would soon tear at each other. Instead, Belindal lumbered away from the group and sat in a distant corner of the chamber. After she left, the others all quieted down again. Teratheal stood before them in the darkness. She watched them quietly for a while. Titik watched her.
“Teratheal,” one of the other queens called out at last. “I heard she sent the skyte after you because she thought you let the atorats in.”
Teratheal growled and a blue flame shot out from her nose as she snorted angrily. “I have nothing to do with atorats. They are nasty, foul, monstrous beasts and I would not associate with any of them. I have no designs to take the throne of the high queen by force.”
“She fancies herself the favorite,” Gloriel guffawed.
Teratheal stood tall. “That I do,” she said flatly. “So the rest of you had better take care how you handle yourselves. I am taking note. One day I will be high queen.”
“Let us fly out before we are discovered,” Sipik said.
Titik turned and skittered across the wall. “You have to tell her,” Titik said.
The two escaped the spawning chamber as fast as they could. Once they were a safe distance away from that set of tunnels, they slowed down, hesitant to give their report to Siravel.
Chapter 8
Algearon yawned, rolling the kernel of sand in his fingers as he dug it out from the corner of his right eye. He rose and swung his feet over the side of his warm, soft bed and placed them down on the cool, damp stone. His eyes darted to the fire in the hearth. The flames had long since died out. Only a few red embers remained amid the gray ash.
“Confound it all,” Algearon grumbled. He moved across the chamber and hastily piled more wood into the hearth, careful not to smother the handful of hot embers. He then bent low and blew gently. Despite his care, a good amount of ash flew up and back out into his face. Some getting into his lashes, but most finding a new nest in the dwarf’s beard. Algearon swiped at the mess and then blew on the embers again. The orange turned to red, and then a hot yellow. Whooump! A flame appeared over the ember and seized the wood above it. The fire was going again in no time at all, and Algearon fed several larger logs to it.
“She’d have my hide if I didn’t keep the egg warm,” he muttered to himself. He moved to the egg next and placed a hand on the shell. To his satisfaction, it still felt warm, almost hot actually. He smiled and used the sleeve of his woolen night shirt to wipe his handprint from the shell. “I should get our book,” he told the egg. “I can pick up where we left off.”
Something tapped the inside of the shell where the handprint had been. The minute, yet distinct clack was unmistakable. Still, Algearon stood dumbfounded for a moment. He stared at the spot on the egg where the tap had sounded. A few seconds later another, stronger, tap came and the egg shivered. Another tap and the egg shook some more.
“By my beard, I believe it is time!” Algearon said. He waited a moment longer to make sure. While his hands itched to grasp the horn and announce the crowned egg’s hatching, the last thing he wanted was to call the king and queen prematurely.
Snap, click, crack!
A fracture, as long as Algearon’s hand’s breadth, appeared in the same spot. This was most certainly the right moment.
Algearon raced to the horn, forgetting momentarily that he was still in his night shirt. He grasped the brass handle and pulled the instrument from the wall. He took a deep breath and then set his lips to the opening. He gave one long, solid blow. The deep call vibrated out from the horn, shaking the very walls and floor around him. The echoes raced out from the chamber, and were soon answered by mighty roars as other dragons recognized the call. For a moment, it seemed as if the mountain itself came alive to greet the forthcoming hatchling with a thunderous acclamation.
The dwarf then released the horn and smiled to himself. He folded his arms and waited. It was then that he felt his sleeves. He looked down. “Oh, goodness me!” he shouted. “I can’t wear this when the new hatchling comes out. It isn’t proper!”
Across the chamber he raced again, aiming directly for the wardrobe that stood near his bed. He ripped the nightshirt from his body and tossed it on the floor. He kicked it far under the bed with his left foot. He yanked the wardrobe open and saw the crimson and black trousers and tunic. Hastily he threw them on, adjusting the pants as he threaded the silver and black belt into place and clasped it with the heavy, golden buckle. He tucked the tunic into his trousers and was moving so fast that his thick fingers skipped a button on his collar. He didn’t notice the mistake until he put his vest on and saw his collar puffing out below his neck.
“Confound it!” he mumbled. He could feel the heavy steps of the king and queen shaking the ground upon which he stood. He knew he had only a few more seconds before they would arrive. He fixed his collar and then used the gold and silver chains to fasten the front of his vest. Afterward he slipped his feet into a pair of sleek, black boots. Then he ran back to the entrance, straightening his clothes one more time before clasping his hands behind his back and clearing his throat.
The king was the first to enter the chamber. “It is ti
me?” he asked with his eyes fixed on the egg. The smile on his face showed that he wasn’t really expecting Algearon to answer. The cracking, shaking egg was enough to satisfy the question.
The queen was immediately behind King Geldryn. She nearly stepped on Algearon as she slipped into the chamber, skirting around her husband. Algearon waited for them to stop moving before he made his way back to the egg. The tall egg quivered and shook as the tapping momentarily paused. A large crack then appeared suddenly near the base.
“He is a strong one!” Geldryn said with delight. “Look at him push!”
“He will make you a proud father,” Siravel said as she moved in closer to Geldryn. The black dragon glanced to the gold and red queen and let out a deep, throaty sound that, perhaps if emitted by a smaller animal, would have sounded like a purr.
Click-clak, crrrrack!
A series of large, dark fractures ripped through the shell.
All went quiet for a moment. Algearon leaned in, listening intently to hear what might be transpiring within the egg. A warm, orange glow grew inside the egg. Red light and steam pushed through the cracks and opening. The shell crackled for an instant. Fawoom! The shell shattered and a great blast of orange flame rushed into the air as charred bits of eggshell clattered to the stone floor.
The king laughed in his low, throaty voice and the queen transfixed her eyes not on the egg or the hatchling, but on Geldryn, watching his every move.
The smoke cleared and there before them stood a burgundy colored dragon. A small horn atop its snout, and two budding horns sticking out the back of its head. A pair of strong, leathery wings stretched out to the sides and the hatchling screeched in a high-pitched roar as it threw a blue flame out into the air.
Geldryn answered the hatchling by snorting a single flame out from his mouth to mix with the hatchling’s. The king smiled down at the burgundy dragon, and the hatchling looked up at the mighty Geldryn and roared again in its high-pitched voice.
“He is fearless, like his father,” Siravel said softly.