Hatch (The Dragons Of Laton) (10 page)

Ammon nodded. “As far as I can tell. He goes hunting and brings me back food. I saw him eating field mice once.”

Boris raised an eyebrow. “He brings you food? Interesting. Well, he certainly doesn’t look thin, but he is quite small. You’d know if he was hungry anyway, you’d feel it.”

Ammon blinked. “I would feel it?”

The older man’s eyes squinted. “Yes, it’s hard to explain but hopefully you’ll understand soon enough. Dragons are empaths.”

At the blank expression on Ammon’s face Boris explained. “Empaths…he senses your emotions, and you will eventually sense his. That’s what the link does, and if he’s hungry, you’ll know it.”

Ammon bit his lip. “You mean he’ll tell me when he wants to eat?”

Boris shook his head. “No, it’s not like that. They don’t talk, they just feel. How do you know when you’re hungry? Your stomach tells you. Same thing with the dragon, you just…know.”

Fulgid snored softly, oblivious to their conversation and Ammon idly scratched him behind his ears. “Tirate said that because Fulgid is young, the link could be broken and a new one formed to him?”

Boris snorted in disgust. “Tirate is a fool. No, the link cannot be broken like that and he knows it. He’s desperate for a dragon and will do anything to get one. The king’s health is failing and Tirate is next in line for the throne. By law he has to have a dragon before he can ascend to the throne. Whether the dragon lives or not doesn’t matter I guess, as long as he has been linked. He has been attending hatches for years trying to link, but it’s the dragons that make the decision. I’d imagine at this point he’d settle for anything, including one that has already linked or one that may not live to adulthood. If he can give the appearance of having linked, once it dies, no one can prove it otherwise.”

Ammon’s blood ran cold. Licking his lips, he tried to speak and his voice croaked. “So you want to take us back…back to Tirate so he can become king?”

Boris turned and looked him in the eye, his gaze hard and unblinking. “I want nothing of the sort. Tirate is the last man I ever want to see on the throne.” His eyes shifted back to the dragon. “He has men looking for you. A lot of men. You won’t be able to hide in these woods forever, it’s a favorite hunting ground for both men and dragons. Eventually you’ll be seen. I found you in just a couple days.”

Ammon’s mind raced. “I’ll keep going, as soon as I can walk! I’ll head north over the mountains!”

Boris shook his head. “Not that easy. There is no passage through those mountains. They’re too high to fly over even if your dragon could carry you. The only way in or out of here is through the city.” He picked up a stick and drew a triangle in the dirt. “The woods are shaped like this with the mountains blocking one whole side.” Gesturing to the other lines he dragged the stick across them. “The river takes up these two sides, it’s too wide and too fast to swim across.”

Drawing a half circle around it, he continued. “Tirate has his men already deployed watching for you all along the river. If you manage to get to the other side, he’s got you.” The stick crunched in his hand. “I have an idea, however. The law states that only someone of royal blood or a knight may be allowed to link to a dragon. If I can get you an audience with King Erik, he’d likely just enter you into knighthood. Once you’re link has been formally recognized, you and your dragon would be worthless to Tirate.” He sighed. “The biggest obstacle will be getting you there before Erik dies. He’s not been well for some time, not since his own dragon died.”

Ammon groaned. He wanted to be as far from Tirate as possible, but Boris had made his point. Shrugging his shoulders with resignation he leaned back against the stone with his arms folded.

Boris nodded reassuringly. “I’ll do my best to keep you from his clutches. There are still a few of us in the palace that remember what honor is.”

Picking up the pot of stew that Ammon had made, Boris sniffed it suspiciously. Dipping the spoon in, he touched it too his tongue and spat.

“How about I do the cooking from now on, eh? I don’t know what this is, but a man could eat dirt as easily as this!”

He threw the whole thing out the door with a loud splat and put another pot of water on to boil. Removing a few of the packages from his sack, he dumped them into the water and soon the smell of stewed beef filled the cave. They shared their supper in silence, and Boris made Ammon eat three helpings and drink another cup of the horrid tea before they settled in for the night. Fulgid stayed close to Ammon, climbing underneath the blankets and curling up against his chest with only the tip of his golden nose poking out. Later that night, when the sound of Boris’ loud snoring filled the cave, Ammon stared into the darkness. There was no way out it seemed and no escape.

Chapter 5

The Master Swordsman

When Ammon awoke, Fulgid was still lying on his stomach, but Boris’ bedroll was rolled and neatly put away. He pushed the blankets aside, and with a yawn, Fulgid reluctantly slid off. Carefully Ammon struggled to his feet and hobbled out into the bright morning sunlight. Just outside the entrance was Boris, standing on a flat rock where he had cleared away some of the brush.

Stripped to the waist and glistening with sweat, he held his large sword in front of him. With arms slightly bent, he slowly and deliberately moved as if dancing. The tip of the blade whistled softly as the sword dipped and arced gracefully. Unfazed by the obvious effort, he flowed from one stance to another, the steel in his hands a natural extension of his arms.

Curious, Ammon watched until Boris finished the exercise and sat beside him on a boulder. Laying the long sword across his lap he lifted his water skin to his lips and took a long drink.

Ammon couldn’t help but stare at the long sword. The slightly curved blade was oiled and polished to a mirror like finish. The well-worn silver hilt was inlaid with ebony dragons, and a small golden crown was stamped deep into the pommel.

Boris lowered the water skin and wiped the sweat from his eyes.

“You have no idea how to use one of these do you?”

Ammon straightened defiantly. “I own a sword!”

Boris burst out laughing. “You own a cook pot too, but you can’t cook! Son, owning a sword doesn’t mean you know how to use one.”

Squirming, Ammon lowered his eyes. “I do okay.”

Boris grunted. “A sword is a tool that requires skill to be useful. Unless you know how to use it, you’re more likely to hurt yourself than anything else. You could just as easily defend yourself with a kitchen knife without the proper…oh ho! What do we have here?”

Fulgid appeared at the mouth of the cave dragging Ammon’s sword in his teeth and he dropped it in front of Ammon.

Boris looked at Ammon. “Did you teach him to do that?”

Ammon picked up the sword and shook his head. “No, I haven’t taught him anything.”

Leaning forward, Boris studied the little dragon.

“He seems very attuned to you already. More than I’d expect for a hatchling his age. He paused for a moment and his voice softened. “Are you sure you don’t sense him yet?”

Ammon shook his head.

A small furrow formed across Boris’ forehead. “Strange. The link works both ways so it should happen soon I’d say, no cause for concern yet.”

Boris plucked the sword from Ammon’s hands and drew it from its scabbard. Holding it in one thick-fingered hand, he tested the weight and balance before handing it back, pommel first.

“Time to learn boy. If you’re to stand before King Erik as a future knight, you should know what you’re about.”

***

Tirate swaggered down the hallway and watched with mild amusement as the servants dodged from his path. As he rounded the corner to the king’s chambers he nodded to the two guards standing on each side of the entrance. Both of them had started under his pay less than a year ago and neither questioned him as he walked past.

King Erik sat in his chair facing the window. Now in his late sixties, Erik appeared much older than he was. The large man’s body was now thin and frail. His skin drawn tight around pale sunken eyes with his chin drooped down on his chest as if the silver crown were too heavy for his head to hold. Long bony hands stretched out from the sleeves of his fine robes like withered branches of a dead tree. He didn’t look up when Tirate approached.

With barely a hint of a bow, Tirate stopped in front of him. “My King…Uncle, how are you today?”

Although his body was withered, his voice was still clear and strong. “What is it you want, Tirate?”

Tirate sneered slightly. “Sire, as always, I come to inquire on your well being.”

A guttural sound that might have been a laugh came from the king’s throat.

“Pah! You know as well as I that my time is near. The same accursed illness that wastes my body and confounds my physicians will hand you the throne as surely as the sun rises each day. Don’t waste my time with polite frivolities, state what you want and be done with it.”

Tirate turned to the table against the wall where a pitcher of wine sat. With his back to the king, he filled a goblet, and from a hidden pocket on his belt, discreetly produced a small vial. Pouring it into the wine, he swirled the contents until it dissolved, then brought it to the king and pressed it into his hand.

“Uncle, the physicians are doing their best. In turn you must also try to keep your strength, now drink. Have you eaten today?”

With a sudden fury, the king threw the goblet against the wall splashing the wine onto the carpets. “Eat? Drink? What for?” He shouted. “Every day is the same! Weaker and weaker I get while all those around me look on in pity! Just go away! Leave me in peace!”

With an irritated bow, Tirate turned on his heel and stalked out the door. The scowl on his face as he strode down the hall was enough to make everyone step aside. Grumbling under his breath as he rounded a corner, he nearly knocked a maid off her feet, but he didn’t stop to apologize. Perhaps he should just kill Erik now and get it over with. It was unlikely anyone would be surprised by the death. The small amounts of powder he’d slipped into his food and drink over the years wasn’t enough to kill the man in one dose, but over time it accumulated, taking effect as if it were a disease.

Only three years ago, the king’s dragon Laud had been the first to fall victim to the same poison. Buying a single dose large enough to kill a dragon had been expensive and difficult to hide, but wonderfully successful. After that, it was easy to convince everyone that the king’s grief over the death of his dragon had caused him to fall ill.

The problem was that as he grew sicker, he ate less, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to administer the poison. Soon he’d have to take more drastic actions, and he was cautious of doing that until he’d removed everyone in the palace still faithful to the king. He knew he could not rule effectively as king if the people knew or suspected him of treason. An uprising could certainly be quelled, but the cost to maintain it would be heavy. Commerce would suffer, and that would affect taxes. Those taxes paid for his militia among other things, and eventually money would run out if he had to keep paying hired men to stop a revolt. He had to keep anyone close to the king from learning the truth, which is why he had started by slowly weeding out the guards loyal to Erik.

Removing Boris however had proved more difficult than he anticipated. Not only was he well known and respected throughout the court, Boris had served in the war with Erik. They had trained for knighthood together and their dragons had even come from the same Hatch. After the war, Boris rose in the ranks to become an advisor to the king as well as captain of the Guard. A position that he was well suited for. Very little ever happened in
Gaul that escaped his notice.

His presence made eliminating the loyal guards difficult. Sending him out to recover the boy and his mutant dragon was a streak of luck. In the few days he’d been gone, all but one or two of the remaining loyal guards had been relieved of duty, the rest would be discharged sometime today. By the time Boris finally gave up his fruitless search and returned, Tirate’s men would already have found the dragon. A tragic accident would be arranged for Boris, and the resulting shock would, of course, kill Erik. A very convenient answer to several annoying problems. The mutant dragon would die soon enough. He just had to make sure it lived long enough for a few people to see him with it, to give the appearance of a link. The timing had to be perfect.

Once he arrived at his quarters, he sent a page for his secretary, and a short time later, there was a soft knock at the door. Diam was a thin man of middle years and stooped slightly at the shoulders. There was nothing particularly remarkable about his appearance, which made him perfectly suited to his chosen profession.

“Diam, I have some loose ends I need you to take care of.”

The secretary’s face split open into a grin, showing several wide gaps where his teeth were missing. “Certainly, my lord! I’d be happy to assist you in any way I can…”

Tirate waved his hand and looked down at the papers on his desk.

“There is a keeper at the East Nest named Calis that witnessed an event that could prove to be problematic if exposed. I’d like that situation addressed.”

Diam stood, rubbing his hands and nodding his head. Tirate shuffled the papers irritably.

“That is all for now.”

Diam bowed and shuffled back towards the door a few steps before turning and leaving quickly. Tirate hated the man. His pose and posture made his skin crawl. But despite the unpleasantness, Diam was quite adept and efficient at his work, as he had proven several times in the past. Calis couldn’t be allowed to live. He had been at the Hatch and knew the mutant dragon was linked to the boy tender. That information could never be revealed, there could be no witnesses. By tomorrow there would be news about the robbing and killing of a fat keeper; just another unpleasant and unsolved crime in these troubled times. Tirate rang the bell for the page and ordered tea.

***

Boris inspected Ammon’s ankle and nodded in approval. After just a few days of treatment it appeared to be healing well, but it would be best to wait a few days more before attempting to walk through the rough terrain.

“Well, I’m going back to Gaul this morning for supplies. We’re running low on food,” Boris grinned. “I wasn’t expecting to have to feed that bottomless pit stomach of yours.”

Ammon smiled sheepishly and shoved another biscuit into his mouth.

Boris chuckled as he folded his now empty sack over his shoulder. “It’ll take me a full day to pickup the supplies and get back. You should be alright until tomorrow morning I expect.”

Boris had no doubt the young man could handle himself for one day. After spending the past few days with him, he had learned much about Ammon. He was quiet and independent. Despite the obvious pain he was in, he never complained and insisted on doing things himself, although Boris made it a point to do the cooking. He worked honestly at the sword lessons Boris had given him and was quick to learn. He was exactly the kind of man Boris would have tried recruiting into the Guard.

Ammon watched Boris finish packing before he finally blurted out. “You forgot your bedroll.”

Boris shook his head smiled. “No, I left that for you. I’ll bring another back with me.”

He reached out and clasped Ammon’s hand firmly. “Keep practicing with that sword.” Without another word he turned and strode into the bushes.

Picking his way through the rocks was easier now that the saddlebags were empty, and he made good time getting back to the clearing. Ellis was waiting patiently when he got there, and as Boris wiped the sweat from his forehead, the big dragon cocked his head and looked at him with concern. Boris patted his side reassuringly.

“Don’t worry old fella, it was just a long hike.”

The saddle was still beneath a tree at the edge of the clearing where he’d left it, and with a grunt he slipped it over Ellis’s shoulders and tightened the cinches. After one last look around, he stepped into the stirrup and swung himself into position.

“Alright, my friend, lets fly!”

With a tremendous heave, the black dragon leapt into the air, his huge wings beating rapidly. They circled around once before flying over the cave where Ammon and Fulgid stood watching.

The air felt cooler as it blew against his face and Boris watched as the ground slipped away beneath them. It was against his nature to disobey orders, but then Tirate had only ordered him to find Ammon and Fulgid and bring them back, there was no mention of whom he should notify or how quickly.

He reached
Gaul not long after noon and as he circled above he immediately noticed there were changes in the battlements atop the protective walls around the city. Puzzled, Boris urged Ellis to fly lower so he could get a better look. Dozens of workmen were installing large crossbows mounted on pedestals. Judging by their size, they would be able to shoot a spear sized projectile quite a distance. Hand cranks located on each side suggested that it required at least two men to operate each one.