Hatch (The Dragons Of Laton) (13 page)

Without waiting for an answer, the dragon turned north and disappeared behind the trees.

Ammon hurried into the cave wondering what Boris could possibly need his help for. Had he been injured? If so, he’d need the medications he'd left behind. Ammon stuffed what he could into a sack, but there was no way he could carry it all with his bad ankle. Fulgid nosed one of the smaller sacks of food and Ammon chuckled.

“I don’t suppose you'd carry some of this would you?”

To his surprise, the little dragon slipped his head through the strap of the sack and looked up at him expectantly. Ammon gazed down in wonder.

“Sometimes I think you really do understand what I’m saying!”

He
used a few leather straps to tie the sack securely on Fulgid’s back and smiled. “You aren’t exactly a pack mule, but it’ll do!”

***

It was well past midnight by the time he reached the edge of the campsite where Boris had a large fire going. The crescent moon gave just enough light for Ammon to see the dark outline of Ellis in the center of the clearing. He shook his head in awe. How something that large could fly was beyond comprehension!

Fulgid nudged him from behind and Ammon paused to scratch the little dragon behind the ears. “Will you get that large? How will I ever feed you?”

Fulgid bounded past him towards the fire and Ammon followed. Two figures sat on a log beside the fire, one bundled tightly in blankets and hunched over. As they approached he could hear Boris’ baritone voice.

“Ah, here they are now!”

A shock of gray hair framing a drawn face and sunken eyes peered out from under the blankets. The stooped figure suddenly bolted upright as Fulgid stepped into the light of the fire. Boris chuckled as he threw a thick branch into the flames, sending up a shower of sparks.

“This is Ammon, the tender I told you about, and this…this is Fulgid. From your expression, I’d say he speaks for himself, eh?”

The old man sat with pale blue eyes staring in disbelief. Boris turned to Ammon and grinned.

“Ammon you should kneel, you are presenting yourself before King Erik himself!”

The King? Gaping, Ammon managed to drop to one knee and lowered his head. King Erik? Boris brought the king here?

Despite his fragile appearance, King Erik’s voice was clear and strong.

“Boris, you know how I hate that! Arise Ammon, come sit and tell me about this wondrous gilded dragon of yours!”

Nervously, Ammon sat beside the king and retold the events of the past week, careful not to leave out a single detail. Erik listened carefully, occasionally nodding or raising an eyebrow in wonder. Fulgid curled around the fire reflecting the light off his mirror like scales, sending thousands of tiny bright dots dancing across the ground.

***

Boris hammered the last tent stake into the soft moss-covered ground beneath a twisted pine and peered up at the star-studded sky.
Although the tent was certainly big enough for the three of them, he had no intentions of sleeping in it. During the war he’d shared a tent with Erik many a-time and the experience had been painful. The man had a nasty habit of kicking and yelling all night, so tonight, Boris would sleep out in the open.

He unloaded his bulging saddlebags and noticed with satisfaction that Shane had restocked them with enough supplies to last them for a month or more. He pulled out a package of the dried meat and biscuits and carried them to the fire where Erik and Ammon sat talking. Before dropping the meat into the boiling pot over the fire, he tossed a piece to Fulgid and watched as it bounced off his nose and landed in the dirt. The little dragon sniffed halfheartedly before putting his head back down, leaving it untouched.

Raising an eyebrow Boris crouched down and whispered softly. “You feeling okay little fella?”

With one finger he gently scratched behind Fulgid’s ear, but the dragon didn’t move. He sighed and turned his head to watch Ammon talking with Erik. The boy hadn’t noticed. Mentally he counted off the number of days since the hatch occurred and shook his head sadly before going back to work setting up the camp.

***

Erik calmly observed the young man beside him as they talked. There was something familiar about him that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Although shy at first, with a little prodding, he spoke freely, and the story he told was shocking. The fact that Fulgid had hatched at all was incredible. Dragon eggs always hatched about midnight of the last new moon of summer. No one really knew why, but it was theorized that they needed to
avoid the distraction of light and sound to establish their links. If they miss that brief window of opportunity to link after hatching, they soon die.

He closed his eyes as he remembered attending a hatch in his youth; watching a nervous knight stumble back and distracting a young dragon as it crawled from the Nest. The horror he felt as it cried out in anguish, desperately searching for the link that would never be. The hours it took for the pitiful creature to die. It was for that very reason only a few were allowed to attend a hatch.

Softly he sighed. Not once in the young man’s description of the past few days had he mentioned being able to feel his link with the odd-colored dragon. By now Ammon should have been able to sense Fulgid as easily as he could feel his own hand. Sadly, it was probably for the best. Mutated and stunted, it was amazing the dragon had lived this long. If the link had completely formed before it died, as all stunted dragons do, the boy would have been devastated. The severing of that link was like having your soul ripped out and thrashed, a feeling Erik knew all too well. It had been three long years since Laud had died. Those three years had seemed like an eternity. He hadn’t rode on a dragon since. His grief and his disease didn’t allow him to get any closer than his chamber windows. The ride here with Boris had brought it all back again with painful clarity.

Boris pushed a bowl of stew into his hands and they ate in silence. He forced himself to eat as much as he could, but his appetite was as weak as he was. Placing the bowl beside the fire, he announced he was going to bed. He’d had more activity in this one day then he’d had in a year and he was exhausted. One look at Ammon was enough to see he wasn’t in much better shape. The long hike on his bad foot had worn on him and he looked tired.

Erik placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder and whispered. “Come to the tent and sleep. As I recall, Boris snores like a raging dragon! Last time he and I shared a tent I spent the whole night kicking him to make him stop!”

Ammon grinned and nodded in acceptance before followed him into the tent.

***

Boris stayed up well into the night watching the flames die down. Fulgid still lay curled up very close to the fire.

“You’re going to break that boy’s heart, you know that?”

Fulgid didn’t move and Boris grunted. He stood and stretched, listening to his joints as they popped. Once more he tried offering the remaining stew to the little dragon, but Fulgid just turned his head away. Boris shook his head sadly before giving it to Ellis who was more than happy to finish it off. After cleaning the bowls, he slid into his bedroll and stared into the night sky. The stars shone down brightly and a partial moon had risen half way up the sky. He drifted off to sleep wondering if he should tell Ammon what to expect or let him learn on his own. He decided he’d have to tell him. Ammon wouldn’t have recognized the signs, he was too new to Dragonhood. He would tell him in the morning. After all, a man should know when his dragon is dying.

***

Ammon slept fitfully that night.
Dreams of suffocation, squeezed by his own skin haunted him. Desperately he tried to call out into the darkness but found he had no voice. He awoke in a cold sweat, gasping for air, only to fall asleep and dream it again. By morning he wondered if he’d have been better off staying awake and listening to Boris’ snores. As the early sunlight brightened the entrance to the tent, He slipped out, careful not to disturb Erik. Boris already had a fire going, and the smell of bacon and eggs drifted through the camp. Fulgid still lay curled around the fire in the same spot he’d been the night before. At the edge of the clearing, the looming shape of Ellis lay stretched out, his giant wings opened to catch the first warming rays of sunlight.

Fascinated, Ammon stood marveling at the creature until Boris came and handed him a steaming cup of dark black liquid. Accepting it gratefully, he took a large sip and gagged as the bitter fluid scalded his tongue.

Boris chuckled and slapped him on the back. “That’s made from the finest beans in Southern Gaul! Nothing better for getting the blood moving in the morning.”

Gesturing at Ellis with his own cup, Boris smiled. “You can go see him if you like, he won’t hurt you.”

Ammon nodded politely and waited until Boris returned to the fire before discretely dumping the contents of the cup on the ground. He wasn’t sure he wanted his blood to move if it required drinking that vile fluid. As he cautiously walked towards Ellis he realized the dragon was even bigger than he imagined. In the darkness of last night he had thought Ellis was big, but now in the daylight he was downright intimidating. His jaw dropped as he stared in stunned silence.

Just ten paces away rested a massive foot armed with long talons easily big enough to carry a full-grown horse. Ebony scales the size of dinner plates covered the entire beast like armor, and sharp fangs protruded from the mouth. Eyes as dark as coal and as big as Ammon’s head watched him approach, leaving nothing unnoticed. As its gaze swept over him, Ammon’s stomach turned with the sudden realization he was little more than a morsel if the dragon decided to make a meal of him.

His knees suddenly felt weak and he decided to return and see if breakfast was ready. It was definitely daunting to be so close to a dragon and he doubted few men stood against one in battle without becoming unnerved. It was no wonder Tirate wanted a dragon!

Fulgid was different
though. He felt no fear around the little dragon, at least, not anymore. It wasn’t because of his small size, or that he’d hatched in his arms. Despite the fact that those little claws and teeth could inflict serious injuries, he didn’t just didn’t feel any fear. He knew, without knowing why, Fulgid would never harm him.

Erik was up and sitting with Boris beside the fire slurping cups of that foul black liquid and talking in low voices. The thin old man actually looked better than he had last night but Ammon couldn’t decide why. The talking stopped as
he got closer and both men suddenly seemed interested in the contents of their cups. Ammon picked up a plate that Boris had set aside for him and began to shovel food into his mouth. Between bites he decided to break the silence.