Hatch (The Dragons Of Laton) (2 page)

A searing white light shot through his brain as a voice thundered. “
AMMON
?”

He leapt to the side of the bed, his heart beating wildly in his chest. The candle had burned down to nothing in its small holder and blackness surrounded him. Forcing himself to calm down, he listened intently but could only hear his own heartbeat. Minutes passed and he still heard nothing. Was it a dream? It sounded so real! Shaking his head, he rose from the cot and fumbled his way through to the doorway. He peered into the dark and could just make out the glow from the furnace doors. Barefoot, he carefully made his way around the Nest. Reflections from cracks around the furnace doors threw fingers of light across the darkened room, but nothing moved.

Shrugging his shoulders, Ammon chuckled at himself for jumping at voices heard in his dreams and stumbled back to his bed. Tossing the thin blankets aside, he flopped down on the cot and yawned. Strange how the voice had sounded so real, so clear, like the blast of a trumpet echoing over the hills. He closed his eyes and tried to get comfortable. This time sleep did not come easily, and he lay there for hours unable to think of anything else. When he did finally doze off, fitful dreams of the voice haunted him the rest of the night.

Sunrise
came with the dull ringing of the morning church bells, and Ammon gratefully arose. His morning breakfast waited at the bottom of the stairs, and it consisted of the same cold gruel he’d had for supper. He spooned the thin mixture into his mouth with one hand while he stoked the coals of the furnaces with the other. Soon he had the fires roaring in two of the four furnaces. No need to fire the other two, it was already promising to be a hot and humid day. He couldn’t help but think it was possibly the last time he would clean the ashbins unless he signed up again. After dumping the ashes down the chute, he refilled the water pail with clean water and clambered down the rope ladder to moisten the eggs. After tonight he would have one last duty to perform before he was discharged and paid. He would have to clean out the discarded shells and dead eggs after the hatchlings had left. Once he’d collected his pay, he’d have to find lodging in town and then decide what he would do next. The laying season was still a month away, so he had time to decide on whether to stay or not.

After the last egg had been carefully cleaned and turned and his chores were done, he returned to his chambers to pack his belongings. From beneath his cot he retrieved a small bag and dumped its contents onto the bed. A handful of copper talons and a metal fishhook tumbled out, and he studied them ruefully before pushing the coins deep into his pocket. Tomorrow his pouch would be heavy with gold, but for now he was painfully broke. Flipping open the flap of his shoulder sack, he dumped a few pots and pans in beside his tinderbox. Then he folded a faded brown cloak and a spare shirt over the top. He was going to need clothes soon. The thick leather shirt and breeches he wore had been very effective for stopping the sparks and embers that shot from the furnace, but they were seriously worn. Perhaps that should be his first investment.

He dropped the sack to the floor and reached under the cot. His hand slid along the edge of the wooden frame until his fingers found the small knothole that had fallen out. It was there he hid the one thing he had of value, a thin golden ring that he wore on a string around his neck as he slept. He’d had it for as long as he could remember, although he couldn’t quite recall how it came into his possession. Slipping it onto his finger, he held it up to catch the candlelight. The intricately carved dragon design that completely encircled the ring glittered as it moved, revealing the astonishingly tiny detail. He smiled slightly before taking it off and slipping it inside a hidden pocket sewn in the sack. He could have sold it many times but could never bring himself to do it. It was the only connection he had to a past he could barely remember. He’d kept it with him, always carefully hidden, especially since he’d come to the Nest. If Calis had ever found it Ammon was sure the fat man would accuse him of theft and take it away before throwing him out on the street, or worse, have him brought before the King’s Guard for punishment.

Ammon tied the sack closed and stretched. For the first time in almost a year he had nothing to do. It was barely past noon and hours before Calis and the knights would arrive. Normally he’d be hauling coal up to the bins at this time, but there would be no need of fires tonight. He descended the stairs and pushed the door open just wide enough to peer through before stepping outside. Blinking in the bright sunshine, he stood in the doorway and waited for his eyes to adjust. A rickety old ox cart stood haphazardly to the left of the door beneath the ash chute. A thick mound of black and gray ash piled unevenly against the high wooden sides and it listed precariously into the otherwise empty street. The noise of people shouting and the clanging of horseshoes against the cobblestones drifted up the hill.

With a quick look around, Ammon reached down and jammed a small stone into the door so it wouldn’t latch shut. It wouldn’t do to be locked out of the Nest today of all days. Calis would very likely have a fit worthy of a pig in a poke if he knew Ammon was outside. Hooking his thumbs onto his belt he tried to look innocent as he casually made his way down the street. He didn’t plan to be gone very long, just enough to stretch his legs.

Rounding the corner at the end of the street, Ammon found himself shoulder to shoulder with a river of people streaming in and out of the little shops surrounding the Nest. Dust swirled heavily as farmers with heavy carts goaded tired looking oxen to the warehouses down by the riverside. Ammon breathed deep as a hundred different aromas flooded his nostrils. The smell of breads and smoking meats from the foodware shops mixed oddly with the heavy stench of burning metal and coal of the blacksmiths and the pungent refuse of animals. Ammon eyed one woman carrying a basket of pastries, and his mouth watered as he considered spending some of the few coins he had brought with him.

A murmur arose above the din of the crowd and suddenly people started pushing to the sides of the street. Caught in the human tide, Ammon was carried further down the street and into an alleyway beside a small shop. He could hear shouting growing closer, but he wasn’t tall enough to see over the shoulders in front of him. Backing up, he bumped against a low bench about a foot tall. Stepping gingerly so as not to tip it over, he climbed up and looked towards the commotion coming towards him.

A large man with a thick staff walked down the center of the street, poking and pushing anyone not able to get out of the way fast enough. Behind him pranced a huge black stallion trimmed with black armor and tiny bells on the reins. Its hooves were polished and glinted in the sunlight as brightly as the fine silver chains dangling from the sides of the saddle. Astride the great steed sat a man suited completely in black armor like a great ebony statue. On one arm he carried a plain black shield, while large gauntlet covered hands gripped the reins confidently. The visor of his black plumed helmet was up, exposing pale flesh and cold, cruel eyes.

Ammon whistled softly to himself in admiration. A knight! A real, live Dragon Knight! Ammon could barely keep his knees from buckling as the thrill ran through his spine. He’d heard of the knights of course and even seen dragons flying high overhead, but had never been this close before. As the figure drew near, the helmeted head turned towards him and in a mixture of awe and fear, Ammon stumbled off the bench and pushed his way back up the street.

The low rumble of voices from the crowd picked up again after the knight passed. Shopkeepers again shouted their wares and Ammon idly browsed among them, but little seemed interesting after seeing a real knight pass by. At least nothing seemed interesting until he walked past the blacksmith and saw a small sword placed among the tools and implements for sale. Curious, he removed it from its worn leather scabbard and inspected it closely. Despite the plain grip and an unadorned pommel, the strange gray metal blade was flawless as if newly honed. It was smaller than the long two handed swords the knights carried, and very different from any other sword he’d seen. Holding it out in front of him, Ammon smiled. With his small size, it fit him perfectly.

The blacksmith briefly paused from his work and growled. “Iffin you ain’t buyin, ya ought not be touchin the merchandise!” As if to punctuate his statement, he hefted a large hammer and pounded it against glowing iron fresh from the forge.

Ammon jumped back from the shower of flying sparks and raised his voice above the clanging. “How much?”

The blacksmith turned and raised an eyebrow at him before shoving the iron back into the flames and scowling. “I dinna suppose it were much good anyways. Couldn’t even melt it down fer making a right usable tool. But maybe a young lad yer size might make some use of it I s’pose. Ten coppers and it’s yours.”

Ammon shook his head and jingled the coins in his purse. “Three. I’ll give you three.”

“Hah!” The big man crossed his hairy arms and glared. “Couldn’t let it go fer less than seven!”

Pulling the purse from his belt, Ammon peered inside it and frowned. “Five and not a talon more.”

The blacksmith smiled through crooked teeth and held out his hand. “Done.”

Elated, Ammon hurried back to the Nest with the sword and scabbard wrapped in an old oilcloth and an empty coin purse in his pocket. He’d spent much more time outside than he’d planned and the sun was slowly creeping towards the horizon. The rock still held the door ajar and it fell to the ground as he pulled it open. Kicking it aside, he quickly stepped in and leaped up the long stairs, carrying the sword vertically in front of him so it wouldn’t drag against the narrow walls.

Once inside his room, he lit a candle and set it beside the bed. Unrolling the oilcloth across the mattress, he excitedly inspected the sword once again. Surely something like this would come in handy. He would, after all, need to protect himself with all the gold he’d earn tomorrow! With a wry smile he rolled it back up and leaned it next to his sack. He’d practice with it later, for now he had to prepare for the Hatch.

He lit all the candles in each of the small hollows carved into the stone walls and placed a tiny mirror behind each to direct the light towards the center of the Nest. With the room glowing brightly, he once more checked the eggs and stoked the remaining coals in the furnace for the last time. There was no need to heat the Nest now, the eggs would hatch at midnight and the dragons would be gone by sunrise.

Somewhere in the city a church bell tolled, marking the evening mealtime and Ammon quickly surveyed the Nest to make sure it was clean before racing to the bottom of the staircase to pick up his meal. Sprinting back up the uneven stairs with bowl in hand he closed himself in his bedchamber. Tonight the gruel seemed even more tasteless, but he ate it quickly anyway. The excitement from his jaunt through the city had worked up his appetite and the wooden spoon hit the bottom of the bowl much sooner than he expected. No matter, tomorrow he would feast like a king!

He heard the stairway door open and voices echoed up the dark passageway. He recognized the thick, nasally voice of the keeper and heard the heavy footsteps and clink of armor as, one by one, the knights passed by his door. As quietly as he could, Ammon leaned near the thin wooden door of his chamber, and listened. He could hear the nervousness in Keeper Calis’ voice as he assured the knights of the Hatching.

“Oh sires, I’m quite sure this’ll be a grand Hatch! I do b’lieve all six will probably hatch! I m’self took great pains ta make sure the eggs are well cared for! Why I even check ’em myself twice a day!”

Ammon smirked. Aside from his first week of training, he had only seen the keeper maybe a dozen times in the past eleven months and no one else was ever allowed into the Nest. The footsteps and voices grew fainter as they went further into the Nest. Ammon could still hear them, but words were too muffled to understand. He blew out his candle and very carefully pressed his face to a crack in the door. He could see six armored knights without their plumed helmets standing in a circle around the Nest. Strapped to their backs were the two handed hilts of their long swords. In the candlelight their pale faces made a stark contrast against the dark armor.

Ammon leaned back a bit where he could sit more comfortably and watched. He knew the Hatch wouldn’t occur until about midnight, and if he was lucky he might get to see the young dragons as they crawled out of the Nest. No one was permitted to attend a Hatch except the knights and the keeper. If he were caught watching, the penalty from Calis would likely be severe, but the temptation was too much. As the hours passed, the only thing that changed was the increasing nervous chatter of Calis. Ammon yawned. The lack of sleep from the night before was catching up to him and his eyelids were growing heavy. The Keeper’s voice droned on like a buzzing in the background.