Hatch (The Dragons Of Laton) (4 page)

In a panic he reached back and tried to pull it free, but its grip was like iron. He grabbed the shirt and tried to pull it over his head, but the dragon tightened its grip and pulled the leather tight against his chest. The claws pierced through and pricked his skin underneath. Ammon let go of his shirt and the dragon eased its grip.

Rattling armor and cursing rose from the Nest and the rope ladder creaked. Tirate had recovered his sword, and as he was climbing out he was screaming to Calis. “Dead! I want that boy
DEAD! DO YOU HEAR ME, CALIS
?”

Hoping to escape unnoticed, the fat keeper had nearly made it to the bottom of the stairs and out the door. Now that Tirate was calling him, he abandoned that hope and reluctantly started back up the long staircase.

“Yes, Lord Tirate! He won’t get away!”

Ammon groaned. He didn’t know why Tirate wouldn’t simply take the dragon from his back and be on his way
, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. He certainly had no intentions of letting the clumsy fat keeper stab him with a sword. Ammon sprinted towards the stairs.

If he had to fight either man, he knew he had a much better chance of getting past Calis. He remembered his belongings as he ran past his chambers and reaching in the doorway he grabbed his sack and turned towards the stairs.

Calis was half way up the long passageway and panting heavily as he hurried up the steps. Seeing Ammon standing at the top, he paused for a second to draw his sword, but because of his large girth and narrow walls of the staircase he had difficulty pulling it from its scabbard. Turning sideways he gave it a great yank and it finally came free, nearly cutting his hand off with the effort. Feeling braver with a sword in his hand and facing an unarmed boy, the keeper lurched forward up the stairs again.

Trapped, Ammon spun looking for an escape. The knight had just climbed out of the Nest and had his long sword in his hand. With Calis blocking the stairway there was no other way out. Ammon leaned against the wall and felt a light breeze against the back of his neck.
He spun to face the ash chute and without a second thought, hefted the sack in front of him and dove headfirst through the tiny door. He plunged through the darkness banging against the walls at breakneck speed, his shoulders scraping painfully against the walls on both sides. Great clouds of ash swirled around, into his eyes, nose and mouth as he slid downward until, with a loud crash, he landed in a heap in the ash cart at the bottom.

Coughing and sputtering, he scrambled out of the cart and ran down the street
, turned a corner, then followed the road until he came to the bottom of the hill where the inner city walls rose up. Panting, he slipped into a narrow alley between two buildings and stumbled his way to the back. With his heart pounding, he listened for the sound of pursuing footsteps, but none followed. He sat down on an old wooden barrel that lay on its side and gasped for breath as he tried to think. What just happened?

Calis said he was linked to the dragon, but what did that mean? All he’d done was to pick up the egg and it wasn’t his fault it hatched in his hands! He was just cleaning out the
nest, he certainly didn’t plan this! All he wanted was to finish his job and collect his gold! This couldn’t be happening! His headache was throbbing even worse now and his mouth tasted of bitter ash. He tried to spit but his mouth was too dry.

He buried his face in his hands and leaned back against the building. The sudden feel of a lump on his back made him jerk forward again. He felt the blood drain from his face and his stomach turned. He had almost forgotten he still had the dragon on his back! Turning his head, he could just see a claw over each of his shoulders, but now the golden color was blackened with soot. Warily he reached up and tried unsuccessfully to pry the claw from his shirt. The beast had gripped his thick leather shirt so hard there were holes poked through. Despite that, at least the claws had missed his skin and for that he was grateful.

He shook the back of his shirt vigorously but it didn’t fall off. Maybe if he could remove the shirt and wrap the thing up with it, he could leave the dragon there in the alley. Someone would surely find it and then it would be their problem, let them bring it back. Gingerly, he tried to slide the shirt over his head, but as soon as he started to pull the dragon again gripped it hard, drawing tight against his chest. Frustrated, he let go and the dragon relaxed. He sighed, taking the shirt off was not an option. For a brief moment he thought about returning to the Nest. Perhaps if he explained to Calis that he didn’t want it he’d have mercy on him. Maybe he’d just take the dragon and let him go. But what if he bumped into Tirate? The man had said he would kill him, and Ammon doubted anything was going to change his mind. Calis certainly wouldn’t interfere, not when he could save himself the six gold talons he owed Ammon.

He knew he would never get paid the gold talons he had earned. At this point he didn’t really care either, all Ammon wanted was to be rid of the thing on his back and to get away with his life. There had to be a way somehow. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of shouting a few streets away. They were probably already gathering men for a search.

Quickly he decided his best chance was to leave the city. If he stayed, it was just a matter of time before he’d be caught. He figured Calis and Tirate had already alerted the city guards. So it wouldn’t be long before word reached the gates, then they would stop and search everyone trying to leave. Escaping with a bright golden dragon hanging on his back was obviously out of the question. If he couldn’t remove it, then he had to hide it somehow.

He dumped the contents of his sack on the ground and using his belt knife, he cut a flap between the shoulder straps of the sack. Then he unwrapped the oilcloth around the sword and stretched it out in front of him. He placed everything but his blanket in the middle of the cloth, rolled it back up, pushed it to the bottom of the sack, and closed the top. Then he tied the blanket between the shoulder straps and carefully slid it over his back. The dragon was now completely covered by the sack with its body snugly in the hole and out of sight. He buckled his sword to his belt and looked over his shoulder one more time. With a deep breath, he strode down the alley, turned, and walked quickly towards the gates. Just another dusty traveler passing through.

Chapter 2

Escape

With his hands shoved deep in his pockets to hide the shaking, Ammon slowed his pace to a casual walk. The closer he got to the entrance to the city the more he realized how difficult it would be to escape if the guards were looking for him. The double gates were made of thick timber and large enough to drive three wagons through at once. Two guard towers rose high above the walls on each side while half a dozen disinterested soldiers stood lounging about watching the people come and go. Ammon lowered his head and joined the steady line of people waiting to pass through the gate.

Shouts rose near the base of one of the towers and Ammon resisted the urge to run. Through the crowd he could see several rough looking men with long curved swords arguing with one of the guards. Instinctively Ammon moved to the opposite side of the crowd. The last thing he wanted was to get involved in a dispute and draw attention to himself. With a hard thud, he bumped into something and when he turned he nearly choked. The leather breastplate identified him as one of the guards, but what made Ammon gasp was the sheer size of the man. Towering over everyone in the crowd by several feet, the guard was easily the largest man Ammon had ever seen. His shaved head revealed a strangely pale scalp and beneath his heavy brow glared a set of blood colored eyes. From his jaw hung a thick silver beard that reached half way down his chest. Massive arms as big as tree trunks easily swept Ammon aside as he pushed his way towards the growing argument.

When
he realized everyone's attention was directed towards the scuffle, Ammon hurried past the onlookers. Holding his breath, he slipped past the gates and out of the city. Once outside he avoided the busy bridge to the south and turned north towards the rarely traveled wooded hills. He didn’t look back, even when the shouting suddenly got louder and a trumpet blasted, signaling more men to the gate.

It wasn’t until he reached the edge of the woods almost a quarter mile away before he turned around to look back. Even from a distance he could see the gates were now shut and he felt his stomach tighten.
The gates were only shut once darkness fell, so either the guards had locked them down to quell a riot, or word finally got through and they were searching for him. Quickly he stepped off the road and into the thick woods. It would be wise to stay off the roads for awhile until he decided where he was going to go, just in case search parties were sent. As valuable as dragons were, he doubted Tirate would give up trying to get it back so easily.

Pushing through the woods became more difficult as the day went on. Brambles tore at his leather breeches and the low brush made walking a challenge. As the sun climbed, so did the temperatures until even the horseflies remained hidden. The few berries he found still in season did little to quench his thirst or quiet his growling stomach. His tongue was parched and his head
still throbbed but he kept moving. He only hoped he might find a stream or a pond along the way.

A branch caught on his shoulder strap and he pulled it free with a jerk and felt the dragon on his back move slightly. Idly he thought it couldn’t weigh much more than a cat, which was a blessing. If it had been the size of the other hatchlings he’d never had been able to carry it this far. He topped a small rise filled with cedar trees and from there he could see a swamp on the other side. There the grasses grew chest high and on the far end of the swamp a
thick population of cattails waved slightly in a faint breeze. Smiling, he trudged through the soft turf and grabbed a dozen of the long stalks and pulled them up one at a time. He twisted off the tops and shoved the roots into his pocket. Then he followed the edge of the swamp until he came to the source of its water, a small spring bubbling up out of the ground from the side of a bank.

Dropping to his knees he shoved his face into the tiny pool and drank greedily, pausing only to gasp for air between gulps. After he had drank his fill and completely drenched his head, he slid back and sat down on the bank. Slipping the straps off his shoulders, he let the sack drop to the ground. Once
more the dragon on his back stirred slightly and he wondered how he could remove it without losing his own hide. If he used his knife to slice open the front of his shirt would the dragon stay with the shirt or would it climb onto his bare back? The thought of those razor claws raking his bare skin turned his stomach.

Still, the dragon had done nothing except cling tightly to his back. The only reaction he’d seen was when it had attacked Tirate. Ammon chuckled to himself. He could hardly find fault for that reaction. After all, Tirate
had charged at both of them with a sword. He looked over his shoulder and gently tugged at his shirt. The tiny claws tightened their grip, then relaxed again. Ammon sighed. For now he would leave it where it was until he could think of a way to safely remove it. He certainly had no intentions of spending the rest of his life with the beast on his back.

N
ot far from the spring he found a dry spot on a large flat boulder surrounded by a small pile of rocks. He cleared away the smaller stones, leaves and sticks and dropped his sword next to the sack beside one of the larger stones. Using his belt knife, he shaved splinters off a cedar branch, then with a few quick strikes of his flint he soon had a roaring fire. If there was one thing Ammon had learned working as a tender, was how to build a fire quickly. He pulled the dented pot from his sack, filled it with water and set about boiling the roots. He had to refill the pot several times before the fibrous roots were soft enough to chew, but at least they were filling and his headache seemed to lessen somewhat.