Hatch (The Dragons Of Laton) (46 page)

A grin broke across Stalwarts face and Ammon thought he would burst out laughing. His eyes twinkled as he looked past Ammon to the fireplace where El was busy stoking the fire beneath the kettle. “Do you still have what is left of your armor?”

Confused, Ammon nodded. “Yes.  It’s in my wardrobe, why?”

Suddenly serious, Stalwart turned his gaze back to Ammon. “Are you strong enough to ride a dragon for a short distance? An hour or so from here?”

El returned to the table carrying a mug and placed it in Ammon’s hands, motioning him to drink. “No, he can NOT go practice fighting on the back of a dragon!”

Stalwart shook his head. “No my queen, I wasn’t meaning that. Could he just ride for a short distance? You would need to come too, if that makes a difference.”

El frowned down at Ammon who sat forlornly staring into his mug. “What for?”

Stalwart grinned so wide Ammon thought his face might split in two. “Tradition my lady! One that hasn’t occurred in many, many years!”

El fiercely placed her hands on her hips and tilted her head. “He can barely stand and you want him to go gallivanting around on a dragon? No, I think not! Not until he can walk to the courtyard by himself. Only then will I let him go.”

Ammon placed the mug down in front of him and looked determinedly at Stalwart. “Captain, I’ll meet you in the courtyard first thing in the morning.”

Stalwart grinned even wider, and suddenly leapt to his feet and bowed. “Sire, I will retrieve the item from the wardrobe and have it prepared…and I’ll see you both in the courtyard tomorrow morning!” He hurried into the bedroom and returned a moment later with the torn vest draped carefully over his arm. Smiling broadly, he rushed out the door.

El glared down at Ammon with her arms folded in front of her. “I’d beat you senseless if I wasn’t the one who’d have to patch you back up again. Now tell me what is so dragon-fired important that you need to do this before you can even walk?”

Ammon shook his head and looked up at her truthfully. “I honestly don’t know! Tradition I guess?”

El grabbed the mug from the table and shoved it back into Ammon’s hands. “Drink!”

***

When the morning church bells tolled, El stubbornly refused to help Ammon into his clothes. She watched with amusement as he struggled to dress himself and only sniffed disapprovingly when he finally buckled on his sword. His unsteady legs shook as he descended the three flights of stairs to the Hold with El biting her lip in apprehension.

“You cannot do this Ammon! This is just some foolish tradition that isn’t worth risking injury to yourself when you aren’t healed yet! Now be reasonable and let me get you back to your bedchambers where you can rest!”

Determined, Ammon shook his head and continued on, certain he could hear El grinding her teeth in frustration. He was breathing heavily by the time he reached the crowded courtyard and a grinning Stalwart winked at him approvingly until a sharp look from El wiped the smile from his face.

Ducking his head slightly, Stalwart cleared his throat. “Ah, good morning! I'm glad to see you up and about, sire! My dragon Loyal and I will carry you both on our trip.”

A strange box-like seat mounted behind the saddle straddled the neck of Stalwart’s dragon, and with considerable effort, Ammon climbed in to sit on one side with Fulgid. Red faced and still grumbling, El sat on the other and refused to look at him. Stalwart swung into the saddle and looked back to wink at Ammon as he patted a leather pouch tied to his belt. After strapping himself into his saddle, he raised his fist into the air and dropped it sharply. One by one the Laton dragons leapt into the air followed closely by the dragons from Gaul. Waves of dust stirred across the courtyard as they climbed higher.

From the air Ammon could see Laton clearly. Newly thatched roofs surrounding the palace drew a stark contrast to the ruins in the rest of the city. The old protective wall that had originally encircled the small mining town before it had become a city was now integrated into the sides of buildings or torn down. Its replacement that now surrounded the city was easily visible with its thick ramparts and high guard towers.

The great palace with its partially repaired roof dominated the city, and Ammon felt his breath taken away by the sheer beauty of it. Reaching over, he touched El’s hand and could see the sight had the same effect on her. Smiling in wonder, they watched the landscape pass beneath them as the dragons flew east to a distant mountain with a thin tendril of smoke trailing from the top.

They circled once high above the strange mountain before landing, and as they passed over, Ammon looked down in amazement. At the top of the mountain was a massive steaming crater and the bottom of one side a dull red glow radiated from deep within the bowels of the earth. The rest of the crater floor was flat and wide enough for them to land. As they approached, Ammon could feel heat coming up from the ground and the stench of sulfur hung heavily in the air.

“What is this place, Stalwart?” He mumbled in awe as he looked around.

A small group of people were already waiting there as they skidded to a stop on the blackened-rock surface. Oddly enough, most appeared to be blacksmiths waiting patiently beside their tools and large wooden barrels filled with water. Stalwart swung out of his saddle and tossed the pouch to the blacksmith who immediately opened it up and dumped its contents into a strange clay pot. The glittering golden scales tumbled in, clinking as they fell.

Stalwart turned to face Ammon. “You asked me to obtain a few items for you, and that’s what I’m doing.”

El helped him climb down from the box seat and held his hand as they walked over to a large rock and sat down to watch. The blacksmith lowered the pot down on a long chain through one of the holes in the crater floor that spewed sulfurous smoke while another man positioned three different sized wooden boxes filled with clay, each with a hole bored in the top.

Every ten minutes or so, the blacksmith would pull up the pot with his thick leather gloves and peer inside. Each time he'd shake his head and lower it back down into the hole a bit lower than before. After nearly an hour, he pulled it up and nodded his head with satisfaction. The pot glowed bright orange and the air around it shimmered from the heat as two blacksmiths, placed a long metal bar through each handle of the pot. They carefully tilted it with the utmost care and slowly poured its contents into the holes of the clay filled boxes. The liquid was so bright that it was painful to look at and showers of sparks flew in every direction as it was poured.

Boris and the other knights from
Gaul watched in fascination. Although it was interesting to watch, Ammon had questions he’d wanted answers to. The first of which was what did any of this have to do with what he’d requested from Stalwart?

After the boxes had cooled a bit, the blacksmith tipped them over and cautiously broke them apart with a hammer. The first box was long and thin, and as they chipped away the clay, it revealed a bright, golden sword unlike anything he’d ever seen. Quickly the blacksmith picked it up with tongs and hammered and filed a sharp edge onto the blade. When he was done, he dropped it into a barrel of water and as steam roiled out in all directions he moved onto the next two boxes. They were smaller and Ammon was too far away to see the objects clearly as the blacksmith worked.  Each received a similar treatment like the sword did before it was placed in the barrel.

Once they had cooled and removed from the barrels, Stalwart wrapped them in soft towels and brought them to Ammon. The first thing he presented was the sword and as Ammon pulled back the cloth it glittered like a golden mirror in the sun. It was still warm to the touch, and as he lifted it, he was surprised at how elegant it was. An image of a dragon ran the length of the blade on either side, and the pommel was molded to resemble Fulgid’s head with two small diamonds inlaid for eyes. He laid it across his lap and lightly touched the edge of the blade with his fingers. It was hard to believe such a beautiful work of art was actually a weapon!

Then Stalwart placed another bundle on his lap and smiled as he whispered in his ear. “Here are the items you requested of me. There has never been anything other than honor blades made this way so this will be unique.”

As the knights began to gather around, Ammon turned to face El. He slipped his hand into the cloth and withdrew a golden knife with tiny dragons etched on the blade. Taking El’s hand in his, he gently pressed the handle into her palm. “To replace the one you ruined to help me.”

El gasped as she stared at the knife in her hand and shook her head. “No! Ammon I cannot take this! This is an Honor Blade! You cannot just give these away! These must be earned!”

He smiled. “You risked your life to save me. You dragged me through the tunnels and back to the city, then nursed me back to life. If anyone has earned that blade, it is you. Please…will you take it?”

El’s face reddened as she quietly tucked the knife into the empty sheath on her belt. “Thank you, Ammon.”

She reached over to hug him, but he gently stopped her as he reached into the cloth once more. “Wait. I have one more thing to give you that according to Stalwart has never been made before. Ever.”

He slipped the ring onto her finger and her jaw dropped as she held it up to the sunlight, watching it sparkle. The blacksmith had etched a tiny dragon encircling the band, making it very similar to the ring Ammon wore.

Tears welled in her eyes. “Ammon…I…”

He gently kissed her cheek. “Good, I’m glad you like it.”

Fulgid appeared at their feet and stood on his hind legs to sniff at the ring. With a disinterested snort, he casually sauntered off towards the blacksmiths unguarded lunch beside the water barrel.

Stalwart chuckled. “Apparently he isn’t as easily impressed as the rest of us!” There was a ripple of laughter from the knights before he continued. “There is more to these gifts than you know. They were created from your dragon’s scales and forged in the heat of this mountain. This is how honor blades have been made since the first dragon descended from Heaven. But not one blade has been cast since the Scattering. After the last generation of sword makers died off, the knowledge of forging these legendary blades was lost. Only after our recent return to Laton was this knowledge regained through volumes of books in the armory. According to legend, once forged, an honor blade is unbreakable. This has always been accepted as fact until your dragon shattered one in the Hall.

Since that day there have been long discussions and numerous theories, but there is one thing of which we all agree. Fulgid is undoubtedly not a tasche dragon, and the blades and ring forged from his scales should have strength beyond imagination. They will never bend or break and the edge will forever remain true.”

Ammon frowned. “A tasche dragon?”

El giggled. “Don’t they have pocket dragons in Gaul?”

Ammon shook his head and Stalwart’s eyebrows rose. “No? Well you should consider yourself fortunate. They are a cousin of true dragons and don’t usually get much bigger than a cat. Some call them hearth or pocket dragons and believe them to be good luck, but the truth is they’re a nuisance that will eat you out of house and home.”

Ammon held the golden sword up and studied it once more. “Some day I’d like to see these tasche dragons, but for now I’d like to discuss these honor blades. I can think of a number of knights who deserve one and I’m sure you know of quite a few?”

Stalwart smiled and nodded. “Indeed I do, sire!”

***

The ride back to Laton was quiet at first. Ammon watched as El's eyes drifted from the stunning countryside to the golden band on her finger. She apparently had forgiven him for making the trip because she smiled genuinely as she clasped his hand between hers. Fulgid stretched his neck out to lay his head atop both their hands and gazed up at El with shining amber eyes. Like music floating in the wind, his golden voice sang from the bubble deep in Ammon’s head.

“
ELIVA NICE
!”

Ammon chuckled quietly to himself. Perhaps most knights never married because of their dragons, but Fulgid seemed quite content to have El around. “Yes, she is.”

El tilted her head quizzically at him. “She is…what?”

Ammon glanced at Fulgid, still resting his head on their hands. “He said you're nice.”

Concerned, El reached over to place her free hand on Ammon’s forehead and felt for fever. “Are you okay? I knew this was too much. You haven’t recovered enough to be out yet!”

Ammon shook his head. He wasn’t going to start off their marriage by hiding things from her. “I have to tell you something nobody else knows.” He leaned closer. “Fulgid can actually speak. Not out loud of course. Somehow he can talk to me through the link, I hear his voice in my head. I don’t know how he does it, but he does!”

Lines of worry crossed El’s face and she looked eagerly ahead as they approached the city. The moment they landed, El called out to the men waiting in the courtyard. “Come quickly! Carry him inside and up to his chambers!”

Ammon sighed and waved off the cluster of men hurrying to his side. “No, no, I’m fine. I can do this myself.”

El gripped his arm tightly. “You may be able to order them around, but you can’t tell the queen what to do. You will let me assist you up the stairs!”

He smiled and nodded. That was an argument he knew he would not win. It was a long, slow climb up the stairs and El didn’t release her grip until he was seated comfortably in one of the overstuffed chairs in his sitting room. He was too tired and out of breath from the exertion to complain as El fussed over him, and he watched as Fulgid followed her into the bedchambers. He knew she didn’t believe what he’d told her about Fulgid, but how could he prove it?

***

Frustrated, El stoked the fire and put a pot over the flames to make tea. At least Ammon didn’t have a fever, but he had obviously pushed himself too far if he was hallucinating. She pulled down several small clay pots of herbs she’d left on the mantelpiece and found the little red jar she was looking for. It was a potent painkiller that would also make him quite drowsy. “This will help him to do what he should be doing right now, sleeping!” She murmured under her breath as she dropped several spoonfuls into a cup.

Ammon’s voice called from the next room. “El, I don’t need to sleep. I’m perfectly fine, just a little sore.”

El almost dropped the jar before she could put it onto the table. He was on the other side of the sitting room completely out of sight! He couldn't possibly have seen or heard what she was doing!

His laughter rolled into the bedchamber. “El, don’t look so surprised, after all, I tried to tell you!”

Her mouth snapped shut and she spun around. There was no mirrors anywhere, so how could he have known? Bewildered, she sat on the edge of the bed beside Fulgid who lay sprawled across the blankets, watching her.

Ammon called out again. “I told you he could speak.”

She jumped to her feet and backed away from the bed. This couldn’t be! It had to be some sort of trick!

Fulgid lay still, then looked at the door as Ammon came into the bedchamber.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just couldn’t think of any other way to prove it to you. Fulgid would never harm you. He has accepted you as part of me.”

She shook her head fiercely. “No! Dragons cannot speak! I can show you dozens of books written about linking, and what you say isn’t possible!”

Ammon winced as he shrugged his shoulders. “Well, you know I can't read, but do any of those books mention a gold dragon?”

She stared hard at Fulgid. “No…no other colors but black and gray…but…but the books say dragons only sense emotions!”

Ammon gently placed his hand on her shoulder, and she turned her to face him. “Fulgid is not black or gray. He’s different than all other dragons and has been from the very beginning, but he won’t hurt you, ever. You have my word…and his.” He pulled her close and hugged her tightly. “Trust me.”

She sighed. She did trust him and there was no doubt that Fulgid was unusual. Was it really possible the little dragon actually could communicate through the link? At first she couldn’t help but believe he was still delusional from the illness, but that didn’t explain how he could know what she had been doing in the next room. She peered into his face and could see the pain in the corners of his eyes. The long ride had taken a toll on him, and he badly needed rest. Her questions would have to wait.

“You’ll have to tell me more about this later, after you’ve had some sleep. Now go sit down!” Ignoring his protests, she shooed him back to the sitting room.

Fulgid still lay on the bed, and El turned to face the little dragon. Quietly she spoke, so Ammon could not hear. “Well, unusual or not, it’ll take the both of us to keep him out of trouble so he can heal, and it will be much easier if you help. So can I count on you or not?”

Fulgid sat up on the bed, his deep amber eyes looked at El then through the door as Ammon limped painfully back to his overstuffed chair. In one fluid movement, the dragon dropped to the floor and leapt up onto the table. With his teeth, he gently picked up the red clay jar and dropped it into her palm. Stunned, she stared at the jar in her hands and back at Fulgid. If there had been any doubt before, it was gone now. She opened the jar and hurriedly scooped several spoonfuls of white powder into Ammon’s cup before pouring the tea. Fulgid sat quietly with his tail wrapped around his feet and watched. She put the cup on a tray and paused to lean over and kiss the little dragon on the nose.