Hatch (The Dragons Of Laton) (54 page)

He felt sick to his stomach as Argent swept past the dying man. Around him he could hear the screams of men and the shouts of alarm. As the outer ring of crossbows fell to the dragon’s fire, men scrambled in panic towards the center of camp. The few brave enough to stand their ground turned their crossbows and shot blindly into the sun, sending volleys of deadly bolts high into the air. As they swooped towards another crossbow, Argent suddenly flipped upside down. Ammon could hear arrows whizzing past as he hung helplessly from the lap belt of the saddle. In a single, fluid movement, Tashira drew her long sword, and as the ground rushed past their heads she held it in front of her with both hands. With one, neat stroke, the blade sliced through the string of a crossbow as they passed overhead. The sudden violent release of the drawn bow knocked one man over, while another crumpled in a heap beside the now useless device.

Just as they turned upright, a hail of arrows bounced off Argent’s sides and Ammon’s armor. The dragon’s wings beat furiously as they gained altitude and moved out of range. Ammon looked down at the leather strap that held him into the saddle. An arrow had sliced into it deeply, nearly severing it in two. Argent wheeled in the air as he began his next dive.

He leaned forward and screamed into the wind to Tashira. “My belt is breaking!”

She twisted around in alarm just as the belt snapped and he was violently ripped from the saddle. Desperately he clawed for something to hold onto and managed to grab one end of the broken belt and held on. He felt Argent try to slow his descent as he dangled from the strap beneath him. With each backstroke of the dragon’s wings, the belt slid further through the loops, and Ammon looked down at the treetops rushing towards him. Argent spread his wings once more and the belt suddenly came free. For a moment he felt weightless and he screamed as he plummeted to the earth. “Nooooo!”

Suddenly something dug into the shoulders of his armor and he felt his speed slow. He glanced up to see Fulgid desperately beating his small wings. Although the little dragon was not able to fly yet, it slowed his descent, and they landed in a tumbling heap. Ammon gasped for breath and lay still for a moment before he opened his eyes to see Fulgid standing on his chest looking down at him in concern. He sat up and tested each arm and leg in disbelief. Once again the dragon had saved his life. “Thank you, my friend!”

He jumped to his feet as Tashira circled overhead and signaled to her. With a wave of relief, they flew off to rejoin the battle. He drew his sword and trotted towards the encampment with Fulgid on his heels. At the top of a small hill, he suddenly found himself facing half a dozen men desperately trying to repair one of the crossbows.

With a curse, one of the guards hefted one of the crossbow bolts like a spear and cautiously approached Fulgid while another drew his sword and charged Ammon. Ammon lifted his golden blade and stepped aside just as the bigger man threw his weight into his sword strike. As the larger man stumbled past, Ammon slashed down, leaving a wide gash across the guard’s back. Infuriated, the guard spun, swinging his sword wildly. As the man closed in, Ammon raised his blade, and they met with a loud clash. With each sword locked at the hilt, Ammon quickly twisted his around, and the tip gouged deeply into the man’s arm. He jumped back yelling a string of profanities, then lunged forward only to find himself staring in shock at the golden hilt buried deep in his chest.

Ammon pulled his sword free and turned to see Fulgid had already made short work of the others. On the ground a man lay howling as he held a mangled and bleeding hand tightly to his chest. Beside him two others lay face down in the dirt while the rest ran frantically towards the center of the camp. With Fulgid loping beside him, Ammon gave chase, stopping only after meeting three more guards desperately trying to reload a smoldering crossbow. What little courage the guards had left failed when Fulgid loosed a ball of fire that completely engulfed their machine and they left their swords in the dirt as they fled with Fulgid in pursuit.

Ammon tossed the swords into the flames and turned just as a thin and shirtless man silently appeared from the bushes. Intricate black lines of a tattoo darkened one side of his tanned face beneath a matted and dirty beard. In his hand he wielded a heavy knife with a curved blade and he snarled words buried so thick in a guttural accent that they were unintelligible.

The barefooted man cautiously approached until Fulgid suddenly returned. With a snort, tendrils of smoke billowed from the little dragon’s nostrils, and the color drained from the tattooed face. In one quick step he disappeared silently into the bushes just as quickly as he appeared. Ammon probed the bushes with his sword but the man was gone. He shrugged his shoulders and jogged down the path towards the camp. He had no time to wonder about such things right now. There was a battle to be fought.

As the morning wore on, Ammon muscles ached with fatigue. Although Fulgid did most of the fighting, he often found himself crossing swords. Most surrendered after Ammon’s golden blade sliced through the soft metal of their homemade weapons, but a few mistook his small size and youth as an easy kill. It didn’t take long before they learned how well he had been trained. They battled their way across the field, and Fulgid incinerated any crossbow they found. Once they reached the center of camp, it was easy to distinguish the guards from those who had been forced into labor by the filthy rags they wore. As they were freed, the laborers took up the abandoned swords and followed him into the fight.

As the number following him grew into a small army, they began to cover ground more quickly. Tirate’s men saw the approaching mass and retreated towards the Wall. Few were foolish enough to raise their swords against the ones they’d held captive, and those who did met a quick and decisive end.

Most of the crossbows were already abandoned or destroyed from the relentless attack of dragons. Ammon’s ragtag army pulled down and set fire to the rest before they chased down and captured the remaining guards, and by noon there were only sporadic fights that ended quickly. As Ammon approached the tunnel entrance, a dozen dragons keeping watch over a group of prisoners greeted him. The surviving guards sat dejectedly on the ground by the river with hands and feet bound tightly. He watched as a fist of dragons moved into the tunnel to remove the remaining crossbows. The large mechanisms were too big to turn inside the tunnel, so dispatching them from behind would be a simple task.

He wiped his sword clean and looked at the tree line in the distance. It would be foolish to assume no one had evaded capture. Word would reach the men hidden in the woods, and they would attempt to prepare themselves for battle, but it wouldn’t help them much. He slid the sword back into its scabbard and gazed at the devastation. With over a thousand fire-breathing dragons circling over their heads most would either run or surrender. At least they would if they were smart.

Then it was onward to Gaul and Tirate.

***

Ammon heard Boris’ booming voice long before he emerged from the tunnel leading a long line of dragons. He grinned broadly at the sight of Ammon and Tashira waiting nearby. “I’m relieved to see you made it over the mountains! You certainly made good time too. We weren’t expecting to hear from you for at least another day!”

Tashira nodded. “If Ammon hadn’t had the idea to use dragon fire for warmth, we never would have got over the peaks. The camp is secured but there is no sign of El.”

Ammon felt his stomach knot. If she wasn’t here, then she must be in Gaul. “It wasn’t my idea it was Fulgid’s.”

Boris eyed the little dragon as he circled the captured guards and growled menacingly. “Figured that all by himself, eh? It seems he’s more intelligent than most dragons are at his age.”

The three stood in silence for a moment until Ammon’s patience broke. “What do we do next?”

Boris patted Ammon on the back. “I wish I could say things will be easier from here on, but that’d be a lie. The real battle has not yet begun. Tirate has had plenty of time to build up his defenses around the city, and I’m sure the woods are peppered with his men.”

Ammon gestured at the growing number of dragons around them. “They can fly above the range of the crossbows in the city and hit them with coda. In the confusion Fulgid and I will go in and find El.”

Boris shook his head. “We can’t get close enough for an accurate shot and if you miss you run the risk of burning down the city. I’m sure there are bows hidden in the woods around
Gaul too, so we’ll have to take the ground around the city first. Ammon, you shouldn’t put yourself in danger when we don’t even know if El was taken there yet.”

Ammon stared at Boris, and the older man’s steely blue eyes calmly returned his gaze. He knew Boris was right, but he had to do something. He gripped the hilt of his sword in frustration and walked towards the group prisoners. “Which one of you is in charge?”

Every eye peered at him with silent disregard.

“Tell me! Who here is in charge?”

One of the men in the front spat on Ammon’s foot and a chorus of chuckles followed. In an instant, Ammon’s sword was in his hand and the razor sharp tip pricked the soft skin of the man’s throat. A few men in the front row exchanged nervous looks as their fellow guard gagged, his face suddenly pale.

Ammon forced himself to speak calmly and clearly. “I’m going to cut out your tongue and feed it to my dragon. After that, I will do the same to each and every one of you until I get an answer. Now I’m going to ask one more time, which one of you is in charge?” He punctuated his question with a slight twitch of the blade and a tiny droplet of blood appeared on the man’s neck.

One by one their eyes turned to a large scraggly bearded man with dark stains covering his shirt and a purple bruise forming over his eye. The man snarled at the others and murmured a curse under his breath.

Ammon gestured to a few of the knights standing uneasily nearby. “Bring him to me.”

With his hands still bound tightly behind him, two knights dragged him to the front. Ammon felt his eyes begin to burn as he grabbed the man by his beard and forced him to look up. “Where is she?”

The big man twisted and tried to pull away as he snorted. “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

Ammon twisted the filthy beard tightly around his fingers and pulled up, nearly lifting the man off the ground. The months of hard training had strengthened his arms and his muscles bulged against his armor.

“The woman you captured on the other side of the tunnel! Where…is…she?”

The man’s face twisted in pain, but still he sneered. “I know the knight’s code of ethics, and this ain’t very knight-like behavior! You can’t do anything to me! Now what would your captain Boris say if he were alive to see this?”

Boris’ voice spoke from behind Ammon. “Ammon? This is not…”

Ammon turned his head only slightly, but never took his eyes off the man in front of him. “He’s going to tell me where El is, or I’m going to kill him.”

The big man’s eyes flickered in surprise at Boris and then he smiled.

With fist to chest, Boris lowered his head. “As you wish, sire.” Without another word, Boris walked away.

The bearded guard watched him leave, obviously confused.

Ammon pulled his face closer. “King Eric has passed the crown to me! I make the rules now, and I will kill you if you don’t answer me, is that clear?”

A flicker of fear flashed in the man’s eyes. “Alright! I’ll tell you what ever you wanna know! But I know nothin ‘bout any woman! Two days ago Ross came back through the tunnel with a young boy and a knife in his shoulder. He and Pru took him to
Gaul for questioning. That’s all I know! I swear! Nobody else has been out of that accursed tunnel!”

Ammon released the man and shook the hairs from his
fist as he walked back to the tunnel entrance. Boris was leaning against the inside wall quietly talking to Theo and Tashira. They became silent as Ammon got closer.

Boris never took his eyes from the ground as he asked quietly. “Did you kill him?”

Ammon could feel the tension resting on that question. “No, he’s back with the others.”

Boris raised his head and looked out at the river flowing past the entrance. “Would you have?”

Ammon picked up a stone and threw it into the water rushing past. Would he kill someone to get El back? Hadn’t he already done that in the battle? It was different though, in battle they fought back, whereas this man had been tied. “I don’t know Boris, I really don’t know. I just…I need to get her back.”

Boris laid a firm hand on Ammon’s shoulder. “Ammon, I know you will do what you need to do. El has to be found and brought back. But you have to remember you are a king and a knight, therefore you must hold yourself to a higher standard than anyone else. If you use whatever means necessary to accomplish your goals, then you aren’t much different than Tirate and his men.”

Ammon defiantly looked Boris in protest, then sighed and hung his head. “I just need to get El back, that’s all. I just have to get her back.”

Theo and Tashira each placed a hand on Ammon’s back and Boris squeezed his shoulder. “We will soon. You gave Tashira an idea of how we can make our next move, and I’ve already sent for the reinforcements!”

As the three of them began to smile, Ammon hoped whatever they had planned was going to work.

Chapter 17