Hatch (The Dragons Of Laton) (14 page)

“Ellis is amazing! I’ve never seen a creature so large before!”

Boris dropped his cup next to the fire and exchanged a brief glance with the king.

“Ammon, we need to talk.” The serious tone of his voice was unmistakable. “You don’t know much about dragons…which isn’t your fault. So you wouldn’t know what to expect because you’ve never been educated…not that it would make things any easier I suppose.” Boris fidgeted uncomfortably.

Erik mumbled under his breath. “Get on with it!”

Boris looked sideways at the king, then stared at Fulgid who still lay curled up close to the fire.

“Yes, yes of course. I uh, I will, it’s just…” Clearing his throat, he turned and looked Ammon straight in the eye. “Fulgid is dying.”

Ammon let the plate slip out of his hands.

“Dying? What do you mean? He’s fine!”

Boris shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, son, but he’s not. When was the last time he ate? Dragons have a bottomless pit for a stomach. He should be begging for food and he isn’t. He hasn’t left that fire since you got here and that means he’s cold. He shouldn’t need a fire this time of year to keep warm. He’s sick, Ammon, real sick. I had hoped this wouldn’t happen but it has, and I’m afraid there isn’t anything we can do about it.”

Ammon stood up. “No! I know him better than you do. He’s
NOT
sick!”

Just because he hadn’t eaten all day didn’t mean anything. Angrily he picked up one of the sausages that had fallen from his plate and waved it in front of the golden nose. “Here, Fulgid, show Boris he’s wrong! You just weren’t hungry right?”

The little dragon didn’t move, his amber eyes reflected the flickering light of the fire as he stared into the embers. Kneeling beside him, Ammon whispered softly.

“Fulgid? You aren’t really sick are you?” He dropped the sausage and began to scratch him gently behind the ear. “What…what’s wrong with him?”

Boris rested his hand on Ammon’s shoulder. “There are several things I’m afraid, the worst being that he is stunted and that color mutation doesn’t help. Mutated dragons don’t live long. Besides that, I don’t think he ever shed his first skin. A dragon has to shed their scales to make room for their growing body. If they don’t shed, it will crush them. Normally it happens in the first few days after they’ve hatched. It’s not an easy process, and you have to use the link to coax them through it. I don’t know if it’s because of his mutation or because Tirate interfered, but your link was never fully formed. Without that link, the dragon becomes lost and loses its will to live.

This isn’t your fault Ammon, and there is nothing you could have done to change it. I’m sorry, son. I wish it were different.”

Ammon felt a tightening around his chest as he looked down at the little dragon lying motionless beside the fire. It wasn’t fair! Fulgid was just a baby, barely a week old, and he was dying? No this wasn’t Fulgid’s fault, it was his. If someone else had formed the link the dragon would have lived. Nothing in Ammon’s life had ever turned out right, why should this have been any different?

He slowly got to his feet. “I’m not your son.”

Stiffly he limped to the tent and closed the flap behind him before throwing himself down on his bedroll. He clenched his teeth as hot tears built up behind his eyes. “I was better off alone!”

Boris started after Ammon, but Erik stopped him.

“Let the boy go. He has to deal with this on his own terms. When the time comes, I’ll talk with him. I think only someone who has lost a dragon can know how it feels.”

Boris winced. “Yes, sire. I was only trying to look out for the lad, I can’t help but feel…”

He was interrupted by a dark shadow passing overhead. They both looked up to see a dragon wheeling in the sky and several more in the distance. Swooping low, the rider of the first dragon yelled down to them.

“Captain Boris! Permission to land sir?”

Puzzled, Boris leaned to Erik. “That is my Second of the Guard, Theo. What is he doing here?”

Boris turned and surveyed the clearing. With Ellis crouched in the end, there was room for one dragon to land, but only just barely. He signaled back to the rider and watched as the dragon swooped down from the sky and skidded to a halt. The rider dismounted and approached them at a trot.

Placing his fist to his chest, he dropped to one knee before Erik and bowed his head. “Sire, Second of the Guard, Theo reporting. I bring with me knights loyal to your crown!”

Erik raised an eyebrow at Boris. “Tell me, Theo, how many knights are with you?”

Raising his head, Theo smiled. “One hundred and fifty-seven knights, twenty three trainees and eighteen newly hatched.”

Boris coughed. “One hundred and ninety-eight dragons and riders? And what do you expect to do with them?”

The kneeling knight frowned. A slim, handsome man of middle years, gray had not yet touched his hair, and his eyes were bright as he looked at Boris.

“As you know, Tirate had removed most of the loyal guardsmen from duty, forcing them into retirement or discharging them to be replaced with his own men. The very day you were sent north, the rest of the
knights were removed from service and sent out of the armory with their dragons, even the newly hatched! Many of us stayed in the city trying to decide where to go while our dragons remained outside in the hills. Yesterday, Shane, the warehouse supervisor came and told us you’d been sent north to find a boy and hatchling.”

Glancing at Erik, Theo continued. “Early this morning word came from the palace that King Erik had died during the night, and no
w that Tirate was linked, he would be crowned after a brief mourning period. Shane had told us that his claim of having a mutant dragon was false, but we’d been disbanded, so what could we do? Then a young pageboy from the palace came out to the tavern spreading the word that you’d taken the king from the palace. We didn’t believe him until he showed us this ring!”

Smiling, he handed the ring back to Boris. Turning back to Erik, the knight lowered his head. “Sire, the Knights of Gaul are at your disposal. Say the word and we will besiege the palace and take back your throne from Tirate!”

The King of Gaul sat silent for a moment. “Not yet, sir knight. A king must think of his subjects as well as his enemies. The people of Gaul do not deserve to be in a war and my time as their king is drawing to a close. In my seclusion I have neglected too many of my duties as king and allowed Tirate’s corruption. It is as much my fault as it is his. An evil allowed to grow as long as this has will take time to root out, and a single siege may not do it. The hearts of the people must be won back too.”

Boris nodded in agreement. “This will take time and planning. Tell me Theo, where is Shane and the rest of your dragons?”

Theo’s face turned grim. “The young page said Shane was arrested and imprisoned before we left. The rest of our group is gathering at a large clearing near the base of the mountains in the north where the Olog River passes through. I was on my way there with a hatchling and his link when I saw your camp. We’ve been searching for you, but expected you to be further north than this.”

Boris turned to look at Theo’s black dragon and could see a rider still astride the dragon with a small gray hatchling clinging to the larger dragon’s back. “I think it would be wise for us to join them there, and plan our strategy.”

Erik nodded his head. “Yes, Boris, I agree. Unfortunately we have some unfinished business here that must be taken care of as well.”

Boris looked at the still form of the small golden dragon next to the fire and sighed. “Yes, sire, we do. I’m afraid that with the two of us and all our gear, there won’t be room on Ellis for Ammon and his dragon, if it lives long enough to travel that is. I’ll have to make two trips.”

Theo looked around in confusion before his eyes settled on Fulgid. His eyebrows rose in surprise. “So this is the dragon Tirate wants? Is it alive?”

Boris shook his head. “If it is, it won’t be for long, I’m afraid.”

Theo’s shoulders dropped a bit and his voice softened. “My condolences to his link.”

Boris looked at the tent at the edge of the clearing. “I’ll tell him that I’m bringing you north and that I’ll come back for him. I have a shovel in one of my packs that I’ll leave by the fire. I suspect he’ll need it soon.”

***

It was a long time after Boris and the others had left before Ammon finally left the tent. The fire had died down to a few smoldering coals and beside it, plainly visible in the sunlight lay Fulgid. A hard lump formed in his throat as he forced himself to look at his dragon. He collapsed to his knees and ran his hand across the cool snout. The amber colored eyes were closed and bits of ash dust from the fire had drifted over his body like snowflakes. Dusting them off with his hands, Ammon lifted the limp form and held him close to his chest, cradling the small head in the crook of his arm. The golden scales seemed paler than they had before. He put his face down against the dragon’s chest and closed his eyes. If only there were something he could do…

Ammon never heard the hollow sound of the shovel hitting the back of his head or the echo of laughter as the world went black.

***

He awoke with a splitting headache that threatened to burst from his skull and his hands wouldn’t move. A wave of nausea rippled through his stomach and he forced his eyes to open. Blinking in confusion, his eyes slowly came into focus. His hands and feet were bound together tightly with rawhide rope and he hung upside down from a pole carried on the shoulders of two men. Swinging back and forth with each step, he tried to orient himself. What happened? Who where these men and why were they doing this? Where was Fulgid?

He could only see the back of one man clearly, but he could hear them talking. A gruff sounding voice belonged to the man in the front.

“A tidy little reward these two will make! Enough I say to keep me in wine for a month!”

From behind, a high pitched, nasally voice snidely remarked. “Olms, ya never could save a copper! Not me! I plan on investing it!”

The laugh of the man named Olms sounded like two rocks rubbing together. “Investing, aye Pock? Not likely! If I know you, it’ll all be in a card game before dinner, and tonight you’ll be crying in your bed as broke as ever!”

Pock’s shrill voice sneered. “At least I got a chance to make my money back instead of spilling that rotgut down my throat!” Olms roared with laughter.