Hatch (The Dragons Of Laton) (59 page)

Ammon quickly estimated the time it would take for the big dragon to make his next pass. Fulgid and the rest were steadily knocking out the guards, but there was no way they’d reach the last one before it was loaded and ready. Boris had bought them precious time, but they needed just a bit more. A scream sounded across the yard as one of the young knights fell, a thick shaft protruding from his leg.

Ammon charged down the walkway and past the wounded knight. Already his young dragon was standing over him protectively. There was no time to treat the injury now. Just ahead was a single guard desperately working the crank on the side of a crossbow while his partner lay face down on the stones unmoving. Before the guard could place a bolt in position, Ammon slashed down on the taunt bow with his sword and the gold blade sliced through the thick wood easily. Like a giant whip, the bowstring whistled past the guard’s head and he stumbled back cursing.

The man drew his sword and looked down at Ammon with an air of self-confidence. He easily towered over Ammon and the hilt of his sword glittered with jewels. He smiled as he positioned himself. “Well golden-boy, you’ve picked the wrong man to play swords with. Must be your unlucky day today!”

Ammon held up his sword and wordlessly eyed the larger man. Up until now he’d been fortunate that he hadn’t fought with a skilled swordsman, but it was obvious this man knew how to use a blade. The only advantage Ammon had was the dragon scale armor, but that wouldn’t protect him from a stab or strike to an exposed area. They began to circle, each waiting for the other to move. Suddenly, his opponent struck like lightning, the sword striking a stinging blow to Ammon’s side. Although it failed to penetrate through the armor, it felt as if he’d been punched in the ribs. The man twirled his sword, grinned and feigned a lunge. Ammon moved as if to block and was struck in the ribs on the other side by another stinging blow.

The man sneered, showing perfectly white teeth. “Come now, this isn’t much game! Never send a boy to do a man’s job. Shall we get this over with?”

Ammon forced himself to breathe evenly and focus only on the man in front of him and ignoring everything else. As if parting a curtain, a feeling of calm came over him, and the teaching Boris had hammered into him suddenly became clear again. With a blur, the fancy sword slashed down at his head and Ammon blocked it. The force of the blow pushed his sword down and Ammon followed it through, using its momentum to strike. The guard barely managed to bring his sword up in time to block Ammon’s blow and surprise lit up his eyes.

“Aye, so there is some training in you after all! Never let it be said that Captain Devan shies away from a good fight! Let’s see what you’ve learned!”

A flurry of blows rained down on Ammon, each one blocked by his sword and carried through into a strike. The delight on the guards face slowly began to change to concentration as sweat broke out on his brow and his breathing became labored.

“Not bad, boy! Not bad at all, but I’m afraid I’ve run out of play time and have to end this.” He suddenly leapt forward and brought his sword straight down with all his strength. Ammon leapt aside and brought the hilt of his sword up to strike the man hard on the chin. He spun around and spat out a tooth angrily. “You’ll pay dearly for that boy!”

The bejeweled sword whirled in his hand as he stepped forward quickly, driving Ammon back, step by step until his back hit the wall. Unable to move, Ammon blocked each blow. With the wall behind him, he couldn’t swing his sword to strike back, and the larger man pounded furiously down on him. Suddenly Ammon lost his grip on the sword and it slipped from his hands and clattered to the stones several paces away.

The guard smiled and hissed through the gap in his teeth. “Never send a boy…”

He never finished his sentence. A dark shadow passed overhead and a large black claw ripped him from the parapet. Shocked, Ammon watched as the dragon holding the screaming man in his talons pumped the air with its wings and it climbed higher into the sky.

He picked up his sword and wiped the sweat off his face with the back of his shaking hand. A few seconds longer and he’d have been dead. He peered up at the dragon overhead. That knight and dragon saved his life and he owed him a debt.

The twang of a crossbow echoed across the yard, and a thick black shaft sailed overhead. Ammon felt sick to his stomach as he watched the bolt strike its target. With a nightmarish scream, the dragon howled and dropped the man it carried in its claw. He fell to the ground with a sickening thud, but Ammon couldn’t take his eyes away from the scene above. The dragon squirmed and twisted in mid-air, then plummeted to the ground. With a loud crash, it landed in a heap in the center of the courtyard, its shrieks deafening as it thrashed about.

Ammon raced down the walkway towards the stairs while Fulgid flew up to the windows of the royal chambers overlooking the courtyard. A blast of fire suddenly lit up the dark window and a trail of black smoke began pouring out, billowing up towards the sky. Ammon frowned as he rushed down the stairs. There must have been another of the crossbows hidden inside. Whoever shot it would have had an easy target of anyone or anything in the courtyard. Curse Tirate, curse him to his grave!

One of the DoTarian knights met Ammon at the bottom of the stairs. “Sire, all the crossbows along the walls have been eliminated, we didn’t know about the one in the window, I’m sorry!”

Ammon waved him aside with his hand. “Not your fault, nobody knew. Who is the wounded rider? Do you know?”

The knight’s voice shook as he ran beside Ammon towards the dragon lying in the courtyard. “I believe his name is Cen, one of the
Gaul knights. From where I was, I couldn’t see how badly they were injured.”

Ammon nodded as he ran. Angrily he gripped the hilt of his sword. If he hadn’t lost his grip on his sword, Cen wouldn’t have dived in to help, and this wouldn’t have happened. This was his fault, nobody else’s.

The black dragon lay still, his head twisted around to watch the man drooping in the saddle on his back. Ammon stopped in front of the man who sat gripping the saddle with one hand, and the long black shaft protruding from his belly with the other. The thin man’s face was ghostly pale and his breathing was rapid and shallow.

He placed a hand on Cen’s shoulder. “Let me get you down, and we can get you some help.”

Weakly, the knight shook his head. “No, sire. I’m afraid there is no help for me.” His voice was faint as he whispered. “Have we retaken the palace, sire?”

Ammon looked around at the burning crossbows and the prisoners being lined up in a corner of the courtyard. “Yes, Cen. The battle is over. Queen El is safe, the city and the palace is ours. We’ve won, and we all owe you…I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

A tiny smile broke across the blue lips. “You owe me nothing, sire. A knight has…a duty…to his…king. It…has…been an…honor. I have only…one…request.”

Ammon tried to swallow the growing lump in his throat. “Of course! Anything!”

Cen’s shaking hand reached up and pulled the cross from around his neck and held it out to Ammon. “Take…this. Wear it…and…remember…who and what it stands for…Ask Captain Boris…It could be…the most important thing…you ever..do...”

Ammon took the cross from his hand, and as gentle as an evening breeze, Knight Cen slowly leaned forward and his breathing ceased.

Ammon felt the flutter of Fulgid’s wings as he landed on his shoulder, and he wiped the moisture from the corner of his eyes. He turned to face the head of the great black dragon and placed his hand on its quivering nose. The large black eyes stared back, lost and alone. He stroked the nose gently and struggled for words, but nothing seemed to come.

The great beast stood up, its hollow eyes flickered from the still figure in the saddle to Ammon. He stood back and cleared his throat. “It’s ok. I understand. We all do. Go in peace!”

The black dragon leaned back and leapt into the sky. It circled higher and higher, and then flew north towards the ice-covered mountains. Fulgid left Ammon’s shoulder and followed behind him briefly as if saying his own good-bye, then returned to circle overhead. His golden scales shone brilliantly in the sunlight.

When Ammon turned around, Boris was standing beside him. They looked at each other for a long moment before Boris placed a thick hand on Ammon’s shoulder. “It’s part of war. Every knight knows it when they head into battle. Cen was a good man, he’ll be missed.”

Ammon could only nod sadly.

***

Stalwart was processing the prisoners as they were brought to the courtyard. He bowed as Ammon approached. “Sire, it appears you have succeeded in retaking Gaul. I think you truly have fulfilled the prophecy of reuniting!”

He looked at Stalwart earnestly. “Do you really believe in that?”

The DoTarian knight chuckled. “Well, to be honest…no. At least not until you started fulfilling it!”

Ammon rubbed his eyes wearily. Well if this prophecy was real, at least it was done now. “Someone needs to go to the east gate. Theo’s dragon Ebony got hurt pretty bad. El is down there with them now.

Boris nodded. “I already know about it. Tashira has already headed down there with a couple dragons and a sling to bring them back here to the Hold. I think between El and Tashira, they’ll heal her up good.” He shaded his eyes and gazed up in the sky. “Don’t you think you ought call down that little acrobat before he completely terrorizes the city?”

Ammon shook his head and watched Fulgid streak through the sky. “I doubt there are many left that don’t already know about him, and as for the rest, well they should get used to seeing him. Besides, he just learned to fly and I think he’s enjoying it. After today he deserves it.”

Boris chuckled. “Well, I won’t disagree with that.”

Ammon sighed and fingered the cross in his hand. “Boris, I have some questions to ask you once everything is settled. But at the moment, I think it’s time to speak with the man who started all this. Where is he?”

Boris pointed to a large group of men standing dejectedly in the courtyard. “There are at least a couple thousand men there, it’ll take awhile to find him.”

Chapter 18

He Who Runs Away

Tirate ground his teeth as he hurried down the hallway. Things were not going at all the way he had planned. The mercenaries and ruffians he’d hired as guards were abandoning their posts in droves. The sight of a thousand dragons flying overhead had unnerved them all. When the dragons started throwing fireballs from their mouths, even the toughest decided he didn’t pay enough to stick around for the battle. Where those dragons had come was puzzling enough but the fire breathing had him completely baffled. How had they gotten past his defenses so easily? The carefully laid plans that he had started so many years ago now lay in ruins. Crumbled before his very eyes.

He entered the deserted royal chambers and threw open the doors of the large wardrobe. Hidden in the back lay a large sack filled with gold, clothing and a few other necessities in the event he needed to leave in a hurry. He buckled a sword around his waist and draped himself in a dull gray hooded cloak. Someone was going to pay for this, he didn’t yet know who, but someone would.

He slipped down the empty hallway and rounded the corner by the kitchen just in time to see a line of hatchlings and knights follow the boy tender and that horrid gold dragon exit onto the parapet. He quickly ducked out of sight and pressed his back tight against the wall and listened. He could hear the boy giving orders and the other knights addressing him as…King Ammon? The boy tender? So, Erik had truly believed him to be the last descendant from the house of Les and passed the throne to him, sidestepping Tirate’s lawful claim! He strained to listen and rolled his eyes in disgust. His hand twitched as he yearned to draw his sword, but he knew what that golden dragon was capable of and wasn’t going to submit himself to that again. This time he’d plan it out carefully.