Hatch (The Dragons Of Laton) (16 page)

The bang of the hallway door and the muffled sound of voices meant feeding time again and Ammon knelt down beside the hole in the bottom of the door. It hadn’t take long for him to realize the rats would devour it quickly if he didn’t take it the moment it slid through the slot. He grabbed the bowl and sat with his back against the door, spooning the foul mixture into his mouth. It wasn’t much different than the stuff at the Nest.

Outside his door he could hear the guards talking and he lowered his head to listen. The rasp of an old man’s voice shouted with indignation. “Slop? You throw me in prison without a trial, and feed me slop? After all the years I served the throne! In my day…”

A deeper, gravelly voice interrupted. “Oh shut up, old man, you won’t be eating slop for long anyway. You and that whelp of a boy will be facing the headsman soon enough, I wager!”

A third, higher pitched voice chimed in. “Yeah, lucky for you we ain’t allowed to execute while the city is in mourning!”

The voice cackled as it grew nearer and Ammon heard a sudden banging on his door. “Ya hear that, youngun? Tirate won’t need you much longer to keep that little mutant
lizard of yours alive! And then it’s pop, off with your head!” Raucous laughter rolled down the hall as they left and suddenly it was silent again.

Fulgid was still alive? Shocked, Ammon’s felt his heart leap. How was it possible? He got to his feet and threw himself against the heavy door and met with a solid thunk. Wincing as he rubbed his shoulder, he backed up and threw every ounce of strength he had against the door, stirring up dust that sent him coughing and choking.

A tired old man’s voice drifted across the corridor. “Son, you’ll do nothing but hurt yourself that way. It’ll take more than the muscle you got to bust down an iron strapped door.”

Lying down on his stomach, Ammon pressed his face to the slot under the door. “Who are you? Why are we here?”

The old man laughed with something that sounded more like a wheeze. “I’m supposedly here for treason to the throne. Treason against King Tirate! Ha! I’d rather be fed to the ravens than submit to that scoundrel!” A fit of coughing overtook the old man and it was a few minutes before he could talk again. “My name is Shane. You must be Ammon, am I correct?”

Surprised, Ammon answered. “Yes! But how did you…?”

The old man cackled again. “I thought as much. I figured it had to be you when those two sluggards mentioned your dragon. Tirate is charging you with the murder of a keeper, but the real reason you’re here is because he needed your dragon to take the crown.”

Ammon shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t understand? I didn’t kill anyone!”

Shane was silent for a moment. “Boy, you aren’t old enough to understand everything that’s going on here, but I’ll try to explain it the best I can. Whether or not you murdered Keeper Calis doesn’t matter. He may have been a bloated scoundrel, but he didn’t deserve what he got. Tirate would have found something to charge you with anyway to get your mutant dragon. Those men said it’s barely alive and if he kills you it will surely die, so for now he wants you alive, at least until he can convince the Houses of the Court that he’s the one linked to it, and it’s too weak to do more than just lay there and suffer. So who can argue? In that condition it would be nearly impossible for anyone to dispute whose dragon it really is. I know once he has the crown he intends to kill both of us and the dragon.”

He continued talking, but Ammon didn’t really hear anything after he said Tirate would kill the dragon. Poor Fulgid was so sick yet still clung to life. Somehow, he had to
save him! He had to!

Ammon suddenly interrupted him. “Do you know Boris?”

The old man half giggled. “I’ve known Boris since he was a boy and taught him his first dragon lesson, why?”

He took a deep breath. “Boris told me the link between my dragon and I wasn’t complete. That’s why he was dying. Tell me everything about the link? Please?”

Shane coughed. “It’s true. If the link is incomplete, the dragon will die and there isn’t anything you can do about it. But if he has a mutation…well, I’ll tell you what is known anyway if you like.”

Ammon listened intently as the man began to lecture, only stopping him occasionally to ask questions. Later, long after the old man had gone to sleep, Ammon sat in the middle of the floor and concentrated. He had to find a way to complete the link. It was Fulgid’s only chance. He couldn’t feel Fulgid, but Boris had said Fulgid could feel him. Perhaps he could force it, and then the dragon would live and escape from Tirate.

He closed his eyes and focused on the memory of the golden voice he’d heard in his dreams. He tried to clear his mind completely except the memories he had of Fulgid. Over and over he repeated the same thought in his mind. “Escape! Get away! Live!”

Long into the night he concentrated until finally, his head pounding and his body exhausted, he fell asleep. As he slept he dreamed of wandering down the endless empty paths of a giant maze, trying to find Fulgid. He called out, but only heard his own empty voice and felt his skin grow increasingly tighter across his chest until he could barely breathe.

Chapter 7

A New King

From the window of the palace throne room, Tirate watched as dozens of workmen assembled various versions of the dragon-killer crossbows. Smaller machines mounted on carts filled a good portion of the courtyard, and all along the ramparts, more of the large ones were visible. Although his plans were moving along satisfactorily, they were far from perfect. He’d been waiting for the capture of the mutant dragon before setting things in motion, but when Erik escaped, he was forced to move ahead prematurely. Within hours he had announced that the king was dead from his long illness, marking the beginning of a weeklong period of mourning. He intended to use that week to double his efforts to find the mutant. It was pure luck that a
mere day later, two of the men sent north to keep an eye on Boris had found the dragon and brought it back. It was now safely hidden in a small room down the hall and chained securely to a wall with a large lock.

He carried the only key around his neck as a precaution.
That dragon was essential to his crowning and he wasn’t about to let it slip so easily from his fingertips. It escaped his grasp once, it wouldn’t happen again. Fortunately, the horrid little beast hadn’t moved since it was thrown in there a few days ago, and he had four armed and experienced guards posted in front of the door and making hourly checks to make sure it was secured.

Still, he was uneasy. He wouldn’t relax until the crown was firmly placed on his head and the beast was dead. The fact that the mutant was still alive at all was a testament to how tough the miserable creatures were. Idly he fingered the vial of dragonsbane in his pocket.
It didn’t contain enough to kill an adult dragon, but it should be plenty for a weakened mutant.

Soon the heads of each of twelve Houses would come to view the dragon. He had to convince each one that he had fulfilled the requirement of linking to a dragon and was
therefore eligible for the crown. It was important to gain their trust before the coronation. He needed their financial support to run the kingdom. The Houses helped supply the necessary funds for maintaining the protection of the city and could override his decisions and withdraw their funds if they voted unanimously, a right that hadn't been used in known memory. It was one of the first laws he intended to quietly rewrite once he took power.

For now, he would bring the unconscious beast into his chambers and wait for each member of the Houses to arrive. While they watched he would fuss and pet it like a favorite dog, then send them away with a tear in his eye. It was unlikely they would doubt his sincerity, the members of the Houses were educated enough to know it was almost impossible to touch another man’s dragon without permission.

Tirate pushed open the door of his chambers and handed his personal guard the key with instructions to bring the dragon to his quarters immediately. After the man trotted down the hall, he walked around his chambers placing the room in disarray. Tirate was practiced in the art of deception and knew grieving men do not keep a neat house. Eyeing his work with satisfaction he nodded to himself with approval.

A knock on the door signaled the return of his men and he hurried to the door. Flinging it open, he stepped aside as two men carried in the mutant wrapped in a blanket. He motioned to a spot on the floor beside the bed where a few pillows had been arraigned. The men heaved the dragon roughly out of the blanket and let it bounce on the polished stone before it slid, belly up against the pillows.

Tirate scoffed. “Go easy! I don’t want it dead yet. At least not until after our guests have left. Now go. Let me know when they arrive.”

He waited until after the guards left to prepare for his performance. He looked in the mirror, unbuttoned his silk shirt, and ruffled his hair. Moments later the guard announced the Houses were ready to see him and with a deep breath he nodded to let them in.

The twelve men and women that filed in solemnly shook his hand as they expressed their sympathies. Shuffling like a man wracked with grief, he led them to where Fulgid lay and sat on the floor beside him. They all stared for several minutes watching its shallow breathing as Tirate smiled sadly and stroked the exposed belly of the unmoving dragon. One by one each member gave eloquent condolences to which Tirate gracefully accepted. As they talked he reached past the dragon’s head for another pillow. No sooner had his hand slipped near Fulgid’s mouth when a set of sharp fangs sank deep into his wrist. Barely able to keep from screaming, he felt blood trickling down his fingertips. He gritted his teeth and looked up, none of the twelve had noticed.

Clearing his throat, a stream of real tears began to slip down his cheeks. “Please…excuse me…I think I’m feeling a little…overwhelmed. Can we continue this…discussion later at the coronation? If you don’t mind?…I’d really like to be alone for a bit with my…dragon.”

Bowing quickly and apologizing, the twelve heads of the Houses exited, exclaiming how brave and composed he was in the midst of this tragedy. Before the door had even closed he yanked his wrist from the dragons mouth and jumped to his feet. Blood poured from the large gash onto the carpet, staining it crimson.

Furious, he ran to the wall where his newly polished armor hung. Choosing his best sword, he approached the dragon and snarled. “That was the last time you’ll bite me you filthy little beast!”

Raising his sword over his head, he struck the tiny dragons’ belly with all his might and watched with glee as the scaled skin split apart.

***

Ammon sat cross-legged in the middle of the cell. In the darkness he pushed away his thoughts and concentrated on the voice he thought of as Fulgid’s. It didn’t matter that Shane said it was hopeless. If the link must be completed for the dragon to survive, he had to at least try! Clearing his mind he sat and listened to the sound of his own breathing.

“AMMON?”

Shocked, Ammon’s eyes popped open. The golden voice flowed into his brain like sunlight through a window, but it sounded much weaker than before.