Hatch (The Dragons Of Laton) (29 page)

His taunt arms flexed as he sank the axe deep into a chunk of wood, and even in the cool air, his bare chest glistened with sweat. His lean frame shifted fluidly, wasting no movement as he deftly cracked the wood apart with precise blows and tossed them aside. He paused as Ammon approached and knuckled his back before wiping the sweat from his face with a rag.

Ammon picked a waterskin off a nearby stump and handed it to him. “Theo, is there any way we can get the wood in faster? I’m concerned that it won’t season fast enough before the cold weather starts, and we don’t know how soon that will happen here.”

Theo paused to take a long drink. “I know we need more firewood, but the men are doing the best they can. I already have more than half of them working on it now. Most of the rest are out hunting, trying to bring in enough food to keep us and a few hundred dragons fed through the winter. Fortunately, this region seems pretty rich in game, so the hunting has been good.” He gestured to the dragons quarters with one hand. “Anyone who isn’t hunting or gathering wood are here making the place livable.”

Ammon sighed. “If you can think of any way…”

Theo hefted the axe again and smiled. “Don’t worry. The wood and the food will be in with time to spare. Have faith.”

Ammon nodded and headed back to his rooms. He knew they were doing everything they could, but he felt restless. The day they arrived at the ruins of this city he’d asked Erik for permission to locate the Olog River on this side of the mountains. He wanted to find the bodies of Boris and Ellis and at least mark the site with some sort of memorial, but Erik had refused him. He was needed here, not just for repairing the furnaces, but because he was now officially the heir to Erik’s throne.

Erik’s eyes had looked at him with sympathy and understanding, for Boris was his closest friend. “As heir to the throne, your life is no longer your own. You have a responsibility to the people, to the Knights of Gaul. You can no more wander off on a quest any more than I can.”

His life was no longer his own. As he walked the hallway to his chambers, those words echoed over and over in his head. He closed the door to his room and picked up his sword. He found he could release some of his frustrations practicing with it, and today he felt more apprehensive than usual. Fulgid lay quietly on the windowsill, watching as Ammon worked at the exercises Boris had taught him. The strange gray sword felt less awkward now. The blade whistled through the air with increasing speed and accuracy, cutting through the tiny targets of acorns he hung on strings from the ceiling. When he finished an hour later, Fulgid happily devoured the split acorns scattered across the floor.

He dipped a towel into a washbowl and wiped his face with cool water as he walked around the room. His quarters were situated next to Erik’s and were well appointed. A freshly stuffed mattress lay across a large bed and his golden armored vest hung inside a beautiful oak wardrobe. Desks, tables, and chairs in the sitting room had been pushed aside so he could practice his sword, and in the corner near the fireplace where he stood, was a washstand complete with an uncracked looking glass.

He turned to stare at his reflection, a sight he’d not yet become accustomed to seeing. He’d never seen himself except in the distorted images of rippling pools of water and curved lamp reflectors. Looking back from the glass was a young man with shoulder length blond hair and sharp blue eyes set squarely above the high cheekbones and determined jaw of a tanned face. Erik said he had many of the characteristics of his father, yet he could not recall a single memory of the man. With a sigh he turned away. Looking at the strange face in the glass made him feel odd.

A tap sounded at the door and he opened it to find a young pageboy looking up at him in awe. Ammon and Fulgid had become almost legendary after his attack on Tirate’s men in the failed effort to save Boris. Someone had overheard Theo discussing the fight with one of the other Knights and the story had spread through the palace staff like wildfire. With each telling, the battle got bigger and the two men he fought grew to dozens. Before long it was an entire legion, and no matter how many times he corrected them it never changed. One odd consistency in the story was that his eyes glowed white as he charged into battle. No doubt they meant Fulgid’s eyes, which did inexplicably glow at times. The story had taken on a life of its own and now everywhere he walked people gave him a wide berth. Erik said it would pass and that this was not a bad thing. The loss of Boris had struck a deep wound in their morale and the people needed a hero. Their view of Ammon filled that void.

It took the pageboy a moment to speak. “Uh…Lord Ammon! The king requests your presence in his chambers right away!”

Ammon tossed the damp towel over the back of a chair and looked over at Fulgid chewing on a bit of acorn. “You coming?”

Fulgid snatched another bit of acorn and loped out the door in front of Ammon. The page followed close behind, staring wide-eyed at the little dragon who swaggered along the hallway as if the palace were built for him. Reaching into his pocket for an acorn, Ammon handed it to the boy and nodded towards Fulgid. Timidly the boy tossed it and giggled with delight as Fulgid snapped it out of the air with a crunch.

Outside the doorway, Ammon waited for the page announce his arrival. Fulgid pressed against the back of his knee to get his attention. Although he was the size of a large cat, the dragon had taken to riding on Ammon’s back most of the time, and today was no different. Ammon bent down, and Fulgid gracefully leapt onto his back, wrapped his long golden tail around his waist, and rested his head on Ammon’s shoulder.

The page opened the door and bid him to enter. Erik sat in the center of the room on his makeshift throne, a heavy wooden chair padded with multicolored pillows. Theo and Cen stood on either side, and in front of them, on a small chair, sat what appeared to be a pile of dirty rags topped with a shock of tangled silver hair.

Motioning for Ammon to come closer, Erik spoke up. “Ammon, I thought you’d be interested to hear this. It appears our uninhabited city had a resident after all. One of the hunting parties saw movement in a window of a partially collapsed building near the north gate and decided to investigate.”

Leaning forward, Erik raised his voice. “Miss? Miss? Can you hear me? How came you to this ruinous city?”

The bundle of rags moved slightly, and a voice creaked irritably. “You’ve invaded a dead city! It belongs to the dead, nothing here to take! Go home!”

Erik looked up and exchanged glances with the others. “Invade? Not hardly, my dear woman. Unfortunate circumstances have led us here to seek shelter for the coming winter!”

The silver hair atop the rags bounced with cackling laughter. “Aye, and you’re just out here on a picnic with a few hundred armed men?”

Theo’s face began turning red, and his voice was hot as he snapped. “Mind your manners! You speak to a king!”

Erik held his hand up. “Peace, Theo. This woman has every right to be suspicious. If anything, we are her guests. Uninvited as we may be.”

A thin, bony hand gripping a twisted walking stick jutted out from the rags and thumped the stick soundly on the floor several times. “King? Pah! Guests? You come unannounced from beyond the impassable mountains, move into the city, and call yourself guests? Ha! Invaders I say!”

Erik sat back, tapping his fingers.

Sensing the growing frustration, Ammon stepped forward. “If I may ask, ma’am…what city is this? To what country have we come? We are not here to take…your…city. Only to take shelter for the winter so we can return home in the spring. We thought the city was abandoned and found no sign of anyone here until now.”

Without looking up, the heap of rags shuddered soundlessly. Her low voice sounded weary. “Abandoned? No, not abandoned lad.” Picking up her head she pointed a knurled finger at Erik. “Leave this place king. It is not a place of happiness or a place to rest. All of you!” Slowly she shook her finger at each one of them. “Leave this place to crumble in peace. This city should not be…” Her eyes suddenly widened as they fell on Fulgid, who lay motionless on Ammon’s shoulder.

Rising from her chair, she stood shakily and hobbled towards Ammon. Peering up, her old eyes focused in disbelief on Fulgid. “What is THAT?” Her voice half whispered, half screeched.

Ammon protectively turned his shoulder away. “That’s my dragon!”

The woman followed him, reaching out her wrinkled hand towards Fulgid’s head. “Is it real? Is it really that color?”

Ammon instinctively, but gently grabbed her wrist. Her attention turned from Fulgid to Ammon’s face and she let out a ragged gasp and staggered back. Theo and Cen rushed forward and carefully guided her back down to her chair. Her eyes never left Ammon and Fulgid.

“How can this be? I gave up so long ago! So very, very long ago…”

Erik stood up, his patience at an end. “Theo, Cen, please return this woman safely to her…home. She has obviously has nothing worth telling us, and I’m tired of waiting.”

Theo and Cen gently lifted the woman to her feet, but her shrill voice rang out to Erik as he walked away. “Oh my dear king, I do indeed have something to say!” She looked once more at Fulgid and her wrinkled face began to smile. “More than I ever thought I’d live to say! But this old woman needs a drink to wet her throat, it’s been many years since I’ve told this story.”

Within minutes several pages arrived with clay mugs and a pitcher of water on a small table. Picking up the mug with shaking hands, she took a long drink. Fulgid jumped to the floor and sniffed at the woman’s feet while Ammon eyed her suspiciously. When she had drained the mug, she wiped her mouth on her tattered sleeve and cleared her throat.

“I am Sasha Celest. My grandchild and I have lived alone here for many years. How many? That I do not know exactly. Five decades at least. How and why does one measure time when there is only yesterday, today, and maybe tomorrow? You are in the great City of Laton, the crown jewel of the DoTarian Empire. What you see is all that is left of a once great nation!” She snorted softly. “At least we thought of ourselves as great.” She mumbled something unintelligible beneath her breath.

Erik sat teetering on the edge of the makeshift throne. “Tell me, Sasha, what happened to all the people of Laton?”

The old woman cackled as Fulgid climbed back up onto Ammon’s shoulder. Suddenly she closed her eyes and whispered:

“
A dragon gold,

Our fate does hold.

A lost son shall return.

The common man

Will rule again,

To yield his life for all.

A sliver heart,

The strength to start.

The courage to endure.

Two lands unite,

The curse to fight,

And lead us all from ruin.”

Confused, Ammon looked at the others, then at the old woman who was now casually drinking from the water pitcher. After several large gulps, she set it back on the table and looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.

“What’s your name young man?”

“Ammon.”

Erik cleared his throat expectantly.

Ammon winced. Erik insisted he use his entire formal name now. “I am Ammon of the House of Les.”

There was a long silence and then, with some effort, she stood and faced Ammon, her head barely as high as his shoulder.