Hatch (The Dragons Of Laton) (8 page)

He nearly burst out laughing when he realized the boy had passed within five hundred yards of his camp. He'd had enough sense to skirt around the open field and away from sight, so he must have known he was being pursued. Yet he took no care in hiding his tracks, or at perhaps didn’t know how. Boris hurried back to Ellis. With any luck, he’d have them in custody by noon.

Flying low, they swept the area looking for fresh signs of the boy and dragon. Stopping wherever there was a place big enough to land, Boris would scout the woods on foot and look for tracks. The ground eventually gave way to more rocky terrain and scraggly brush, with fewer trees for cover. They flew on for what Boris decided was a reasonable distance for someone on foot to cover and landed again, searching the ground for any traces.

Boris grumbled under his breath. “We should have seen him by now. We’ll have to backtrack, he couldn’t have gone any further than this on foot.”

Boris continued on foot while Ellis flew in circles overhead watching for movements. It was early afternoon when Boris finally signaled the big dragon to land for a break. Years ago they would have gone from dawn to dusk, but Boris was mindful of his aging dragon spending too much effort staying aloft. He was frequently reminded of his own age limitations as he scrambled over the rough terrain of boulders and scrub brush. His knees ached from the effort and a bruise on his hip throbbed after slipping on a damp rock slick with algae. Ellis landed in the only open area he could find, atop a small hill littered with stones and loose shale. Scrambling up the steep slope, Boris made his way up to meet him.

The rain had stopped and a few light fingers of a misty fog draped across the mountains in the distance. From the hilltop Boris could see a fair distance around him and he studied the terrain. Large chunks of granite thrust up between thick blankets of brush and scraggly trees. The ground twisted and turned unpredictably with shallow ravines and short boulder covered hills. Shaking his head, he realized there was a million places in this tortured land someone could hide. Either the boy was incredibly smart, or incredibly lucky. Reaching into one of the saddlebags, he retrieved a water skin and some dried meat and sat down.

Chewing thoughtfully, he considered his situation. He knew his quarry was somewhere in this area. The problem was that even if he could see him, there was no way to get to him easily. There were very few places a dragon could land here. If the boy exposed himself, Ellis might be able to swoop down and snatch him, but Boris doubted anyone would be fool enough to allow that to happen. Pursuit on foot was certainly out of the question. His best option was to continue to track him from the air and wait for him to emerge into a more hospitable terrain. If the boy decided to stay hidden, it could take weeks, maybe months to extract him. There was nothing left to do but watch and wait and hope he made a mistake.

Boris smiled and took another swig from the water skin. He didn’t have to wait long. In the distance he could see a thin line of smoke rising.

***

Fulgid was gone again when Ammon awoke and the fire had died out. The rain had slowed to a steady drizzle, but inside the cave was dry. Shivering slightly, he rummaging through his sack for his hooded cloak and slipped it on. His stomach was unwilling to wait for him to build another fire, so he ate the cold congealed stew of fish and roots. It still tasted better than the gruel he was used to eating everyday at the Nest and it was certainly more filling.

He dropped the wooden spoon back into the pot and slid towards the light at the opening of the cave and pulled up his pant leg. An angry purple bruise surrounded his swollen ankle and any movement of his foot nearly brought tears to his eyes. There was no possible way he could walk, but he didn’t think it was broken. He pulled his spare shirt from his sack and cut the sleeves off with his knife. Wrapping them tightly around his ankle, he then bound two sticks on either side of his leg with the leather ties from the oilcloth. Pushing himself to his feet, he took a couple clumsy steps before the pain became too unbearable.

Shuffling outside the cave, he leaned back against the stone. It had been dark when Fulgid led him here, and as he looked around, he was amazed he’d gotten to the cave at all. Thick brush grew so close together that there was hardly any space between them. Ammon couldn’t see where he’d come through in the night, and the rain had washed away the tracks. How the little dragon managed to find this in the dark, he wasn’t sure, but he certainly was grateful.

A glitter caught the corner of his eye, and he turned his head in time to see Fulgid coming out from under a nearby bush with a pheasant in his jaws. Walking up to the cave entrance, he laid the bird at Ammon’s feet, sat down and looked up questioningly with his head tilted to one side.

Ammon grinned and picked up the bird. “Looks like I owe you another meal, eh?” The dragon stared at him unblinking. “Well, we’ll save it for dinner. We still have fish left over from last night.”

Ammon eased himself down onto a rock and talked as he plucked and cleaned the bird. Fulgid watched and listened with keen interest, occasionally playfully chasing at a feather that drifted too close. At first Ammon talked about working in the Nest and caring for the eggs. He talked about his plans for the gold he would have earned and working as a farmer. He even talked a little about being an orphan and about the few memories he had of his early youth like the image of his mother’s face. All the while, the little dragon sat quietly as if understanding each word.

Finally he held up the prepared bird and looked at Fulgid. “Ready for the fire!”

He used the sword to cut down some branches and made a crude spit inside the cave. Then, using the staff like a crutch, he gathered small armloads of branches from the surrounding brush until he had a good-sized pile of firewood stacked in the back of the cave. The effort of walking back and forth caused his ankle to throb, and he winced as he slid to the floor. He made a small pile of twigs and leaves under the spit and reached into his sack for his flint box. As rummaged around inside the bag, his fingers found the hidden pouch containing his ring. He pulled it out and slipped it off the cord before placing it on his finger like he had a million times before.

Finely crafted of gold, the ring was engraved with the image of a dragon with its mouth open and its teeth exposed. A finely contoured head connected to a serpentine body with wings folded back. Its long tail wrapped all the way around the ring until it reconnected at the head to make a complete circle. The fine detail even showed tiny scales covering the body. Holding it up, he compared the artwork to Fulgid, who sat still as a stone in the cave entrance, facing outside. The artist had come very, very close to imitating Fulgid.

Looking closer at the golden dragon, Ammon realized how much he’d grown in just a few days. When Fulgid hatched, he was about the same size as a weasel but with a tail as long as his body. Now his body was about the size of a cat, and his tail had grown at least another foot! Ammon whistled softly, and Fulgid’s ears swiveled towards him. How long before he was full-grown?

As if listening to his thoughts, the dragon left the entrance to sit beside him. Stretching his golden nose out, he sniffed at the ring on Ammon’s finger then rubbed his head against his hand. Ammon scratched the dragon behind the ears and watched as Fulgid closed his eyes and slowly laid his head on Ammon’s lap.

Even in the darkened cave, the polished scales glittered like faceted sundrops. The scales down his sides were the largest and Ammon could see a hundred reflections of his own face looking back at him. They grew steadily smaller as they descended down the legs before stopping abruptly half way down each of the four toes on each foot. Three toes faced forward and the forth faced back like a thumb. Each toe ended with a curved talon almost half as long as Ammon’s finger. Fulgid pushed his head under Ammon’s hand again when he stopped scratching. With a smile, Ammon stoked the dragon's head. He found it comforting to have the dragon close.

Fulgid never lifted his head off Ammon’s lap when he pulled the flint box out and started the fire under the spit. They stayed in that position all afternoon while Ammon slowly turned the pheasant. The only sound in the cave was the hissing of fat dripping into the flames. When the bird was done, he let the flames die down to coals. It was still early, and he wasn’t hungry yet, so he left the bird hanging on the spit and leaned back using the rolled blanket as a pillow and listened to Fulgid’s soft snores.

Ammon closed his eyes. It would be days before his ankle would be strong enough to walk on, and perhaps even longer before he could try to weave through the boulders and brush. For now the cave provided good shelter and Fulgid seemed quite capable of providing food, but still he was concerned he might be found. He was only a few days walk from the city, and he wanted to be much further away than he was, but that couldn't be helped. For now it would probably be best to keep Fulgid inside the cave during the day. His gleaming scales would catch the sunlight, and any dragons flying nearby would easily see him. Could he teach the dragon to stay in the cave though? He’d never had a pet before and had no idea where to even begin.

As he lay there thinking, his head began to ache, and he wished he’d thought to take bark off a few willows when he was in the swamp. The tea he could've made would have helped with the pain in his ankle too. Closing his eyes, he decided to make it a point to start collecting things like that as they traveled. You never know when you might…

“AMMON”

Stunned, he opened his eyes and found himself looking into Fulgid’s deep unblinking, amber eyes. That was the same voice he’d heard in his dreams twice before, but this time he was awake! He sat up, and his head pounded in rhythm with his heart. Fulgid watched him as he awkwardly scrambled to his feet and limped to the entrance to look outside. The clouds had broken up, and thin shafts of sunlight streamed down. A few birds chattered in the bushes. Shaking his head, he turned to see Fulgid had followed and was sitting beside him, curiously watching.

“That dream is so real, I’d swear someone was out there calling me!”

Rubbing his temples, he looked around one more time before hobbling back inside and kneeling down by the ashes. “Maybe I’m just going crazy.”

He restarted the fire from the few live coals that lay smoldering in the ashes, and put on the pot filled with the last roots and some rainwater he collected that morning. Fulgid stayed at the entrance still as a statue. Ammon was busy stirring the mixture when the cave suddenly grew dark. He banged the wooden spoon against the sides of the pot and turned to see a large figure filling the doorway and he nearly screamed. Tirate had found him!

Chapter 4

Found!

Boris mopped his face with a clean handkerchief and studied the tumble of boulders scattered before him. He had nearly walked past the boy’s hiding spot, and probably would have if he didn’t see the smoke rising up from between the chunks of granite again. Ellis had flown in as close as possible but he still had to pick his way through a quarter mile of thick brambles and rocks. Finding the entrance of the cave had been a challenge in itself and then it was all he could do to squeeze through the narrow opening. Once inside however, he found he had room to stand up, and as his eyes adjusted to the light, he could see the boy clearly.

Boris chuckled silently at the sight sprawled out in front of him on the cave floor. Gaping up at him was a short, but muscular lad with unruly blond hair and shocking blue eyes that peered out from a soot covered face. Obviously stunned, the boy didn’t try to move from his position beside a small pot bubbling over a tiny cook fire. A spit with a freshly cooked bird stood off to one side near a tattered blanket and a sheathed sword. Boris sighed. Finding the boy was only half the mission, there was no sign of the dragon anywhere.