The Dragon Ring (Book 1) (17 page)

Radrac threw up.

Earwig stooped down to the chest and took out a leather purse. As she stood upright, she groaned. Her bony fingers clutched the heavy table for support. She drew back the strings securing the leather pouch and shaking, she peered in.

“Radrac my dear, these most rare of ingredients were a gift from the king as well.”

She beamed. With reverence, she opened and turned out the bag. Eight petrified teeth from long-dead saber-tigers, coated with green crayfish blood to preserve their power, tumbled out on the table. 

The hag poured the cauldron’s stiffening ooze into a deep-sided tray on the counter, the yellow-green sulfurous haze still lingered above. She spaced the tiger teeth equidistant on the surface, and watched them sink into the goop. She carefully lifted and placed the wrinkled dragon egg in the tray. The witch ladled the dark sludge over it until a thick coating warmed and nourished the egg.

With the scroll from the crate cradled in her arm, Earwig stepped to the window slit and scanned the ancient incantations by moonlight.

“Now listen to Mommy, Radrac. I’m going call unspeakable things from the graves of creatures who died sudden, violent deaths. I’ll summon powers from the depths of the earth, caustic primal forces which should be left buried deep under rock.”

The rat gnawed a shriveled, black bat wing dropped from one of the ingredient jars. He spit it out and scurried back to a dark corner.

Earwig chanted and conjured from midnight until half an hour before dawn. All the while, the black undulating plasma cooled, coagulated, and congealed in the tray. In time, the wrinkled shell absorbed the nourishing filth and expanded until the shell was smooth and glistening. With certain lines in the incantations, the ooze bubbled and strange colors rippled through the mass. Earwig read on. Every now and then, a low rumble rose from the egg, a guttural moaning sound, followed by the shrill screech of scraping metals.

“The deliciously foul thing is metamorphosing before my eyes.” Earwig squealed. “I can’t contain my excitement.”

She noted Radrac cowering in the corner. His normally dull nerves gave way; his nose sniffed the air left and right. His stare fixed on the ponderous door.

“You’d desert me, wouldn’t you, my dear. Your feeble brain can’t think of a means to escape.”

As dawn shattered the night, Earwig put down her scroll and leaned forward against the table.

“It’s done, and my own blood will be the creature’s first meal. I’ve instilled so much of my hatred and venom into this thing that I’m completely exhausted.”

She kept an eye on her baby forming in the dish as she rested.

The remaining sludge pulled away from the tray, sucked up by the egg, drawn in through the softening leathery shell. A bulge formed at the front and four nubs poked out from the sides as the egg elongated. The rear end wiggled and stretched out, long and thin. A head broke through the shell from the front protrusion, limbs then feet grew from the nubs tearing through the shell, and crocodilian-like spiked scales developed on the back. From the skull, fangs appeared in the broad snout. More scales burst out covering the skin. Talons protruded from the toes and last, a bony, arrowhead club popped from the tip of the tail. The baby scratched apart the torn shell fragments and swallowed them.

“How invigorating, the sight makes me tingle all over.” With a rag, Earwig wiped sludge from the dragon’s scales and cradled the reptile in her arms, her first sign of maternal affection ever.

The dragon cooed his raspy baby cry. The little beast glared up at her with big, yellow, reptilian eyes, gave a mini hunger rumble, and bit into her forearm with ferocity befitting a dragon. She screamed, grimaced, and locked her teeth to silence the outburst. Unconcerned, the reptile lapped the old hag’s blood until she grew pale and weak. Earwig mashed the darling in its rag nest and wrenched her mutilated arm from his fangs. The pint-sized dragon curled up to sleep. Only then did the witch note Radrac, shaking head to tail, staring at his worst nightmare.

“Come with me, Radrac. I want our little baby to rest undisturbed.”

The witch tried to coax the terrified Radrac from his hiding place. She knew the rat had no intention of waking a dragon
.
She plastered a smile on her face to reassure the traumatized rodent. He dashed past Earwig toward the exit with repeated, nervous glances over his shoulder.

Earwig barely cracked the door and the rat squeezed his paunch through the opening ahead of her. His escape shoved the heavy door into her nose. Radrac didn’t slow or glance back, but raced down the tower’s dark steps with positive grace for all his ponderous bulk. In contrast, plump Earwig descended the worn stairs, light-footed almost with a dancing gate. The door shut, the clanging lock the only sound.

“My little Magnosious will do my bidding once he’s fully developed. Nothing will be able to stand against him.” Earwig chuckled. “I must do something about Radrac’s weight.”

The next night Earwig returned to the tower. She dragged terrified Radrac behind her with his toenails extended. His head smacked into each stair step.

“Come along, dear, mommy can do nothing without her beloved Radrac at her side.”

Though stunned, Radrac glared at her.

Earwig cracked the door and kicked Radrac inside. His shriek filled the chamber and echoed off the cliff’s rock face behind the tower. When the night swallowed the fading echo, Earwig entered the room. She was delighted to behold the fully formed dragon, Magnosious, was smacking his lips. Looking up at her, he gave her a grisly smirk. A single drop of blood rolled down the corner of his mouth before his forked tongue whipped around and laved up the last crimson morsel. The yellow eyes twinkled as the vertical black slits adjusted to the witch’s torchlight. His tail twitched like that of an excited cat.

“How’s mommy’s petite baby tonight?”

Hesitant at first, she hugged his scaly neck. The dragon licked his mentor’s infected arm. The acidic saliva seared the prior night’s festering wounds.

“My goodness, little Magnosious has grown to the size of a pony. Didn’t baby’s wings develop well during the night. The problem is how to get you out of the chamber. You’ve developed more overnight than I could have imagined.” She studied the situation. “You’ve grown too large to fit through the door or the slit of a window. One more blood meal and you’ll be the size of a peasant hut.”

Before Earwig could think of a solution, Magnosious read her thoughts and hissed. His tongue flicked its crimson fork by the tip of her nose. He coughed, snorted, and exhaled a pale blue fire that melted the chamber’s rock wall. Triumphant, his tail fluttered. After a second to enjoy his newfound ability, Magnosious grinned at Earwig and leapt into the night sky. He flapped his wings and soared to the hill behind the tower where he settled into a recently excavated cave to await his next meal.

Earwig cackled at the sight from the charred rubble of her tower’s wall.

“In no time, he’ll be ready to play his part in this battle with the house of Calimon de Chatronier.”

* * *

The candles burned low in the predawn hours as Socockensmek and Tournak caught up on the situations troubling each of them. The decanter sat empty on the broad table anchoring the general’s reception chamber. Both men were alert and worried.

“I think wraiths again infest the deep mountains,” the old general said.

“Wraiths, you’re sure?”

“They’re searching for something. Their appearance at the same time as you escaped with Prince Saxthor may well be more than a coincidence. We must be vigilant as we travel and stay hidden at night when wraiths are strongest and free to move about.”

Tournak’s head shook. “Wraith’s.”

Cautious, the general scrutinized the room. “Something attacked this house not a month ago.”

“Attacked the house or you?”

“It was something large and heavily clawed with a deep, guttural, growl fiercer than a lion. The thing came in the night, prowled around the walls and tore a board from a window frame. My aide hurled a spear as it rounded a corner. The thing leapt onto the roof.”

“Did he hit the creature?”

“I don’t think so. We found no blood - if it had blood. My man said it was black. All he could make out were large, yellow front-facing eyes, those of a true predator. The monster is a nocturnal creature, judging from the way the disproportionate eyes caught the faint moonlight. It bounded onto the roof as if it were a bench. I threw a burning torch up where I heard scratching. Claws ripped off a dozen slate shingles before the beast disappeared.”

“We must be careful General, but Saxthor needs to search for something in the mountains. Memlatec was most insistent. I hoped you would be aware of the reason. He suggested the objective might be in the northern Highback Mountains.”

Socockensmek rose, went into the adjoining room, and motioned for Tournak to follow. He lit a two-flame lamp on the large desk dominating the wood paneled study. The light illuminated the diamond-pattern wall shelves housing the general’s collection of scrolls and maps. As Tournak approached, the general was already studying his tattered map of Tixos that lay open on the desk.

“This room is a war room command post,” Tournak said.

“Think of it as the forward observatory.” The old man perused the map circling Tixos with his finger, “The drawing has negligible detail except on the southern coastal region.”

“Where are we on the map?”

“We’re here.” Socockensmek pointed to the location of his house. “A short distance beyond is the only pass into the interior, I’ve reconnoitered that far.”

“There’s not much out there.”

Unfortunately, we know almost nothing about even the next valley. I’ve heard tales of the strange things living farther out, but no substantiated evidence. All we can do is hike into the hinterland and discover hidden secrets. Since neither of us can tell what we’re looking for, Prince Saxthor must lead. Hopefully he’ll recognize what he searches for.”

“I suppose so,” Tournak said. “The boy is unaware of this whole matter. Saxthor’s concept of exile is limited. He’s certainly bright, but very frustrated. He knows we’re all expecting a lot from him. However, he has no clue as to his role in this. Bodrin seems more wary and alert to the dangers.”

“True strength arises when called upon,” the old general said. “Many a Neuyokkasinian foot soldier rose to the occasion in wars. We must rely on Memlatec’s judgment and give free rein to the boy. No offense, but the primal wizard has insight to perceive things we can’t. If the prince is the one to wield this power, he’ll rise to claim it.”

-

Socockensmek led Tournak and the boys up the road the next morning and stopped at the pass that would take them over into the next, last known valley of the Tixosian interior. From a rock ledge at the top, his old eyes surveyed the route below. He felt his untamed, bushy eyebrows crinkle at what he observed.

“The road, such as it is, is in poor condition, but still the best way to travel so long as a path lasts. The lane passes a few small huts and scratched-out fields in this last inhabited valley. These people are distrustful of strangers. Most have criminal backgrounds. Keep your voices low and feet on the trail.”

With eyes following every step, the inhabitants watched the general’s party go by. Socockensmek nodded to each observer along the way. The local people nodded back at best, or stood firm with arms crossed, but none challenged the hikers who accompanied the trusted general through the valley.

They hiked a steady pace and kept on course. The scrub brush grew bolder as if begrudging their invasion beside small, broken fields with spindly crops. Nature was intent on reclaiming the cultivated areas having established the fiercest briars and poisonous plants at the roadside’s edge to reach out and snatch passersby. Once the group passed beyond the valley and headed up into the Tixosian Range in earnest, no sign of cultivation or habitation remained.

“We should stop for the night,” Tournak said.

Bodrin perked up, “About time.”

“We’ll camp tonight on the mountain’s southern slope ahead. Up above is the pass into the heart of Tixos,” the general said. “Don’t get too close to the peak. Our outlines would be visible to anyone or anything monitoring the pass.”

“Something is waiting for us?” Saxthor asked.

The general smiled, yet said nothing and glanced at Tournak.

The boys fumbled around and collected firewood in silence before dusk. Their uncertainty and the long journey’s toll reflected in their dazed expressions and listless activity. As expected, Socockensmek selected a strategic location well down from the pass in a small clearing by a stream. From above, thick undergrowth hid the site.

“Tournak, we’ll take turns watching through the night. The youngsters have seldom joked or kidded around since we left my house. Edginess grows, as confidence erodes.”

Saxthor joined the men as they finished fixing dinner. “What’s on the other side of the pass, General?” His voice was high-pitched. “If there’re no maps and no road, how am I to tell where we’re supposed to go?”

Tournak and Socockensmek regarded each other. As the expedition’s initial leader, Socockensmek responded.

“We have no answers to your question, Saxthor. We’ll have to evaluate what happens as we proceed. You lads come over here and enjoy the fire –our last for a while. Let’s eat this hot meal, clean up, and put out the flames before dark so we don’t alert anything to our presence. Tomorrow, Saxthor, you’ll lead as best you can.”

Saxthor stared Socockensmek in the eye. “With all due respect, General, how am I to tell where we’re going?”

Socockensmek jerked upright. “How should I know? I’m used to facts provided by intelligence reports to make decisions. You’ll have to rely on intuition I suppose. We’ll um ---“

“Go where you feel so inclined,” Tournak said. “Head north northwest sighting by the sun. We’ll trust your instincts.”

Socockensmek crinkled his brows and pursed his lips. “Yes, that’s the order for the day, my boy.”

“Great!” Saxthor shook his head and rolled his eyes. He went to sit with Bodrin on a log at the fire’s far side. Bodrin was looking down as he tapped a stick in the dust. “Tournak seldom talks unless he’s giving us the history of something. He’s been directing where we go. Now we’re in the middle of nowhere, and he has no idea. I’m expected to tell where we’re going.” The two sat watching the stick bob up and down in silence.