A Hatchling for Springtide (Santaclaws Book 2)

by Marc Secchia

  Dead? Ugh, aye. That was nasty. Swallowing back his gorge, Keir checked the body, which was as strong and as thickly muscled as he had suspected. He found nothing save the unfamiliar curved blade, and a strange, flame-like tattoo on the wrist. Then, he peered at the mouth. What? Yellow fangs? The sallow, staring eyes had slit pupils? And here were long, pointed fingernails, much closer to the hatchling’s talons than his own nails. Plus that disgusting smell he had noted earlier – far worse than old socks buried in pony droppings for several anna.

  Something was deeply wrong here.

  Quickly back to the family. Dad needed to hear his report and see this.

  Chapter 9: Subterfuge

  KALAR RECOILED. “WHAT THE – freak! Impossible!” Then, he knelt heavily in the snow, pointing to the talons. “He dinnae touch ye with these?”

  “Nae.”

  “Good. See the slight greenish tint? Dipped in poison.”

  Keir scratched his neck. “He was fast and very strong, Dad. When I stabbed him, it was like stabbing a heavy sack of grain.”

  His father sat back on his haunches. “Never guessed I’d see the day. Son, if I dinnae ken better, I’d say this is a Certanshi soldier somehow crossed with an Ogre – purposely, so he’d blend in. A mutant of some kind. The yellow fangs are a dead giveaway.”

  “But, I understood our species cannae – ye ken?”

  “Och nae, yer right. Elves, Giants and Humans, even Dwarves in the old days – we’re all compatible.” Keir made the obligatory face at this information. Although, how Humans and Giants managed, he did not even want to consider. “Trolls and Ogres, nae. They dinnae mate like our races. They spawn. The Certanshi breed them in big, walled breeding swamps and only the toughest make it out.”

  He said, “What happens to the other – oh. Oh, gross! Dad, really?”

  “Aye.”

  “That’s absolutely vile.”

  “Well, they aren’t fussy about the type of meat, and it keeps the costs down, ye see?”

  “Dad! I dinnae need to ken such details, alright?”

  Kalar clapped his shoulder. “School of life, son. Ye did well to show me this. We’ll send King Daryan a coded report from Garrikar Town. In the noo, have ye seen any more of these in the woods?”

  “Nae, but as someone I could poke with a very short stick would say –”

  “Right ye are. So, be treble extra careful out there. On second thoughts, take yer mother with ye.” He chuckled, but his Dad said, “Ye laugh, but she’s a dead shot with an Elven bow. She won competitions against other Elves when she was younger. I think ye might just want another pair of Elf eyes out here tonight. Rhyl and I will meet ye as planned on the eastern hill above the road, alright?”

  How could he forget the advantages his night sight held over his father’s?

  He said, “Got it.”

  Leaving the corpse where it had fallen, they tramped uphill toward where they had left the others.

  “So, what did an Elfmaiden see in that big, tough man called Kalar the Axe, Dad?”

  “Now’t so very much, at first –” he chuckled “– at least, that’s what she led me to believe. Elfmaidens can play very hard to catch, ye see. But I was persistent. And naturally, far handsomer and more skilled than any of her other suitors.”

  “Other suitors?”

  “Och aye, that’s the Elf way. Twenty rabid suitors let loose in the jungle to fight it out.”

  “Surely that cannae –”

  “Nae, just pulling yer leg a tad, lad. But it sure put a wasp up a few of those conniving Elders’ nostrils when a stubborn Human turned up on the scene with a few different ideas. Still, I won me the finest lass in the Arabaxa Jungles, make nae mistake.”

  “Dad, when were ye planning to tell me this story?”

  “Save it for a quiet jungle night,” came the stern reply. “This one’s too full of half-breed monsters for my liking. My battle bones are aching something fierce.”

  Keir nodded curtly. “Loud and clear, Commander … but, Dad?”

  “What is it, son?”

  “Can we talk about … killing people? What it means?”

  His father’s face softened. “Aye, that we should. Walk with me a ways.”

  “D’ye have nightmares afterward, Dad?”

  “Often.”

  * * * *

  Shanryssill patted the pony upon the haunches. Go on, then. We’ll look after you.

  Elves. Apparently the pony now knew to leave the trees, walk twenty yards into the open, and then to trot along parallel to the treeline, behaving for all the world as if Keir scouted ahead of an incoming party. The spiky white hair bobbed realistically in the breeze. Huh. As if his looked anything like that ridiculous mop. Muttering softly, Shanryssill wiggled her fingers and then made a flicking gesture toward the dummy. It raised its hand!

  Wow, Mom –

  Move. Quietly, she hissed.

  Alright. Why had he never seen his mother behave like this? She scooted forward steadily, ducking low-lying boughs and scanning the terrain ahead with the same air of experience his father managed so effortlessly. Half a mile east lay the road. Somewhere between their position and that strip of snow-covered gravel was the perfect location for an ambush, Kalar had argued, because the terrain became broken and rocky, carved through by no less than seven small gullies in that short space.

  Down and up went the pony. A minute later, repeat.

  At the fourth gulley, Keir became very grateful indeed he was not the one riding out there, because the dummy suddenly jerked in the saddle, pinned through by several arrows. It slumped over as if dead. Realistic, right? A queasy heat settled into the pit of his stomach as he realised how easily that could have been him. Two shadowy figures detached themselves from the treeline and loped over to finish the job. In the corner of his eye, he noticed his mother’s hand signal. He swerved, ducking out of the treeline. Nock, draw, shoot. Thud. His target went down without a cry. The other fellow dropped out of sight.

  Parallel to him, Shanryssill crept like just another shadow through the undergrowth. Keir heard her bowstring’s twang in a slight lull in the incessant wind. Must have been a third man keeping watch from just inside the treeline. No fools, these. Then, a sound more terrible by far reached his ears. It was the eager baying of wolfhounds – heading east, toward where his family lay in wait. Unmistakable. Keir whistled sharply, twice, giving the warning signal. As his mother accelerated away in pursuit of the hound pack, the man who had taken cover popped up to essay a speculative arrow shot at the fleeing Elf. Keir’s shot struck him first, square in the neck – half a foot higher than he had aimed, but unlucky for the man, who fell for a second time. This time, he would be staying that way.

  Keir dashed after his mother. The rugged, rocky terrain challenged all of his newfound skiing skills. He snagged three times in quick succession. Stupid things! Kicking free of the shaped planks, he sped off on foot. Much faster. Ahead of him, Shanryssill flowed across the snow like liquid mercury; he sprinted and hurdled the gullies with huge bounds, and both had to keep ducking or even occasionally scramble-crawling to avoid the sweeping, tangled low branches of the pines. How did she pick her path so cleanly? Few creatures in the world moved like a jungle Elf in full flight. He needed a few tips.

  On the yielding snow, the thudding of his boots sounded strangely muted. He tore through an everlasting nightmare, through a forest of fear. Faster. Faster!

  Peering between the black trunks, he spied the more open skies above the narrow road. Beyond that was an incline up to the rocky knoll where Kalar had chosen to conceal the ponies – but none of them had reckoned on a pack of wolfhounds, the hounds of war, being unleashed to run them down. How had the enemy obtained a trained pack? The tall grey hounds streaked up that hill, giving tongue and baying as they went. To their rear, he spotted a hound-handler stealing between the pines, a woman by her slim frame, whistling the pack to the chase with an almost inaudible hound whistle.

&nbs
p; Shanryssill went for the woman.

  Just ten yards behind and closing, Keir startled as another bulky man came angling across from their right, sprinting flat-out to try to cut off his mother. How had he missed – such speed! Another mutant?

  “Mom, ’ware!”

  In a blur of motion, she swerved sharply, tucked her ski poles beneath her arm, drew her bow and unleashed an arrow just as the mutant loomed above her. Straight to the heart from less than two feet. The thick arms jerked spasmodically as he fell, but his momentum still knocked her flying.

  How many dead?

  His skyward leap took him over them both.

  Go! Shanryssill collected herself, shoving aside the twitching body.

  Handler’s mine! he barked over his shoulder, finding footing atop a tall boulder. From there, his Elven instincts flung him up into the low branches. He dashed like a squirrel along the broad, snow-bowed limbs and soared from tree to tree with each jump, twenty feet and more. Using the last branch as a springboard, he launched himself right across the road. The leaf-blades whipped out, and sliced crosswise simultaneously.

  A look of surprise creased the woman’s face; she was dead before she realised it.

  Landing hard crunched him to his knees. His mother whipped past. Tiny as she was, she could run like the wind – clearly, her gift to him. They matched each other for speed up the incline before Keir’s longer legs helped him to draw several paces ahead, but the wolfhounds now streamed across the top of the hillock where Kalar and Rhyl stood shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the ponies. They were backed up against a stand of boulders which offered protection for their backs. The Elfmaiden drew and fired five times within three of his breaths, picking off hounds, but the dense pack was over a dozen strong, great grey-furred, battle-trained wolfhounds that stood mere inches shorter than the tough mountain ponies.

  Shanryssill drew and fired on the run too, taking a snarling pair off the back of the pack. Keir’s matching effort found one and missed with the second. At the same instant he realised he had missed, the pack fell upon their quarry with a chorus of bloodthirsty snarls. Kalar roared, punching a hound in the jaw before the sweep of his axe launched another away to his right, airborne. His cousin doubled over and dropped as though shot.

  At once, the dragonet’s radiant form flashed over toward Rhyl, all talons outstretched as she clutched onto a wolfhound’s head and scrabbled away with everything she had, breaking its attack as its huge jaws slavered at his cousin’s throat. The Commander stood tall and struck out with lethal speed and skill, making every axe stroke count. Where his axe failed, his heavy Ogre-hide boots stove in ribs and smashed champing muzzles aside. Keir leaped onto the backs of a pair of hounds menacing the ponies. Left and right, his stabbing blades found their marks. A terrible impact smacked him away, half-dazed. Had a zaribar kicked him?

  Rolling over, he cried out as a wolfhound began to drag Rhyl off by her right arm, but his father lunged forward to sink his huge axe into its neck. Shanryssill, still shooting calmly from her position twenty yards down the hill, took down one final hound mid-leap. Kalar kneed it aside with an angry curse.

  Stillness descended.

  He scanned his family, willing his heart to stop thrashing. The twins were still fast asleep, and one kitten was snuggled in with each of them, also asleep. How? The wolfhounds lay all around them in a grey half-circle, dead or dying. His father finished two with his dagger, speaking a soft word before sending the animals on their onward journey – an Elven tradition, he recognised with a jolt. He bled freely from several minor wounds on his forearms and legs. Keir rubbed his shoulder and checked his cheekbone. That hoof had struck close to the temple, but had left the skin unbroken. He’d develop a huge bruise, however.

  He staggered over to Rhyl. She lay beneath Auroral Storm Diamond. Dark red blood dripped from her arm; silver blood from the hatchling’s right hind paw. It steamed where it struck the Elfmaiden’s outflung hand.

  Acid? Or just heat?

  Careful, my little diamond, he said, lifting the dragonet away gently.

  She hissed and snapped toward his face as if still battle-primed, but then made an apologetic trill, and chirped, Keee-irr rrrr-i-yeet?

  Aye, I’m alright, he returned. Easy with the fangs there, darling.

  Kalar laughed gruffly. “Yer starting to talk properly, little one! Nice work in a tight spot. Saved our Rhyl, ye did.”

  Riril rrrr-i-yeet? the hatchling checked, licking his cousin’s wound. Heavens! An arrow jutted from her side – loosely? Maybe not stuck in the ribs, but only in the flesh?

  “Ouch, easy there,” Rhyl groaned. “Och aye, I’m – ooh, that burns something horrible. Full of holes. I’m fine.”

  “Dinnae ye stick yer nose in my healing work,” Shanryssill scolded, shooing the hatchling away.

  “Nae, wait,” said Keir, placing a hand upon Auroral Storm Diamond’s shoulder as she shrank uncertainly against his leg. “She has healing power, remember? Maybe her saliva is antiseptic or something?”

  Not that he wanted her to develop a taste for Human or Elven blood!

  “I’ll be the judge of what Rhyl needs,” Shanryssill snorted, but she briefly tickled the dragonet beneath her chin. “Yer diamond indeed, in every sense of the word. Keir, see to her paw, would ye? And dinnae forget to fetch yer skis, son. Abandoning key equipment mid-battle? Tsk-tsk.”

  Despite her light tone, he complained, “I dinnae ken another person who can ski, shoot and dance around the Moon at the same time, ye ken. Quite the show-off ye are.”

  “Says Mister Runs-Along-Branches to attack from above? Eh? Where did that come from?”

  Keir began, “Elven instincts –”

  “Imitating an overlarge squirrel,” Rhyl groaned, making to sit up. Then, she clutched the arrow and sank back. Someone get this stick out of me, please?

  Kalar said, Hold still. I’ve got this, Rhyl. Taking the shaft in his massive hands, he held it as still as he could while snapping the head off with the fingers of his right hand. Neat trick. Keir knew he could never have managed that.

  Come here, sweet fires, his cousin said, beckoning toward the dragonet. Let me kiss you for saving my neck.

  She planted a kiss upon that delicate diamond muzzle.

  The hatchling pawed at the spot, making the same expression as when she had caught the rat. Uck. Uck-uck-uck.

  Rhyl groaned, Don’t make me laugh, you rascal.

  * * * *

  Keir backtracked the rogues to their camp, set deep in the woods. By examining and comparing their tracks, he determined that none of the attackers had escaped. He returned to check the two men who had fallen near the dummy, and retrieved the zaribar pony – unharmed, to his relief.

  He patted her gratefully. “Ye brave girl! Took some guts walking out there.” The pony snuffled at his pocket. “Och aye, we’ll surely find ye a few treats for this night’s work.”

  The dummy had been pierced through the torso by two closely-spaced shots. Professional soldiers or mercenaries, he judged. Together with the pony, he fetched his skis and poles, and retrieved all of the arrows he could find. Leave the bodies? Suppose so. The imperative was to see his family to safety, and he knew the Snowgres and wolves would clean up within hours, the realisation of which turned his stomach, but … it was complicated.

  Ogres, Trolls and Wyverns desecrated or ate their dead. The other races did not.

  He returned to find his mother, having washed out Rhyl’s wounds as best she could and stitched the deepest ones, encouraging his hatchling to lick them thoroughly. She did so more than willingly, glancing askance at Shanryssill as if to say, ‘I’m glad ye saw reason.’

  His Mom was not unaware. Alright, keep your scales on. I trust you, see?

  Shrrr-shrrr, she agreed.

  Then, Shanryssill bandaged the dragonet’s hind paw. She had taken two deep bites, one piercing the webbing between her fore-talons and the other beneath, toward the rear of her sole. Auroral Storm Diamon
d sniffed at the bindings suspiciously. Her lips curled away from her fangs and she made a slight, checked biting motion toward the unfamiliar fabric.

  You’ll leave those on if you know what’s good for you, young lady, Shanryssill cautioned, but this time, she was all smiles. Next, her busy hands rigged a sling for Rhyl’s arm to keep the hand up near her neck.

  His father thrust a broken arrow beneath his nose. “Keir, whose shaft is this?”

  “Er, mine?”

  “Ye shot yer own cousin, ye thumping great idiot!”

  “What? I would never –”

  Kalar clipped him across the earhole, waving his hands to illustrate. “Big, hairy wolfhounds with stinky breath. Small, non-hairy family member. Do we understand the difference?”

  “Aye …”

  Hang the head. Not his finest moment.

  Rhyl put in, “Actually, I sort of jumped into the path of –”

  “Hold yer tongue, niece,” Kalar snorted, with the faintest of smiles making his beard twitch. “Keir, how sorry are ye?”

  “Deeply appalled,” he said smoothly. Rhyl kicked his leg. “Honestly! Grief, if I wanted to beat ye up – a temptation which has never crossed my mind, naturally – I’d do it properly. Despite the stinky Ogre-breath. That’s what threw me off, ye ken?”

  She kicked him again.

  “Can ye get up?” Shanryssill asked her niece. “Help her – thanks, Keir. She’s lost a lot of blood.”

  “Ye two will ride double on the spare pony,” Kalar decided. His wife eyed him up as if deciding which cuts and scrapes needed bandaging first. Later, my-heart’s-desire. Our family’s safety comes first.

  Keir gawped at the dark patch which his cousin had left behind. Wow.

  “I’m fine,” Rhyl insisted. Of course, that was exactly the moment she slumped against his Mom. “Ooh, alright. Doing what I’m … told. Dinnae ye all take this as a sign of weakness.”