A Hatchling for Springtide (Santaclaws Book 2)

by Marc Secchia

  “Thank ye kindly,” Kalar said gruffly.

  Another man grunted, “Cannae believe they’d turn yer wounded away at the city’s borders. Dinnae ye carry their dead and wounded down from mountain with yer bare hands?” He cursed angrily. “Just waiting for word from Doctor Fargar. They’re watching his surgery, he said. He’s pretending to have an emergency in order to get the equipment he needs.”

  Keir realised they had strapped him to the litter again. He would have permanent dents in his back from the slats. Why the subterfuge? It could only mean that the wave of anti-Elven sentiment had reached Garrikar Town.

  So much for his plan to see his family to safety.

  Now he was a burden to everyone.

  Chapter 19: Garrikar Garrison

  THEY MOVED HIM FROM shadow to shadow. Every word and command in undertone. Several whispered checks and conversations took place; a few minutes’ waiting for a patrol to pass, and then he descended into the cool of someone’s basement amidst whispers to watch the low overhead beams and uncertain footing. Dank, cool, perhaps a touch of mould.

  “Lay him on this table. Nae, leave him on the litter. Ye may need to move fast later, if we get that far.” The Doctor’s voice was high-pitched and nervous.

  “Thank ye, Doctor.”

  “Ye say a tree fell on him?”

  “Aye, that’s a truth, Doctor,” Kalar said. “Certanshi traitors had infiltrated the garrison here. They were waiting in ambush – this plot smacks of unfortunately thorough planning.”

  “Yer the lad who saved Ranger Janzar’s life, did I hear right and proper?”

  Keir said, “Aye. ’Twas luck and good timing in the main –”

  “This is yer dragonet? Aye, what a bonny wee lass ye are,” Fargar added, in his strong Northern accent. “Ye want to look, lass? Stay clear of my way – nae, I dinnae mean it like that. Up on the table with ye. Tales say ye and yer Guardian will learn to think the same. Therefore, think healing thoughts into this lad’s brain, ye hear me? We’ve got ourselves some delicate work ahead.”

  With that, the tall, balding man slipped a pair of magnifying glasses from the top of his head over his eyes. He wore a simple, clean smock. His bare hands were blue with an antiseptic herbal wash, an overpowering medicinal smell.

  “Alright, lad, drink this up. I’ll be putting ye out now, and then we’ll see if we cannae keep this foot of yers where it belongs, alright? By which I mean, firmly bolted to the rest of ye. Bring that lantern close, Commander Kalar. Good. Aye, hang it on that hook here. Snip ye open … oh, a fine mess. A very fine mess indeed …”

  His voice faded into a flotilla of green clouds that wandered across his vision.

  Keir woke with a start. “Certanshi!”

  His father held Auroral Storm Diamond upon one brawny forearm, looking as if he had been speaking to her.

  Dragons had been biting chunks out of his life. Things were happening around him about which he had no idea; his memories of the last few days were patchy at best. Where was he – oh, still in surgery? The doctor worked at screwing together a metal contraption embedded in his shin, which was laid open from knee to ankle. Interesting. Especially since the pain he so expected was entirely absent. They might as well have been carving up a Yuletide log.

  Kalar said tersely, “Is that what ye meant, little one?”

  The dragonet nodded. Rrr-it.

  “How long, Doctor?”

  “I need to place and secure this last clamp. Two minutes.”

  Bang bang bang! “Open up!”

  He would have jumped, but not a muscle in his body responded.

  “Who is it?” the doctor called in a surprisingly sleepy tone of voice. In a second, he turned to his patient, doing something with pliers inside the wound that really did not bear thinking about. “Right, lad. This is my invention. Round clamps to set the bone shards in place, supported by this bar here. We dinnae have time to close ye up good and proper. Commander. Hold this.”

  BANG BANG! “Open up, Doctor!”

  “Just coming!” he called up the stairs, banging his feet as if he were walking slowly. “Two more bolts. Got this one. Tighter …” And now he looked like an armourer poised with hammer and anvil. Tap! With a metallic click, something locked into place. “Last one. Door at the side of the lounge goes through to the neighbour’s, an adjoining room. Bolt it behind ye. Out the back, straight through the back gate into the next garden. Keep going and ye’ll be on the next road over.”

  As he spoke, he fitted and tightened one more clamp. Torsion caused his knee to twinge in pain. The Doctor repeated the hammer trick. Tink! “Done. COMING! Get yer wee wife to stitch this up as soon as ye can, Commander. Four weeks healing minimum, six if the wound will bear it. If ye do nae else, keep it clean. Go!”

  “Ye’ll be alright?” Kalar asked.

  “Got a tight cover story. Have to do. Santazathiar’s best to ye all.”

  With that, the Amarinthian soldiers, who Keir had noticed were all Human, picked up his litter and darted for the stairs. The Doctor yelled something about the hour and finding the bolt, and then they swerved into the lounge and found their way through to the neighbour’s house, where a pretty young woman sat breastfeeding twins.

  She nodded politely. “Santazathiar guard ye. Out back. Quick.”

  “Thank ye kindly, lady,” Kalar said, shooting the bolt as quietly as he could.

  Keir wondered why the ceiling had just bled down through the floor. Whatever was the matter with him? Just the drugs?

  They jostled through a workroom at the back of the place and out into the fragrant herb and vegetable garden. Ducking through the bushes, they found the back fence. Keir tried to hold on to the litter, but they had strapped his arms into place, probably to keep him from thrashing about.

  The night was deep, but enough lamplight radiated from the nearby houses to make out a dark alleyway. Kalar paused, clearly searching for the next bolt-hole.

  Movement! Keir hissed, “Dad, ’ware left!”

  A heavy-set man came pounding out of the shadows, raising a sword. Kalar, meet Kalar, he noticed hazily. The other was a poor but recognisable replica of his father, perhaps an unfinished shape-change?

  As the man hurtled toward them with uncanny speed, Kalar calmly said to the litter-bearers, “Duck.” Then he stood tall to meet the rush with a last-minute swing of his axe. Clean as a Springtide dawn. The Certanshi soldier’s head leaped off his shoulders in a gleeful spray of blood. Kalar the Axe even stymied the momentum of that body with a swivelled shoulder, preventing himself from being knocked backward into the litter.

  His through-swing, lacking due attention, might have shortened several litter bearers as well.

  Some piece of skill.

  The man at the back flinched as the Certanshi soldier’s head dropped against his arm, however, and stumbled. The litter tipped sideways. Keir dropped face-first into the dirt. This time, the leg did more than complain. He could not stifle a deep groan. One of the soldiers cursed. He had been dumped straight into a pile of animal droppings, by the sounds and smells of things, but Kalar hissed at them to keep moving.

  The stars bobbed above him as they made good their escape from Garrikar Town. All he remembered with clarity was his father’s fury at the need for the new fortifications going up around the town, and the smell of dung upon his clothing.

  Where were his weapons? His left boot?

  What had the painkillers done to his brain? The stars sang above in twinkling chorus. Or was that his faithful dragonet, ever his shadow and companion? She was family now, seated upon his chest, breathing the scent of her breath into his lungs … breathing for him …

  Family was what was going to get him to the jungles, one way or another.

  Still in one piece. Just about.

  * * * *

  That night, the Elves put plenty of miles between them and Garrikar Town. The news was grim. All along this northernmost strip of the Kingdom of Amarinthe, the Elven populati
on had been summarily booted out. Whatever lies had been told or stories fabricated, the hatred of some Humans was real, the indifference of most hurt nearly as much, and the generosity of a few, invaluable. Over the following days, the Elves left a diamond here and an emerald there by way of thanks, taking great care to ensure that their relative wealth was noted by none, and certainly, no-one mentioned the source as Santazathiar’s own trove beneath the Dragon Kings.

  After the bitter end to the mountains, the weather turned glorious and sunny, and the days balmy. Keir became heartily sick of seeing the world from a prone position, but trying to hobble along with the help of a cane was far worse. The cut became inflamed. It was a daily battle to try to keep the infection at bay, with herbs and both Elven and draconic magic at work. When the pain became unbearable, Rhyl or his mother supplied a brew that knocked him out.

  Eight travel days beyond Garrikar Town and a further three towns avoided, there came a day when Auroral Storm Diamond lifted her muzzle and trilled, Wirrit?

  Keir raised his head a touch. What do you mean?

  She sniffed again. Wirrit?

  That, you four-pawed thief, Rhyl put in politely, is the smell of the jungles. Loam. Mighty trees. Damp, humidity, and an abundance of vegetation the likes of which you have never imagined, o – why are you itching like that again?

  Keir stared at his charge. Is she –

  She is.

  He had to squint to make sure he could trust what his eyes told him. Since the avalanche, he remembered only snatches of events, but at last now, a clear awareness of coming back to himself, and to Auroral Storm Diamond, filled his heart with new hope. He still had a foot. It might be in terrible shape, but it was his. Mostly.

  Is she what? Arami said crossly. Speak with straight words, brother.

  She’s flaking, he said.

  Flaking? Keir, you’re the silliest brother ever, his little sister snorted.

  Narini smiled shyly, How’s she melting, Keir?

  It’s called ‘moulting,’ cousin-most-treasured, Rhyl said, with a smile that just about contained her laughter, and yes, I do believe you might be right. Your Dragoness is starting to look like a moth-eaten rug, Keir.

  Auroral Storm Diamond bared her fangs at the diminutive healer as if she understood – well, not exactly what was being said, but the tone of her teasing. With a snooty sniff, she demanded and received pride of place in Rhyl’s arms. She peered at Keir from there, blinking her eyes lazily, like a cat in the sun.

  “Watch this,” Rhyl said. “Storm, do a cat.”

  Mrrr-eeoow.

  “Dog.”

  Wrr-ough! Wrr-ough!

  “Bird?”

  She ruffled her wings and made a chirruping sound.

  Keir clapped his hands in approval. “Oh, what a clever lass ye are.”

  That earned him a rather baleful look. His facetiously cheerful tone was not entirely appreciated, was it? The dragonet blinked her eyes ever so slowly at him, and peeled a few scales off her chin with the point of a talon. After examining them with surprise, she popped them into her mouth. Down the hatch they went. She must need the nutrients. Hopefully, she would also sensibly stop eating herself at some point.

  Did this mean she was on the cusp of a growth spurt?

  The terrain began to flatten out as they hiked ever northward, always keeping the snow-capped Amarinthian Bulwark to their left. That was the impassable barrier save for the route they had just travelled. As the hills became lower, they began to see through breaks in the terrain, the haziness that shrouded vast tracts of jungle, and the smell upon the breeze grew loamier and richer by the hour. The ground cover here was a sparse tan grass and the soils poor, which meant that this region was largely uninhabited although well-travelled.

  Daily, his mother or Rhyl changed his bandages and so he was able to see the five bolts affixed to the external metal rod which held the tibia and fibula in place by cunning, two-part internal clamps. Checking the lay of his bones with her fingers and magic, Shanryssill said that the doctor had done an excellent job in setting them straight and closely together, although a three-inch sliver of his tibia had gone missing and had not been found despite a careful fingertip search. Nifty to have a bit of metal stuck out of his leg. Arami and Storm both found the device endlessly fascinating. However, the flesh around the five holes remained red and angry-looking in defiance of the regular antiseptic washes. Despite the fine Elven stitching, he would have a scar worthy of the name.

  Bed rest would have been perfect. Pallet rest? It would have to do.

  Especially rest that did not involve being chased by Certanshi murderers.

  The trail edged steadily westward. Keir had to remind himself that technically they were still travelling in the highlands, even though they had descended a long ways from his mountain home. The jungle floor lay one and a half miles below the level of this narrow plateau that skirted the mountains. The great slopes were deeply scored by snowmelt rivers and braided with waxy runnels of dark green coniferous trees, lending the mountains a kind of ancient, rough-hewn beauty, especially when the first radiant light of dawn warmed the slopes with a mauve-orange furnace glow. Each afternoon, thunderstorms built up from the North and growled their merry way into the evening, but did not reach the plateau they traversed.

  Auroral Storm Diamond became almost unbearably restive as her hide itched more and more. One humid early evening as they camped on the edge of the escarpment at a hot spring, she discovered her tail. What a joy! Or frustration, Keir could not tell quite which, as she chased it with snappish growls. He was too busy groaning like a constipated Damask Yak at the pleasure of almost-full immersion in steaming waters, despite their slightly sulphurous, rank smell. Foot propped up on a handy boulder and head on another, he lay back and luxuriated.

  “Aye, lad! Make ye the most of it,” Kalar agreed, stepping gingerly into the water. “Och aye, that’s a wee slice of delicious. Shanri – ooh!”

  This was at the sight of his mother, jungle-scanty, slipping into the waters wearing nothing but her underwear. Arami and Narini splashed about like fish, chasing cousin Rhyl across the twenty-foot wide pool. Humans must find customs such as Elven communal bathing rather strange. Oddly private people, Humans. Did they find the sight of bare limbs and bellies shameful? His Mom might still be a wisp, but she was a fit and healthy wisp, with actual flesh clothing her bones nowadays. The memory of her frailty had faded in his mind, at last.

  Father caught her up in his arms and planted a great smacker upon her cheek. “Come here, ye wee beauty! Give us another kiss!”

  “Nae, a wicked bandit has captured me!” she pretended to wail.

  Faker. He grinned broadly.

  Dark and light, the twins’ heads popped up as they clearly tried to decide if this was a game or not. The dragonet ceased chasing her tail in endless circles – and gnawing at the peeling hide there – to gaze at them all wide-eyed. She rushed up to the water and then skidded to a halt, giving the pond a suspicious glare. She had barely seen water unfrozen, Keir remembered. A pond must seem strange indeed to one only just exiting her hatchling months.

  “Come on, Storm,” he encouraged. “It’s lovely in.”

  Lovely indeed. The mighty storm wall of a thunderstorm which had been piling up over the hidden jungles chose this moment to break in spectacular style, with a brilliant flash of lightning that reflected off the mountains and a thunderclap that split the sky in twain. Narini gave a screech and darted for their mother’s arms, while Arami took it all in, as goggle-eyed as a yellow-bellied tree frog. The air became supercharged as the lightning flashed continuously beneath the clouds as if seeking to quarry the jungle giants out by their roots, and jagged forked lightning split the sky, set afire by the phenomenon of Mauve setting in the West, highlighting the bruised and swollen thunderclouds in brilliant reds, oranges and purples.

  Keir whistled softly. “Building up for a good one …”

  Wirrit, Keee-irr! Wirrit? the dragone
t exclaimed animatedly. She rushed up and down the edge of the pond several times, before stepping boldly onto his headrest boulder to lick his nose.

  “Ugh, honestly?”

  Wirrrrrrr – wirrit! she trilled, almost beside herself.

  “Alright, so yer excited, lass –” he chuckled as she plucked her tail out of the water with a hiss of disgust “– now’t here that’ll hurt ye! It’s just warm water. Honestly, why don’t ye just jump in?”

  His teasing push almost cost him a finger. Auroral Storm Diamond sprang up onto the bank again, eyed up the storm with eyes agleam with magic, and then made a deft hop to the stone upon which he was resting his injured leg. Truly, his foot was turning into some kind of weird art form, all mottled yellow-greens and purples and toes twice their normal size, but apparently this meant the bruising was healing and the blood flow was acceptable. Right.

  She licked his sole eagerly.

  The toes twitched!

  Keir almost leaped off his rock in excitement. “Look, Mom!”

  The dragonet looked as startled as he at his reaction, making her querying sound, which was immediately drowned by another almighty thunderclap that reverberated off the mountain ramparts and rolled back again, almost as loud as the initial report. His Mom and Dad paddled over, their faces alright.

  Shanryssill called, “Do that again?”

  “Go on, Stormy one,” he encouraged.

  Wirrit? She licked his toes with an air of vast mischief.

  Watching very closely, he observed a twitch. A definite twitch! “Aye! Look, Storm, there’s a bit of feeling there. Rhyl! Mom! My toe moved!”

  Her apple-green eyes twinkling with mischief, Rhyl swam over to him. “A twitch, did ye say? Ticklish here?”

  “Aye.”

  “And here?”

  “Aye – stop that! Please!”

  “Keir has ticklish toes d’ye ken, Narini, Arami? Nae, lay ye down, cousin. This is medical science in operation. We need to check the nerve endings properly.”