The Dragon's Egg (Dragonfall Book 1)

by David A. Wells

  John picked up his bow and quiver but left his pack.

  “Frank, why don’t you go with him,” Cyril said. “Two sets of eyes are better than one.”

  Frank looked like he was about to protest but thought better of it.

  Cyril opened his pack and handed Imogen a bowl. “Fresh water, please.”

  She nodded, going to the stream.

  “Any chance you have some whiskey?” Cyril asked Hound.

  “Am I really that predictable?” he said, pointing to his pack. “Side pocket.”

  Cyril retrieved a metal flask tightly bound with leather.

  “How strong is it?”

  Hound opened one eye reprovingly. “What do you think?”

  “Good,” Cyril said with a chuckle.

  “Take care of the kid first.”

  Ben focused on the pain while his grandfather and Imogen worked on him. It was cold and had an invasive quality to it that made Ben queasy, but that was better than the memory of the eyes in the night. When his thoughts turned to the dream, fear threatened to undo his reason.

  After they’d finished tending to Ben, Cyril and Imogen cleaned Hound’s wounds and changed his dressing.

  Ben lay still, listening to the burbling brook. When sleep started to claim him again, he sat up abruptly, willing himself to remain awake.

  “You should rest,” Cyril said.

  Ben shook his head as he got to his feet. He went to the stream to splash water on his face.

  Suddenly, an angry shout drew everyone’s attention. A long wailing howl filtered through the trees and then Frank came running toward them, waving his hands wildly. He reached the camp, still flailing against some unseen enemy, a number of angry welts marking his face and arms. He stopped, turning in a full circle before fixing Cyril with an angry glare.

  “This is your fault,” he said, before going to the water and carefully washing his face and arms.

  Ten minutes later, John came out of the woods, a cloth wrapped around his face and head. He was carrying a chunk of beehive on a piece of bark.

  He looked at Frank and shook his head. “Told you to wait.”

  “I thought they were gone,” Frank snapped.

  “They weren’t.”

  “Ya think?” Frank said.

  “Who says there ain’t no justice?” Homer said.

  Ben stifled a laugh and sat down by his dog, gently patting his head.

  “How’re you feeling?” he asked.

  “My feet hurt.”

  “I know. Can you walk?”

  “Yeah, but I’d rather not.”

  Ben lay back down. His nausea had subsided but he still felt sick—somehow hollow and cold. It was unlike any illness he’d ever experienced, but it was starting to feel less debilitating. His wounds hurt, but not so much that he couldn’t manage. If Homer had been in better shape, he would have suggested that they press on.

  “Nash has probably reached the barracks at Lake of the Woods by now,” he said.

  Cyril nodded. “The question is how quickly can she gather her forces and come after us?”

  “She was pretty pissed off,” Hound said. “If I had to guess, I’d say she’ll come for us tonight.”

  “I doubt she could cover the distance before dark,” John said.

  “No, but she can get close and hit us first thing,” Hound said.

  John nodded, appraising the trail scrawled across the scree field above.

  “Maybe we should find someplace where she can’t see us from up there,” he said.

  “Now that you mention it, we are a bit too exposed for my taste,” Hound said, getting to his feet with a grimace and gathering his pack.

  “Why don’t you all sit tight for a bit,” John said. “I’ll scout ahead.”

  Cyril nodded, working honey out of the honeycomb.

  Hound sat back down without argument.

  John set out along the steam, vanishing silently into the woods a few moments later.

  Ben looked up at the blue sky, so calm and serene.

  “We can never go home,” he said to no one in particular.

  “My home has always been wherever my family is,” Cyril said. “But no, we can’t go back to the shop, or to K Falls for that matter.”

  “Then where will we go?”

  “I have a friend up north in the Deschutes Territory,” Cyril said. “He’ll give us safe harbor.”

  “You’ve never mentioned him before,” Ben said, sitting up.

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “More secrets?” Frank said, shaking his head. “What else aren’t you telling us?”

  “A great many things, I suspect,” Cyril said, holding Frank’s eyes with his own.

  “Don’t you think it’s time to share? Especially about magic. We’re being hunted by magical creatures, after all.”

  “Nothing I could tell you about magic would be of any practical value against the stalkers. Best to avoid them whenever possible.”

  “Yeah, I figured that out all on my own,” Frank said. “But if we can’t avoid them, it’d be nice to have some magic to fight them with.”

  “Honestly, we’d do better with tech,” Cyril said. “It’s more predictable and doesn’t carry as high a price.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Magic isn’t free. It isn’t a solution to all of your problems. And more often than not, the price is far higher than what you get in return.”

  “See, that’s what I’m talking about,” Frank said. “You know things about magic that you’ve never told us. How? And why have you kept it from us?”

  “How? I’ve lived much longer than you,” Cyril said with a shrug. “As far as keeping things from you … perhaps I have, but not for the reasons that you might imagine.”

  “Then why?” Frank said.

  “To protect you,” Cyril said. “Magic has an allure that’s very dangerous, especially to young people. The kind of magic that comes easily always comes with a high price, but that cost usually doesn’t become apparent until after the fact. Unfortunately, youth is impatient, often rushing headlong into danger out of ignorance or a misguided belief in immortality. The end result is an attraction to bargaining magic.”

  Cyril stopped talking and stared off into the forest, his eyes losing focus.

  “Oh, come on, you did it again,” Frank said. “What’s ‘bargaining magic’?”

  Cyril seemed to consider the question for a long time before nodding to himself, taking a deep breath and sighing with resignation.

  “Magic falls loosely into two categories—bargaining and manifestation. Bargaining magic involves beseeching entities from other realms for aid and assistance. A number of dangers are inherent in it, since the entities are motivated by needs and desires beyond our comprehension. They’re often dishonest and manipulative. Great care and even greater knowledge is necessary when dealing with these beings in order to achieve the outcome you desire. Otherwise, you’re likely to unleash forces into our world that don’t belong here—forces that can easily consume you, or worse, transform you into something else.”

  Ben sat up frowning. “Is that where the stalkers came from?”

  “I suspect so,” Cyril said.

  “What if we could get these beings to help us?” Frank asked.

  “And how would you go about doing that?” Cyril asked.

  “I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you.”

  “Let’s say we knew a spell to enlist the aid of some being or other—and that we had a dragon artifact sufficient to allow us to pierce the veil between our world and theirs. What would you offer in exchange for their help?”

  “Whatever it took,” Frank said.

  “Exactly,” Cyril said. “Often the price they demand is life—yours or another’s. Who would you sacrifice?”

  Frank fell silent, looking at the ground.

  “Worse, once you’ve made contact with one of these beings, they know who you are. They will reach out to you a
gain, sometimes when you least expect it, and sometimes with horrifying demands.”

  Homer whined softly, almost plaintively.

  “What about ‘manifestation magic’?” Ben asked.

  “Manifestation requires payment up front in the form of years of practice, meditation, and mental discipline. Manifestation doesn’t require a price to be paid for the desired outcome. Instead, the one wielding this type of magic must align their mind with the mind of reality, for lack of a better term, and, through vivid imagination and an indomitable will, inject their desired outcome into the very fabric of creation.”

  Ben frowned, growing realization welling up within him.

  Just then, John materialized out of the forest. “I’ve found us a place for the night,” he said. “It’s about half a mile upstream.”

  Chapter 11

  Ben leaned his head back against the boulder and closed his eyes, savoring the feel of the cool breeze on his face. The half mile walk had left him spent and exhausted, though he suspected his injuries had far more to do with his failing vitality than the stroll through the woods.

  John had found a good campsite a few dozen feet from the stream. Large boulders formed an enclosed area with three narrow paths leading into the interior space. The rocks both hid them and provided some measure of protection against attack, though Ben knew it wouldn’t be enough if the Dragon Guard found them.

  Cyril arranged some smaller stones into a fire pit and sent John and Imogen to gather wood.

  “Do you think that’s wise?” Frank asked. “They might see the smoke.”

  “They already know we’re out here. Besides, I doubt they’re close enough to see anything.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Frank muttered.

  Ben was tired, but he dared not sleep. When he felt himself begin to nod off, he snapped himself awake, scooted a few feet away from the rock he’d been leaning against and crossed his legs in the meditation position that his grandfather had taught him many years ago.

  Cyril had told him that the first step to meditation was learning how to sit still. At first, Ben thought there would be nothing to it. He figured he’d be able to master the practice in an afternoon. Several years later, after countless hours of diligent work, it had finally become second nature. Now, the meditation pose was the most comfortable position he could imagine.

  Every time he settled down to meditate, he was reminded of the long struggle he’d endured to accomplish the seemingly simple ability to sit still. Frank had mocked him, which in hindsight may have been what motivated him to keep working at it for so long, even after it seemed like such a thing was entirely impossible.

  Now, when he sat down to meditate, his body settled into a state of complete rest and relaxation, all tension melting away in a matter of moments. Sometimes he felt like sitting still and calming his mind was even more restful than sleep. Today, he was hoping that would be the case, because he feared sleep and the nightmares it was certain to bring.

  After a few moments of slow breathing, after his body had become still, freeing his mind from all of the distractions of sensation, he turned his focus to his coin, bringing the image into his mind and holding it with vivid clarity until he lost all sense of time and self.

  Cyril had taught him that the item he focused on was less important than achieving that state of mind where his consciousness seemed to become one with the subject of his meditation. He had only managed to achieve that goal about three months ago.

  The pride in Cyril’s eyes when Ben had told him of his accomplishment was nearly as rewarding as the state of mind itself. When he managed to succeed, and that still required some effort on his part, he always came away from his meditation feeling calm and centered, as if all was right with the world, even when his reason told him that it wasn’t.

  He sorely needed that feeling right now.

  When he returned to self-awareness and opened his eyes, the sky had turned deep blue and the brighter stars were beginning to peek through the fading veil of sunlight.

  Cyril smiled, spooning some stew into a bowl from the small pot sitting next to the glowing embers of the fire.

  While he ate, Ben turned Cyril’s explanation of magic over in his mind, pondering all of the implications. He’d spent years practicing meditation, honing his will to the point where he could silence his mind and focus on a single thought. He couldn’t help but wonder if Cyril had taught him the practice for a reason—and that thought sent chills up his spine and ignited his curiosity all at once.

  “What kind of things can manifestation magic do?” Ben asked.

  Homer yawned and rolled over on his side, licking his lips a few times before closing his eyes and settling in to sleep.

  Cyril smiled, shrugging. “That’s hard to say. Given sufficient imagination and will, I suspect most anything can be brought into reality.”

  Frank sat up, his curiosity piqued. “Can you turn a person into a frog?” he asked.

  Cyril chuckled, shaking his head. “I doubt it, though I can’t say for certain. Manifestation doesn’t violate the laws of nature. Instead, it brings about the desired outcome through the natural order, often appearing to be a coincidence. As I understand it, there is no flash or fanfare when you successfully manifest a desire. In fact, it’s hard to point to a result and say that it was brought about by magic at all since it looks to have just happened in the ordinary way.”

  “That sounds kind of boring,” Frank said.

  “Which is why I’ve withheld my limited knowledge of magic from you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re young enough that the work and effort required to use manifestation is more than you’re willing to do. The next natural step would be for you to convince yourself that you’re special, that you can use bargaining magic without consequences. Young people seem to be able to exempt themselves from danger in their own mind with alarming proficiency, especially when the source of danger is so mysteriously alluring.”

  Frank frowned. “There must be beings that are willing to help. I mean, they can’t all be bad.”

  “Oh, they’re not,” Cyril said. “But the good ones are very reluctant to intervene in our realm for fear of subverting our free will. As a result, it is exceedingly rare that one will even answer when called.”

  Frank frowned again, staring into the fire for a while before speaking again.

  “It almost seems like more trouble than it’s worth.”

  “For the most part, it is,” Cyril said. “Hence my suggestion that we seek out tech rather than magic to fight our enemies.”

  “I hope you’re not suggesting we head up into the valley,” Hound said.

  “No,” Cyril said, “there’s too much disease and too many scavengers living in the ruins.”

  “Then where else are we going to find tech?” Frank asked.

  “I’m hoping Chen can help us with that. If not, we’ll have to seek out the resistance in Rogue City.”

  “What makes you think they still exist?” Frank said. “They lost the war. Those that didn’t die probably scattered.”

  “Anywhere you find oppression and evil, you’ll find people who choose to resist,” Cyril said. “Locating them might be problematic though.”

  “Yeah, I don’t imagine they put a sign on their door,” Frank said.

  Cyril chuckled, shaking his head. “We’ll find them hiding in plain sight.”

  “What does that even mean?” Frank said.

  “It’s getting late,” Cyril said. “Set your questions aside for now and try to get some rest.”

  Frank frowned but held his tongue.

  The sky and the fire slowly went dark, plunging the forest into blackness. Ben leaned against the boulder, struggling against gravity to keep his eyelids open and failing. The first few times he started to nod off he was able to snap himself out of it, but sleep eventually claimed him.

  He opened his eyes again and found himself in the forest, alone in the dark. A
nd then he saw the eyes—tortured eyes, filled with pain and rage and malice. They watched him from the darkness, still and focused, unblinking. Ben knew deep down that he was dreaming, but he couldn’t bring himself to wake up.

  For the past several years, he had always known when he was dreaming. Occasionally, he was even able to exercise his free will within the dream instead of being at the surreal mercy of dreamland illogic. And he could always wake himself if the dream was going badly.

  This was different.

  He was rooted to the ground, unable to stand up or even feel his legs. The eyes in the dark were fixed on him like a raptor’s gaze, unwavering and intent. He could feel the desperate need behind those eyes to either possess him or consume him, he couldn’t decide which. Either way, he wanted out, he wanted to wake up, but he couldn’t. It was as helpless a feeling as he had ever experienced.

  Then the eyes shifted away from him, looking intently toward another point in the darkness. Ben felt both confusion and relief as his eyes followed the enemy’s gaze.

  Rufus Hound was standing in the forest, frozen in place, his feet literally rooted to the ground as if his legs were tree trunks. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Ben knew that reality didn’t work that way, but at the surface, in the moment, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world that Hound would be half tree.

  The eyes started to move, slowly at first, savoring the rising fear now radiating from Rufus. He gave a piercing battle cry, and Bertha appeared in his hands as he brought her up to his shoulder and fired. The report echoed into the darkness, a tongue of flame exploding from the barrel. The eyes kept coming. He fired again, then again and again, unloading his weapon at the approaching menace, but to no avail. The eyes kept coming.

  In the space of a single heartbeat, the eyes leapt forward, changing from a slow, stalking approach to a bounding sprint rushing headlong toward Hound. Ben watched in helpless wonder and terror as the creature flashed into view under the silvery light of the moon. It was indistinct and shadowy. Ben couldn’t tell where the night ended and the creature began. All he knew for sure was that it was big and it moved with power and terrible purpose—and that it was evil in a way that couldn’t even exist in the real world.