by LeRoy Clary
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Dragon! Book One: Stealing The Egg
3rd Edition
Copyright 2015 LeRoy Clary
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduce, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law
Cover Design Contributors: JozefArt/Bigstock
Editor: Karen Clary
Books by LeRoy Clary
The 6Tth Ransom
Blade of Lies: The Micha Silverthorne Story
Dragon! Series
Dragon! Book One: Stealing The Egg
Dragon! Book Two: Gareth’s Revenge
Dragon Clan Series
Dragon Clan #1: Camilla’s Story
Dragon Clan #2: Raymer’s Story
Dragon Clan #3: Fleet’s Story
Dragon Clan #4: Gray’s Story
Dragon Clan #5: Tanner’s Story
Dragon Clan #6: Anna’s Story (Available Summer 2016)
TABLE OF CONTEXT
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
AUTHOR’S NOTES
CHAPTER ONE
Gareth watched the wings momentarily obscure the massive head of the dragon. Never taking his eyes off the soaring creature, he crept closer to the nest for a better view. Today was not the day, but soon. Today was about gathering knowledge. Stinging insects rose in swarms and buzzed around his head. Tangled, twisting vines laced with thorns scratched his arms and legs. He ignored the pain, his mind centered on his objective.
His gaze lowered to the barren rocks beneath the dragon’s nest. Oily black spit coated them. Wisps of dirty gray smoke seeped into the air. Bubbles large as his thumb formed where the viscous scum pooled. They erupted with soft plops and a foul stench worse than the outhouse behind the inn.
Gareth stole a glance at Faring, a chubby, soft sort of boy of no more than fourteen or fifteen, although he often acted younger, and occasionally older. The round appearance of body and face belied his daily hard work at his father’s tannery. Still, a few more pounds and he’d be fat. Eyes back on the dragon again, Gareth said, “What’re you going to do with your half of the gold?”
“You don’t need to risk it all for gold. Better that you stay in Dun Mare without any money at all than dying wealthy in the belly of the dragon.”
“I have to escape,” Gareth said.
They watched the dragon circling a far off mountain peak. When it swooped in a wide circle near the ground, it veered and closed the distance to the nest until it flew directly at them as if it knew they were waiting.
“Be still,” Gareth hissed, forcing his voice to be soft when he felt like screaming in terror. He held himself tight against the cliff and froze. His sandy colored hair and fair skin blended in with the gray granite cliff. Faring was right to be hiding under the nearby brambles where his darker hair and brown complexion blended with shadows.
Gareth whispered, “She won’t spot us unless we move.”
“She might catch a scent of us.”
“Or hear us, if you keep up that whining.”
Faring paled, but shut up and held still.
As the dragon neared, the wrinkled skin under its wings displayed lighter areas of dark gray, while the sharp ridges of the spine appeared as black as soot. The thin neck extended forward balancing the spiked tail whipping behind. A wide mouth revealed hundreds of sharp curved teeth, giving the creature an evil-appearing smile as it drew its thin lips back. Blood stained her teeth and mouth. The fore-claws clutched the remains of a deer.
The dragon swept across the sky heading directly for the nest built against the steep face of the granite-faced cliff. She glided past the top of the nearest mountain again, perhaps inspecting the surrounding forest, maybe searching for boys unwary or stupid enough to intrude near her nest.
Many times Gareth had overheard old men of the village discussing selling dragon eggs while drinking their mugs of ale at the inn. They said one dragon egg could set a man up for a lifetime. They often talked about it, but none had mastered their fears enough to attempt stealing one themselves. A glance up at the dragon when she flew over Dun Mare sent them scurrying back for more liquid courage in their mugs of ale, and sometimes stronger drink.
Thaddeus, the toothless old man who cleaned floors and washed mugs at the inn, had always been quite proud to offer his seeming expertise through his remaining gnarled, yellow teeth as if he had intimate knowledge. He’d said, “Dragons spot movement on the ground when they’re way up high, then they dive close to the ground, spitting black balls that dissolve anything. Liquid fire, they say. Up close, their eyesight’s good for nothing. A man standing still right in front wouldn’t be noticed, lest he moves.”
A wag had lifted his mug and added with the bark of a laugh to those around him said, “Well, he wouldn’t live to tell the tale if the dragon did spot him, now would he?”
All the men laughed, but Thaddeus had spoken with a conviction that had impressed Gareth.
The dragon he watched flapped powerful wings faster in the thin mountain air and headed for her nest. Branches were interwoven into a circular mass of tangled wood over a framework of larger evergreen trunks, and even a few oaks. The nest perched high on the side of the rugged cliff, so far up the mountainside that snow and ice covered shaded areas year around.
After landing in her nest, she dropped the deer carcass and settled herself until comfortable. She tossed her head back and emitting a loud shriek. The hairs on the back of Gareth’s neck stood at attention. He could smell her stink, the smell of rotten meat and feces. He spared a warning glance at his friend.
Tears streaked Faring’s face, yet he remained as still as if he was a tree or boulder. Faring had also heard the stories about a dragon’s keen eyesight from afar, and poor eyesight up close. In spite of that, he looked ready to flee. When the dragon turned its head to look the other way Gareth reached down and gripped his friend’s shoulder, his fingers turning into claws that drew a pained look. He hissed, “Calm yourself.”
The words managed to penetrate. Faring nodded quickly, but said nothing, his eyes remained centered on the nest and the dragon barely seen above the rim above them.
The nauseating sounds of deer bones crunching and tearing flesh drifted from the rocky perch where the nest clung. The dragon feasted on her meal of venison. As she ate, the dragon’s head twitched and turned in uneven intervals, the red eyes searching for intruders or prey, as she finished her meal.
When the dragon’s head turned away again, Gareth shifted positions, edging another step or two closer to the nest, yet keeping under the cover of the tangle of brambles. He ignored the insects and scratches. She was so
close he could hit her with a rock if she peeked over the rim. He feared to look up at the nest because he might see the dragon peering down at him, but he moved on. A few paces ahead lay the beginning of the wide expanse of the black dragon spit that coated the rocks and everything else below the base of her nest. Not a sprig of green showed in the stinking, bubbling mass. Just a barren, black covering of all, often layered over older, thicker, dried slime. Some areas appeared deeper, and all emitted the outhouse stench, along with faint wisps of oily smoke in newly popped bubbles.
Gareth glanced up and saw the dragon head twitch in a quick movement again, the red eyes shifting in his direction and coming to rest near him. He froze.
Thankfully the eyes looking in his direction were not looking directly at him or Faring but at a spot off to one side. Then the eyes searched the area nearby as if trying to find the boys. The dragon raised her snout and tested the air. After a few more breaths, her head darted aside again, and her eyes looked elsewhere. She cleared her throat with an awful sound like boulders rolling down a cliff. She spat a wad of black the size of his head. It splashed on a barren patch of boulders below her nest and sizzled.
Gareth stepped ahead one more step, to the edge of the nearest patch of black slime. A glance at Faring showed his friend with wide eyes, and shaking his head. Gareth finally positioned himself behind the broad stump of a dead pine tree trunk larger in diameter than his chest. Hidden from the dragon by the stump, he reached for a green tuft of grass near his foot. Touching grass to the nearest blob of dragon spit, he watched it sizzle, wither, and blacken. The stories had been right.
The dragon shifted positions again and briefly stood on her hind legs and spread her wings before leaping from the nest. Wings flapping, they pushed down the air, and her powerful downstrokes propelled her ahead. The dragon spun and twisted in midair, then flew down the mountainside, wings beating a steady rhythm. Gareth had almost panicked when it had leaped from the nest. Now his rapid breathing wouldn’t slow, his heart continued pounding, and he fought to suppress the image of the dragon feasting on him as it had the deer. She turned again before reaching the valley floor and again gained altitude. She slowly shrank as she flew farther away down the valley.
Faring half-stood from his place under the brambles. He made the hand-sign for a quick prayer of thanks to his favorite god and slowly turned until he faced Gareth, relief clear on his tear stained face. “Time for us to get out of here.”
Gareth’s eyes traveled back to the blackened area of stinking muck underneath the nest. It was a barrier he had to cross to access the nest from here or from below, but his plan was to hopefully reach it from above where he could avoid the majority. He knelt and examined the nearest splash of dragon spit, again. He tossed aside the blackened grass and defiantly reached out with a trembling finger.
“Don’t do it,” Faring warned.
“I have to know what it does if I’m going to get to the egg,” Gareth muttered as he extended the finger and reached closer to the stinking blob. In a louder voice, he said, “We came to learn and to find out how to get to the nest. If we can’t get past this dragon spit, we’ll have to quit.”
He inched his finger closer, willing it to move the last little bit until it pulled to a stop as if by its own accord. After drawing a calming breath, he moved the finger with the lightest possible touch.
“Don’t be stupid,” Faring said, his eyes locked on Gareth’s finger.
Instantly Gareth’s finger tingled. Then burned!
“Yeow.” He shook it. The pain increased like he had touched an ember. His finger went directly to his mouth to sooth it, like a child with a hurt finger. It paused as if by its own accord, almost touching his tongue. What if he placed the finger in his mouth and the black fire erupted in there? He yanked the finger away and wiped it on his shirt. It still hurt, and it already turned raw-red near the tip. He wiped it on his shirt again and raised his eyes to the empty sky to check on the dragon. Thankfully it was still out of sight.
“Your finger okay?” Faring asked. He now seemed calmer, almost amused.
Gareth held up his red finger in response.
“Everybody knows why you don’t touch dragon spit,” Faring said as if he knew all about it. “That’s why the dragons snort that stuff all around when they’re nesting, or when they’re attacking villages. It kills everything it touches.”
Gareth had heard those stories, too. Even ones about whole villages covered in a slime of black death. But sometimes you have to learn by doing. Especially if you’re trying to steal the egg of a flying beast as big as a house. He needed facts, not the stories exaggerated by old men full of ale. Any new item of information might save his life or make his venture successful. The red finger was a sign of accomplishment in his mind. Gareth had learned something of value, even if he failed to see a future use for the knowledge. He wiped the finger on his shirt-front again and noticed several small ragged holes that hadn’t been there earlier, holes where he had wiped the dragon spit.
“I guess that about finishes your stupid, crazy idea about stealing an egg,” Faring smirked, as he commented on Gareth’s expression. “You can’t steal one if you can’t get up to the nest because of dragon spit coating everything around it.”
“No, it just makes it harder. I still have a few ideas.”
“Come on. You can’t walk on rocks that burn your skin with dragon spit every time you touch them. That stuff will eat right through your boots, too.”
“You’re wrong. The spit doesn’t burn everything. The rocks seem fine. Maybe I can get above and lower myself down with a rope and avoid it. Besides, there are plenty of stories of others who have stolen an egg and sold it for gold. Some must be true. I just have to figure out the best way.”
Faring’s eyes were on the sky as he said, “Those are just wild stories you picked up at the inn, but you don’t know nothing. Those old men drinking ale and cider at the Dun Mare Inn are natural liars. You’re crazier than a mad skunk if you think you’re gonna climb those slimy rocks. That acid’ll eat your skin right off your bones.”
“Acid?”
Faring suddenly looked as if he was sick, as if he’d found out that he’d just eaten a poison mushroom or spouted something he intended to withhold. His eyes dropped to the ground. He shuffled his feet and finally said, “Well, that’s what we call the stuff in Da’s tannery that eats the hair off hides. Acids. Different color and smell but they sort of do the same thing.”
Gareth turned to his friend. “So you’ve seen this acid before? And you didn’t warn me?”
“Didn’t think you were stupid enough to put your finger in it.”
Gareth smiled at the friendly insult. “If you use acid for tanning hides, you must have ways to keep it from burning you, or to keep it from it eating all the way through the hides.”
“Not touching it with our bare fingers usually works pretty well for us.”
“Funny. Now, answer me.”
“If I tell you, the next thing you know we’ll be back here on this mountain with you trying to climb on those black rocks. My guess is that the dragon’ll return and eat both of us.”
“I can get the egg and sell it in Briggs Crossing for more gold than I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“Okay, I’ll show you what I know about acid at the tannery. Tomorrow.” Head down again, Faring shrugged as he started the long climb down to where the small path that led down the side of the mountain began, careful to avoid any stray black patches. Every few steps he raised a wary eye on the sky.
Gareth followed, his spirits raised, and careful to avoid touching anything with his sore finger. Soon they reached the trail that led the way down the mountain in the direction of their village. Walking became easy, and they moved briskly and almost jauntily. More than a few jokes and barbs flew between them.
Faring said in a louder voice, “I still say you’ll die in the belly of that dragon if you try stealing an egg.”
“We just
need a good, solid plan. We came here to gather information about the dragon and her nest, and now we know a lot more than we did.”
“Yes. Now we know to leave it alone,” Faring laughed.
“Listen, I promised to tell you why I must leave Dun Mare.”
Faring, still walking, spoke over his shoulder, his steps never faltering. “Yes. Why risk your stupid life for a handful of copper or silver coins when you can live a good life, safe in Dun Mare? Don’t you like working on the farm with Odd and his family?”
“I’m scared, Faring. It’s that simple.”
At that admission, Faring spun and searched Gareth’s face, as if it would somehow reveal an unknown truth. He sat on a fallen log and motioned Gareth to join him. “Listen. You’re a foot taller than me and twice as strong. How can you be so scared?”
Gareth sat heavily on the log and closed his eyes. A sudden chilly wind swept up the mountainside. It felt like the dreams he’d been having, cold and damp. “I’m not safe in Dun Mare. The night whispers tell me I have to leave or die. They’re getting stronger and clearer every night.”
“Come on, you’re scared of bad dreams like a baby?”
Gareth lowered his head. “Not dreams. Whispers. They come to me at night and tell me I’m in danger. They say I have to escape right away, or die.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I,” Gareth said so softly Faring barely heard.
CHAPTER TWO
The red ox trudged ahead at a pace equaling Gareth’s sluggish movements. Gareth handled the plow ripping the earth into neat, even rows with practiced ease, however, a long morning tired him. Like most farmers, no matter how much it made him sore and sweat, he enjoyed the solitude of plowing. Gareth appreciated the act of getting the dark soil ready for the fall planting of winter rye.
The solitary activity also gave him mental relief and time to think. His body was larger and stronger than most his age, and he enjoyed the daily grind of working on Odd’s farm, but the warnings of the night whispers insisted his future lay elsewhere. Danger lay ahead in Dun Mare, mortal and immediate. Upon waking each morning, the whispers didn’t evaporate as did his dreams, and they warned him to be silent about revealing them.
