The Hatching--A Short Story Page 2

might never get the chance to see a Harpy's Servant again. He must see this one.

  Canya crossed the large yard slowly, peering around shrubs for any sign of life. Now they'd emerged into the sunlight, Wenlyn saw her dark, honey-colored hair peeking out from beneath her stained bonnet. Like him, her drab clothing was covered in dust and cobwebs.

  Wenlyn heard the tumult of the crowd a few streets over. Energy surged through his limbs as he imagined the village gathering in the Square.

  When they reached the right tree, Wenlyn gave Canya a boost into the lower branches. Once she gained a strong foothold, she took his hand and Wenlyn hoisted himself up. The upper branches are small and flimsy, but they'd made this climb often enough to know which ones would hold their weight. They maneuvered carefully into the upper branches of the tree, high enough to peer over the wall and into the Square.

  A smile slid onto Wenlyn's face. He had an unobstructed view of the proceedings.

  The Square stood fuller than he'd ever seen it. A large area in the center had been roped off. The crowd pushed in on all sides of it. The Village Council, led by Elder Nymon, stood on a dais beside cleared area, waiting to receive their guest. Nymon had always seemed kind to Wenlyn, though he'd only met him a time or two. He was mostly bald with a slightly protruding belly, and a grandfatherly twinkle in his eye. The Fox, one of the junior council members of the Council, stood behind the others. Though from the way he'd turned his nose up, you'd think he owned the Square and everyone in it.

  But no. He only owned Wenlyn and Canya. Wenlyn scowled at the thought.

  He and Canya barely settled into place before the shout went up. "Here he is!"

  Wenlyn craned his neck heavenward. The tree above him was too bushy to see the sky. A mighty rush of wind swept across the Square. Wenlyn clung to the tree's trunk, his forearms crossing over Canya's as she did the same. In the Square, every villager's hair flew violently back from their faces. Something gargantuan blocked out the sun, throwing the entire Square into shadow. Wenlyn had never seen anything that could cast such a shadow.

  The tree quaked in the ground when Servant, atop his Companion, landed in the Square. A soft noise came collectively from the throats of the villagers. Half terrified shriek, half awed coo. Wenlyn understood. Awe and terror warred in his chest. He'd never felt such searing, conflicting sensations all at once.

  "Dragon," Canya breathed.

  The sight of the Servant's Companion made Wenlyn's fingers weak with fear. The dragon landed with grace for so enormous a beast. Skin of a blue so deep, it appeared purple in the shade shone through scales that glittered metallically. Much like the rainbow of colors seen in oil when the sun was high.

  Its bulk filled the Square. Spikes like razor-sharp obsidian peppered a tail the length of six horses. Somehow the beast coiled it without injury. The neck wasn't as serpentine as Wenlyn imagined, more akin to the length of a horse's neck. A large head funneled into a box-like snout with boulder-sized nostrils. Small, tightly coiled horns adorned the top of its head and the sides of its nose.

  "Dragon," Wenlyn agreed, matching Canya's awed whisper.

  Its lips reach all the way around to its ears, and its wings folded as it landed. Spread out, the Companion would be larger than the entire Square, but it collapsed into a tidy package amongst the villagers.

  The man sitting at the juncture of wing and neck thudded heavily to the dais beside his mount, his eyes sweeping over the Square. Tall and solidly built, though quite lean at the waist, he cut an imposing figure, even standing beside the dragon.

  What Wenlyn could see of his shirt and britches showed high quality fabric, though it looked plainly made up. The symbol of the Harpy's Servants hung down his back: a thick cloak, coveted by many. Scarlet colored the outside, which symbolized his willingness to shed blood in defense of the realm. The inside was the cleanest white Wenlyn had ever seen. It symbolized the Servant's heart and soul remaining pure. Stitched across his back in black, the figure of a harpy screamed. Smaller versions adorned each shoulder and a gold braid secured the cloak across his chest. He wore neither helm nor glove and his arms were bare beneath his tunic.

  His jaw looked like chiseled granite, his dark eyes discerning. They swept slowly across the crowd, as if to gauge the weight of villagers' souls. Finally, he turned to Elder Nymon.

  "Greetings from the Dragon Council to Tranquil Village," the Servant boomed. "They send their love, respect, and salutations. I trust they find you in good spirits?"

  Elder Nymon stepped forward. The sun glinted off the sweat on his bald head. His gut, though not pronounced, stood in stark contrast to the Servant's lean physique.

  "Our village is in excellent spirits, my lord Servant. We are prospering this year."

  "So I can see. Your houses are in good repair, your people look robust, and your fields are green. From above, I observed a herd of livestock several miles to the west. Yours, I presume?"

  "Yes, my lord. We graze them in the west pasture. They are quite fat this year."

  The Servant nodded. "As you know, I cannot stay long. Have you any requests to send the Council?"

  "Only one, my lord."

  "Name it."

  "We wish to begin construction across the river to expand our village. Enough children have been born in the past five years that we are beginning to burst our bounds."

  The Servant turned to the crowd. "Hardly a request at all. You don't need the Council's permission for such a thing, though we do appreciate being informed. You are closer to the Selvage than most, but there's plenty of room for expansion. I see no problem with it.

  "Please," a woman from the crowd called. Wenlyn couldn't tell for sure, but thought it came from Mistress Tymur, the blacksmith's wife. The Village Council scowled at the speaker as one. Mistress Tymur had never been intimidated by the Council. "My lord Servant," the woman continued. "Will expansion put us too near the Selvage? Will it be unsafe for our children across the river?"

  "Of course not, my good Mistress. Your village is still miles from the barrier. The Fire Covenant will hold."

  The woman did not speak again. Wenlyn detected something, a relaxing of sorts in the Square. Perhaps more villagers than Mistriss Tymur entertained this worry.

  Elder Nymon bent at the waist. "Forgive me, my lord Servant."

  The Servant waved his hand dismissively. "Nothing to forgive." He turned a gentle smile toward where the woman's voice came from. "An important question to ask."

  Wenlyn smiled. He would be terrified to speak with a Harpy's Servant, but this one acted kinder than the Fox, anyway.

  "Thank you, my lord," Nymon bowed again. "Please convey our deepest loyalties to the Council." The rest of the Elders followed suite, bowing low. The crowd in the Square did the same. Wenlyn wished he could join in the bow. If he tried, he'd fall out of the tree.

  The Servant ducked his head. "Thank you, my good people. Your loyalty does not go unnoted. Remember, if you ever have trouble or need, my brothers and I are only a dragon ride away. May your children laugh, your spouses love, and the rain fall softly upon your verdant pastures. I now return to give an excellent report of your village to the Dragon Council. I leave you with all the gratitude of the Six Realms."

  He turned toward his Companion. The visit was finished, it seemed.

  Canya climbed higher.

  "What are you doing?" Wenlyn whispered.

  "I want to go higher so we can see him fly away."

  Realizing her wisdom, Wenlyn followed suite. A representative of the Dragon Council was supposed to visit every village in the realm once a year, but so few Harpy's Servants remained these days, they only got around to small villages like Tranquil perhaps one year in five. Sometimes less. And who knew where Wenly and Canya would be the next time? Any trouble that came down on them was worth it for this glance at one of the mysterious dragon riders that protected the Six Realms.

  As Wenlyn ascended, a sharp crack beneath him signaled trouble. He slipped, grab
bing for nearby branches. They slid through his fingers like butter. Then even they disappeared. He fell through open air. A sickening thud drove the air from his lungs for the second time that day. He opened his eyes and found himself looking up at Canya, who gazed down from the branches of the tree in abject horror.

  He'd landed not twenty feet from where the Servant stood. Evidently, he'd startled the dragon, because the beast's head whipped toward him and the sound that issued from its throat dwarfed anything Wenlyn had ever heard. A deafening, horrifying sound Wenlyn felt deep in his belly, surely originating from hell itself. No, not hell. The throat of a dragon.

  The blue dragon's bestial face hovered inches from Wenlyn's, it's icy black eyes chilling and intelligent. Wenlyn rolled onto his side, pulling his knees into his chest and wrapped his arms around his head, certain he'd be roasted like a Solstice ham.

  Voices came to Wenlyn's ears, as if from far away. Had the dragon's roar deafened him?

  "What is the meaning of this?" Elder Nymon's muffled voice reached Wenlyn's ears. Screams, wails, and other voices sounded nearby. Wenlyn couldn't make them out.

  "Peace, my good people." The Servant's voice sounded clearer than the others. Wenlyn's hearing returned. He peeked out from between his arms to see.

  "What under the Red Sky…?" The Fox's voice sounded dangerous. That meant serious trouble.

  Marching forward, the Fox grabbed Wenlyn by the neck and dragged him