The sky glowed a little brighter to the east. Gareth noticed and stood. “Let’s get into position. No talking from here on.”
Crawling, they covered the last few hundred paces, while keeping a careful eye on the sky in case she flew early. They tied an end of the rope to a gnarled cedar, using double the usual number of knots. Leaning over the edge, they could clearly see the nest below, and dragon sleeping in it, her head tucked near her foreleg. They returned to the cache and carried the soda, rags, gloves, apron, and leather shoulder bag to the top. As the sky pinked, the dragon woke and screeched her welcome to the day. Shortly after, she took wing.
She flew up the narrow valley where the peaks were white with snow that never melted. She circled once and then disappeared from sight. Her morning meal would probably be a deer, elk, sheep, cow, or moose. She ate three or four large animals a day, so she often had to fly great distances. Hunting near a dragon’s nest rarely yielded game of any size because she had eaten it all.
Gareth quickly wrapped rags around his feet and poured on the soda solution, soaking them thoroughly. He pulled the leather apron around his waist and tied it, then pulled on the stiff gloves. Faring soaked all as he dressed, splashing and spilling in his hurry to finish. Together they walked to the edge of the cliff and tied the rope around Gareth’s waist. He was already planning the path for his descent to reach the rocks near the nest.
Faring splashed more soda onto the gloves and liberally splashed the apron worn in front of Gareth again, as if unsure of how much would keep him safe. Gareth slipped the egg-bag over one shoulder and held a small jar of dry soda in his left hand.
“Go,” Faring whispered, giving Gareth a slap on the back.
Gareth slipped over the edge, using the rope tied around his waist and wrist to help maintain his balance, as he climbed down the jagged rocks as fast as possible. Releasing a foot or two of rope at a time let him descend in small jerks, but retain control. The heavy leather gloves protected his hands from rope burns. When he came to the first splotches of the black slime, he paused long enough to pour more soda and water onto the face of the cliff. It flowed down his planned route, splashing onto the boulders neutralizing a path of thick, black acid directly below. He tentatively placed feet wrapped in wet rags on rocks black with dragon spit and waited for any reaction. When none came, he slipped lower.
So far, there had been no acid burn to his feet or hands, but the nest was still distant, and the small container of soda he carried felt nearly half-empty. A glance down at the layer of acid waiting below his racing feet almost petrified him. Drawing deep breaths, his hands relaxed on the rope, and he started slipping down faster, using his feet to keep his balance. Almost a controlled fall, as he reached the level of the nest without hurting himself and scampered over rocks and boulders to a position where he stood beside the massive structure built into the cliff face.
The acid coating the rocks seemed thinner as he neared the nest. When the dragon spit, the evil substance tended to fall far from the nest, or be pushed away by the wind, but little reached directly underneath, or beside.
The nest held his attention. It was a tangle of branches forming a bowl large enough to hold eight or ten men. The nest was constructed of small tree trunks and branches, some nearly as big around as his leg. They were woven as neatly as that of any small bird he’d ever seen. It was built into a split in the face of the granite cliff, clinging there like the nests of swallows in barns around Dun Mare. The workmanship of a beast so large was impressive. Gareth wished he had time to fully admire it ash he hurried.
He slipped the loop at the end of the rope looser and let it slide down around his waist as he climbed over a stout tree at the edge of the nest. Once he had the egg, he intended to signal Faring with a few hard tugs of the rope, who would begin pulling him up. Before reaching the inside of the nest, he had to climb up the outside of it. Above, Faring took up the slack in the rope as he climbed, and the rope tied around his waist might save him if he fell. He tested the knot and tugged on the rope to make sure the acid had not weakened it. He felt a reassuring return tug from his friend.
Gareth climbed quickly, using the twisted branches in the nest like a ladder. He levered himself over the top, lost his balance and spilled into the nest face first.
CHAPTER SIX
Two massive dragon eggs lay near his outstretched fingertips in the bottom of the nest. Side-by-side, dull gray in color with darker speckles, they reminded him of immense sparrow eggs.
They didn’t look life-changing, but he knew different. The two orbs were his future. He smiled only to have it whisked away in a moment of truth. This is just the beginning, so don’t get too pleased with yourself. Today you leave Dun Mare, forever. Gareth exhaled in a huff, wanting to say or do something profound, but not knowing what. He wanted to look up to the peak at the top of the cliff and shout his exuberance at Faring. A victory dance. I’ve done it. I’ve actually, done it.
The reward for his efforts lay at his feet as if tempting him to pick one up. This was something others sang about or told tales over campfires. People might one day sing his praises, too. He pulled himself back to the task.
The eggs would be large, he’d known that, but nothing had prepared him for the actual size. The eggs were almost as large as his head. One glance at the leather bag and the realization formed that it might not be large enough to hold an egg. One egg appeared larger than the other. He reached for the smaller.
“No,” the whispers that had previously only come at night said.
Gareth paused, hand on the smaller egg. “No?”
“Take the big one.”
He’d never heard the night whispers while awake, and certainly not in a voice in his head as clear as if talking to Faring. Gareth glanced around. Nobody was nearby, so where did the whispers come from?
“Hurry.”
Gareth ignored his confusion about the voices and looked at the smaller egg again, but reached for the larger one. A feeling of correctness warmed him as if the sun had come out on a cloudy winter’s day. The large egg was his target. Later, he promised himself, when he hid in the tannery he’d think about why he took it instead of the smaller one.
He slipped the strap over his head and spread the bag beside the egg. Opening it, he tried to force the egg inside.
Too large, but it didn’t feel solid like the eggshell of a bird. Instead, it felt mushy, almost like hardened leather. Lifting it with both hands, cradling it carefully, he found he couldn’t hold the egg and fit it into the bag at the same time. He reversed his actions and sat the eggs down on the bottom of the nest and slipped the bag over it. Pushing the larger side of the egg with his palm slightly allowed it to slip in as snugly as if made for it. He smiled at the thought. It was made for it. Then the strap went over his head, and he adjusted the awkward weight so he could climb back up the cliff with it hanging from his shoulder.
He reached one leg over the side of the nest and lowered himself to the rocks. Gareth gave a short tug to alert Faring he was climbing down the side of the nest and needed extra line. He felt a return tug and then more line was fed to him. He stepped on the next interwoven branch and used the rope to steady himself.
“Gareth!”
He looked up, startled that his friend would call out to him in such a dangerous manner.