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.