That would make sense, but it didn’t explain the hatchling. Dragons never hatched just one egg.
Of course, maybe there were other hatchlings he hadn’t seen. He hadn’t gotten a very good look at the entire nest.
Suppose, though, that the yearlings were the young of the blue one and the wandering red one, and that the black hatchling had escaped from the farm and somehow found its way here, seeking out its own kind?
In that case, would the other dragons really object if he captured the little one?
How could he capture it, though? He had no chains or rope, no sacks or restraints of any kind. All he had was his belt knife, and the borrowed-no, stolen-blanket, and a dwindling supply of trail food.
That, and his bare hands.
That wasn’t really enough, and he knew it.
Still, that hatchling-was it the one he had seen at the farm? Were there any other hatchlings in there?
He still heard nothing alarming from inside the barrier; apparently he was safe, for the moment. He crawled out of concealment and inched along the outside of the nest, looking for another vantage point.
About a fourth of the way around he found an opening level with his chest that seemed wider than most; it looked as if he could lean through it and look around.
Cautiously, he did just that, slipping his head between the logs, his hands to either side.
The wall was thicker here than he had realized, and he pulled himself forward, into the gap. His feet left the ground and he tugged himself along with his hands.
The problem was that this section of the barrier was two trees thick, and the inner layer was made of very large trees indeed. He slipped through the outer wall, and then had to work his way along the trunk of a gigantic oak until he found an opening in the inner wall, an opening into the bowl-shaped enclosure itself.
He lay along the oak and slipped his head through the gap, into the nest.
The big blue dragon was still sound asleep, over on the far side. The four yearlings were entirely concerned with each other-they were arguing, or playing, or doingsomething that involved twisting their long necks about one another and tugging back and forth.
Dumery spotted the hatchling off to the side, and just as he did, it spotted him.
It came slithering over the thick layer of broken branches that lined the sides of the bowl, its tail winding back and forth like a snake, its broken wings hanging down and brushing across the shattered wood.
The broken wings convinced Dumery-this had to be the same hatchling he had seen at the farm!
He hesitated, debating whether he should pull back, get back out of sight before the creature reached him. That would certainly be the safe and sensible thing to do.
It didn’t look hostile, though, merely interested. He watched it approach until it was just a few feet away, looking up at him.
He looked down at it, and at the tree branches beneath it, and he suddenly noticed that many of the tree branches were white, rather than grey or brown.
Wood isn’t white, Dumery told himself. He leaned forward to get a better look.
Those white things, he realized, weren’t branches.
They were bones.
This graphic reminder that dragons were carnivores convinced him that it was time to leave; he started to shift his hands, which were positioned for sliding forward.
Just then a titanic booming sounded, and the sky overhead darkened. Startled, Dumery looked up.
At first he saw only an immense darkness, but then his eyes adjusted and the thing dropped lower and he realized what it was.
A dragon, the biggest dragon he had ever seen, bigger than any dragon he had ever even imagined, was flying overhead. Its great translucent green wings hid the sky, its head blotted out the sun, its body was like a flying mountain, dark with shadow. Something dangled from its jaws, and its talons held squirming objects that Dumery didn’t have time to recognize.
Those tremendous wings flapped, and the booming sounded again; a great wind swept down into Dumery’s face, blinding him for a moment. He blinked, and wiped at his eyes, and came within an inch or two of losing his balance and sliding down into the nest.
By the time he had recovered himself the dragon had dropped the load it had been carrying, and three large brown steers had fallen thunderously to the ground.
The four yearlings immediately leapt upon them, the blue dragon-Dumery could scarcely continue to think of it as the big dragon, under the circumstances-close behind.
The hatchling paid no attention to this bounty from the heavens; it was staring at Dumery.
Dumery stared back, then looked quickly up as the shadows deepened.
The big dragon, having delivered its cargo, was coming to rest, settling down into the nest. Dumery could see now that its scales were a rich emerald green on its back, legs, head, neck, and tail, while its chest and belly were golden yellow.
It was immense, easily larger than all the other dragons put together. The head alone was as large as a yearling’s body, the neck as long from jaw to collarbone as the blue dragon was from nose to tail. The talons on the fore claws were at least as big around as Dumery’s thighs, the claws themselves as big as his entire body.
Those talons looked as sharp as spear points, nonetheless.
There was also a look of age and maturity about this creature, a more hard-edged and finished look, rougher and more worn than any other dragon Dumery had ever seen; by comparison, even the biggest back at the farm appeared as soft and harmless as infants.
It struck Dumery that the fact that it was green rather than red-gold meant it wasn’t the one whose trail he had followed, and any scales it lost against trees would have been much higher up than the traces he had found. That hardly mattered, under the circumstances.
The yearlings looked up and began scampering-Dumery had never imagined ten-foot dragons could scamper, but there was no other word for it-out of the way of the descending behemoth, dragging the freshly-killed cattle with them.
The huge dragon landed lightly in the center of the bowl, touching down first with its foreclaws and then its hind ones, facing toward the blue dragon. The tail snaked down into a graceful coil. The gigantic wings stretched, shuddered, and then with a sudden snapping motion and a deafening slap, folded against the broad green-scaled back.
The wind from that action dislodged Dumery from his perch, and with a great crunching and rattling of dead branches and dry bones he tumbled down into the nest.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The hatchling hissed and thrashed its tail like an angry cat; the yearlings and the blue dragon, busy as they were with their feasting, paid no attention.
The gargantuan green dragon swung its head around to see what the commotion was about, and two huge golden, slit-pupilled eyes focused on Dumery.
Dumery scrambled back, snatching at his belt knife, but as the great head drew closer and closer he realized that even with a strong man’s arm behind it, let alone his own far weaker muscles, his pitiful little tool-even calling it a weapon was an exaggeration-wouldn’t so much as scratch this creature’s armored hide.
He’d wanted dragons, he thought bitterly-well, now he had plenty of dragons, in all sizes and colors, and they were about to be the death of him. He would be swallowed by the big one in a single gulp, or ripped into shreds and devoured by the yearlings, or gnawed on by the hatchling. He would never raise dragons, never have a farm of his own, never rub Thetheran’s nose in the dirt, never see his family again, never see Ethshar again, never grow up to be a man.