he Hatching
A prequel to Dragon Magic
By Liesel K. Hill
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2017 by Liesel K. Hill
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Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
CopyRight
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Wenlyn
What's Next for Wenlyn?
Here's What You Can Do Next
Also by Liesel K. Hill
Connect with the Author
About the Author
Wenlyn
The tiniest shift against the blue sky caught Wenlyn's eye. Movement, so far away against the horizon, he couldn't quite make it out. "I see him," he whispered. Only the tiny, quaking leaves of the dragonberry tree heard him. Small as he was, Wenlyn could climb higher than the other children without his weight breaking the branches, and he had.
A gasp came from somewhere below him, nearer the ground. "The Fox," someone shouted. "The Fox is coming!" Children squealed and groaned. The tree quaked as they all slid out of it and ran back toward the village.
The problem with climbing highest was having farthest to go to escape. He slid down the trunk, small branches whipping him as he went, bitter dragonberries staining his tunic.
His feet thudded on the lumpy, root-filled ground below the tree. Before he could turn, something slammed into his back, between the shoulder blades, knocking him into his belly. The air whooshed from his lungs, and spots on his ribs felt instantly sore where they'd rammed into protruding roots.
"Out of the way, Ratboy!" Jemmy yelled, leaping off Wenlyns back and dashing toward the village. In record time, he'd disappeared.
Wenlyn stumbled to his feet, trying to follow. He moved too slowly. Something small, strong and sharp clipped onto his right earlobe. The Fox's fingernails.
"Well, well. What have we here?"
Wenlyn's heart sank, his chance at seeing an actual Harpy's Servant with the rest of the village evaporating. He turned to face his master.
The Fox's gray, wiry hair, though short, spiraled in wild directions. He had beady eyes, a crooked nose, and a pointed chin. Despite his features, something about his small stature combined with a constantly smug expression made him look every inch of his nickname.
"I believe I left you with Master Rycal, Boy," the Fox sneered. "What are you doing out here?"
Wenlyn bit back an acidic reply. Enough trouble already hung over his head. No matter how often he insisted his name had and always would be Wenlyn, the Fox preferred to call him Boy. Wenlyn wracked his brain for something to make his little forbidden journey outside the village walls seem less defiant.
"Master Rycal didn't have anything for me to do, so…"
"So you decided to break the village rules by leaving the outer pickets with a gaggle of insubordinate children and idle the day away under a dragonberry tree?"
Wenlyn suppressed a sigh, glancing heavenward again. The movement he'd seen earlier from the branches of the tree looked more pronounced now, and was farther from the horizon. The Servant would arrive in minutes. Wenlyn had been so close.
The Fox pinched his ear harder, to the point of pain, and used the tiny, pincer-like grip, to drag him back toward the village. Wenlyn fought to keep up so it would hurt less, but nothing he did made much difference.
They passed the outer pickets and Wenlyn found himself stumbling down the main avenue of the village, where every family stood or sat in front of their houses today, visiting across fences or watching the sky for the Servant's arrival. Of course the Fox wouldn't take him down back roads to avoid further embarrassment. The Fox had never been merciful.
They passed Jemmy, sitting with his parents and looking obsequiously up at his mother, acting like he'd been in the spot all morning. Jemmy sniggered behind his hand when he saw Wenlyn.
Wenlyn didn't doubt the Fox would have taken him through the town Square, had it been possible, but too much activity already took place there. Before they reached it, the Fox veered right, onto side streets.
Wenlyn caught a glimpse before the Square disappeared behind wooden buildings. Most of the Elders had already arrived, and villagers now poured in like water. Obviously Wenlyn hadn't been the only one to spot movement on the horizon.
A combination of anger and numbness settled on Wenlyn. He should have known better. Truly he should. The situation tasted like vinegar all the same.
Eventually they reached the dungeon where Wenlyn spent most of his time, otherwise known as the scullery. A padlock hung on the heavy front door. The Fox produced a key from his robes. Once inside, he shoved Wenlyn hard against the wall in the main entryway. "I'll deal with you later, Boy. I must be in the Square now. Rest assured, we will have words later. Once the feasting begins tonight, there will be plenty to keep you busy. All of you."
Wenlyn's eyes hadn't yet adjusted to the dimness, but he felt the scullery maids skulking in the shadows, so close, their soft breathing reached his ears.
The Fox stormed out, slamming the door behind him. The jingle of the padlock being reattached followed. With a sigh, Wenlyn slid to the floor, fighting tears. Now the commotion had ended, the dozen scullery maids melted back into other parts of the dungeon. The musty smell of rot permeated every corner. The small, filthy windows sat high in the walls, near the ceiling, and let in little of the warm afternoon sun.
The Fox always locked the orphans in the scullery when he his Elder duties called. Wenlyn felt every inch the slave he was.
A pair of feet padded softly toward him from down the hall. He didn't need to look up to know who they belonged to. Most of the scullery maids didn't like Wenlyn. They whispered behind their hands when he passed, like all the others. Canya proved friendlier, but only when the two of them were alone. If Wenlyn stood too close to her, or others loomed nearby, she clammed up and moved away. When the two of them worked late together, scrubbing posts, she sometimes talked and laughed with him. Despite her hot and cold moods, she was Wenlyn's only friend.
She fell into a squat in front of him, looking both ways to make sure no one listened. "Didn't I tell you you'd get caught?" she whispered.
Wenlyn didn't answer.
"Why'd you sneak out anyway? You know we have a way."
Wenlyn shrugged.
She gave him a scathing look in the dimness. "If you keep defying the Fox because you can, he'll sell you. Then who will come exploring with me?"
&n
bsp; Wenlyn didn't answer. He didn't know why he took such pleasure in angering the Fox. He ought to accept his station and be done with it. He couldn't.
"He's coming, Canya," Wenlyn whispered. "I saw his movements in the sky against the horizon."
"Then we must hurry."
She straightened her legs and walked down the dank corridor. Wenlyn hopped to his feet and followed. Darkness cloaked their route, but they knew it by heart.
They often took indirect paths, through the twisting, winding corridors to make sure no one would follow or know where they went. Today, Canya took the most direct route, down past where all the orphans slept, past the Fox's rooms, into the bowels of the scullery.
Canya paused when they arrived, listening for any sound of being followed. Wenlyn, too, strained his ears. Only silence met them. Giving a satisfied nod in the darkness, Canya put her hand into a hidden crevice and extracted the key the Fox didn't know they knew about. Unlocking the door, she led the way through the forbidden room where the Fox always took his lady friends when they arrived late at night.
Stepping into the huge stone fireplace, they fell onto all fours to crawl through a cobweb-ridden passage, then into the slimy, underground canal that connected to the fountain on Elder Nymon's estate.
When they reached its end, Wenlyn climbed out of the fountain after Canya, trying not to imagine what the Fox would do if he caught them. After two such drastic offenses in one day, he probably would sell Wenlyn. Wenlyn didn't care. He