I shifted my shoulders, rolling them backwards as I followed behind Captain Nimmond, Gertha and the rest of Perek’s personal guard. The sun was at its highest, and I caught rays of it through the tree branches. The air smelled earthy with an undertone of woodland damp; it was oddly pleasant and reminded me of the many learning walks we undertook as children. I shifted my shoulders again; the new chest piece I’d taken from the armoury was stiffer than I was used to, thanks to the dull metal plates that had been woven inside the lining. It was imaginatively named a coat of plates. I wondered which bright ember had thought up that particular title. My arms and legs were also slightly more restricted than usual; I’d opted for splinted arms and legs. They were a good middle ground between extra protection and speed.

  Having fought this Lindwyrm before, I wanted to give myself as much of an advantage as possible for surviving its horrendous claws. My new armour would make it a little harder and slower to loose my bow, but my new leaf blade spear with its superior craftsmanship of King Perek’s own garrison would surely allow me to kill the blasted Lindwyrm. Provided I wasn’t turned into mincemeat.

  I’d have preferred the familiarity of a well-made sword at my side. It’s not a weapon for Wyrms, of course, but having your weapon of choice with you has a way of instilling an easy-going confidence in the heart.

  We’d left Avandun about forty minutes ago and were nearing the clearing where the blue flare had originated. We moved with purpose through the thick forest, which was too hazardous for horses, so we took our time to check where we placed our feet, or searched the upper branches of the trees, to ensure none of the treeborne species of Wyrms lingered. The last thing any of us needed was a tussle with a Springclaw or Hooktooth. They were two species considered The Mummer’s Own, but I’ll tell you more about them when I have a full glass of Orlish white. It calms the tempers, you see.

  In total, there were only twenty of us. We’d picked up a few extra guards as we made our way past the Dome’s barracks, and while each steel-clad man made for an impressive sight. I failed to see how less than half the number that had first fought this beast would do anything more than tickle it. It didn’t help that half of them still wore their wonderfully decorated swords at their hips as they shouldered their spears. They were starting to learn that a hip scabbard would catch on errant bushes, that’s why I always used to wear mine on a baldric, or carried it by the scabbard in my off hand. Peevan taught me that last one: you could draw your sword and keep the scabbard to distract them, or just throw it at their face, killing them in the moment of their flinching. He was a tricky bastard, Peevan, you’d have liked him.

  None of these swordbearers could hold a candle to my old master, or me for that matter. I hoped for our sake that there were some Zellish fighters left at the end of our search; the few I’d met were always good for a drink or game of cards, and though I wasn’t a fully blooded Zellunder, the fact that my mother was made me feel at home enough with them. Besides, the Zellish were fierce fighters, and we could do with some on our side, or I’d be decorating the insides of whatever passed for Lindwyrm’s privy. It was a far cry from the soft, warm bed I wanted to die in when I was one hundred.

  The treeline parted ahead of us, and we could make out the clearing fully. It was very flat with just a few rock boulders, the largest the size of a man, sticking out of the ground. What I saw was gutting, but hardly surprising.

  Remnants of two horse-drawn carts lay strewn across the grass; the wood had been raked and smashed by large claws, judging from the large gouges that bit into the material. Further back, the flutter of the cloth canopy that had once been attached to one of the carts caught my eye; the breeze was trying to pick it up, where it might dance free in the wind. Instead, it was weighed down by a headless corpse still clutching its spear.

  I immediately surveyed the surrounding area, checking the treeline for any semblance of movement or the silhouette of something Lindwyrm-shaped. While the clearing was open with good visibility, it wouldn’t be too hard for a Wyrm to shift its skin colour and blend into the darker environment of the thick trees. Nimmond and the others walked right into the middle of the clearing, sorting through the wreckage. Wood clattered as they kicked apart some crates that had spilt from one of the carts, and the noise was ear-splitting.

  I felt the spikes of fear stab me in my neck and spine as I began sweating. My heart sped up, and I was ready for a fight. The noise had startled me, but I couldn’t put my finger on the source of my unease.

  Cautiously, I walked nearer to the others, keeping close to Gertha, who, like me, was watching the treeline warily.

  “Hey Gertha, there’s a ton of gold and other metal coins here, may as well skim a couple off the top, a finder's fee, wouldn’t you say?” Captain Nimmond gestured jovially at their find. Now that I was closer, I could make out what they’d opened. It looked like enough for an entire String Guard wall team's yearly earnings. Gertha took a coin and held it up high against the sun; one side bore the scarred face of Zarhal, the current leader of Zellund. The other half of the coin was scorched, as was tradition for the Zellish. They were melodramatic people, living next to the still-smoking crater of a god's death will do that to you.

  “Good gold in these coins, but the Zellish money tastes the worst thanks to their insistence on scorching everything,” Gertha sighed, the gold coin already in her mouth clicking against her tooth as she spoke. I wondered if it was true that Fizzmouths had to keep a coin in there at all times to stave off headaches, or if it was a white lie to make them seem more otherworldly.

  “I suppose for you, it’s like overcooking a haunch,” Nimmond chuckled.

  “I don’t eat the coins, idiot,” she said, huffing.

  I squirmed as their conversation continued. Gertha had stopped watching the treeline now, and the other nineteen guards were searching the area in a square pattern. I kept one eye on the treeline but headed to the other cart remains.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  This one had been torn completely in half, as if something huge and muscular had barreled through it. I couldn’t see a sign of any other bodies apart from the headless one on the canvas. There weren’t any of the usual signs of them having been fed on. It was like they’d just got up and walked away.

  As I approached the remains, I headed through the middle of the two halves, checking the ground for any print impressions. I was rewarded for my diligence when I saw a near-perfect impression in some muddy ground, a barrel of Zellish ale had been cracked and wet the dry ground. The footprint was at least a meter long with three long front claws and a shorter rear one. There was a worryingly human amount of blood inside the print, along with some scraps of cloth and hair. This definitely belonged to a Lindwyrm, and it was incredibly likely that it was the one I had barely survived against. I spared a thought for the poor bastard that the Wyrm had crushed like an ant under a boot. I hoped they were in a better place now.

  I was about to call out to Captain Nimmond when I spotted a wooden chest about the size of a man's torso with a hinged lid lying just under the cart. There were track marks in the ground from where it had clearly been pushed under there by someone. Probably the unfortunate soul who had been stepped on. Perhaps they had been lying in position to hide this chest?

  Thinking it was worth a look before I was pushed out of the inevitable investigation. I rested my quiver, bow and spear against the ruined half of the cart, before lying on my front, trying not to think about the blood and viscera behind me, and crawled under the cart. I managed to get close to the chest, which was surprisingly light as I pulled it toward me. I started shimmying backwards until I could sit up against the cart.

  I flipped the lid of the chest, and its iron hinges opened with barely a sound. It was a far cry from my trunk in my room, which sounded like the mating call of a donkey. I was taken aback as hot air hit me in the face; it felt like a campfire that had been dying for a few hours but was still warm. The lining was purple velvet, with a rich red silk cloth covering a round object.

  I could hear the others calling out their lack of findings to each other as they spread out amongst the clearing. My curiosity was in full control of me, however, so I pulled back the cloth, dropping it when the object contained within was revealed. I didn’t know it at the time, but that’s when my life changed forever.

  It was the largest egg I had ever seen; it was jet black, blacker than any material or substance I’d encountered. About the size of a large gourd, it greedily devoured the light as it touched the shell, and I felt strange looking at it for too long. I was no Magi, but I could taste the magic coming off it, and it made my tongue tingle. The shell was smooth to the touch as if glass and rock had somehow fused. It was warm, not too hot to handle, but a pleasant warmth you’d draw to your side at night.

  I’m not sure what possessed me in that moment, but I cradled the bloody egg like it was a newborn child. The weight shifted, reminding me of a mostly full ale barrel. This egg was alive, fresh.

  There were only a few different types of creature an egg like this could belong to. I should know, I’ve fired arrows at enough of them, but I had never in all of my days seen one of their eggs before, not outside sketches. Occasionally, some madman with not enough to lose goes in search of a hoard, and you never hear from them again; you just wait the customary half year before their lodgings and possessions go up for bidding. I always wondered, though, if nobody ever returned, then where had the sketches come from?

  The warmth of the egg oddly soothed the unease I’d been feeling. One of the guards locked eyes with me, and I must have made a strange sight, cradling an egg about the size of my own chest. I stood up and approached the others, who had concluded their search now and clustered in the centre of the clearing

  “I found this under the cart!” I called out, holding the egg close to my chest as I walked before coming to a stop next to Gertha.

  “What in the Godbody’s arse is that?” Captain Nimmond asked, his eyebrows raised so far up his head I was surprised they didn’t push his plumed helmet off and onto the ground.

  “I think it’s an egg off of some kind of Wyrm or Dragon?” I ventured.

  “Could be a Drake?” One of the guards said.

  “No, Wyrm eggs are rough, Drake eggs are multicoloured, and Dragon eggs are much smaller. This belongs to something else,” Gertha said. She held her chin as she leaned in to look at the egg. I thought she might try to take it from me, but she didn’t try.

  “It’s warm to touch,” I added, enjoying the heat against my chest.

  “Well, what does it belong to then? There ain’t no bloody chickens laying something like that.” Scoffed Nimmond, he had his hand resting on the pommel of his sword as he wiped the sweat from his brow. Silly move that, the moisture would make the grip slippery.

  “I have no idea,” Gertha said, smiling broadly, the glint of the gold coin showing as she held it between her front teeth. I smirked as I imagined how Ulther would have yelped if he’d tried the same.

  “But I do love a puzzle,” she continued, before gesturing around the clearing, “such as, where are all the bodies? Did the Lindwyrm eat them all but leave just one headless body behind?” It was a good question, and one I’d been wondering myself.

  One of the guards suddenly sneezed, making me and some of the others nearly jump out of our skin.

  “Blessings,” I offered. He nodded gratefully, colouring in his cheeks; no doubt he was embarrassed at having disturbed the peace in the air. Then it dawned on me, and that familiar conflict anxiety started to rear its head.

  “The attack was recent…” I said.

  “Thank you, Tullen, your insight is stunning. I see why Perek sent you along. Nimmond shook his head.

  Gertha turned to me, her expression curious. “What is it, Tullen?

  “There aren’t any birds around, which means-”

  “That it’s still here!” Gertha cried.

  The egg squirmed and shook as a low rumbling growl emanated from the other side of the carts by the treeline. Say what you want about Lindwyrms, but they’re masters of dramatic timing, assholes.

  As Nimmond cried a command to draw weapons, and Gertha put two coins in her mouth, I just held the egg close and cursed the Mummer once again as I remembered my stupidity.

  I’d gone and left my weapons leaning against the cart.

  The one-eyed Lindwyrm burst forth out of the treeline, its skin rippling in the light as the colours shifted.

  The bastard had his eye locked on me.

  It wanted a rematch, and all I had at my back was an egg, eighteen of Perek’s guard and Gertha.

  I’d say I’d survived worse odds, but that's a lie even I couldn’t get away with.