Chapter Text
The roads were getting busier.
People on horseback, people leading livestock, people just walking along… They met more and more of them as the days passed, and it made having to drag a massive dragon in an even bigger cage somewhat difficult.
Siegfried had them all riding close to the wagon, each and every one of them bristling with weapons to scare off any potential robbers or thieves. Hob had even shot at someone. He still didn’t understand how the idiot could have thought that threatening a group of dragoncatchers with no more than three men to back him up was a good idea, but the fool had paid for it with a bolt to the shoulder.
Siegfried had congratulated him on his good shot once the would-be-dragonthieves had beaten a hasty retreat, and Hob had taken it without admitting that he had been aiming for the chest. He could do with some buttering up to the leader of the gang.
The shot had endeared him to the group as a whole, as if it was some rite of passage he’d unwittingly managed to fulfil. He’d been made to feel welcome before, but now he seemed to truly be part of the group. He didn’t really know what to make of it.
Being accepted by people he looked up to was a heady feeling, but he was starting to have serious doubts about his own suitability for the work, and that did put a bit of a damper on things.
The whole event was celebrated by breaking in the second barrel of cider, which erased Hob’s doubts and feelings quite efficiently once he’d finished his third cup.
The next day found him riding alongside the cage once again, nursing a hangover with as much good grace as he could manage. Dream seemed to be feeling just as badly, staring listlessly into the distance, eyes half lidded.
“I can almost smell the city already!” Siegfried said from his place on the other side of the cage. “Filth and beer and women. Can’t wait to get there. And to finally get paid for that.” Hob didn’t need to look to see what he was pointing at. None of the catchers made it a secret that they couldn’t wait to get rid of their prey.
“It’s going to be magnificent to finally get so see it die.” Margaret answered. Her arm still hung in a sling uselessly, the crushed bones unwilling to grow back into anything resembling a functioning limb, and she couldn’t hide the bitterness in her voice.
“Gods, I hope the priest will need a good few cuts to get to the jugular. Dragon skin’s tough, and it’s been nearly twenty years since the last sacrifice, who knows how blunt that knife has become over time. I’m counting on at least one stroke for every life it took. Serves it right for all the grief it caused us.”
Hob held his tongue as the others chimed in as well, citing all the places they were going to visit after the ceremony, when the whole city would have seen them in the place of honour reserved for those who caught the sacrifice that would bless the new king’s reign, right beside the priest.
“Hmmm…” Siegfried said when Piers and Rostam had decided to rent an entire brothel for the night. “Never mind the partying. I just wish we could have a taste of it. Do you guys think we might get some of the scraps when the guests are done? How much can a couple of hundred nobles eat anyway? There’s got to be leftovers, they can’t eat an entire dragon in one sitting.” He groaned and smacked his lips. “Gods Hob, have you ever eaten dragonmeat? It’s fantastic. Wouldn’t believe there’s such succulent flesh hidden underneath those scales.”
Hob didn’t answer, but the conversation moved on regardless. He was grateful for Grunts’ talk about her plans, because he himself could barely think beyond the constant repetition of ‘fuck no, gods no’ that went on in his head. Because he hadn’t been looking at the road or the countryside or even his colleagues whilst Siegfried had been speaking.
No, he’d been looking at Dream, and cursed himself for spending so much time with him. Because he could recognize expressions on that scaled head now. He could see the tension in the coiled muscles as the final gruesome end the dragon was headed for was discussed and described. He could see the utter defeat and despair that took over once the knowledge sank in, and he felt sick.
He’d thought the dragon either very brave or simply resigned to his fate. Not all animals fought when the butcher tied their legs or set the knife to their throats, and he’d assumed Dream was of those. One of the creatures that took death in stride and met it unflinching.
He’d been wrong.
Dream hadn’t known.
He hadn’t known why he was being dragged around, and now he did and Hob wanted to curse himself and the king and every dragoncatcher in the world for putting either of them here. Dream hadn’t known and Hob had been a fool.
Of course the dragon wouldn’t have spoken with him like that if he’d known. Who would want to talk with a man that was going to watch them being killed and butchered like a pig? Dream had thought him nothing more than a gaoler. A very bad man perhaps, but nothing more than that.
“I need to piss.” He muttered, tugging at the reins to make his horse stop and wheel around. “Back in a moment.”
He rode far enough back to be out of hearing, dismounted, stumbled to the side of the road, and threw up his breakfast and the last of the cider that had been in his stomach, spattering all over his boots.
He’d imagined replacing the old leather he was wearing now with dragonskin.
It was something he’d imagined, the beauty of polished scales catching the sun, the way people’s eyes would be drawn to them... Margaret had claimed that it would be a good investment to claim his share of their next dragon in the form of skin to get himself a pair of boots that would last a lifetime.
His stomach heaved again as he imagined taking a piece of the creature he was quickly starting to regard as a friend to a tannery. Imagined the rainbow shine of his scales fouled by the dust of the road or the filth of a city street, the last of Dream to remain in the world after the edible parts of him had ended up where food would always find itself after being eaten; in chamber pots and privies.
It was then and there that he decided he was not cut out for the job.
He’d always thought there was nothing in the world worse to do for a lifetime than farming, and if he could meet the Hob from just over two weeks ago he’d laugh in his face. How wrong he’d been. How foolish and unaware of the easy life he’d had. Sure, there was hunger, and boredom, and people with fewer wits than the back end of a cow, but still…
His turnips and broad beans had never talked to him about the beauty of clouds in the light of the setting sun, or asked him for details from the legends of saint Sadirin and his donkey. They didn’t look at him with gigantic eyes as deep as a star-filled sky when the time to harvest them came around either.
He wiped his shoes as clean as he could get them in the dead grass at the side of the road, wiped his mouth, and clambered back into the saddle.
Grunts looked at him with a raised eyebrow when he finally joined the rest of them again, but he just shrugged. He wasn’t in the mood for teasing right now, and thankfully she got the hint, striking up conversation with Piers and Tristan instead.
Their evening meal consisted mainly of turnips and cereals once again, and even the spices they had available were unable to make eating the same thing over and over again any more pleasant. The complaints about their rations had started several days before, and even Hob was starting to find the food boring, even though he would never actually complain. No one who’d survived famines would complain about the food that filled their stomach, no matter how much the texture of mashed turnips made him wish for something crispy.
He claimed to be tired pretty soon after scraping his bowl and utensils clean, shuffling off to get a few hours of sleep before having to stand guard again. The hum of people talking mixed with the endless whistling of crickets, sounds that should be comforting and familiar but now just made him feel antsy.
He had to have nodded off at some point, because the next thing he knew was Enki kicking him awake in the blueish darkness of a clear summer night. “It’s been quiet again.” the other man whispered, already shaking out his own blankets. “Good luck anyway.”
Hob groaned and rubbed his eyes. What was he supposed to do? Ignore Dream altogether? Talk with him as if nothing had changed? He couldn’t just walk around the cage and not say anything, could he?
Enki gave him another push for good measure, and he forced himself to get up, feeling around for the weapons he’d been told to keep within arm’s reach at all times. He had never before had such a loyal set of bedmates as he had found now in the form of a crossbow and sword. Not really what his father had meant when the old man had told him to find himself a partner, but the bastard wasn’t around to complain.
He managed to put off coming close to the cage for most of the first hour or so of his shift. He checked up on the horses, counting them as if he couldn’t see they were all there, before re-counting and re-re-counting. Then he checked the wagon, and started on a very, very slow and wide circle around the campsite.
He was just starting to believe he had managed to get all the way around the cage without Dream waking up to make his life even more difficult when a quiet voice cut through the silence.
“Hob?”
He froze, wishing he could just walk on and pretend he didn’t hear. But that would be harsher and more cruel than Hob had the guts to be.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“Good. You were so quiet and so far away that I was not certain.”
Hob didn’t know what to say. ‘Sorry, but I don’t want to talk to you now that you know you’re going to be murdered?’ Just ignore what he’d seen and heard that afternoon and pretend it didn’t happen? Neither of those options seemed right, so he just said nothing at all.
Dream seemed to be equally unsure, remaining silent for a long while before letting out a sigh.
“I did not understand why they did not kill me once they had me at their mercy.” His voice was low and quiet, and so, so sad. “Now I do. Perhaps I would rather not have known.”
Hob winced, the stupidity of his earlier assumptions about Dream’s attitude to his oncoming death proven all the more clearly with those words.
He wondered how he himself would feel in a situation like that. Would it be better to be kept in the dark, not knowing what was going to happen until the knife came down? Or would he prefer to know, to be able to make his peace with the world before being taken in up Death’s cold arms?
He was startled out of his thoughts when Dream spoke again.
“Hob? Would you do something for me? A final kindness after the ones you have already offered me?”
“Of course. Whatever is in my power to do.”
There wasn’t all that much he could do, no matter how much he was starting to think he wasn’t going to be able to live with himself after letting this creature, this being he would like to call his friend, be killed for the good of a king who already had everything he could possibly wish for.
“Could you perhaps remove a few of my scales? There should be loose ones all over after so long without proper grooming.”
“Ehrm… Sure? Why though?”
Hob sure wouldn’t want to keep a physical reminder of his betrayal around, no matter how beautiful those scales were. Just some weeks ago he would gladly have given half his possessions to get his hands on a real dragonscale. Now he just felt ill at the thought.
“Would you burn them? When it’s all done? Even if my skin is to be worn by my killers and my flesh to be consumed, at least a tiny part of me would be cremated like all of my kind should be.”
Hob found he had too much difficulty swallowing, so he just nodded. Dream could see him well enough after all, he didn’t need a vocal confirmation.
He stepped forward, closer to where the dragon’s body lay pressed against the bars, and carefully laid his hand on his flank.
The scales were surprisingly warm.
He’d half-and-half expected Dream to be cool to the touch, like the small lizards he used to catch as a boy when they hadn’t yet had time to warm themselves in the morning sun. He’d been better at getting them before they fled back between the cracks of the drystone walls than most kids in the village, and had held the tiny creatures in his hands often enough.
Dream was nothing like them.
The scales he traced with his fingertips were as large as the palm of his hand, smooth and at least as warm as he himself was.
He had to find the loose ones by touch alone, as the moonlight did little to make the deep black of Dream’s body more visible. His hand slipped along seemingly endless lines of smooth ovals, dislodging dirt and dried blood every now and then when it came into his path. He eventually found what he was searching for near the base of a wing, a patch of ragged edges he could push his fingers underneath.
“I have them.” he said when several scales came away with a light tug. They fitted together almost perfectly when he stacked them, like a set of very well-made plates. “I will carry them with me as long as I have to until I can make a fire to mourn you in private.” He wondered if Dream had family or friends who’d have to mourn without even a few scales to burn. Other dragons who’d watch the sky for a black dot approaching them, never to see it again.
He rested his hand on Dream’s flank for a moment longer, feeling the faint shivering that washed through the dragon’s body at his words, before letting go and walking back into his field of vision.
“Could you promise me one thing in return?”
“Provided you do not ask me for a boon I cannot offer in these circumstances.”
A faint smile tugged at the corners of Hob’s lips, and he curled his fingers around the edges of the scales in his hand. The warmth that had been in them was already leaking away, absorbed by the cool night air and his own body. He wanted nothing more than to wish his friend away from here, away from the cage and his looming fate, but he doubted even something as powerful as a dragon could fulfil a wish like that.
“Just… try to hold on to hope just a little longer. I’m trying to think of some way to get you out. I just need some time.”
He could feel Dream’s eyes on him, could feel the despair that rolled off the dragon in waves, even if his voice was steady when he answered.
“Very well Hob Gadling. As long as you keep your end of our bargain, I will continue to hope for a chance to stretch my wings again. Even if it is for one last time.”
Hob didn’t wake with a fully fledged plan the next morning. Nor did one jump out from the waypost they passed in the early afternoon. He couldn’t read what was written on the boards, but he remembered this bit of the road well enough. There was a village up ahead, a proper one, complete with a tavern, an inn, and several craftsmen.
The rest of the group cheered when he said as much, eager for a chance to eat something that wasn’t oats and turnips boiled in muddy water.
“We’re not staying for more than two hours.” Siegfried said even as the others spurred on their horses. “And we’ll ride for a while longer tonight. The coronation isn’t going to be delayed just because you lot think with your stomachs.”
The village was just as Hob remembered it, if a bit dustier than it had been back then.
The tavern still had the same cracked board with a crudely painted goat standing on a barrel hanging over the door, and the inside was still a gloomy, smoke-filled cavern of a room.
There was good bread to be bought though, and stew with meat and beans and leafy greens. Hob was even one of the lucky drawers of the long straws, one of the first group to go in for a meal and a beer, so the bowl he received didn’t have even the slightest scrape of burned cabbage from the bottom of the pot. He pitied Piers and Enki and Inanna, who drew the shortest straws and were going to have to go in last, not to mention all the other travellers who’d be trudging into the village over the next few hours, hoping for a meal to keep them going.
“So…” he said once he’d licked both his bowl and his spoon clean, loud enough to be heard over the distant banging of a wheelwright fitting an iron rim to some project. “What are our chances of actually getting to the coronation in time? We’re doing alright, aren’t we?”
He wouldn’t mind a bit of a delay, it would give him some more time to think up an escape, but he was fairly sure they were going to make it with time to spare. They hadn’t hit any major problems, and it was difficult to get lost when the road was one endless line of shitty pavement all the way up to their destination.
“If we keep up the good speed we’ve had up until now.” Siegfried mumbled through a mouthful of bread. “But the roads are only going to get busier, so we’re bound to run into some problems. It’d fit with the rest of this shitty hunt if we managed to get stuck on the side of the road because we have to pass someone going in the other direction just before crossing the finishing line.”
“I think most people will get the hell out of our way once they see what they’re up against. Even the most stubborn donkey or ox in the world should be smart enough not to try walking over both a team of horses and a dragon in one go.” Hob said, even though ideas were popping up in the back of his mind.
Perhaps he could make the horses spook, or convince Siegfried to let him take the reins for once. It’d certainly be easier to achieve than the wild thoughts of sabotaging the bridges they were going to have to cross before reaching the end of their journey he’d come up with before. Those would need far more in both time and tools than he had available.
“Let’s just hope so.” Siegfried muttered darkly, throwing back the last of his ale before getting up. “Come on, time to send the next lot in. The sooner everyone is fed, the sooner we can get back on the road.”
A good meal did a lot to lift the spirits of weary travellers, as did the promise of a great big heap of gold in the near future. The sun seemed a bit less harsh as it beat down on their heads, their saddles felt ever so slightly softer, and Piers even remarked on the beauty of the flowers that bloomed at the edge of the stream they crossed late in the afternoon.
Hob, who had been keeping an eye on the road behind them, gave them a cursory look as he crossed the bridge and rode on before realizing what he’d seen.
He’d never before heard that particular plant be described as ‘beautiful’.
It was one of the very first plants children in his village were taught to recognize, along with stinging nettles and yew trees, and not because the clusters of tiny white flowers topping the tall spotted stems looked attractive against the backdrop of finely shaped, bright green leaves.
A new plan started to form even as he turned his eyes back to the road. A plan that might actually work, if the fates were kind to him. It was the best one he’d had up until now anyway, and his time was running out quickly.
Nobody complained about their march going on until the stars were out and the very last remnants of daylight had left the sky. Siegfried only made them stop when the road could no longer be seen at all, finally telling them to set up camp when the horses started to stumble.
They didn’t bother cooking a meal, not when nobody felt like peeling turnips or crushing grain, and just sat around a tiny fire, a pot of tea bubbling away above it. Hob had taken out the little figurine he’d been whittling away at for days. The horse was actually starting to look like something that could be called a horse, or perhaps a donkey.
It didn’t really matter to him either way. The work simply gave his hands something to do as he listened to the stories and memories that were being shared and thought about his plan. The fact that splinters and shavings of wood littered the ground was an added bonus.
Could he do it? Really do it? Could he do one evil to stop another being done? Could he harm the people who’d been nothing but welcoming to him, just because they were cruel to a creature as far removed from human as it could possibly be?
He claimed sleeplessness when the rest of the group went to find their blankets one by one, until only he and the guard on duty were left awake.
Nerves were singing in his blood, just the thought of actually taking the first step of his plan sending tingles of fear along his limbs. He didn’t want to imagine what the others would do to him if his plan failed or if he was caught. Just seeing how they treated Dream made him think it’d be probably be wiser to try to fight his way out than to admit his treason and sabotage.
“You ‘wanna go to bed?” he said when Margaret walked by again, yawning loudly enough to startle the nearest horse. “I can take the rest of your shift, can’t sleep anyway.”
“Oh yes please. You’re a godsend Hobsie, you really are. Remind me to buy you something pretty when we get our pay yeah? You could do with a bit of a polish.”
Hob huffed a laugh and wished her a good night, exchanging his wooden horse for the crossbow that had lain at his feet up until then.
Margaret was already snoring by the time he’d made his way to his own pack to safely tuck away the figurine, wrapping it into his spare clothes again. It felt silly to worry about breaking off its legs or tail, such a small and pointless thing to care about, but still… He’d rather keep it whole. Some child somewhere out there might be very happy to be given a toy by a total stranger, a little kindness in a harsh world. Even if it looked a bit like some particularly unfortunate result of an attempt to breed a mule.
He held on to the whittling knife though, sticking it in the leather bag he wore at his belt.
It was going to be needed during the night after all.
He walked just two circles around the camp to make sure that everyone really was asleep before setting his crossbow on the dusty ground next to Dream’s cage.
“Hello friend.” he said at a whisper, slightly worried when the dragon didn’t greet him as he walked up.
“Hob?” The darkness inside the cage shifted as Dream uncurled to look at him. “It was someone else before. The woman called Margaret.”
“Yeah, I took the rest of her shift so I have a bit more time with you.”
“Oh. That is a pleasant surprise. She likes to cause pain when she is the one who has to walk the nightly watch.”
Just that short sentence was enough to make Hob let go of a lot of the doubt and guilt his plan was causing him.
He’d seen Margaret at work during the day, when she was riding with the cage and had his friend at her mercy. He could easily imagine the sort of things she did to make Dream curl up into as small a ball as such a large creature could when she was free to take her time and didn’t have to focus on not falling off the wagon.
“If everything goes right, she won’t get another night shift to torment you.”
He certainly hoped things would go right, for both their sakes.
A soft sound, neither a growl nor a sigh but something somewhere in between the two came from the cage, a noise Hob suspected was uniquely draconic. He himself certainly couldn’t sound like gravel had suddenly decided to flutter up in a breeze, and that was the closest description he could give.
It fit with the voice that followed the odd sound, deep like the darkness between the stars.
“You have decided upon a plan, Hob Gadling? You would truly attempt to free me?”
“I gave you my word, didn’t I? Fat lot of good doing that would be if people just went about conveniently ‘forgetting’ about their promises when things got risky.”
A soft hum was his only answer for a moment, before the dragon spoke again.
“It seems I owe you an apology then. I must admit I did not truly believe you would follow through on your promise.” Dream did not actually sound remorseful at all, but Hob wouldn’t hold it against him. He wouldn’t have believed himself either. “I have always heard humans are quick to break their oaths when it suits them.”
Hob shrugged, carefully fishing around for his whittling knife as he did.
He doubted there had been any agreements or promises between humans and dragons for at least a century, except perhaps of the ‘I swear I’ll kill you and dance on your corpse’ variety.
“Depends on the human. Much like I suspect it depends on the dragon. I, for one, intend to try my best. Could you keep an eye and an ear out for any of the others waking? I wouldn’t want to be caught sabotaging this whole thing. Not with how much money they are expecting to get.”
“I will tap at the bars if they leave the realm of dreams. But I doubt they will.”
“Still… Better safe than sorry. And I need a moment to get out from under here if someone does wake up and realizes I’m not actually walking my rounds.”
Hob wormed his way underneath the wagon even as he spoke, knife in hand.
The thing was well-made, he knew that much, but he also knew nobody in the group ever checked it for damage. Not in all the days he’d been with the catchers. They simply trusted the sturdy wood of the wheels and axles to bear the weight despite the bumps and holes in the road.
But even the sturdiest wood would give way to sharpened steel, and Hob was both determined and motivated. He felt along the spokes of the wheel, searching for weak spots. A knot in the wood was enough for him to decide on a spoke, and set to work.
He spent most of the morning waiting and praying for the sound of breaking wood.
He rode pretty close to the cart, scowling at the people passing them by with a hand on his crossbow. He’d never had a face for scowling, but the nerves he felt made it easier to look ‘mean and nasty’, as Siegfried liked to say.
Every step took him further from the white flowers that had sparked his plan. He’d have to think of something else if his act of sabotage didn’t work sometime soon. They’d be too far from the village for the rest of his plan to be possible.
His prayers were answered when they crossed another bridge, this one obviously well-used. Deep ruts had been worn into the stone, and the horses struggled to get the wagon over the bump where road met bridge.
“Come on ya beasts.” Piers yelled as he cracked his whip over the hindquarters of the straining animals. It was enough to get them moving again with a big lurch, fear of the whip giving the horses that last bit of incentive needed to pull just a little harder.
The wagon groaned like a falling tree as it was dragged along, first up the arch of the old bridge, then down again. Now the horses were pushed forwards by the wagon itself, as the weight of both vehicle and dragon pushed into the breeching of their harnesses.
Another bump was on the other side, the paving of the road cracked and broken so badly that it had all but disappeared after years and years of heavy wagons going to and from the capital. Hob waited with bated breath, watching the wagon roll down and across the bump.
The loud clang of wheels hitting the road again covered the sound of splintering wood, and both were all but drowned out by the screams of pain Dream failed to contain when the cage he was in suddenly toppled sideways.
The horses spooked, but couldn’t do more than pull uselessly on a wagon that suddenly lost its function. Piers cursed, pulling at the reins in an attempt to keep them in place as the others jumped off their own mounts and rushed to the draft horses to calm them before they broke the traces that connected them to the wagon.
Hob ran along with them, even though he didn’t have a clue what he was supposed to do to keep an animal at least ten times his own weight from running off. At least it meant the others wouldn’t see the triumphant look on his face as curses rang through the air all around him.
The horses calmed down fairly quickly once Dream had silenced again, sweat streaming down their flanks. Siegfried was another matter entirely.
The man was all but foaming at the mouth once he had inspected the damage, cursing as he kicked at the chunks of wood that had been a spoke and a good portion of the rim up until a few moments ago.
Hob waited for a bit, allowing his employer to get the worst of the anger out before speaking up.
“There’s a wheelwright in the village we passed.” he said, trying to keep his voice from trembling. “Perhaps they could help? It’s just a few hours on horseback. I could go and be back before the sun even has a chance to set.”
He thought he could almost hear Siegfried’s teeth cracking with how tightly he clenched his jaw, but Margaret spoke up in his stead.
“I think that’s our best shot Siegfried. We could get the dragon tied up and out of the cage in the time it takes Hob to get back, get the wagon propped up so that damn wheelwright can work. We don’t have the tools or the material to fix this ourselves, even if we had the skill.”
Siegfried was silent for a short moment longer, before taking a deep breath and nodding.
“We’re sitting ducks like this. You ride like the fucking wind Hob, and get that man out here. At swordpoint if you have to. Promise him anything, just get him and whatever he need here.”
“You won’t even have enough time to miss me.” Hob promised, barely able to cover his grin with a suitably grim look. It wouldn’t do to look happy, not when the rest of them looked like they wanted to murder someone, preferably the person who’d built the wagon or whoever was responsible for maintaining the roads.
The others were already gathering lengths of rope and chain from the cart of supplies by the time he managed to catch his horse and walked over to grab his pack.
He doubted he wanted to know what they were going to do with it all, not when they dragged everything towards the cage where Dream was awkwardly pressed against the bars that had suddenly become a side instead of the bottom, the wheels and axles barring much of his view.
Hob just hoped the crash hadn’t hurt the dragon too badly and that they weren’t going to make things worse.
It would be just his luck to risk everything and even consider murder only to find out he’d made Dream break a wing or something and render the whole rescue attempt pointless.
He looked back just once as he crossed the bridge before digging his heels into his horse’s sides, suddenly grateful for all the hours he’d spent riding these last few weeks. There was hardly any need to hold onto here mane as she trotted off, his body used to her rhythm after so much time in the saddle.
He rode as fast as he could and dared, shouting at people blocking the road when they didn’t move out of his way quickly enough. The sword and crossbow he carried made them swallow the curses he could hear them starting as he passed, his horse’s hooves clattering on the paving and leaving the other travellers in a cloud of dust.
She was panting and dripping with sweat by the time they reached the bridge that had sparked his entire plan in the first place.
He pulled on her reins to stop their mad dash, jumped down, and quickly hobbled her before leaving her in the grass to eat for a short while. He’d lead her down to the water later, once she’d caught her breath for a bit. There were plants to pick first, plants he didn’t want her anywhere close to.
The clusters of white flowers were still there, surrounded by lush green leaves in all their lace-like beauty, carried on stems as tall as he was.
He checked for the tell-tale purple stripes and spots, just to make sure he was indeed right about his idea about what it was, almost slipping and falling as he did.
There had probably never been anyone as happy as he was to find some flecks of colour spread along the stem of a plant like freckles, confirming his initial thought.
This was going to be Dream’s way out.
Just a good handful of leaves, easily hidden among other, more edible plants, and he’d have the time to figure out how to open that blasted cage without the others stopping him.
He opened his pack, dug out the clean linen shirt he’d packed such a long time ago, and carefully started picking. He didn’t take much, but even those few leaves felt like a leaden weight when he rolled them into the shirt and placed it back into his pack. The weight of his consciousness perhaps, dragging him down to hell.
He could still back out of course. Just ride to the village, find the wheelwright, get them to fix the wagon and stop his plan entirely. He’d be a rich man then, a man with friends and a life he’d dreamt of.
But was that a life worth living if he had to watch Dream die? If he had to watch and cheer as that magnificent creature with scales like midnight and the mind of an artist was slaughtered? If he had to pretend to enjoy eating his flesh?
That though made him grit his teeth and scramble back up the riverbank, finding his horse pretty much where he left her.
She kept eating when he untied her hobbles, but was quick to follow him when he started leading her towards the water.
The hemlock he’d been picking grew thickly, so it took some searching to find a spot where he could safely get her down the bank to drink without risking her taking a bite. She’d be dead before he got back to the rest of the catchers if she gobbled it up like she did the dry grass beside the road, and he couldn’t afford to lose her.
It wasn’t too long after he climbed back into the saddle that the village came into sight.
It was just as dusty and sleepy as it had been the last time, but Hob saw exactly what he had been hoping to see.
People selling food.
The leaves in his pack were joined by carrots, turnips, a large cabbage, sage, rosemary, thyme, and half a lamb.
That last one was going to make a mess, but was also going to ensure his plan was going to work so he accepted the loss of some of his stuff. Nobody was going to refuse a meal that consisted as much of meat as it did of vegetables. Not after all the boring mash he and the other catchers had had over the last few weeks.
He rode right up to the building where piles of wood and half-finished projects made it clear that it was the workshop he needed, and dismounted just as the wheelwright in question stepped out to see what the commotion was about.
Some quick negotiation was done, the promise of an awful lot of money enough to make the wheelwright forget about the orders he had been working on before Hob popped up in his yard.
He asked a whole bunch of questions about the damage to the wagon that Hob tried to answer as well as he could without saying he’d spent hours cutting away most of the wood that had now broken apart. The man hummed and nodded, ordering his apprentice around, gathering bits of wood and tools and a horse to carry it all.
The beast plodded along at a sedate pace, and Hob had to force himself to match its pace. He kept reminding himself that the others weren’t going to kill Dream while he was gone, not as long as the dragon’s continued existence would earn them a royal reward.
But what if he tries to escape? a tiny voice spoke up in the back of his mind. What if he thinks this is the whole plan? What if he thinks I made a run for it?
They’d rather kill Dream and sell his remains in the city as already-butchered meat and skin than let him escape. Hell, they’d probably prefer to watch his corpse rot away on the side of the road than allow him his freedom after all the people he killed during his capture.
He managed to keep himself from urging the wheelwright on, and the slow pace meant it was nearing evening by the time they crossed the bridge that had made the execution of his plan possible.
“There it is.” he said, waving at the toppled wagon as if the man could possibly miss it despite being the only break in an otherwise rather boring landscape.
The thing was open and empty now, and a flash of fear shot through Hob’s chest at the sight.
A small mountain of black scales lay behind it, and Hob now knew what the chains and ropes had been for.
Dream had been trussed up like a chicken to be roasted over an open fire, head, legs and wings all tied so tightly against his body that Hob could feel his own muscles screaming in sympathy. The way his long, sinuous neck had been pulled back until it lay flat against his back didn’t look like it was a position he could be in for long without sustaining serious damage. Hob would have thought it impossible for the dragon to breathe like that if it wasn’t for the fact that he could see Dream’s flank moving.
“We’re here!” he shouted once they were within hearing range, startling his horse with how loud he was.
The worry he’d felt for Dream was quickly replaced by worry about his plan. He dismounted next to Siegfried, introducing the wheelwright to his employer with a few quick words before leading his horse off the the rest of the herd. She deserved some rest and a good brushing down, and Piers was more than happy to do that when Hob told him what he had bought back in the village.
“Oooooh you wonderful man! Don’t you worry, I’ll have her shining like a mirror by the time you’re done with that lamb.”
Hob forced a laugh, clapped the other man on the shoulder, and went about starting a fire with what little they had to burn.
Even cutting vegetables felt odd when they were part of a plan that could very well kill a bunch of people.
The meat was already bubbling away in the pot, boiling down into a nice broth to turn into a stew. He’d thrown in a bit too much salt and a handful of the spices that were in their shared stores to hide the bitterness of the hemlock, and the smell wafting up from the meal was quite pleasant despite the toxins he knew to be in there.
He stirred it all once again, watching the wheelwright work from the corner of his eye.
Part of him had been waiting for raised voices and angry words, worried that the man would recognize the damage for the sabotage it was and tell Siegfried.
Nothing like it happened though, and his boss was quite happy to come over when Hob called them all together for supper.
“I knew you weren’t just a pretty face.” he said when Hob ladled a good helping into a bowl for him. “No more night-watches for you this trip. And I’m buying you a beer as soon as we’ve delivered our cargo.”
Hob just grinned, told Siegfried he’d hold him to that promise, and accepted the next bowl to fill.
It was difficult to pretend to eat when he was the centre of attention, but Piers gave him an excuse when the man boasted about how well his overworked horse had been groomed. “I’ll have to check that for myself.” Hob said, handing over his own meal without actually having had a taste. “Here, keep this warm for me.”
He forced his body to move, flipping Margaret the bird when she said he walked like a whore after a busy night. Even that hurt, his fingers cramped after holding on to the reins for so long.
Being slow meant he could stay away even longer though, and he took his time checking his horse over, loudly calling out every speck of dust and tangled lock of hair he could find, even going so far as to check her fetlocks for dirt and pretending to fall over. The hemlock needed a short while to start working, at least half an hour, so every second he could drag out having to resume his pretend-eating meant he was one second closer to being the only man standing.
“Gonna go take a dump now that I’m up anyway!” he called over his shoulder, walking off into the fields. It would buy him a bit more time, as nobody was ever going to check up on a bloke squatting down. There was little to no privacy in a group like theirs, but that was one thing they all preferred to do alone.
The chatting that had been going on when he left had died down by the time he returned. The others had finished their meals, the pot scraped clean and standing beside the fire, with Hob’s own bowl standing next to it to stay warm.
He grabbed it and sat down again, watching with morbid fascination as his fellows started nodding off, only to realize something was wrong.
“What’s going on…?” Inanna mumbled, barely able to keep her eyes open. The cup she had been drinking from clattered to the floor.
Margaret, who tended to walk on pure willpower alone, managed to get up, but didn’t get further than a few steps before she sank down again, flopping down to the paving like a wet rag.
“Fuck this shit.” she said, panting to get enough air to speak. “Hob? What’d you do?”
Hob looked from her to the others, some looking back at him, some already too far gone to do even that.
“What I had to.”
He found he believed his own words too. There was no way he could have just gone along with it all, nor could he have walked away and lived with himself afterwards.
Part of him even hoped he’d put in enough hemlock to keep them from ever waking up again, even if another part hoped they’d survive.
“The king will have to start his reign without a sacrifice.” He said as he got up. “Farewell.”
The wheelwright had seen it all happen, and had done the smart thing. He’d made a run for it, leaving his work half-finished. That left Hob with just himself, a herd of horses, and a dragon.
“Hey Dream? I’m going to cut you lose now. Please try not to move, I don’t want to slip up and stab you by accident.”
The dragon couldn’t answer, not with how his mouth had been tied shut, but Hob took the huff of breath he managed to get out for assent. It wasn’t like his friend had much of a choice anyway, not if he wanted to get out of his predicament.
It felt like it took hours to get Dream loose. Hours the wheelwright could use to alert other people, to tell them about what he’d seen Hob do. To tell them about the dragon that lay defenceless and ready for slaughter, right on their doorstep. That second thought was somehow even worse than the first.
“There you go.” he said when he finally got rid of the last length of chain.
Dream had barely moved at all during the whole operation, and it was only when that last bit fell into a messy pile of steel that he started to uncurl from the position the other had forced him into.
Hob watched as the dragon carefully stretched his limbs, hissing and groaning but without any evidence of broken bones or torn muscles.
It was the first time he saw Dream without bars to keep him curled up and contained in a space too small for him. Now he could truly see what a magnificent creature the team had managed to capture.
Dream’s wings blocked the light of the setting sun when he spread them out, joints popping and cracking. “Oooooh, to be able to move again.” he said, voice rumbling like a purring cat, eyes closed in pleasure. A few experimental flaps nearly blew Hob over, the sudden rush of wind strong enough to tear the grass from its roots and send it flying.
“My apologies.” Dream said when he noticed the result of his stretches, folding his wings against his body and lowering his head so he could look Hob in the eye. It made the difference in their sizes even more apparent than it had been in the cage now that there was nothing but dusy air between them.
“My people have a saying. ‘Hope springs eternal, from sources you do not think to look for.’’ Thank you Hob Gadling, for being such a spring in my time of need.”
Hob grinned, a true one this time. “Told you to hold on to it.” he said with a shrug. “Now get out of here whilst you still can. I have no idea if or when they’ll wake up again, and I don’t want you to be here if they do. They’d probably murder us both.”
The dragon seemed to consider that, not talking or moving for a long moment.
“Come with me.”
Hob didn’t think he’d hear that quite right.
“Excuse me?”
“Come with me Hob Gadling. I would not have you suffer death for saving me from that very same fate. Come with me and leave this time to be naught but memories to fade away with time and distance.”
Well…. Hob had wanted to leave his life behind for just about as long as he’d been alive. The dragon catchers had seemed to be his way out from a lifetime of boredom, a way to escape the endless repetition of ploughing and sowing and reaping. It had felt like the most exciting and wonderful thing he could ever imagine.
It seemed like life after dragon-liberation was going to be even more amazing.
“Give me a moment to get my things.” he said, already turning around to grab his pack. “Then lead the way.”