by GARY DARBY
Amil uses two fingers to purse his lips together, “An interesting argument, mistress, but I’m neither a magistrate nor in a position to speak for or against you in the matter.”
Out of a sense of morbid curiosity, I just have to ask, “Just how much is the price on our heads?”
Amil grunts and points to Cara and Helmar. “Each of you is worth your weight in gold.” He turns to me. “You’re only worth your weight in silver.”
“But I — ” I stop and shrug. Even though I was the one who actually stole the golden, it figures that I’m worth less than anyone else.
The room is silent for quite a while before Phigby says, “Well, that certainly changes my thinking as to what to do next.”
Cara murmurs, “It appears that we not only have to run from the Wilders but now the whole kingdom is after us.”
“But we’ve done nothing wrong!” Helmar explodes.
“No, we haven’t,” Phigby murmurs, “yet it is what it is.”
My head is spinning. We face not only a horde of Wilders but now the whole kingdom, too. And there’s only four of us, whereas there’s a — a — well, a whole horde of them.
Phigby eyes Amil and mutters, “Amil, old friend, you and I have walked many trails together, entrusted our lives to each other. Would you not judge us before you hear our story? I suspect it is quite a bit different than what you’ve heard and what that warrant states.”
Amil returns Phigby’s stare for several heartbeats. He gives a little nod. “I’m listening Phigby, and if it will ease your mind, I know that you’re not one to go around stealing dragons, especially a golden one.”
His mouth upturns in a small smile. “Still, from sitting around many a campfire with you, I take it I’m about to hear a fascinating story?”
“Indeed,” Phigby answers, “and now with this latest news you’ve brought, a story that I’m beginning to think has more twists and turns to it than I believed possible.”
Amil’s eyebrows rise a bit at that, and he motions with one hand. “Go ahead, I’m still listening.”
“Helmar,” Phigby orders, “tell your part, first, then Cara.”
I notice he doesn’t include me, which in a way is good. No telling what my undisciplined tongue will utter.
Helmar is quick to recount his story, the order to meet at the Manor House and then his return to a burning Draconton. Phigby stops him and has Cara begin at that point. Phigby halts her when she starts describing her part in the attack and turns to me. “Hooper, tell us what happened in the birthing barn, we’ve not heard from you yet, this would be a good time, I think for us to hear all of it.”
I nod and as detailed as I can, recall the events in the barn. When I begin to describe my nemesis, Helmar, Amil and Phigby lean forward with intense expressions on their faces. “Hooper,” Helmar orders, “repeat what you just said.”
“I said,” I reply, “that the tall Wilder drew his skinny blade, but he stayed well away from the fight. The other Wilders did the fighting.”
“Skinny blade,” Amil is quick to say, “describe this sword that he carried.”
I shrug and hold my arms out wide. “The other Wilders had these long, large broadswords while his blade was . . . ” I hold out one finger. “Not much wider than this.”
Helmar leans even farther, his eyes questioning. “He was carrying a rapier?”
I shrug at his question. “I don’t know what they’re called, I just know that his sword looked like the one I saw Lord Lorell carry when he was at the stead last summer. If the golden hadn’t chomped on his sword arm, he would have run his blade through me when he caught me opening the golden’s paddock gate.”
“The golden did that?” Phigby questions with widened eyes.
“Yes,” I answer, “she brought her head clear over the top railing. And just when he was about to skewer me with that rapier, or whatever you call it, she clamped down on his arm and threw him to one side.”
“Hmmm,” Phigby muses quietly while he strokes his beard and peers at me with an intent look. “She’s saved your life three times now. Fascinating.”
Amil has an elbow on one knee, his chin in one hand. “A Wilder would no more carry a foil than a pig would go romping with a pack of wolves.”
He looks at me, his eyes like stone. “Are you absolutely sure of this that he didn’t carry a Wilder longsword?”
“And am I absolutely certain that he almost killed me with that ‘foil’ of his?” I retort. “Absolutely.”
Amil begins to shake his head from side to side as if he doesn’t quite believe me but can’t discount what I’ve said either. Slowly he says to no one in particular, “Only royals and landed gentry carry rapiers.”
His heavy breathing is like a giant bellow going in and out. He peers at Phigby. “Do you know who was in that barn?”
Phigby shakes his head in answer. “No, but now that I’ve heard Hooper, I certainly would like to know for I suspect that whoever it was is also behind this King’s Warrant.”
Amil gives Phigby a sharp look. “You’re not suggesting — ”
“I’m not suggesting anything,” Phigby is swift to respond. He gives Cara, who’s remained silent this whole time, a quick glance. “Other than it may well be that it wasn’t a Wilder clan chieftain who led the attack on Draconstead. Besides, none of us would make such an accusation without more proof than the fact that a supposed Wilder carried a rapier.”
Phigby gestures to me. “Finish your story.”
I shrug one shoulder and say, “There’s not much more to tell. I ran from the barn into the forest, found Golden Wind and eventually we made it to Fairy Falls. After that, you three showed up.”
Of course, there’s much more to tell than that regarding Golden Wind, but I’ve a promise to keep, and keep it I shall.
Phigby then says to Amil, “When we met up at the falls, and after discussing it at length, we decided that the Wilders were between us and both Wynsur and the nearest Great House, so we flew west to obtain some space and time.
“We were looking for a safe way to get the golden to Wynsur, but we were attacked by a swarm of Wilders early this morn and let’s just say that through a miracle on high made our escape to this place.”
“So you do have the golden?” Amil bluntly questions.
Phigby eyes us all before shrugging as if it didn’t matter that he revealed the golden’s presence here. “Yes, we have her. For the moment, she’s safe.” He stops and murmurs, “But for how long . . . ”
Helmar clears his throat and says, “There’s one more thing. I’m convinced that the attack at Draconstead wasn’t isolated. I believe the Wilders also attacked the Manor House where Cara’s father and brother were, not to mention the captain of our knights’ company as part of their overall plan.”
His voice becomes almost toneless. “It may well be that Prince Aster was there as well though I didn’t see him before I skyed back to Draconstead.”
“He’s safe and unharmed,” Amil returns. To Helmar’s questioning expression he adds, “The King’s Crier said as much that Prince Aster had escaped the attack unscathed.”
Cara reaches out a hand, and I can see in her eyes the question she wants to ask but can’t bring herself to voice.
As if hearing her unspoken question, Amil turns sad eyes on Cara and says, “Mistress Cara, I cannot confirm that your father or brother are dead, but I can say that Lord and Lady Lorell plus every knight that was at the manor died in the attack. It was part of the proclamation that the rider read.”
He then points at Helmar and says, “And it names you as the conspirator who organized the ambush and fled just before the attack. Thus ensuring your own safety.”
He pauses before saying, “And it proclaims that those who stole the golden are in league with the Wilders and, therefore, their lives are forfeit to the crown.”
He lets out a breath and jabs a finger at us. “Meaning, all of you.”
18
“What!�
�� Helmar thunders and jumps to his feet his fierce glare centered on Amil. I hope he’s not foolish enough to attack Amil in such close quarters, but his bulging neck muscles, his face as red as a ripe tomato makes me scoot as far away from the two as I can. Swords and axes swinging in such cramped quarters is going to get someone entirely innocent hurt or killed. Like me.
“Helmar!” Phigby’s voice is sharp, commanding. “Amil is not the one doing the accusing. You don’t sword-gut the messenger, lad. Now, sit down and let’s talk and think this through.”
For a few more heartbeats, Helmar stands glowering before his face finally softens a bit and he mutters, “My apologies, Amil. Phigby is right; I should not be angry at you. But to be accused of such . . . That anyone could think I was capable of such a traitorous act against Master Boren . . . ”
His voice chokes and for an instant, I can see that Helmar may not have loved Master Boren as Cara loves her father, nevertheless, his respect and admiration are real for the man, and Boren’s death has struck deeper than I suspected.
It’s a revelation to me that outside that gruff, hard shell of his, Helmar can actually feel, for others other than himself and Cara.
Amil holds up a hand. “No need to apologize, I would be angry too, if I were suspected of such.”
“It makes no sense at all,” Helmar growls as he slowly sits. His face has gone from bright red to a dark almost purple hue. “We risked our lives against the Wilders, we’re the ones who saved the golden from them and if it weren’t for us, Golden Wind — ”
“Would be in the hands of whoever led the Wilders,” Cara murmurs softly.
Cara is pressing her face into her hands. Amil’s news has reopened the still fresh wound, and I can hear the soft sobs. Phigby drapes an arm across her shoulders. “Perhaps, this is actually good news, my dear.”
She lifts her tear-stained face. “No news is good news, Phigby?”
“Perhaps,” he shrugs. He glances up at the big man. “Amil?”
Amil shakes his head. “I’m sorry, that’s all I know.”
We all fall into a deep silence. A king’s bounty on our heads, I think to myself, and now not only accused of stealing the golden but of being in league with those monsters, the Wilders.
I break the silence by whispering, “Can it get any worse?”
I glance up at Phigby. His expression is honest, frank. It says, that yes, it can, and may even become ghastlier. I shake my head at Phigby. “Please don’t tell me that — ”
He holds his hand up, palm out. “Let’s save that discussion for another time, Hooper,” he replies softly. “For now, we have enough spoiled meat on our plates as it is,” he finishes.
He takes another breath, gives Cara’s hand a gentle squeeze and stands. “Amil, we four have been up all night and between fighting off the Wilders and your news, I’m afraid that we’re exhausted in body and spirit. We need to sleep and let both mind and body refresh themselves.”
“Say no more,” Amil replies. “I rested well enough last night. I’ll stand guard. Get some sleep.”
“The dragons — ” Helmar begins, but Phigby quickly says, “Are safe enough for now, and I doubt highly that they’ll wander off. Now, let’s take Amil up on his gracious proposal.”
For me, Amil doesn’t have to offer twice. I think I’m asleep before my head even hits the ground. At some point, I feel a furry, warm body curl up against my stomach. I reach out a hand and pull Scamper close. I admit, caring for someone, and having someone care for you, makes the world a little easier to take.
Even if that same world has Wilders, witches, and now a whole kingdom out to get you.
A soft hand pushes me awake, and an angel voice sternly says, “Hooper, wake up.”
I open my eyes just long enough for Cara to thrust a cup in my hands. “What is it?” I ask groggily, not entirely awake yet.
“Squirrel soup,” she answers.
“Oh,” I reply. Well, I think, at least, Scamper has that particular tree to himself, now. I see that the fire is a bit brighter than earlier, and someone has gathered more wood. I’m surprised, but grateful that I wasn’t woken to fetch the wood. I take a sip of my broth and then in one gulp down half the cup. It’s bland as there’s more water than squirrel meat flavor, but at least, it’s filling.
I glance around, the shanty is empty except for Cara and myself. “Where are the others?” I ask.
“Helmar and Amil are taking a quick swing through the forest,” she answers, stacking some wood next to the small hearth, “hoping to find something more substantial than a squirrel. Phigby’s out searching for nuts or berries.”
She turns and motions at me. “We’re to take the dragons to the brook so that they can drink, so be quick about downing the rest of that.”
My eyebrows rise at her answer. They let the Hooper sleep longer than the others? Unheard of. Two more swallows and I’m done with the thin broth. Cara takes the cup, quickly rinses it out, and without another word to me, slings her bow and quiver and is out the door.
I hobble after her, rubbing at my eyes in the late afternoon sun. I take a quick glance around the glade but don’t spot Scamper. He might have gone with Phigby. While nuts and berries are not high on his list of what he considers good eating, he’ll eat them when nothing else is available.
We trudge up the small incline behind the hut and slip into the thicker stand of trees where Cara and Helmar settled the dragons earlier. Except for Rover, who’s contentedly munching on a beech bush, the rest of the dragons are resting or sleeping. Cara motions to the left, “I’ll gather up Wind Song and Rover, you get Glory and the golden. On our way to the creek, keep an eye out for dragon bane.”
Perfect, I think. This will give me a chance to speak with the golden about Phigby and Helmar, one of which, in my mind, is the Gem Guardian. But which?
I no sooner turn from Cara, then I’m stampeded by a tiny herd of lively baby dragons. The sprogs cluster around me, screeping and chubbing. I have no idea why they’re so excited to see me. Surely, they must know how much I dislike being around their ugly toad bodies.
Trying to look as if I’m studying the ground in search of the poison petals, I slowly amble toward the golden. When I reach her, I take a quick glance at Cara. She’s on the meadow’s far side and disappears behind Wind Song. No doubt, looking her dragon over before getting her up to move to the stream. Now’s my chance.
I slide up next to the golden. “Pssst, Golden Wind, wake up.”
“I’m awake,” she answers, though she keeps her eyes closed.
“Phigby or Helmar,” I state, “one of them is the Gem Guardian. Right?”
She slowly opens her eyes and stares at me. “What makes you think that?”
“Phigby at the falls,” I quickly reply, “he drew magical characters and symbols in the air that called to the three fairies, and when they appeared, well, the rest of us were scared, but he stood strong, unafraid.
“Besides, he knows about dragons and dragon gems, in fact, Phigby knows just about everything. If anyone can make the gemstone work, it would be him.”
I stop and then in a rush of words say, “But, then again Helmar is strong, powerful, a warrior. He’d be able to protect the jewel against anyone who would try to take it. Especially when he’s mad.”
I shudder, thinking of Helmar standing there with his blade held high, looking like some majestic god with a thunderbolt in his hand, ready to spear me.
“A warrior,” I go on, “such as Helmar or one who holds a great store of knowledge, like Phigby, armed with a dragon jewel would make a powerful combination to do this ‘good’ that you’re so concerned about.”
My shoulders slump, and I murmur, “I’d hoped that I was the guardian, and it’d change my world, give me the things that I’ve always wanted — ”
“But since it won’t,” Golden Wind says, “you’re now more than willing to give it up.” She brings her head a little closer, her eyes never leave my face as if she we
re searching for something.
I shrug. “I’m certainly not doing any good with it, just hauling it around. Besides, if anyone can make it work, it’s Phigby or Helmar. I’m sure of it. I just don’t know which one.”
“I see,” she replies. “Phigby holds a vast store of knowledge and Helmar is imbued with power. And such attributes are the key to wielding the gem wisely and bringing about the most good, is that it?”
“That’s the way I see it,” I answer. “Now all that’s left is for you to tell me which one gets the jewel and I can be done with the whole thing.”
She considers my reply for a long moment before saying, “Hooper, knowledge and power without the wisdom or desire to use both righteously are a dangerous combination. Even the wickedest among us can garner those traits, but they choose to use them for their own selfish desires, having neither true wisdom nor the inclination to seek righteousness.”
“But,” I object, “Phigby’s good, he’s smart, he’d know what to do with the jewel. I certainly don’t. And Helmar is already powerful in a sense, he’s used to using power, though I admit I think he needs to work more on the ‘good’ part.”
I screw my mouth to one side. “All I’m doing is lugging the thing around until I deliver it to the right person. I don’t see me doing much good in that.”
“As I said, Hooper, being the — ”
“I know, I know,” I snap at her. “Being Pengillstorr’s jewel caretaker is a great honor and I should be proud that he chose me.”
Disgruntled, I say, “Being the custodian is one thing, but finding the real guardian is another. Why can’t you just tell me who it is and be done with it?”
She gazes at me for a moment and then asks, “What of Cara? Why haven’t you considered her as the guardian? She’s smart, brave, there’s a sense of power about her as well.”
She pauses and then says, “Is it because she’s a girl?”