by GARY DARBY
With a shudder, I drop to one knee, completely spent by the exertion of holding Helmar’s hefty arm upright. He drops to both knees, drawing in great gulps of air. We stay that way for a moment before we struggle to our feet.
The dragons rise and as a dog jiggles water from its coat, they shake as if they would rid themselves of the foul touch from the enchanted trees.
As Phigby and Amil push themselves upright, I hear a low moan and turn around. It’s Cara, draped over a jagged waist-high split in the giant tree that had trapped her in its death grip. Her head and arms droop lifelessly.
The four of us stumble over to her, and together, gently pull her limp form from the opening and ease her to the ground. I stand anxiously beside Amil as Phigby gently brushes back strands of hair from her face. I notice that Helmar has one of her hands wrapped tightly in both of his. “Cara?” Phigby softly calls.
She stays still for several more heartbeats before he calls again. “Cara, can you hear me?”
She answers with a small moan before her eyes flutter open. We all let out a breath in relief. She glances around before her eyes stop on Helmar. “What happened?” she asks weakly.
“We’ll answer that in a moment,” Phigby brusquely replies. “Are you hurt?”
She furrows her brow while rubbing at her head. “I don’t think so.”
With Helmar’s and Phigby’s help, she stands, and I hear a little puff of breath as her eyes catch sight of the broken and torn trees. “What happened?”
Phigby and Helmar exchange a glance and Phigby mutters, “We’ll talk about it later. Helmar, we need to leave this place and swiftly.”
Helmar gazes up to the moons. “We have a bit until dawn. If we are to sky, now is the time and not in full daylight.”
My shoulder aches badly, again, and I grimace in pain. “Hooper?” Phigby questions, seeing the look of pain that crosses my face.
I wave him off. “Have to find Scamper,” I answer. I let out a sigh. “And the sprogs, too.”
“I’ll help,” Cara states. Helmar starts to protest but she cuts him off. “I’m fine, really.”
“Make it quick, then,” Helmar orders. “The rest of us will check on the sapphires and the golden.”
Cara and I hurry across the meadow. I point and say to Cara, “The last I saw, the tree roots were dragging Scamper and the sprogs in this direction.”
Once we’re out of earshot, Cara puts out a hand on my arm. “Hooper, what happened? I need to know.”
“What do you remember?” I ask.
She thinks for a moment and then says, “I — I’m not sure. I remember looking at the trees, and then something hit me in the head.”
She shakes her head. “Nothing after that.”
“That’s all?” I question.
She runs a hand through her thick hair and peers at me. “Yes, should I remember more?”
I shrug. “Phigby will tell you the rest. Let’s just say, for now, that, you were in the wrong place at the wrong time and got hit on the head by a falling branch.”
Not exactly the total truth, but the tree limb was sort of falling. Phigby had his reasons for not explaining all, and besides, we really do need to hurry and leave this place.
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
“Later,” I reply. “We need to find Scamper and the sprogs and get out of here.” She wrinkles her nose and glowers at me. I hear a familiar chittering and turn toward a nearby tree.
Scamper is hanging upside down by one leg, a vine twisted around his ankle. He’s chattering angrily as he tries to undo himself from the entanglement. I hobble over to him, but just before I reach him, the vine loosens, and he falls with a thump to the ground.
I bend over him, and he stares up at me. His eyes are rolling as if he can’t get them set right, and a little aarrghh . . . escapes from his mouth. I pick him up and dust him off. “You know, if you had just waited a moment longer, I would’ve gotten you out of that, and you wouldn’t have fallen on your head.”
He wiggles his legs and paws to make sure they’re working before demanding that I let him down. “All right,” I say, “but we’re leaving, so you’d best go get on your ride or we’ll leave you behind.”
He races over to the golden while I turn at a call from Cara. “Hooper, I’ve got the sprogs, but help me, will you? They’re having a little trouble walking.”
“Coming,” I answer and hurry over to Cara, who’s got the sprogs in a little huddle.
They seem cowed by the whole event and won’t move. “Let’s get them over to Wind Song,” Cara says. “They’re not hurt, just really scared.” She picks up two and I grab the other two.
We deposit them next to Cara’s dragon when Cara suddenly sways as if she’s lost her balance. I grab her arm and hold tight. “Cara, what’s wrong?”
“Whew,” she breathes out, “for a moment there, there were two of Wind Song and about eight sprogs.”
She sways again, and this time, I not only tighten my grip on her arm, I dare to grab the hand that she’s holding out as if to steady herself.
“Cara, are you sure you’re all right?”
She takes a deep breath and says, “Yes, Hooper, I’ll be fine, it’s passed.”
Cara glances down at our intertwined fingers, and murmurs, “You can let go of my hand now, Hooper, I’m going to need it to climb up.”
“Oh, right,” I answer. “Sorry.” I quickly let her hand go and step back.
She gives me a little smile. “Thanks, Hooper, I appreciate your thoughtfulness, I really do.”
She climbs up, and we swiftly get the sprogs loaded. The four little dragons seem unhurt, but they scrunch down in the saddlebags and barely peek over the bag’s lip with big and wide eyes. For some reason, I’m glad to see that they came out of the fray unharmed.
I hobble over to the golden. She’s lowered her head and is peering at me with an expression of gratitude? Relief? I’m not sure, so I mutter, “What are you staring at?”
“Thank you, Hooper,” she says. “You saved us all, you know.”
“What I know,” I mumble, “is that we need to get away from here before that demon comes back. Besides, it wasn’t me, it was Helmar. All I did was hold his arm up.”
I take a deep breath. “My last act as caretaker. From now on, Helmar will have to fight Vay on his own. I’m done. No more arrows for me. They hurt too much.”
The golden raises her head, peers at the trees and whispers, “I don’t think she’ll be coming back anytime soon.”
“Well, anytime soon,” I grumble, “is way too soon for me.”
I slip around her and as I do my eyes catch a dark green, perfect circle in the soil. It’s the exact spot where Helmar stood when he used the emerald. My eyes grow wide in astonishment.
In the circle’s center, green grass is sprouting upward even as I watch. In moments, covering the entire dark oval is new, lush green grass. “Amazing,” I breathe to myself.
I hear footsteps and turn at Helmar’s voice. “Hooper,” he says, “quit staring at the ground, we need to go.” He stares doubtfully at the golden for a moment before asking, “Are you sure you can sky on her? Maybe you should ride behind one of us.”
I hesitate before saying, “If I were able to hold onto her with an arrow stuck in me, I should be able to hang on, even with one arm.”
He shrugs and motions for Amil to help him. Between the two of them, and with the golden holding her head down low, I manage to seat myself. “You’re sure?” Helmar asks one last time.
“I’m sure,” I answer.
Helmar gives me a curt nod, and the two quickly trot away. It doesn’t take long before we’re out in the open. One by one, the sapphires bound into the air. Golden Wind asks, “Ready, Hooper?”
I hold onto one of her horns firmly, settle myself a little lower and answer, “I’m ready.”
She spreads her wings, catches the wind and springs upward. She makes a gentle turn to the left, beats her
wings hard for a bit to catch up with others, before settling into a slow, smooth beat.
I glance at the moons and say, “Helmar is leading us farther southward, I thought we’d head west, more toward the domain. After all, that’s where the book said for us to go.”
“Yes,” Golden Wind answers, “but Amil knows there’s only a few places where even a dragon can cross the mighty Denalian Mountains. He’s taking us toward the closest.”
“I see,” I reply. “And after that?”
She slowly answers, “And after that, we’ll need to find some Golian giants or they find us.”
“Oh,” is all I answer.
24
We sky through the remainder of the night, always heading southward, keeping the King and Queen stars off our right shoulders, as they, like the moons are setting. Night is ending and it couldn’t come too soon for me. Vay seems to prefer night’s darkness and I want no more of her. That task now belongs to Helmar, the Gem Guardian.
Dawn’s first early pink light has Helmar searching for a place for us to hole up for the day as he does not want our little band to be skying in the light. It would be much too easy for someone on the ground to spot a big, golden dragon sailing overhead in broad daylight than in the dead of night.
The forest we sky over is exceptionally thick with birchen and spruce trees, and the few openings we find are way too small to land even one dragon. Helmar motions for us to sky low while he takes Wind Glory higher, trying to get a better view of the countryside and more importantly, a place for us to land.
While we wing just above the treetops, Wind Glory sails above us with Helmar still searching. Even though he’s higher than we, I can see the worry lines in his face grow by the moment. The sun has just about fully risen when he abruptly has Wind Glory turn sharply to one side and gestures for us to follow.
Moments later, we cross over a small glade that’s just large enough for one dragon to squeeze into and Helmar motions for me to set the golden down first.
As soon as her talons grip the ground I have her sidle off to one side and into the trees to make room for Wind Song, who’s followed us down. Soon, we’ve managed to squeeze all four dragons into a space that’s barely big enough for just one.
Once we have the dragons deep under the trees, we do a thorough search for dragon’s curse but finding none, we let them graze on whatever they want. They don’t feed all that long before they promptly curl up and close their eyes in sleep.
Cara and Helmar get the sprogs out of the saddlebags, place the youngsters practically under the golden’s nose and within a few moments, the sprogs are asleep, too.
Seeing that the dragons are settled, Helmar has us gather together and asks of Amil, “Any idea of where we are?”
Amil nods and says, “I believe so. Those three white cliffs we passed over just a while ago? They’re what’s left of the old chalk mines that belong to House Stord. We’re on Stord land, and I’m pretty sure that this is the Grayfar Forest.”
“The House of Stord,” Phigby muses but Amil is quick to say, “Don’t even think about it, Phigby — they weren’t exactly known as being trustworthy before, I doubt if circumstances have changed.”
Phigby shrugs. “No harm in thinking about what-if’s, you know.”
“Any villages nearby?” Helmar asks.
Amil screws up his face as if he’s thinking deeply before he turns and points southward. “Maybe. Before the chalk pits played out there was a village — I think it was called Sabaville, less than a league or so from the bluffs, where the miners and their families lived.”
“That far away from the mines?” Cara asked.
Amil is quick to explain. “The hills past the chalk mines are full of Wood Trolls. The village, if I recall right, was set with the Stord river on three sides with a high stockade on the fourth side.”
“Added protection from the trolls,” Phigby pronounces.
“Exactly,” Amil affirms.
“But if the mines are no longer worked,” Helmar asks, “do you know if the village is still there?”
“That I can’t answer,” Amil replies. “The mines were the main livelihood for most of the villagers and after the chalk ran out, I don’t know if anyone stayed in the village.”
He reaches down and picks up a handful of dirt. “The chalk was used by the farmers hereabouts to improve the land, without it, the soil’s too poor to grow a good crop.”
Amil lets the dirt dribble through his fingers as he stares at Helmar. “You’re thinking of going into the township,” he states.
Helmar nods slowly. “Normally, I wouldn’t consider it, but maybe we can buy some food and more importantly — ”
“We can get news of what’s occurring in the kingdom,” Phigby finishes for him. “Which may well aid our cause.”
“Helmar,” Cara protests, “we’d be taking a huge risk. Don’t forget that King’s Warrant hanging over our heads. We may be on the fringes of the kingdom, but there’s still a chance that the news of our circumstances have reached even here.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” Helmar declares, “not for an instant. But it’s partially why we need news. For all we know, the king has rescinded the warrant. If so, we still might be able to get help from His Majesty.”
We pass uneasy glances among ourselves, but no one has an answer to his idea before Amil lets out a long sigh and says, “If you’re determined to go then I suggest we make it just the two of us and not the whole company.
“I’m not wanted nor named on the warrant, and if I identify myself as a Traveler and you as my companion, then we might be able to accomplish both of your goals without us ending up in the prisoner stocks, or worse.”
He wags a finger practically under Helmar’s nose. “But you let me do the talking. Understood?”
Helmar claps the big man on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. It's a great idea, and that’s the way we’ll play it.”
He then says to Phigby, Cara, and me, “You three stay here, rest and take care of the dragons. Everyone remains in the woodlands under cover.”
He smiles at Cara. “However, if you manage to bring down a rabbit, save some for us, we might come back hungry, you know.”
“If I bag a rabbit,” Cara answers dryly, “I’ll let you gnaw on the hide.”
Amil nudges Helmar with an elbow. “I don’t think she approves of your idea.”
“Whatever gave you that impression?” Helmar replies under his breath. He and Amil take a moment to check their armaments, grab a water flask apiece, and then with a wave, march off into the forest.
Cara stands watching them go, her arms folded, her eyes narrowed in obvious annoyance. “Helmar’s idea is sound,” Phigby mutters to her. “Besides,” he goes on, trying to reassure her. “They’ll be all right, they know what they’re doing.”
“He’d better come back in one piece,” Cara huffs, “or I’ll kill him when he gets back.”
Since I’ve had my share of sleep in the last night or so, I volunteer to keep watch while Cara and Phigby get some much-needed rest. Cara and Phigby find a convenient, large spruce that’s conelike in shape, gather some leafy boughs and soft pine needles and stretch out under its spreading limbs. Like the dragons, it doesn’t take them long before they’re deep in slumber.
I carry Cara’s bow, though I still have serious doubts as to my ability to use it, even if I face some nemesis that forces me to try and be a marksman. Amil’s mention of Wood Trolls makes me extra edgy, but trolls and dragons usually don’t stay in the same neighborhood.
Usually.
But I haven’t forgotten that Night Goblin that thought I might make for a tasty snack, and there were four dragons close by even then. I spend most of the morning making a circuit between the sleeping dragons and the slumbering Phigby and Cara.
Scamper shows up every so often, does his own check of the camp to make sure I’m at the ready and doing my job and then disappears back in the forest, in search o
f food, no doubt.
Around high sun, Cara wakes and retrieves her bow from me. “Any sign of rabbits or squirrels?” she asks.
I shake my head in answer. “I wish. If there were, I’d have woken you up so that we might have some meat in the pot.”
“Wait,” she dimples, “aren’t you the fellow who told me you always carried around a good rock just in case a rabbit or squirrel showed up?”
I return her smile and shrug. “At the time, it was the best fib I could come up with.”
She smiles again before turning serious as she surveys the forest. “I’m going to go a little farther out and try my luck. The scent of dragons might be keeping any rabbits close by holed up, but maybe those farther out will be grazing on the grass patches.”
She glances around again. “Water?”
I point off to one side past the sleeping dragons. “I’m not sure but I think there’s a stream at the bottom of that hill, but I didn’t go that far to see.”
“In that case, while I hunt for some meat, you hunt for water. But neither one of us can go very far as Phigby is still asleep.”
I nod, turn and head in the direction where I think the stream lies while Cara heads in the opposite direction. I get to the spot where I thought I’d find water only to find that I was wrong.
The channel at the base of the small hill might have running water after a good rain, but right now it’s a dry course of rocks overgrown with high grass. I turn back toward our little makeshift campsite and have just reached the still sleeping dragons when I hear a distant peal of thunder.
I stop for an instant as I see movement in the forest and then relax as Cara comes into view. She trots up but to my stomach’s disappointment, she’s come back empty-handed. “Did you hear the thunder?” she asks.
“Yes, and I was wrong, there wasn’t a stream at the bottom of the hill.”
“Well,” she mutters in answer, “if that’s a storm brewing up, it doesn’t matter. We won’t have to search for water, the water will come to us.”