by GARY DARBY
I turn my head at another thunder boom, which is rapidly followed by a second and a third that roll across us before trailing off into the distance, like a wagon crossing a wooden bridge. “Have Helmar and Amil returned?”
A worried expression crosses Cara’s face. “No, but they should be back soon. Unless something’s gone wrong.”
Another rumble crosses the sky. “By the sound of that, I think we’re in for a soaking.”
She glances up at the sky. “As will Helmar and Amil, I’m afraid.”
I shake my head in worry. I know Helmar and Amil meant well, going into the village to find food for us, still, Helmar’s carrying Pengillstorr’s gem now, and he has to be careful. Very careful.
In the distance comes a crackling high in the air, followed by another growl of thunder. A sudden, strong breeze shakes the trees, sending them swaying.
Another gust whips up a small whirlwind that sends a spray of gritty dirt into our faces and eyes before we can turn away in time.
The sunlight dims and gloom settles over the glen. In the near distance, lightning sears the air, leaving behind a sizzling sound that seems to rip through the sky from horizon to horizon.
The wind is beginning to swish the trees limbs in all directions. Through the breaks in the trees, I can see ominous dark clouds that appear like a row of blackened barrels turned on end, rolling and tumbling through the sky.
Murky clouds suddenly swirl overhead, and lightning splits the sky. Thunder rolls across the sky as if a hundred dragons growled in the darkening gloom. Our dragons have sprung to their feet, their muzzles up and testing the wind.
“This looks really bad,” Cara declares, her eyes up, peering intently at the darkening sky. “Without any sort of shelter, we’re going to be caught out in the open, too.”
I hear heavy footsteps and turn to find Phigby striding toward us. Another flash of scarlet lightning streaks through the sky, followed by a second bolt. The storm is still some little ways off, but if this is any indication, it is going to be a ferocious tempest. And like Cara said, we have no suitable shelter to ride out the storm.
Phigby stands facing the stiff wind, which flattens his robe against his body. His long, gray hair is whipped about his face as he lifts his nose up just as Scamper does when he’s sniffing the air.
He comes to stand beside us, his head turned skyward. After a moment, he relaxes his body and mutters, “It is but a spring storm, the same that we normally get around this time. Nevertheless, we may well find ourselves drenched shortly.”
He points to the thick spruces that he slept under. “That will give us some protection,” he offers. He eyes me and asks, “Your arm?”
I lift it up and down with a twinge. “A little sore, but I’ll manage.”
“Good,” he says curtly. “You and Cara round up the dragons and get them close to those trees. They’ll give us a little added break from the wind and rain.
“Get the sprogs under the golden, she’s the biggest and will afford the most protection. It is not uncommon for storms like this to produce hail, and their little bodies would take a beating.”
As the storm rumbles closer, Cara and I do as Phigby ordered, and it’s not long before we have the dragons in a rough semicircle close to the spruce thicket. I whistle for Scamper, and he immediately shoots out from the brush and scoots under the tree, empty-handed this time.
The three of us have barely ducked under the protecting thick branches when the first raging winds hit. They bring a sudden chill as if they’d brought the north winds of winter back and were pushing spring away.
More scarlet streaks break the gloom, searing the air. A bolt crashes down, splitting a nearby tree, smoke rising from the rent trunk. The lightning strike is so close and the thunder boom so ear-splitting that Scamper jumps into my arms with a loud wail.
A few splatters of rain ripple across the glade, but I can smell more, and heavier, coming on the wind. I have no doubt that when it arrives, even the thickness of the limbs above will not keep out the deluge. It’s going to be a wet night for all of us, I’m afraid.
The sapphires, who had been lying on their stomachs, even with the lightning flashing around them, abruptly jump to their feet, their muzzles pointed out toward the glade. Though they’re not growling, nevertheless, Cara brings her bow up to bear, and Phigby slides his sword out.
The dragons suddenly part and silhouetted in the meadow’s gloom by lightning flashes, stand two figures. Scamper utters a low growl as I reach for my knife even though I know its puny blade will be no match for our intruders.
The lightning comes again, illuminating the two individuals and Cara calls out, “Helmar!”
I let out a breath of relief when I realize it is indeed Amil and Helmar. They quickly push their way past the dragons and face us. Helmar’s face is as dark as the raging storm. Amil holds his ax in one hand while he keeps glancing over his shoulder at the wind-whipped woodlands.
In a tone that is as deep and angry as the rolling, rumbling thunder, Helmar says above the rushing wind, “We’ve been discovered, we must leave, now.”
“What!” Phigby exclaims, “Who — ”
Helmar’s savage chop at the air with one hand stops Phigby from going on. “Villagers, fifty or more, making for this meadow and somehow they know who we are.”
He points to the dragons. “We leave now, or we are all dead.”
25
Lightning slashes across the sky, jagged bolts that light up the sky as if the clouds were sending down roots of fire into the ground. Between the howling wind and the rolling thunder, practically all other sounds are drummed out, and we have to shout to make ourselves heard. “We can’t sky in this!” Cara declares to Helmar. “The sky bolts will knock us out of the air.”
Helmar hesitates only for an instant before ordering, “Then we’ll have to make a run for it, there’s too many for us to make a stand here. Get on your dragons!” he orders.
With his bag slung over his shoulder, Phigby dashes to Wind Rover with Amil right behind him. Cara makes short work getting up on Wind Song. Before I can make it to Golden Wind, from the meadow’s far side, I hear wild yelling and screaming.
A horde of barrel-chested men waving long-handled axes, lances and bows appear at the far tree line. Their faces are hard, their intent clear. We can either become their live or dead captives. I can see in their wild eyes that it doesn’t matter which.
Cara swivels on Wind Song and unleashes an arrow. The shriek of a dying man answers her shot.
Phigby spins Wind Rover to face the frenzied mob, and a moment later, the glen is lighted up, not by the brilliant flash of lightning, but a harsh stream of dragon fire. The crazed villagers scatter into the woods in all directions. A moment later, Helmar is up on Wind Glory and yells at me, “Hooper, move!”
Actually, I am moving, just not as fast as the others. I whistle for Scamper, and he dashes from under the pine tree and up the golden’s leg like a squirrel racing up an oaken tree with a prized acorn. Just as I reach the golden, Cara screams, “Hooper! The sprogs!”
In our hectic rush to escape the frenzied villagers, we’d forgotten the little dragons.
I spin around and helped by the white light of a lightning flash, spot them cowering under the overhanging branches. I’m the closest, so I hobble back as fast as I can. Somehow, I manage to scoop up the squirming heap of screeping, chubbing sprogs in one armload, and whirl around to hurry back to Golden Wind.
The golden is waiting for me with head lowered. I plow against the wind, reach the golden and practically throw the sprogs up on her carapace. In between lightning strokes, I hear the twang of Helmar’s and Cara’s longbows, but for the moment, the villagers aren’t shooting back.
I scramble up on the golden’s neck, and I’m no sooner settled than she spins and lumbers for the meadow’s center. “No — ” I begin, thinking that we need to be running in the opposite direction, but then my next words freeze in my throat.
> In the lightning’s sharp glare, I can see we’re surrounded on all sides. Angry, fierce villagers step out from the tree line, with weapons raised high. A dozen or more of their archers have their arrows pointed straight at us.
The golden pulls up beside Wind Song. Cara has an arrow notched, and her bow hand quivers next to her cheek. She gives me a quick sideways glance and murmurs, “Thank you, Hooper, for rescuing the little ones.”
“You’re welcome,” I whisper, “not that it’s going to make much difference from what I see.”
A tall, muscular looking man, his dark tunic tight across his chest and waist steps out from the line of villagers. His voice is loud, commanding. “Your dragon fire may kill a few of us, but once we unleash our arrows — you’re all dead.”
I see Helmar exchange quick glances with Phigby and Amil, and I know just what they’re thinking. The man is right. By the time we unleashed fire, their arrows would be well on their way to their mark. Some of them would die, but all of us certainly would.
“What do you want?” Helmar demands.
“A fair trade,” the tall man answers. “We want you, the girl, and the golden dragon.” He pauses as the man next to him whispers before turning back. “Oh, and the puny, scarred one as well. The others can go free; we have no use for them.”
Lightning crackles through the clouds, so many bolts it’s as if two of the gods are tossing lightning spears back and forth just for fun.
We all look to Helmar with anxious faces. It’s never been said, but it’s clear that he’s the leader of our company, and now our fate rests in his hands. He hesitates but then calls out, “Give us a moment, we need to talk among ourselves.”
He then points Wind Glory’s head straight at the tall fellow. “And by the way, if you do unleash your arrows, you’ll be the first to fry to death.”
The villager hesitates, his eyes on Wind Glory. Helmar’s voice was firm, convincing. I have no doubt he means what he says. The man starts to answer when his whispering companion says something in his ear.
The tall man listens, nods, and then responds, “I have a man here who can count to fifty. When he tells me it’s time, if you haven’t surrendered by then, I shall take that as your answer.”
He leans forward and points to Helmar. “And you shall be the first to die.”
Helmar doesn’t reply but leans over and mutters, “Quick — any ideas?” He looks especially at Phigby, who’s fumbling in his bag, but doesn’t answer. Amil shakes his head and Helmar swings back to Cara and me.
Cara grimaces, the fury on her face evident but she has no reply, either. I start to say no, when off in the distance, I hear a familiar sound.
My eyes flick to our adversaries for an instant, then back to Helmar. My whisper is almost a growl, “When I say, ‘now’ we sky.”
Helmar emphatically shakes his head. “In this storm? We have more chance against their arrows.”
The sound is noticeably closer. “Helmar, think about it,” I stress. “Once they have us three and the golden, they’ll kill Amil and Phigby. Dead men tell no tales. We need to sky out of here, just not right now.”
I can see the doubt etched in Helmar’s eyes and I know what he’s thinking. If he can’t reason our way out of this trap and if Phigby doesn’t have any ideas, how can a Hooper?
“I’m with Hooper,” Cara abruptly says and gazes at me. “I’d rather die skying on Wind Song than perish from a villager’s arrow. Just give the word, Hooper.”
“We need a little more time,” I urge Helmar, “stall him. Neither the golden nor your jewel must fall into their hands.”
Helmar licks his lips before he whirls in his saddle. “My comrades and I want to make an agreement,” he yells.
The villager’s laugh is as loud and sharp as the lightning overhead. “Can you offer us twice your weight in gold? If you can, then we’ll listen. Otherwise, my man says your time is up.”
Helmar doesn’t have an answer but sits there mute. Longbows creak as they’re pulled tighter, the arrow points leveled right at us. “Wait!” I shout. “We have something worth more than our weight in gold, at least double, maybe even triple our weight.”
I can hear Cara gurgle over the wind, “Hooper, what are you doing?”
“Buying us just a few more moments,” I gurgle back.
“I don’t believe you,” the man replies. “You’re stalling.”
“Helmar,” I frantically whisper, “take out the gemstone, now.”
He hesitates, his eyes glowering at me. He starts to shake his head no, but I plead, “Please.”
He glances at the bowmen, and he sees what I see, their bows are as taut as they can reach and only a heartbeat away from flying through the air.
With lips pressed tight, he reaches into his tunic and slides the emerald out. He holds it high, and the emerald’s gentle radiance has every villager in awe. “Say the words, Helmar,” I mutter, “make the gem glow as bright as the sun.”
Just at that moment, a lightning bolt crashes into the center of the glade. I can feel the golden buckle, but she remains upright while I feel as if I’ve a thousand buzzing bees inside my head. I can barely hold onto Golden Wind, and my whole body feels as if I’m wrapped so tight in a cocoon that I can’t move.
I lean over and whisper, “Golden Wind, are you all right?”
She’s slow to answer, “I’ve been better, but it will pass soon.”
I manage to raise my head and take stock of my companions. Like me, they’re stunned and just barely managing to stay atop their dragons. Helmar seems the worst. He’s draped over Glory’s neck, though I can see he’s trying to right himself though his arms and legs jerk as if he can’t control them. I can see in his hand that he’s still gripping the gemstone tightly.
I glance around at our adversaries. A good many of them have been knocked off their feet, but most are rousing themselves enough that I know we have but a few moments before they come charging at us, and we’re in no shape to fight back.
Through lips that I can barely feel I say to the golden, “Get me next to Helmar.”
She stumbles over to Wind Glory. I reach over and pull Helmar upright. “Helmar, use the gem!”
He sways back and forth, mumbling. “Helmar, snap out of it, say the power words, now!”
He raises the gemstone and sort of stares with his eyes rapidly blinking as though he knows he’s holding the jewel but doesn’t know what to do with it. He starts to waver again, almost falling off Wind Glory if I hadn’t caught him in time.
“Helmar,” I plead, “listen to me. Say the words after me.”
He turns, shuts his eyes for an instant before he reopens them and nods. Slowly, one by one, I repeat the power words with Helmar mumbling each word after me. Finally, I declare, “Now all the words together! Vald Hatta Sasi Ein, Power Comes to this One!”
He manages to mumble right after me, Vald Hatta Sasi Ein! Power Comes to this One! though I can barely hear him.
An emerald burst of light shoots from the jewel. It sweeps across the glen, illuminating everything in a green glow. Some of the villagers throw up their hands in fright at the emerald brilliance.
The trees, once rocking back and forth, swaying from the rushing wind, straighten, and start to bend toward the dale’s center, against the wind, as if to reach the gemstone that shines emerald bright against the darkening gloom.
I swivel on the golden’s neck as what I’d been waiting for is now upon us. I glance around; all of us, including Helmar, now seem to have our wits about us again so I shout, “Now! Everyone, sky!”
Without hesitating, the golden springs into the air, unfurling her wings on the way up. Just as she does, we’re hit with a roaring gale of wind and rain. The storm has finally unleashed its full fury, and it’s like someone suddenly blew out the lone candle in a dark room.
The golden and I are thrust into murk and gloom, buffeted by icy winds and raindrops that feel like we’re being pelted by fist-sized stones.
That’s what I’d heard in the distance, what I’d waited for to hide our escape, the pounding rain, the rush of the oncoming gale, the darkness that would hide us from the villagers’ demented eyes.
Raindrops pound at my face, and I’m all but blinded. However, I know that if I can’t see, neither can the archers on the ground. Ferocious gusts stagger the golden in the air, I reach down and push Scamper and the sprogs tightly together under the protection of the golden’s carapace.
The golden doesn’t fight the roaring wind. Instead, she flies with it, but we’re so close to the trees that she actually shreds a few treetops. Then, as if a storm titan had belted her with his mighty fists, we’re violently jolted up and then down.
It’s too much for me, and I sail off. At the last moment, I grab onto her neck scales and hold on with all the strength I have.
My legs and feet strike at branches and leaves as the golden is tossed to one side by a powerful blast of wind. One of the golden’s wings goes up, the other down and she’s practically on her side.
Suddenly, there’s mud and grass just below me, and before we can be tossed back up into the air, I lose my grip.
I’m slipping and sliding through slick grass, eating mud while I try to halt my spinning, rolling ride. I finally stop, staring up into the angry sky, spitting out grass stems and a mouthful of muck.
I roll over to cough up the rest of the glop and to catch my breath. I raise my head and open my mouth. The hammering rain doesn’t take but a moment to fill up my mouth and I spit out the mixture of soupy mud and grass.
I do that twice more before I push myself to my feet. The wind is dying down a bit as is the lightning, but it’s as if the skies had opened up and a whole ocean of water is streaming down from the heavens. I have no idea where I’m at or where the others are.
For that matter, I have no idea if they even escaped out of the meadow.
I think they did.
Or rather, I hope they did.
I stagger around for quite a while, trying to get my bearings, but it’s no use. I’m lost and in the darkness, I can’t see a thing to help guide me.