by GARY DARBY
He pushes it down firmly so that it forms a wedge between flooring and the sturdy entryway. “That won’t last long,” he announces. “But it’s the best we can do.”
Amil gestures at Prince Aster’s limp body on the floor. “What about him?”
“My first inclination is to throw him out the window headfirst,” Helmar grunts. “That’s what he deserves, but unlike him, I’m no murderer.”
He turns to me. “Are those vines strong enough to hold the two of us if we carry him down?”
I firmly shake my head at him. “I wouldn’t if I were you, they’re not that stout.”
I can see the contortion in Helmar’s expression and understand his competing emotions. One part of him doesn’t want to leave the prince to be rescued by his conspiring comrades, but at the same time, he can’t bring himself to kill the man outright.
Phigby lays a hand on Helmar’s arm. “No choice, we’re not cold-blooded murderers, so we must leave him.”
Helmar turns to Cara and her father. “All right, down the vines, it is, then. Master Boren, you and Cara, first, then Phigby and Hooper. Amil and I will stay behind and try to give you additional time if the guards break the door down before you’re on the ground.”
“No,” I reply. “All of you have to go first.”
“Hooper,” Helmar responds through clenched teeth, “this is no time to argue.”
“No, Helmar,” I answer. “You don’t understand. This is the time to argue. I almost fell climbing up here because of my bad leg. Those vines aren’t that secure against the walls, if my leg gives out going down, there’s just the chance I’m going to rip through the shoots and bring down all of us.”
My eyes are firm, my mind made up. I am not going to endanger any of them, especially Cara.
“Helmar,” Phigby says sternly, “like you said, now’s not the time to argue. He has a valid point.”
With a sharp glance at me, Helmar turns and first helps Master Boren and then Cara through the window. Once they’re out, Phigby bundles his robe about him and slides through the opening followed by Amil.
Helmar sticks his head out the window and peers below for a moment before he turns to me. “We’ll give them some time to get farther down.”
He gazes at me, and I can see in his eyes that he’s mulling over something in his mind. He slowly reaches out and places his hand on my shoulder. “Hooper, you are a surprising fellow, and I admit, braver than I gave you credit for. Even if this doesn’t work, you have my thanks.”
He touches his breast pocket where the gem had been. “For many things.”
My mouth sags for a moment. “You mean you still have it? I thought for sure that they would have taken it away from you.”
“No,” Helmar answers with a puzzled expression. “When the villagers captured us, they took our weapons, but made me put the emerald back into my tunic before they bound my hands. They acted as if they were afraid of the stone.”
“And when you arrived here?”
He shrugs. “We’ve been kept up here the whole time. There’s been a guard outside the door who checked on us every once in a while, but no one tried to take the jewel away.”
That causes me to raise my eyebrows. Aster and his henchmen wanted the golden, but not the emerald? Surely the villagers told His Highness, the Royal Rat what Helmar carried.
I start to ask Helmar why he thought they hadn’t taken gemstone from him when he turns and peers out the window. “Master Boren is having a hard time of it. His stay in the dungeon must have weakened him.”
I poke my head out the window and look down. Cara is side by side with her father, helping him slowly down the lattice. He appears to be weak, uncertain of himself as he tries to find the next handhold or foothold. There’s nothing we can do but wait, hoping that they don’t take too long to reach the ground.
Fortunately, it appears that the guards on the keep walls haven’t noticed that their prisoners are escaping using the vine lattice. I turn and pick up Scamper, who after his rope-gnawing trick has been nosing around the room in search of food.
“Time to tuck you in,” I murmur as I pick him up. “By the way, that was a great job untying everyone like you did.”
Arrrrhhh, he answers as I tuck him into my tunic’s hood.
Helmar and I peer out once again. Cara and her father are almost to the halfway point and should be on the ground soon. “Ready?” Helmar asks. I take several deep breaths and swing my arms around to get myself ready for the climb down. “Ready,” I answer. “You first and I’ll be right behind you.”
A sudden chill sweeps over me, and we both turn at the whisper of a sound. I glance down at Aster, but he lies still and silent. The noise comes again, and my skin crawls.
Helmar takes a step toward the door, sword in hand. “What is that?” he whispers over his shoulder. “That’s not the sound that boots would make on stone stairs.”
I swallow but don’t answer. He’s right, that’s not the sound of men-at-arms hurrying up the stairwell. It’s a snake. An enormous serpent that slithers up the stairs. The rasp of its rough skin against the granite steps becomes louder and louder.
In my mind’s eye, I can see the huge snake sliding across the stonework. Its beady red eyes centered on the door, its tongue flicking in and out, as it searches for its prey.
Which could only be me and Helmar.
I hurry to the window and peer down. Cara and her father still haven’t reached the ground and for some reason, Phigby, and Amil have stopped climbing down. I spin around to Helmar. He’s close to the door, his sword point leveled and at the ready.
“Helmar,” I plead, “we’ve got to go — now!”
A blast rips the door off its hinges, slamming into Helmar and knocking him to the floor. Splinters fly across the room, showering me with wooden pellets that prick at face and hands. Helmar lies groaning on the stone flooring, trying to push the door off him and rise to his feet.
I peer over my arm that I’d thrown up to cover my face. Vay is gliding up the stairwell, her robes swish across the cold stone, and I hear the slithering, evil sound again as if she rides on the back of vipers. Even though a torch burns behind her, there’s no light about her body, just an ebony aura.
Scamper is chittering madly in my ear and pawing furiously at my tunic. I’m afraid that he’s going to do something stupid like attack the evil fairy, or jump headfirst out the window to escape the witch. For the moment, I have no choice but to ignore him.
Somehow, I find the courage to move. I bend over Helmar and lift the door off him. “Helmar!” I shout. “Get up, we’ve got to get out of here!”
He groans, and staggers to his feet. In stumbling steps, I pull him toward the window. He sways as if he would fall and I have to hold onto him for fear that he will topple through the open window.
I whirl around, Vay is almost to the top of the stairs. We’re trapped, there’s no way out except through the window, but how do I get Helmar down the vines with his senses askew. I can’t carry him and at the moment, he can’t climb.
For an instant, I think of shouting for Amil to come back, but neither he nor Phigby could climb fast enough to reach us in time.
I whirl back to Vay and suck in a breath. She’s standing just outside the doorway, her cold, red eyes staring as if she thirsts for our blood. From deep within her shadowy hood, I hear, I will have what is mine.
She stretches out a hand toward Helmar. I know what she reaches for — Pengillstorr’s jewel.
An image forms in my mind, Vay’s claws at my throat, slowly squeezing the life out of me while her sinister laugh comes again, and again. Helmar starts as if he’s suddenly come awake. He takes one look at Vay and lunges for his sword which lies on the ground.
He points the blade at the evil fairy, standing tall and firm against pure evil. “Take another step,” he growls, “and I will run you through.”
Vay laughs again. Think that your puny blade can harm me, Helmar? she taunts.
At the mention of his name, Helmar jerks as if Vay had slapped him across the face. Seeing his startled expression, Vay hisses, Yes, Helmar, I know your name. I know all your names.
I stand frozen, quivering, a puny mouse cornered by a voracious Dread Wolf. Abruptly another image swiftly forms in my mind. “Helmar, the gem!”
This time, he doesn’t hesitate but rips the jewel out of his pocket. As soon as he does, Vay abruptly stops. She sucks in a breath as if to draw all the air out of the room. I try to pull Helmar closer to the window, to the vines, but he won’t budge.
He stands there, sword and gem outstretched as if the two will ward off Vay’s malicious evil. As fast as a snake strike, Vay swings her arm around as if it were a bludgeon of sorts. Helmar is flung against the wall so hard that he slides to the floor, his eyes completely closed.
It’s just me and Vay standing but a few body lengths apart. She throws back her head, cackles loudly and throws her arms wide. What? No emerald dragon to save you, this time, Hooper? No Voxtyrmen wielded by the Gem Guardian? I admit, I made a mistake in trying to kill you the first time as I thought you were Pengillstorr’s choice.
But you turned out to be nothing, after all. So, I will take what is mine, but I am still going to kill you as I don’t need you to find the golden.
She starts to reach toward Helmar and the gemstone he holds but just as she does, there is a light, brighter than the sun that pours through the window. Vay shrieks, No!
I can feel the presence, just for an instant, of Osa, Nadia, and Eskar.
Behind me, the whole vine begins to shake and shudder before a wall of leaves and boughs explodes through the window. I duck out of the way and go to Helmar. He starts to rouse, and though I struggle with his hefty body, I manage to get him to his feet.
The leafy vines flood the room, rushing around and over, but, amazingly not against us. We’re like a rock cleft that splits a sea of green. It’s as if the vine knows we couldn’t stand against the onslaught. In moments, there’s a thick, impenetrable green barrier between Vay and the two of us.
I mutter, “Nice to have help, even when you don’t ask for it.”
Helmar is a bit wobbly, and I hold onto him for a few moments while he gets his head straightened back on. He pockets the gemstone and mutters, “I think we need to get out of here while we still can.”
I nod in quick agreement. “Can you get down the vines? You’re still a little shaky on your feet.”
“I’d rather take a chance on the vines than stay here with that thing,” he declares.
“That makes three of us,” I reply as I push aside the vines that cover the window and help him over the windowsill.
He blinks his eyes at me and questions, “Three?” Just then, Scamper pops his head up and chitters at him. Helmar smiles wanly. “Oh, right—three of us.”
He takes a firm grip on a stout vine, swings out and begins climbing rapidly down. I watch him for a few moments before I search the vine lattice for the rest of our company.
“Wha — ” I begin as I scrutinize every bit of the vinework. All but Helmar have somehow disappeared. I don’t see anyone still climbing down the latticework. I slide back and forth, trying to spot Cara or her father, but they’re nowhere to be seen. Neither is Phigby nor Amil. I peer intensely at the tower’s base, fearful that I’m going to see four dead bodies, but thankfully, they’re not there either.
An eerie, wailing sound coming through the emerald wall whips me around. I hear a muttering that’s so muted that I can’t make out the words. It rises in volume and force until a thunderclap booms with such power that it throws me backward. For a moment, the room shakes as if the thunderbolt’s power is going to collapse the fortress walls.
There’s a crackling noise coming from the other side of the chamber. I pick myself up off the floor and suck in a breath. I smell smoke, but it’s bitter and pungent as if someone has set stinkweed afire.
Scamper is chattering madly, his little paws scratching at my head and throat. Black, wispy tendrils snake through the branches wrapping themselves around the vine runners. Where they touch, the smoke like tentacles begin to pull and crush the greenery.
Vay’s dark magic is tearing down the bramble barrier.
The snapping and shredding of leaves and woody branches grows louder, faster. I can’t stay here, or Vay’s foul tentacles will wrap themselves around my body, holding me for her wrath. I would rather fall to a clean death than have her evil claws rip the life out of me.
I all but throw myself to the windowsill. I swing myself out and frantically kick my feet until I feel firmness beneath my boot soles, and a vine branch takes my weight. I push myself to descend as fast as I can, to escape Vay and her writhing smoke monster.
I hear crackling, snapping and I look up. The topmost part of the vine lattice is now in the grip of the wispy tentacles.
I can’t move fast enough; the uppermost vines are beginning to rip away from the walls. I peer downward and know it’s hopeless. It’s too far. Above me, the greenery is crumbling, vanishing before my eyes. What’s left won’t hold me much longer.
The branch I’m holding onto peels away from the keep’s stonework. I frantically look around for another branch to grab, but I’m too late.
I hear loud snapping, first from above, then to each side; the sound of the vine branches splitting apart. Then the whole mass of greenery — leaves, stems and branches peel away from the stonework as if a giant hand had reached out to strip it away.
I’m falling, the only sounds are the rush of wind and Scamper’s plaintiff wails.
They will be the last sounds I ever hear.
28
I’m tumbling like some windblown leaf. Only this time there’s no pond of water underneath me, only rock-hard ground. The world is spinning, and I can’t — make — it — stop. I want to shriek, shout, scream, at the top of my lungs for help, but all that comes are little gurgles that barely get past my lips.
I’m about to die, and there is absolutely nothing that I can do to stop Fate’s hand from grasping me tightly and carrying me to death’s bosom.
Scamper is squalling, his little paws grip me so fiercely that they puncture my tunic and bite deep into my skin. I try to grab and pull him to me to cushion his fall, but my arms flail around as if they haven’t any life to them.
The wind whistles past my ears, then there is a roaring gust of air and talons close about my body, squeezing me so tight that I can barely breathe. I’m jerked upward so hard that my head feels like it will snap right off my shoulders.
After a moment, I manage to twist around and see the golden’s wings and body as she soars higher into the air. Without thinking of what I’m actually saying, I bellow at the top of my lungs, “Let me go!”
Thankfully, she ignores me. She races almost straight up like a golden arrow with wings. I try to see what’s happened to the others, but I can’t see anything but a dragon underbelly and wings.
We climb still higher into the sky.
And then she lets me go.
“No!” I bawl. “Not now!” I continue to rise in a long arc, my arms, hands, flailing as if I’m trying to grab onto a cloud and hang on by my fingertips. As I’m about to plunge back down again, the golden appears just below me.
Somehow, someway, I land on her back, but I’m sprawled out facing the wrong way. I’m sliding across her smooth hide, my hands scrape and grab against dragon scales trying desperately to find a handhold.
Scamper chitters so loudly that my ears ring. Then, the golden stops to hover in midair, allowing me to twist around so that I can slide forward until I can sit my rump in her neck cradle, but I still don’t have a grip on anything.
I’m not positive, but I think that at that moment, the golden must have sensed that I was in a precarious position and in grave danger of falling off. She pushes up her neck muscles, which press me against her skull sheath.
I bury my face into her tough hide. I clamp my legs about he
r neck in a death grip. I reach out, grab two of her horns and hold on for dear life.
Scamper launches himself out of my tunic hood and dives under the golden’s carapace. He’s trembling and shaking, apparently not liking our dragonless skying one bit.
Well, neither did I.
The golden ducks her head and the next thing I know, we’re speeding straight down, right at Dunadain Keep and the bowmen that are charging across the walkway. “No!” I yelp. “Not that way, you’re headed right for them!”
The archers bring their bows up, but instead of aiming at us, they swing around to point at the walkway leading to the tower. My eyes catch movement. It’s Helmar.
Somehow, he was able to escape from the vines before they came tumbling down to the paving. The archers have a dead bead on him. He stumbles and then catches himself and sprints down the walkway toward a turret.
I only have to take one look to know that he won’t reach safety in time. A dozen or more arrows will impale him before he can lunge through the doorway and into the tower.
Then I realize the golden’s plan. “Yes!” I shout eagerly. “Go!”
I feel as if I’m riding a golden comet through the air. The golden has her wings half-folded, her head pointed straight at the keep walls. I lean forward into the rushing wind. The bowmen have their eyes set on Helmar and are so intent on their running target that they don’t look up until the last instant.
By then, it’s too late.
The golden booms across the fortress walls, the force from her wake blasts a dozen or more archers off the parapet. Their thrashing arms and legs send bows and arrows spraying upward, a fountain of bow shafts and arrow points.
I glance behind and see that those few bowmen who escaped their fellow archers’ fate are now in total disarray and running for cover.
They’ve completely forgotten about Helmar.