by GARY DARBY
I bite down hard on my lip, but I don’t speak up. After all, she’s right. If Helmar were a mighty dragon heart tree, I would be the tiniest sprig in the forest. That’s why I’m still in shock over where I now stand and wondering if it’s not a mistake, that Phigby is wrong, and I really should be handing the Voxtyrmen back to Helmar.
Phigby’s eyebrows furrow in profound sadness, and he places a hand on Helmar’s broad shoulder. “Yes, I knew the chance that we were taking with Helmar’s life, and if Vay had succeeded in her evil plans, it would have been as if she had thrust a Proga lance deep, deep into my heart.”
His eyes meet Helmar’s. “It was a bitter, bitter thought to contemplate and I would have been miserable for the remainder of my life.”
He pauses before straightening to say, “However, though I fully admit that that may well have happened, we must remember and accept the fact that we are in a war with Vay. A war that will extend beyond the Northern Kingdom’s boundaries and determine the fate of our world.”
He takes a deep breath and gravely murmurs, “And, we must all accept the fact that each of us may be called upon to offer up the ultimate sacrifice.”
He touches my tunic where the gemstone lies. “Just as a very special emerald dragon did,” he says of Pengillstorr, “so that we now have his gemstone with which to face Vay and her minions.”
I glance up at the golden. Her ears are forward, listening, but her expression is impassive, stoic. I give her a little glare, and she returns my look with a dignified, unapologetic gaze. I can’t help but wonder if she too, knew all along.
I turn back to Phigby and shake my head. “I still don’t understand, Phigby. Of all the people on Erdron, why me? I’m the least — ”
“Hooper!” his bellow is like one of the distant mountains, towering, massive. “Even the least among us has worth and dignity, and that includes you!”
He takes a breath. “And never, ever forget that.”
I hear thudding footsteps and turn to see the sapphires gathering behind us in a semi-circle. The golden joins them, and they lift their heads to let out a giant roar that rolls across the meadow and the forest beyond.
The little sprogs join in and do their best to mimic the dragon’s thundering roar, but it’s not much more than a loud squeal.
As the dragon’s roar fades away, Scamper comes bounding up to nuzzle against my legs, and Amil takes a step forward to study my face before he speaks. “In all honesty, Hooper,” he rumbles low, “with something as precious as a dragon jewel, I would prefer someone who can wield a sword or ax, and can string his own bow.”
Such as Helmar, I think to myself.
He takes in a deep breath. “However, in all my travels I’ve learned that it’s not always the reach of your sword arm that determines how far one’s heart can stretch.”
He holds his great ax up. “My blade is yours.”
Slowly, with obvious reluctance, Helmar puts a hand on his sword hilt. “To protect the golden and the gem, you can count on my sword and my bow.”
“And I pledge my bag,” Phigby quickly states.
That brings a lighthearted moment, but I can see that Master Boren has a frown on his face as he glances first from me, and then to the golden. The expression on his face tells me all that I need to know.
He cannot accept that his former dragon dung shoveler now rides the mightiest dragon in the world.
For an instant, I see a pang of jealousy cross his face. I nod to myself in understanding. If anyone should be riding Golden Wind, it should be the greatest Dragon Master, and not Hooper, the mightiest manure mover.
After all, the stench of dung still scents my clothes, my body is still scarred and weak. In their eyes, I’m only a few days removed from being the guardian of the slurry pile. And instead of wielding a dragon gem, I should be brandishing a rake and shovel.
It’s obvious that Master Boren and Cara are holding back, neither acknowledging me as the Gem Guardian. Cara’s eyebrows are furrowed together, and her face is a bit darker than normal.
Her mouth is skewed to one side, and her eyes don’t have their usual sparkle. Then, slowly, as if she did so reluctantly she takes her father’s arm and both turn away from me and the others. Helmar quickly follows the two.
To Phigby, Amil, Scamper and the dragons, I may be called to carry Pengillstorr’s gift, but to Cara, her father, and Helmar, I am still only a Hooper.
Having Cara reject me is sharper than any Proga lance that’s ever been thrust into my body, and I’m tempted to rip the gem from my tunic and toss it away as it seems to be the object that’s come between us.
What does it matter if we won the battle of Dunadain Keep if I’ve lost Cara even if only but for a friend? In the eyes of the others it may have been a victory but to me, I feel as if Aster had plunged his sword clean through my heart.
If this supposed honor that I am to carry, this “Gem Guardian” title is to cause heartache between us, then do I really want what it represents? Am I willing to bear this price, this searing of my own soul as I see her walk away with her back turned, perhaps forever to me?
I start to go after her, but Phigby is quick to lay a restraining hand on my shoulder. “She and her father,” he murmurs, “need time to think, and that is exactly what we shall give them.”
I hesitate, my eyes still on Cara but with an aching heart at her obvious resentment. I slowly turn my gaze from her and meet the golden’s stare. She gives me the barest of nods. “Well Gem Guardian,” Phigby mutters, “what now? Where would you have us go?”
I hesitate before I raise my hand to point at the daunting mountain barrier that rises before us. “There,” I murmur, “and beyond.”
I stare long and hard at the peaks, trying to still my churning emotions, and the near overwhelming weight that’s descended on body and mind. No one speaks for a long time, each locked in their own thoughts. I look to Phigby. “I have so many questions now.”
I touch my tunic where the gemstone lies. “What does this do? What does it mean?”
I peer intently at him. “I once asked you, ‘who are you?’”
I take a deep breath. “Now I’m wondering who am I?” I give him a half-hearted shrug. “How do I find the answers?”
He studies my face for a bit before saying, “The same way any of us find answers, Hooper. We take life’s journey and along the way, if we’re lucky, we find the answers we seek.”
“A journey,” I mutter.
Phigby lifts a hand toward the towering granite peaks that rise before us. “Yes lad, and yours, and ours, I think, has just begun.”
A new journey, I think to myself, one that will obviously be dangerous but even as I dwell on the dangers we may face a sudden thought comes to mind.
I give Cara a swift glance. A journey where yes, I might find the answers to my life’s questions, but more so, perhaps I can somehow prove myself to Cara and regain her friendship.
If so, that alone would make any journey, no matter how hazardous worth the effort.
I straighten, tighten the belt around my tunic, and lift my head to gaze at the mountains that seem to march like granite walls from horizon to horizon.
“Then,” I murmur to Phigby, “that’s good enough for me.”
THE END
The story continues in Book Two
The Queen’s Vow
I hope you enjoyed If a Dragon Cries. Reviews are really important to authors – would you please take a few moments and leave one? Thank you.
If a Dragon Cries Review Page
1
A new day is dawning, but there’s little warmth from the sun’s rays in our small camp. We are the hunted—the pursued. The outcast, the condemned just waiting for Death to write the last sentence in our book of life. And all for one dragon.
Is a dragon worth dying for, or for that matter, is there any one thing ever worth the ultimate price?
Yes.
My answer surprises me as it wasn’t so long ago
that I would have shouted, “No!” at the top of my voice. Especially if it concerned dragons.
But now I’m slowly beginning to understand that there are some things in life worth dying for; family, friends—freedom, the right to choose our own path.
Phigby said that my voyage to find the answers to my life’s questions had just begun. If that’s the case, it would appear that I will have a short journey, and death may be the only answer that I find at the end.
I ask Golden Wind why go to a land of bloodthirsty giants? It doesn’t make sense. To me, it’s like jumping out of the way of a herd of stampeding yearling dragons only to get stomped by Wind Boomer and his giant talons.
She gives me “the look” and says, “Hooper, is it the destination that makes the journey worthwhile or is it the journey that makes the destination worthwhile? Or is it both?”
Of course, I have no idea what she’s talking about, and I really have no idea why we’re going to the Golian Domain, except that if we’re to believe Phigby’s dragon gemstone book, that’s our direction.
What I do know is that it seems as if the whole kingdom is pursuing us and since our defeat of Vay at the Battle of Dunadain Keep with the help of Pengillstorr’s gemstone, everyone knows that I carry a mystical dragon jewel that holds magical powers.
“It’s as if the news,” Phigby had said, “were carried on a lightning bolt, flashing from one town in the kingdom to the next.” Soon, other domains will know, too.
The price on our heads has no doubt tripled. Who knows, maybe instead of being only worth my weight in silver, I too, like Cara and Helmar, will become worth my weight in gold.
Though I freely admit, there are some honors I could do without.
Our escape from the evil fairy Vay and her minion, Prince Aster, at Dunadain has led us here, to the foothills leading to the mighty Denalian Mountains, the Golian Domain borders, the land of fearsome giants.
None of us has slept well during the night, especially me. Though my eyes were closed, my mind was swirling as if my thoughts were a cloud of black midges that swarmed in my head, flitting, whirling, but never settling in one place for very long.
To my utter astonishment, and I admit, my utter reluctance, it seems that I now carry the mantle of the Gem Guardian, a burden I neither asked for nor really want.
And with it comes the awful thought that I am now the target of Vay’s maliciousness.
But worse still, Cara, the girl of my dreams, hates me for I have taken the honor of being the Gem Guardian away from Helmar, her suitor.
Helmar, it seems, is not convinced that I am worthy to carry the Voxtyrmen, the emerald gemstone from the mighty green dragon Pengillstorr, who bestowed it upon me just before he died.
He doesn’t say it aloud, but I have little doubt in my mind that secretly, Helmar believes that the jewel was meant for him. The question is how deep is his resentment?
Back in Draconstead before we fled from the Wilders, Helmar admitted that he was ambitious and wanted nothing less than to be the worthy successor to Dragon Master Boren Dracon. And be the greatest Dragon Master of all.
What better way than to have the power of Voxtyrmen to aid you in your quest?
Though he has sworn that he will protect Golden Wind, I cannot help but notice that his oath doesn’t extend to me, and I have the feeling that in his heart, he deems that I’ve cheated him out of what is rightfully his.
And then there’s Master Boren, Cara’s father and the former Dragon Master of House Lorell; the greatest Dragon Master in all the land some say.
House Lorell is no more, destroyed by the barbaric Wilder horde and with it Draconstead’s mighty dragon herd that was the envy of many Great Houses.
Now the greatest Dragon Master rules a herd of a mere four sprogs, or baby dragons, and four adult dragons even though one is a golden dragon.
Master Boren hasn’t said it, but I can still feel his simmering anger at me for riding Golden Wind; she who is both the harbinger of evil times but also the key to bringing forth a wondrous dragon that will save our world from the maelstrom that has only just begun.
I just know that in Master Boren’s mind, he questions how it can be that Hooper, the lowest of the low, who called a musty straw bed in a drafty dragon barn home, and whose main daily task was to rid the dragon stalls and paddocks of manure can be Golden Wind’s chosen rider?
And now that we know that King Leo and his two sons, Tavin and Aster, not to mention Master Boren’s own son, Daron, are corrupt and in league with Vay, to Boren there is only one who is worthy to ride the golden: himself.
Or perhaps Helmar, who is his novice and chosen successor.
To me, Master Boren is like a pot of simmering water; stoke the fire so that it is red-hot and the water will churn higher and higher until it boils up and over, scalding anyone who is close to the fire.
It is just a matter of time before he boils over and I will be the one who gets scalded.
Even though we are comrades in battle, our little company seems divided, and the only thing holding us together is our mutual desire to protect Golden Wind.
The question is, will that be enough?
At dawn, Phigby and Master Boren gather us round in our makeshift camp at the woodlands’ edge. The mood is somber given our sober situation.
A cold wind flows down from the mountain peaks, and we stand close to the little fire, to glean what warmth we can from the flickering flames.
Phigby clears his throat and begins, his voice husky and low. “We cannot go back to the Northern Kingdom, back to that which we know. Just as Draconstead, our former home for most of us, is lost, so are our past lives.
“That which we were yesterday is no more, and as surely as the sun will rise this morning, who we are today will not be who we are tomorrow. Change is now our constant companion.
“We are to seek refuge from our deadly adversaries in the unlikeliest of places—the Golian Domain, a land of warrior giants who forbid anyone to enter their territory on pain of death, particularly those who ride dragons.
“But according to our guide, the gemstone book, to their domain apparently we must go and take our chances with a fearsome race that gives no quarter to trespassers; or face Vay and her evil magic, with just the six of us.”
He pauses as if to let us consider his words before saying, “We are at war. This is no longer about King Leo and the Great Houses seeking to steal Golden Wind—this is about the fate of our world.
“Vay and her filthy ilk have one goal, to turn us all into slaves. But as we are free still, it is in my mind that all of us must make our own decision as to where our hearts lie and what path our feet would tread."
He turns and gestures toward the towering granite massif that is the Denalian Mountains. “We rest on the domain’s border,” he says, “and once past this point, we walk upon Golian land.”
He pauses, strokes his long, gray, curly beard and murmurs, “We have been led here for a reason, and apparently that purpose is to safeguard Golden Wind from Vay and the Wilders, for she holds the key to their defeat.
“It is no secret that the few that enter the domain ever return alive. Still, as each of us is a free agent and as we have no captain that we’ve sworn fidelity to, the decision to go forward must then be made solely by each of us.”
He straightens and motions toward me. “Hooper, what say ye?”
I can feel the weight of the emerald tear jewel in my tunic. I’m at a total loss as to why I’ve been chosen as its guardian, I only know that its burden is mine to carry.
Admittedly, I’m fearful, uncertain that I will be strong enough to wield its powers.
Yes, and horribly frightened by the fact that now I’m the center of Vay’s wrath and her malice. She will use all her magical powers, her minions that she’s ensnared to capture the golden and kill me, as well as every person in our tiny company.
I glance at Golden Wind, who returns my gaze with an impassive expression. I know what she�
��s thinking. As Phigby said, each of us must make this choice on our own.
She will not attempt to influence me in my decision, though I know what she expects of me—to stand tall and upright as the Gem Guardian and to honor my great gift.
Except, when you’re just a Hooper, with a small, scarred body, and all you’ve done your entire life is shovel dragon dung and be someone’s whipping boy, to not only face giants but Vay and her evil horde is more than intimidating—it’s terrifying.
Still, as I once heard Phigby mutter, “Where much is given, much is expected.” I can’t help but recall all the times Golden Wind’s saved my life. Can I do any less for her?
Scamper paws at my legs and I peer down. He scrunches up his little button nose and his coal-black eyes are very serious as he starts chittering. I nod before whispering, “You’re right, Scamper, we owe it to her, don’t we?”
Raising my head, I meet Phigby’s eyes. “I will go to the mountains and beyond.”
Phigby gives me a nod and turns to Amil. The big man stands and squares his shoulders with strong hands resting on the hilt of his sharp, double-bladed ax.
His voice is soft. “I have been a King’s Man most of my life, and when I saw you named on the King’s Warrant for stealing the golden, I admit, I had grave misgivings as to your innocence.
“But I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt because of my friendship with Phigby. However, after what I witnessed at Dunadain Keep, the injustice that’s been brought upon your heads and who and what is behind the evil affairs that have come upon the kingdom . . .”
His voice becomes stronger. “If you will have me, I would offer my ax and my loyalty to this company. I too would go to the mountains with you and beyond, if necessary.”
Phigby nods to Helmar, indicating that it is his turn to speak. Helmar is slow to rise, rubs at his chin’s short beard before he brings his head up and faces the group.