by GARY DARBY
Her shrill laugh fills the hall. “Oh yes, I know all about the gemstone. You think just because we guard our borders jealously that we do not receive word from the outside world?”
Seeing my worried expression, the queen smirks in response. “Rest easy, Hooper, I have no intention of taking it from you. I’m quite familiar with what would happen afterward.”
She sniffs disdainfully, and her mouth turns down in a dark scowl. “Though why one as broken as you was given such a gift, is both preposterous and incomprehensible. No, you may retain your gem, Hooper, but through you, it will serve me and in so doing, will serve my realm.”
“Serve you?” I sputter. “No. I would—”
For an old hag, she moves incredibly fast. Before my next words are out of my mouth, she is towering over me, her face hard, contorted in anger. “No?” she hisses. “Are you sure?”
Like a striking asp, her hand shoots out, and she’s holding Scamper aloft. Scamper lets out a frightened squeal and then wails.
I recover my wits, and furious at what she’s done, start to take a step forward. Only my foot never reaches the ground as strong arms, from behind, wrap around my shoulders and keep me in place.
“Hold, Hooper,” Phigby growls in my ear. “Before she carries out her threat to kill us, and Scamper, too.”
Gru throws back her head and lets out an evil laugh. “Oh, Phigby, how little you know about us. I would never slay Scamper, as you call this Anarsi. You, on the other hand, are another matter.”
She motions with one hand and one of her warriors strides forward. Gru hands her Scamper. “Take the Hellige Kriger to my quarters; see to it that he has the choicest Keriberries and meats.”
The warrior turns away with Scamper. “No!” I shout. “You can’t do that, he’s my—”
“Silence!” Queen Gru’s voice booms through the hallway stopping me in midsentence. Her commanding tone seems to roll through the chamber echoing from one end of the hall to the other.
I struggle against Phigby and then Master Boren wraps his arms around my shoulders, too. My anger boils over. I start to yell, but Phigby’s gnarled hand clamps over my mouth like a vise and all that comes out are muffled shouts of pure fury.
I can hear Scamper squalling in his own anger as the warrior disappears behind the dais. The plum-colored drapes obscure my view. There is the sound of a door opening, and then there is only silence.
The tears well up in my eyes and I tremble in hot anger.
Scamper, my one and only real friend, is gone.
Gone forever.
25
Chuckling, Queen Gru watches me squirm and fight Phigby and Master Boren. But there is death behind her mirthless grin.
Her face takes on a stonelike expression as she gestures at me. “It is well that your friends protect you, for I daresay what would have come out of your mouth would have earned you a painful death.”
Phigby’s hand clamps down even harder on my mouth, while Boren pins my arms to my side. My voice sounds as if my mouth is full of hay, muffled and unrecognizable in my fury.
Gru points a finger, first to one side and then the other. “You might want to take a look and see if your courage is still up to the task.”
My eyes flick from side to side. Gru’s Mori have their swords out and held high, ready to charge at the queen’s command and slay us all.
The queen leans forward and stabs a bejeweled finger right at my nose. “You fool, the Anarsi is in no danger but for now, he stays with me. You and I will discuss his fate later.”
She straightens and says, “As it is, I have more important matters that need my attention.”
Her mouth turns up in a cruel smile. “Namely, Fotina and Alonya.”
Gru snaps her fingers at her guard captain. “Mintis, take them and their beasts to the garden pools. Ring them with two cohorts. Each of the guards is to have a full quiver, and an arrow notched at all times.”
She flicks her eyes over the four of us. “If they or their dragons try to escape—kill them.”
The queen starts to turn but then whirls and yanks Phigby’s bag off his shoulder, sending him spinning to the ground with a loud grunt.
She smirks as she holds it aloft. “Of course, we can’t leave you with this either, Alchemist. Without your bag of tricks, you’re just an old man who’s hardly a threat.”
Gru points at me, her fingers quivering ever so slightly as if she can barely contain her anger. “Mintis, if this one makes even the slightest move toward the jewel he carries inside his tunic, slay him on the spot.”
To Desma she gruffly commands, “Attend me, daughter, we have much to discuss on our way to our guest’s lavish quarters.” She laughs as if she’s made a joke, but I see nothing funny whatsoever in her words.
“My queen,” Desma answers in a calm tone, “may I first escort our prisoners to the pools, ensure that the guard is properly stationed and prepared? I have witnessed what the dragons can do, Mintis has not.”
The queen peers at her daughter and just for an instant, I see her eyes narrow in question before she waves a dismissive hand. “Yes, but quickly.”
Desma backs away from the dais, bowing at the waist, and with one hand picks Phigby up off the ground. She jerks her head for the rest of us to follow while Mintis orders a squad of a dozen warriors to escort us from the building.
Phigby joins Master Boren in half-dragging, half-shoving me down the enormous room toward the far doors. Master Boren has a death grip on one of my arms, and his other hand is clamped over my mouth.
Phigby grabs my other arm while putting his mouth close to my ear and whispering, “Hooper, for your life and ours, stay quiet and keep walking. The queen was deadly serious and will have you killed for the barest of slights and us too, for that matter.”
I’m so angry, so full of rage, that in that instant, I could not care less for my life, and to my shame, my companions’ as well. What matters is that they’ve taken Scamper away from me, and I don’t care if it’s a queen that’s done it or not.
She has no right!
If I could have lashed out, sword or no sword in hand, I would have, but Phigby and Master Boren have my arms bound to my sides, and they’re all but carrying me down the hall. My toes barely scrape the floor as they lift me up and hustle me toward the portal, close behind Desma.
We’re almost to the door when Desma glances over her shoulder, and then bends down to growl, “Hooper, Phigby speaks truthfully. Be still or all your lives are forfeit, and there will be nothing that I can do or say to stop your execution.”
She pauses and then says sternly, “Do you want your other friends to die because of your foolish anger?”
I glance over at Cara. Her eyes are big and round, pleading with me to remain silent. I can also see that she’s frightened, fearful that the foolish, boyish Hooper will be unable to control himself and bring the queen’s wrath down on all of us.
Taking several deep breaths, I try to will my body and mind to calmness. I must have succeeded because where I was as hard and rigid as a dragon scale before, I begin to slump in Phigby’s and Master Boren’s grasp.
A terrible sense of loss and grief slowly starts to replace the hot anger. We burst through the portals into the late afternoon glare. Phigby and Master Boren release me, and I sag to the portico on hands and knees.
They let me stay that way for an instant before Desma gruffly orders, “Get up, Hooper, we must go.”
Phigby and Cara reach down to help me up, but I angrily push their hands away, stand, and lurch down the stairs, my eyes on the ground.
Around me, there are sounds, but I don’t hear them. Cara, Desma, and our guards walk nearby, but I barely see them. There’s only the overwhelming realization that I’ve lost Scamper, and there is absolutely nothing I or anyone else can do about it.
Never again will I be able to knuckle his little head, feel his paws search my pockets for food, have his face so close that we touch noses, laugh at his antics
, feel his warmth and slow breathing as he lies curled next to me in sleep.
All gone. Forever.
We reach the dragons, and it’s as though I’m in a dream. I hear Master Boren’s voice informing Helmar and Amil of our situation, but to me, his words are just murmurings, without form, without substance.
I walk toward the golden and around me, the others are clambering up their dragons, but I’m like a wooden doll, stiff and unmoving as I crawl my way up to Golden Wind’s neck.
The sprogs cheep and chub at me but I ignore them. All I can do is to stare at the empty space on the golden’s carapace where Scamper would usually sit with his nose up and into the wind.
We’re moving, but I don’t remember giving Golden Wind any command to follow the other dragons. Somewhere along the way, more Amazos, fully armed, join our caravan, but I hardly notice them.
The whole city could surround us and I wouldn’t care.
We slowly make our way down several broad boulevards to a meadow-like expanse with shade trees, grass, and a large pool of clear water held in an immense marble-lined basin.
At the pond’s one end is a waist-high, clear waterfall that feeds the bowl and at the other end is a small aqueduct that carries the water off.
We climb down from our dragons with Amil giving Helmar just a slight bit of help to dismount. Though I move as if in a trance, I gather with my companions in a tight circle and face Desma.
She gestures toward the pond and the greenery that surrounds the clear water. “This is the lower pool. There is another pond above this one and another higher one beyond that.
“You and your dragons are to stay here. Do not venture beyond this point except to drink.” Desma pauses, studies us for a moment before saying, “I will have food brought to you shortly.”
She turns to Mintis and gives a crisp command, “Set your guards.”
Mintis gives a small head bow and leads her warriors away to station them in a full circle around the meadow and pond.
Boren and Cara lead Helmar over to a nearby tree that reminds me of the birchens back in Draconstead, only twice as big and ease him down with his back to the tree trunk.
As the Golians move out of earshot, Phigby turns to Desma. “Princess, you are both anxious and bewildered.”
“What I am is of no concern to you,” she retorts.
“Perhaps,” Phigby quietly returns, “but I can see that you are both puzzled by your mother’s behavior and her treatment of your sister.”
The hiss of Desma’s sword sliding out of its scabbard is loud enough to bring me out of my dreamlike state and lift my face up in alarm.
“I said enough, old man,” Desma growls, “or you’ll not grow any older. I am Desma, First Daughter of Golian and no one, especially a Drach speaks to me in that manner.”
Can you be both brave and foolish at the same time?
Phigby proved that you can because he softly says, “Are you sure you’re First Daughter, Princess Desma?”
I swear that in that moment, the birds that were flitting in the trees surrounding the pool stopped fluttering, the clouds that streamed overhead stopped moving, the wind died until it was perfectly calm, and the gushing waterfall became a still, quiet brook.
Desma draws back her sword, and her face is a tortured mask of anger. Her blade point starts to shake just a bit as if her hilt hand is having trouble keeping her blade steady.
She and Phigby’s eyes are locked, and I don’t understand why Phigby doesn’t either run or plead for mercy. Instead, he calmly stands there as if he knows that Desma will not run him through.
After a dozen wild heartbeats, Desma lowers her sword. Her voice is a snarl. “If my mother didn’t have plans for you, your blood would be running red into the pool even now. But this is the last time you speak to me so, for the next time, I will forget what my mother wants and do as I want.”
As she slides her sword back into its scabbard, Mintis comes marching up. “The guard is set, princess. The torches are set and will be lit at dusk.”
“Good,” Desma answers and while gesturing at the ring of archers, says to us, “Remember, do not stray from this place, or attempt to escape on your dragons. My archers do not miss, and their arrow tips are sharp enough to bring down your beasts.”
With a hard look at us, she then orders Mintis, “Bring six goats or sheep and wood for the night’s fire. They can divvy up the meat however they choose. I return to the queen.”
“I will see to it, princess,” Mintis replies and with that, Desma turns for her trek back to the great hall. Mintis gives us a final hard look and spins away.
Phigby pulls us over by Helmar which puts us almost in the exact center of our stone-faced guards.
I turn in a full circle. Golian warriors, their bows held at the ready, each with a deadly arrow set in the bowstring, surround us in an oval pattern that includes the pond. Their pitiless stares never leave us and watch our every move.
Amil mutters, “Something tells me it wouldn’t take much for them to set those arrows in flight.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” Phigby answers just as low. “So let’s not give them any encouragement whatsoever. I suggest we all be very careful and deliberate in what we say and do.”
Cara laughs low. “After what you just said to Desma, you’re telling us to watch ourselves?”
“What Phigby means,” Amil grunts, “is don’t do as he does, rather do as he says, even when he doesn’t follow his own counsel.”
“Well, yes,” Phigby grumps. “But in my defense, I said what needed to be said, only I wasn’t going to say it in front of the queen.”
“I would say,” Cara says slowly, “that the way Desma acted, your verbal dart hit close to the mark.”
“More like poking a stick in a hornet’s nest,” Master Boren observes, “that’s already been poked. From the look on her face back in the plaza, my guess is that she and the queen had some words, and Desma didn’t like what was said.”
“Obviously not,” Amil snorts, “but what are we to do about Fotina and Alonya?”
His gaze sweeps over the lot of us. “You know what’s happening to them at this very moment, don’t you?”
He doesn’t have to say it. Even in my numb state of mind, I know exactly what he’s implying. Queen Gru is having Fotina and Alonya tortured, or worse, preparing them for execution.
Phigby says it for all of us. “We know, my friend, we know.”
With a tiny motion of his head toward the ring of guards, he says, “My heart weighs heavy at the thought, but do you have a solution, a way to help them? I, for one, do not.”
Amil stands mute, like the rest of us. Cara murmurs, “Even if we unleashed dragon fire, there’s just too many Amazos. Gru has made sure that there’s no escaping this prison, lovely as it may be.”
“Yes,” Amil sadly answers, “we get this while Fotina and Alonya get . . .” He leaves the sentence unfinished, unable to bring himself to say “tortured or put to death.”
I’m listening, but my head is down, staring at the ground. Fotina, Alonya, and Scamper, all trapped in Gru’s claws and there’s nothing we can do to save any of them.
“It grows late,” Master Boren mutters, “let’s do what we can to make this a suitable camp.”
He gazes at me and for once, his voice is not hard. “Hooper, can you take the dragons and the sprogs down to the pool to let them drink?”
I nod numbly and then he says, “Good, and Hooper, don’t let them wander off.”
While Phigby and Cara do what they can to make Helmar more comfortable, Amil and Boren gather what rocks they can find for a fire ring.
I lead the dragons down to the water. After a bit, Amil joins me, and we lower the sprogs to the grass. While he goes to one end of the line of dragons to keep them from roaming, I sidle close to the golden.
Bitterly, I whisper, “He’s gone. The queen took Scamper away from me.”
Golden Wind dips her muzzle into the clear water, dri
nks and lifts her head to gaze at the orange-red sun that’s sliding below the horizon. Great drops of water drip from her snout but she doesn’t answer.
I look around, making sure that no one is close enough to overhear. “Didn’t you hear me?” I hiss. “The queen kidnapped Scamper. I don’t care what the others say, I’m going to rescue him. You’ve got to help me get him back.”
She still doesn’t answer but sits on her haunches and stares into the clear sky. Then she observes, “It will be dark soon.”
“It usually is after the sun goes down,” I snap. “Are you going to help me or not?”
She continues to gaze upward while murmuring, “The moons will be very late in rising tonight, the night will be half over before they do. It will be a dark night, indeed.”
“So what?” I gurgle. “What has that got to do with anything?”
“Tonight,” she sighs in a sad voice, “has everything to do with it.”
“Hooper, Amil,” Master Boren calls, “bring the dragons back, the Golians have brought food for us all.”
I clench and unclench my hands in frustration at the golden’s unwillingness to answer my questions or to offer aid in rescuing Scamper.
“Fine,” I retort, “if you won’t help me, I’ll do it by myself.”
She dips her head, drinks again and then murmurs, “Be patient, Hooper, you will have your help, though I’m afraid it will not be in the way any of us want. Instead, it will come with blood and fury.”
“What? Wait,” I mumble, “that’s what the queen said. She wondered if we were bringing blood and fury.”
The golden doesn’t speak, just turns and plods away, leaving me to trudge slowly behind, not only bewildered by her answer but also chilled by her ominous statement at what the night will bring.
A small contingent of Golian males herd six sheep into our camp. With a swiftness born of obvious practice, they butcher the sheep, leaving the carcasses for us on the ground and hustle away under the watchful eye of Mintis.
Another Golian brings a large basket of bread along with firewood and leaves both in our makeshift camp.