The Legend of Hooper's Dragons Box Set

by GARY DARBY

  As my pounding rains down on his warped blade, where once there was haughty pride and arrogance, there is now fear in Aster’s eyes. He knows his Wilder army cannot save him, and neither can the beast on which we fight.

  He retreats several steps and holds up a hand as if he’s had enough and wants to surrender. “Hold, Hooper,” he calls while he licks blood off his lips and swallows hard. I stop with my blade weaving, ready to rush him if he tries to elude me.

  The dark prince glances around as if seeking for some way to escape. “I can give you anything you want,” he whines.

  I can hear—no, feel the desperation in his voice.

  “Riches beyond your wildest dreams. Such power that you’ll have even the mightiest of kings groveling at your feet. And more, much more.”

  “In exchange for what?” I rasp out.

  “Let me live,” he answers, “and I will grant you anything—everything that you want.”

  “Anything and everything I want,” I laugh.

  I can hear the bitterness of my laugh as I hold my blade aloft and stare unblinkingly at the unnerved prince.

  “Can you bring my family back to life, Aster? Can you return Master Boren’s life to him? And what of Draconstead and Draconton that you destroyed? Or Dronopolis? Is it in your power to restore those as they were before you began this madness?”

  Aster runs a tongue over dry lips, his eyes shifting back and forth, seeking a way out, for he knows the answer to my questions is no. He cannot grant me what I actually wish for in life.

  He holds perfectly still for an instant and then his eyes widen. He pulls back his sword and then throws it at me as if he were throwing a knife.

  I duck low as the blade whizzes just above my head. Before I can recover, Aster rushes past me.

  Whirling, I give chase, but he’s too fast. He darts to the side of the beast’s head. He shouts some unintelligible command to the monster and instantly, it spews forth a torrent of dragon fire.

  Before I can reach him, he turns and leers at me. Then, to my amazement, he launches himself into the air.

  Just as I reach Aster’s golden throne, a Wilder red lifts above the monster and to one side of the beast. A scarlet-clad Wilder tightly grasps Prince Aster, who lies face down, clutching at the scales on the dragon’s back.

  The Wilder wheels his red down and away, disappearing into the curtain of smoke.

  I drop my head and kneel in despair.

  I’ve failed.

  Aster escaped and will soon be leading his Wilder horde to more death and destruction.

  After a moment, I rise and glance down at the scene below. During our struggles, the giant dragon has reached the Appan Way and the outskirts of the city. Scores of Golians, the aged and infirm, as well as children, run screaming as the scalding dragon fire rakes the broad boulevard.

  I have to stop the carnage, but how? Through the screams and scalding hiss of dragon fire, I hear a gentle voice as if carried on the wind, Are you prepared to do what must be done, no matter the cost?

  “Yes,” I murmur. “I am.”

  I step to center of the beast’s head, and find the place I’m looking for. The spot that all dragons have. Bringing my sword high over my head, I grip the hilt firmly with two hands. The wind is in my face and for a moment, I feel the coolness as it flows over and around me and I can’t help thinking; a dragon killed my family and now a dragon will kill me.

  Just then, in the near distance, I see dragon wings that are familiar and bring a soft smile. Cara on Wind Song with Phigby at her back and the golden are speeding along on the same wind that cools my feverish body, soothes my anger so that I can do what must be done.

  The anguish is clear on Cara’s face and for an instant; I feel her hurt, her pain. But there is nothing I can do for her, but there is something I can do to stop the slaughter below.

  I hold my emerald blade high and then, with all my strength, plunge my sword deep into the monster’s head. The behemoth bellows and jerks its head back. For a moment, it’s as if it stumbles in the air.

  Pushing the blade deeper, I twist. The monster begins to shudder and then its wings crumple as if they can no longer carry the beast’s enormous weight. It shakes one final time in its death throes and then we plunge toward the ground.

  One look over my shoulder at the onrushing paving stones and I know my end is near. Nothing can save me.

  The beast is spiraling downward, out of control, its bellows of pain coursing through the air. Only by grasping my sword tight am I not tossed overboard to go flailing through the air to my own death far below.

  I’m whipped and spun, but it’s like my hands have become part of my sword hilt and I’m not thrown off. Somehow, I keep pushing on my sword, trying to shove it deeper, to make sure this fiend never, ever comes again to bring pain and destruction.

  The spiraling goes on, and then, through the roaring, rushing wind I hear, “Hooopperrr . . . Let go!”

  It’s Golden Wind, calling to me. I glance up and see her weaving this way and that, trying to stay with the tumbling beast without being hit herself by its massive flailing wings.

  She’s trying her best to get to me, but the behemoth’s unpredictable whirling make that an impossible task. Still, she’s giving me a chance, albeit a slim one, not to die under the monster dragon’s crushing weight.

  I hesitate for an instant, but then, with one last thrust of my blade deep into the monstrosity’s skull, I let go, and I’m flung away, into the air.

  Somewhere in my mind, even as the blackness envelops me, I know what Golden Wind is going to try and do. At the same time, I realize that her attempt to save me is all but impossible.

  Most likely she’ll fail, but I would rather take one chance on Golden Wind than the sure chance that if I rode Aster’s dragon down in its death spiral to the ground below, I would certainly die.

  At least this way, it will be a clean death, instead of being entangled in the foul grip of one of Vay’s or Aster’s creatures.

  At first, I’m staring straight down at the granite boulevard, then I tumble and spin and the next moment, I’m on my back, staring straight up with the wind rushing around me. As I look up, I realize that it may not be as clean a death as I thought.

  I’m directly under the massive dragon. Somehow, when I was thrown from its head, I ended up beneath the thing. And now it’s obvious that even if by some miracle I survived hitting the ground, I’m going to be crushed under its terrifying weight.

  Is dying by falling to your death worse than a mountain of dragon crushing you? For some reason, that behemoth crushing me scares me more than hitting the pavement.

  I don’t know how close I am to hitting as I can’t turn my head and see, but I know I’m close, and death is but a few heartbeats away. I close my eyes. In the moment, it gives me some small measure of comfort not to see that monster tumbling above me.

  Then I hear a rushing, roaring sound directly below, and almost in the same instant I feel myself jerked powerfully to one side. I open my eyes and to my utter astonishment, I find myself wedged between the two huge spikes of the golden’s tail.

  We speed by the ground so close that if I had wanted to, I could have practically reached out and plucked a bouquet of daisies. But then I lift my eyes skyward, and I forget all about flowers.

  The behemoth is still falling straight down upon us. We skim just over a building, skying faster and faster. Of a sudden, I’m tossed up into the air and in danger of being thrown clear of the golden’s saving tail spikes. At the last moment, I wrap my arms around her spiny thorns and cling with all my might.

  I’m tossed from side to side as the huge dragon smashes into the ground as if a mountain fell from the sky. An enormous cloud of dirt and dust spews outward in a gigantic eruption that for a few moments engulfs us before we finally break into clear air.

  We sky a little farther and then the golden hovers before lowering herself and her tail gently to the ground so that I can clamber out
of my awkward, but life-saving seat.

  Limping, I run up to her and press my head against her neck while wrapping my arms as far around her as they’ll go, which isn’t all that far. I murmur gratefully, “Thank you, Golden Wind. That was an incredible feat, saving me like you did.”

  I step back and mildly scold her. “But you could have been killed, you know.”

  She smiles as if to speak, and I hold up a hand. “I know, I know, I needed saving.”

  I grin and say, “But between you and me, riding on your front end is a lot more comfortable than the tail section. Besides, if you had missed, those spikes might have—well, I’m just glad you didn’t.”

  Scamper bounds down her leg to the ground, chittering madly away at me, and I smile as I scoop him up and bury my face in his fur. “I know, I know,” I answer. “No more riding monster dragons like that, especially if they’re going to fall on top of you.”

  “Hooper,” Golden Wind murmurs and I lift my head. She nods at something behind me, and I turn.

  Instantly, my elation at being alive turns to utter sadness. Giving me the briefest of hard looks to make sure I was alive, Cara is bringing Wind Song to a landing and just beyond are the broken and torn bodies of her father and brother.

  She leaps from Wind Song and rushes over, her face a mask of anguish, tears streaming down her face.

  Phigby climbs down off Wind Song behind her, and moments later, Helmar and Amil bring Wind Glory to a landing next to Wind Song.

  The three walk up somberly to form a tiny semicircle behind Cara, with the remaining two sapphires behind them.

  I shuffle a few steps but stop at the golden’s head as I can’t bear to hear the soul-wrenching sobs that wrack Cara.

  Helmar bends down next to her. She buries her head into his shoulder, and he holds her tightly, caressing her long, auburn hair and muttering soothing words.

  There is nothing that I can say, no words of solace or comfort that I can speak that would ease her pain so I hang back. She’s in Helmar’s arms now, where she wants to be, and if that brings her some measure of comfort, then that’s all I can ask or want for her.

  I glance up at the sky and turn questioning eyes to the golden. “The Wilders have withdrawn,” she murmurs.

  I turn away from the scene of mourning and glance toward the carnage that has devastated Dronopolis. “Yes,” I answer, “but at such a cost.”

  “Yes,” she laments, “at such a cost.”

  She swings her head to me. “Hooper, I must ask that you follow me. There is something that you must do and it has to be done quickly.”

  I don’t want to leave, even though I feel as if there is nothing I can do for Cara. But Golden Wind nudges me so, puzzled, I follow her until we round a small knoll. Just beyond, her body shattered, lies Wind Rover. My eyes widen in amazement as she manages to turn her head ever so slightly at the sound of our footsteps.

  “She’s alive!” I blurt out and start to turn to tell the others, but Golden Wind firmly says in answer, “No, Hooper, this is for you, and you only.”

  “But they can—”

  “No,” she replies, “they cannot help her. But you must hurry for she has little time left and she’s only held on this long waiting for you.”

  I don’t understand at all, but I limp over as fast as I can and kneel, my hand caressing Rover’s muzzle. I shudder as my eyes take in her crushed body.

  The fearsome impact has shredded her beautiful sapphire scales, her legs and wings broken, and her stomach split as if a giant had taken a sword and slashed her innards open.

  I turn to peer up at the golden. “Are you sure that Cara—”

  “No, Hooper,” Golden Wind murmurs softly, “this is not for Cara, but for you.”

  I gently stroke Rover’s muzzle again, feeling her fighting for every breath. “I don’t—”

  “Just listen, Hooper,” Golden Wind states and lowers her head to nuzzle Rover. “Hunblar Loga, we’re here.”

  Rover lifts her head ever so slightly, turns gentle eyes on me and then closes her eyelids. For just an instant, a beautiful sapphire tear forms at the corner of one eye which flows down her face before it floats away and comes to gently rest in the palm of my hand.

  She opens her eyes, peers at me and murmurs,

  And of this, I have freely done,

  For him, I give willingly to the one,

  Whose work has just begun,

  So that he grows still, the cutter’s son.

  And for this, I gladly do my part

  A willing spirit, ready to depart

  Always together, never apart

  To remember ever, the sacrifice of the heart.

  And with that, she takes one last shuddering breath, closes her eyes, and her head slowly slumps to the ground, there to rest as death takes her.

  My hand quivers as I reach out and stroke her muzzle, clutching the sapphire jewel tight in my fist. For a long while, I caress her head. I never realized just how soft a dragon’s muzzle felt, almost as soft as velvet.

  I try to speak, but the words catch, and I have to clear my throat before asking, “Golden Wind?”

  “Yes, Hooper?”

  “Hunblar Loga, that was Rover’s dragon name. I mean, her real name?”

  “Yes,” the golden acknowledges.

  “What does it mean?”

  “She who cuts the air in a blue blaze.”

  “She who cuts the air in a blue blaze,” I repeat and draw in a deep breath. “It is a most fitting name.”

  I hold the sapphire gem and stare at its lustrous blue hue. “And the jewel’s name?”

  “Truorka,” she answers. “The Gem of Faith and Strength.”

  “Faith and strength,” I murmur. “Both of which we sorely need now.”

  “Both of which are always needed,” Golden Wind agrees.

  I stay silent for a long time before I ask the question that I don’t want to ask, but must. “Golden Wind, is this the way it happens each time?”

  “What happens each time, Hooper?”

  I take a deep, shaky breath. “That one of you has to die before you can give away your tear jewel?”

  Golden Wind is still and quiet for several moments as if considering her words. “There are times when great deeds are needed, Hooper, along with great sacrifices.”

  She lowers her head and her eyes, soft, but intense as well, meet mine. “Sometimes, you cannot have the one without the other.”

  The golden reaches out and gently lays one of her talons on my shoulder. “That’s the way it’s always been, and that’s the way it will always be.

  “Remember that, Hooper, and remember it well.”

  Thoughts of Golden Wind

  The company mourns and well it should.

  Master Boren and Hunblar Loga, two brave, valiant souls lost.

  Lost because of unrighteous pride, greed, arrogance and the lust for power.

  They will not be the last we lose on this journey.

  This will not be the last time we mourn.

  My heart grieves for our loss. I grieve to see Hooper accepting blame when he is blameless.

  He mourns for Cara, for Boren, for Hunblar Loga. Old wounds are open anew. The pain that he’s tried so hard to push aside now rips through his mind, the torment as real as if he has to relive that awful moment.

  The time has come.

  Hooper is ready not only to see but accept the truth.

  I know my words will bring more pain, but it will be for only a moment and then his burden will begin to lift, his heart will start to heal, his soul will begin to know light instead of dark.

  It is so hard to hurt someone you care for, but there is no other way to bring Hooper the balm that he needs to move forward, past that which chains his soul so that he cannot be free.

  How I wish that my healing salve were as gentle as Phigby’s medicines, but it won’t be. For a few moments, it will be as if I poured fresh salt into Hooper’s eyes.

  The tears w
ill flow; the anguish will be such that he will try to turn aside, but I cannot let him. There is still so much to do, and he must move beyond the unjust hate in his heart.

  If he doesn’t, the hatred will consume him, and there will be little difference between him and Vay.

  34

  In honor, the Amazos build a rock cairn to mark the final resting place for Dragon Master Boren Dracon. Next to Master Boren’s rock tomb is an even larger stone memorial that holds the body of Wind Rover, Master Boren’s courageous sapphire.

  Reluctantly, but at Cara’s insistence, they bury Daron’s body next to his father’s.

  It was a sad, solemn occasion when Cara, Helmar, Amil, Phigby, Queen Alonya, and Princess Desma stood at the foot of the burial sites in silent tribute, but I cannot bring myself to join them—to be close to Cara.

  Her ill feelings toward me are evident, and I know that she blames me for both her brother’s and her father’s death.

  She’s made it known that I should have been able to save both of them with the emerald crystal, or at the very least prevented Daron from falling.

  Perhaps I could have, I don’t know.

  As I watch her cry, bewildering thoughts rush through my head. Did I try hard enough for Daron’s sake or did my hatred of him hold me back? I really did try to save him, didn’t I? It was Aster, not me, that caused Daron to fall, wasn’t it? Could I have stopped Aster from swinging his sword? Did I even try to stop him?

  To see Cara lose her family stirs up my own bitter feelings for the past. I try not to let hatred’s bile rise in my throat but to see Cara hurt so just brings the old, painful memories back.

  Will I ever be rid of them, or like the Golians’ Trumps of War, will they continually sound in my head to remind me of what I have lost and now, what Cara has lost?

  I clench my fist over and over, feeling anger burn within me before it finally subsides. Gazing at Cara as she kneels in front of the burial stones, I not only understand her grief but it’s mine.

  Her bitter anger, my bitter anger.