by GARY DARBY
The sun starts to drop from its highest point when Alonya leads us into a thick stand of trees for a breather. Huddling together, Phigby directs, “Amil, Helmar, this is as good as spot as any for you to begin your scouting.”
Motioning to both, he instructs, “Be careful and no heroics. We’ll follow slowly and try to time our march so that we’ll pass by Lacenstad after dark.”
Both nod in understanding and after Helmar settles his bow and quiver over his back, Amil grabs a water flask, and the two slip through the underbrush.
In moments, they’ve disappeared in the forest depths with little to mark their silent passing. We wait a bit to allow them to get further ahead before Alonya has us move from the forest stand and follow in their tracks.
With Phigby on Wind Glory, Helmar’s dragon, our pace is quite a bit slower to give Amil and Helmar time to spy out what lies ahead of us. But not so sluggish as to let them get too far ahead, especially if they run into trouble and need our help.
After a bit, Cara slows Wind Song until we’re riding almost knee to knee. I haven’t spoken to her since my outburst regarding the gemstone last night as I’m embarrassed by the scene I made.
For some reason, I can make a complete fool of myself in front of any of the others, and yes, it bothers me, but where Cara is concerned, it’s a whole different matter. When that happens, all I want to do is to find a hole somewhere, crawl in, close the hole on top of me, and never come out again.
She peers over at me. “You’ve been pretty quiet this morning. Did I do something to earn the cold-shoulder treatment?”
“What?” I stammer. “Oh, no, no. You’ve not done anything wrong at all.”
“I’m glad to hear it, but I recognize when someone is not only avoiding me but doesn’t want to speak to me either.”
She dimples and gives me a sideways glance. “Maybe it’s because I haven’t had a decent bath in days and last night doesn’t count.”
Sniffing at her tunic, she wrinkles her nose. “On top of that, wool seems to hold dirt and mud all too well. If you want, I’ll make sure I stay downwind.”
I can’t help myself and smile back at her. “It’s not that,” I assure her. “Besides, then you’d be smelling me and I’m pretty ripe at this point, too.”
Under my breath, I mutter to myself, “Of course, nothing new there.”
“Then what?” she demands. “You’re acting like you’re carrying the weight of the Denalian Mountains on your shoulders.”
She leans toward the golden. “Golden Wind, if he gets too heavy with all that weight he’s carrying, make him get down and walk.”
“Thank you, my dear,” the golden responds, “I’ll certainly remember that.”
I start to reply when Alonya throws her hand up to stop us. She whips out her bow and notches an arrow.
Cara follows suit, the two of them centering their arrowheads at the tree line just to our front.
I lean forward to peer into the woods, and though I can see movement, I can’t quite make out what it is that’s moving through the trees. The dragons aren’t acting nervous, which is a good sign, and moments later I see why.
It’s Helmar, but the way he’s moving, so fast and without being cautious, tells me that something is wrong. Very wrong.
He rushes up and between gasps for breath, says, “Sung Dar ships . . . Tied up at Lacenstad’s river docks.”
He takes in another deep breath. “They’ve unloaded a whole company of drogs.”
“Sung Dar!” Alonya sputters. “So far upriver?”
“I don’t understand,” Cara questions and turns to Phigby. “I thought they were strictly sea-going?”
“It would seem,” Phigby observes, “that Vay’s cohorts aren’t taking any chances and are presuming that we’ve managed to slip through the mountains. Apparently, they’re using the Sung Dar ships to scout the river.”
“The villagers,” Helmar goes on after taking in several deep breaths, “the drogs are rounding them all up.”
We exchange quick, uneasy glances. “Do you know why?” Alonya questions.
Helmar nods. “From what little we heard, like Phigby said, they’re looking for us.”
His face turns hard. “The village elder denied seeing or knowing anything about us. The drogs accused him of lying and killed him on the spot.”
Running a hand over his sweaty face, he goes on to say, “I left Amil behind to hide and watch, but we both think the drogs are going to kill more, perhaps the whole village.”
Alonya’s voice is a growl. “They will too if there’s no one there to stop their blood lust.”
“What about the Sung Dar?” Cara asks. “What are they doing?”
“Watching,” Helmar answers in an angry tone. “They’re just standing there and making no effort to stop the drogs if that’s what you’re asking.”
He looks around, his eyes hard. “So, what do we do?”
No one speaks for a few moments before Alonya offers, “If we want to avoid a fight or anyone seeing us, we can stay here, cross the river at night and easily bypass the scum on the other side. If we remain on this side, we must go deeper into the woods, clear to the hill line before we can swing back to the river fa++rther down.”
“But what about the villagers?” Cara questions. “If we leave them to the drogs—”
“It could be a repeat of Draconstead,” Phigby finishes for her with a dark scowl.
“My thoughts, too,” Helmar declares. “I know we’re trying hard not to be seen, but if we don’t do something, I’m sure the drogs will massacre everyone in that village.”
“We’d have to sneak right up to the village,” Cara observes, “and hope we don’t get caught.”
“Dare we risk it?” Alonya asks.
“Dare we not?” Phigby responds.
He peers at me, an intent, puzzled expression etching his face. On purpose, I’ve stood back, arms folded across my chest, not speaking. After last night, I neither trust my mouth or my actions. “Hooper, you’ve been quiet, but on this, we need your thoughts, too.”
I flick my eyes toward Cara. She’s looking at me too, waiting for my answer. Her face holds, what? Hope? Faith? That in this moment when villagers’ lives hang on my answer, I will say and do the right thing. She doesn’t know what I almost did to the ghouls, she only knows that I came riding up on my golden dragon and saved the fair damsel.
Some knight in shining armor, I think. I don’t even have the courage to tell her the truth, afraid that she’ll look at me as if I were nothing more than a ghoul in Drach form.
But I must answer, I can’t just stand there mute.
So, I take a deep breath, shaking my head. “I don’t want anyone dying for me, especially innocent people. We can’t leave those villagers to the Sung Dar’s mercy or the drogs’ because those scum have none. If we pass by and do nothing,” I meet Cara’s eyes, “what does that say about us? We would be little more than the Sung Dar, or drogs, for that matter.”
Cara’s eyes are shining. Her supposed knight has met her expectations. I give her a tiny smile and stare at the ground. If she only knew—then again, I hope she never finds out.
Phigby claps me on the arm and asks, “Are we agreed then? Do what we can, even if it means getting into a battle with the Sung Dar and drogs and perhaps inviting discovery?”
Our answer is to rush back to our dragons, and with Helmar and Alonya in the lead, we move as quietly, but as quickly as we can through the forest until Helmar slows us to a crawl as we near the village.
We leave the dragons nestled deep in a shadowed dale and I give Scamper strict orders to keep the sprogs and sprites quiet.
Bunched together and crouching low, we creep through the forest, stopping every so often to look and listen, alert to the possibility that the drogs or Sung Dar have posted outlying guards.
We slide through the bushes, keeping watch on all sides until Helmar stops. His longbow snaps up, but just as quick he lowers his arrow when Amil’s bald head
peeks around a tree and he motions for us to hold up.
He slips by the tree and moves us farther back so that we can talk. We gather behind a hedgelike bush and Amil whispers, “The filth has the villagers lined up just outside the last line of huts.”
Grimacing, he adds, “They’re accusing the villagers of hiding us. Of course, the villagers are denying that they are, but the drogs aren’t buying it. They’ve set fire to several village huts and are threatening to burn the whole village down and kill more villagers.”
“Have they?” Cara whispers, the anguish in her voice apparent.
“No,” Amil answers, “though the drogs are holding several of the men with lances to their throats.”
“Dirty cur!” Helmar snaps.
“How many are there?” Phigby asks.
“Ten, maybe twelve, Sung Dar in the village itself,” Amil replies, “that I can see and perhaps twice as many drogs.
“There’s bound to be some Sung Dar down at the village docks, but I don’t know how many as I haven’t been able to get a good look at their ships.”
“Most likely,” Alonya notes, “too many for us to take on by ourselves. They wouldn’t leave their ships unguarded. If their commander is wise, he’ll leave the larger portion of his force with their sea craft and let the drogs do the dirty work ashore.”
“What are we going to do?” Cara agonizes. “We just can’t just let them slaughter those poor people on our account.”
“The dragons?” Helmar suggests.
Grim-faced, Phigby says, “If we show the dragons then we have to make sure we kill every drog and Sung Dar so that they can’t get downriver and raise the alarm.”
“And what about the villagers?” Amil asks. “If they see the dragons, we can’t be certain that one of them won’t betray us, either.”
“That’s true,” Phigby admits, “but it’s a chance that we’ll just have to take. Otherwise, we must leave the villagers to their fate, and I think we all know what that means.”
“If we use the dragons,” Helmar stresses, “we expose them to the drogs’ dragon lances, not to mention the Sung Dar weapons on their boats.”
Cara turns to me. “Hooper? Now’s not the time for the Gem Guardian to be quiet.”
Her meaning is clear—what can I do with the gemstones? At first, I’m hesitant, still very unsure of myself. Then, Phigby murmurs, “Lad, I don’t think you’ll make the same mistake twice. Do you?”
I meet his gaze, swallow, and shake my head. “No, I don’t.”
He looms close. “Then have some faith in yourself, because all of us here believe in you.”
Straightening, I lick my lips and say, “I have an idea. If it works, I think it will lessen the chances of any of us, including the dragons getting hurt and might just save the villagers.”
I hesitate before saying, “However, I’m not totally sure that it will work.”
Phigby eyes me. “We’re listening lad, out with it.”
“Well, the ode did say that one of the sapphire gemstone’s powers was to ‘brew up the wind,’ right?”
“Which you did at Grim Heads pass,” Cara points out.
“Yes,” I reply. “What if I can bring up a windstorm here, around the village? Make it hard, if not impossible for the drogs or Sung Dar to see us?”
The others give each other quick glances. Helmar rubs at his chin, nodding. “Cara and I could fly above, shoot arrows down on the drogs—”
“While Alonya and I sneak in,” Amil says with a wide grin, “and hit them while they’ve got their attention turned to the sky.”
Phigby points a finger at me. “You’ll need to take out the Sung Dar ships first. They’ve got the deadliest weapons. Besides, it will cut off their escape route.”
“What about the villagers?” Alonya asks. “They could get caught squarely in the middle of our cross-fire or the fight.”
“Once Hooper gets his storm brewed up,” Phigby declares, “I’ll take care of them.”
He gives us a small smile. “Just don’t mistake me for a drog or Sung Dar when you’re cutting loose with your arrows, and especially if you resort to dragon fire.”
With that, he gestures at Helmar, Cara, and me. “Off with you now. Be quick, be safe, but let’s try and not lose any more villagers.”
We three rush out of our hideaway. Cara and Helmar soon outdistance me, of course, and by the time I hobble into the glen, and over to the golden, they’re already in the saddle, waiting for me.
I clamber up to the golden’s neck and we bring our dragons close. I call out, “We’ll skim the river with me in the lead and unleash dragon fire on the Sung Dar ships. Then, I’ll wheel the golden around and use the sapphire crystal to raise the wind. Be ready with your bows when I do.”
Scamper is chittering at me and I turn and point a finger at him. “Keep the sprogs and sprites here and quiet, we’ll be back for you and them as soon as we can.”
The golden lumbers out into the meadow where she can spread her wings and I command, “Sky, Golden Wind.”
Lifting her shiny wings, she catches the wind and springs into the air. Moments later, followed by Wind Song and Wind Glory we’re racing along just above the river. Leaning over, I explain what we’re going to attempt. The golden nods in approval. “A brave act to save innocent lives.”
“Maybe so,” I reply.
Letting out a long breath and in a halting voice, I say, “I’m afraid, Golden Wind, afraid of what I might do and after last night, I fear that I won’t be able to make the jewel work.”
She turns her head towards me. “Are you not the Gem Guardian?”
I hang my head for an instant. “What if in name only?”
“Hooper,” she orders, “take out the gemstones.”
Puzzled, I bring the jewels out and hold them. “Are they firm in your hand?”
“Yes.”
“Do you feel life in them?”
“Yes.”
“Have they turned to dross?”
“No, but—”
“Then they still work,” she answers, “for the one true Gem Guardian. Now, get ready, for around that bend ahead are the ships.”
Tucking the stones back inside, I turn and gesture at Cara and Helmar, who have their dragons close behind the golden. They nod in understanding.
I urge Golden Wind into even more speed as I want to catch the Sung Dar by complete surprise.
We sweep around the turn, side-by-side with the dragons’ wingtips kissing the water with a soft hiss. We straighten with Wind Song on my left and Wind Glory on my right, their wings stretched across the river to almost touch the trees that line the bank.
Tucked up against the left riverbank and Lacenstad’s docks are the gray Sung Dar ships with their square sails.
We charge up the river, so low to the water and so swift that we kick up three rooster tails behind us. I spur Golden Wind into even more speed as I don’t want the weapon handlers on the vessels to get even a moment’s notice before we unleash our dragon fire.
Holding my hand up as we race toward the Sung Dar ships, I whip my hand down in a chopping motion while crying out, “Golden Wind, dragon fire!”
Streams of scarlet erupt from all three dragons. The flames are like a torrent that rake across the ships setting them ablaze from stem to stern.
Their sails burst into flames, raining blazing canvas down upon the decks. The vessel’s dry timber explodes under the scurrying feet of those Sung Dar who were left aboard.
We wheel around and I motion for Cara and Helmar to make a second run at the craft while I guide Golden Wind in a diving turn toward the village.
I can see the townspeople huddled together, on a small grassy common just outside the village itself. The brutish drogs encircle the huddling and scared people with their lances pointed at the poor villagers.
I can see one body lying in a dark pool of red at the drogs’ feet—earmarks of their cruelty. With stunned faces, the Sung Dar stand in small knots
, their eyes turned toward their flaming ships. They whip out wicked curved scimitars and start to race back to their sea craft.
Glancing over my shoulder, I smile as I see that Cara and Helmar have done their work well and all the Sung Dar ships are aflame and most are listing to one side and sinking into the river.
Helmar and Cara rain down arrows on those few Sung Dar that manage to escape the inferno by diving into the river. However, their attempt to escape is short-lived and ends with arrow shafts piercing their necks.
As Golden Wind rushes toward the village, I hold the sapphire gemstone high, crying aloud, Vald Hitta Sasi Ein! Power to this One!
From the sapphire spins a blue, glowing sphere. It grows ever larger and then, like a lightning bolt, the spinning orb shoots through the sky. It begins to swirl around the villagers, lengthening, stretching out until it’s a speeding circle that catches the drogs and Sung Dar in its luminance.
Faster and faster the loop spins, and with it, the wind starts to howl and pick pieces of dust and dirt until a large gritty ring surrounds the grass square and the cowering villagers.
In the ring’s center, where the villagers are packed tightly together, it’s clear and calm. However, the outer circle has both the drogs and Sung Dar in the screaming gale.
Relentless, the wind pelts the ruthless killers with a flying torrent of rock, pebbles, and gravel. They duck and crouch, trying to cover their faces against the rock pellets’ sting.
I raise Truorka high and the storm continues to rage. From the forest, I see Alonya, Amil, and Phigby charge from their hiding spots.
Alonya sprints to the right, keeping just outside the swirling ring while Amil goes to the left.
Alonya’s sword sings through the air, leaving headless drogs and Sung Dar to slump to the ground. Amil swings his ax like a windmill, splitting drog heads and torsos wide open with each round.
Through the chaos caused by Alonya and Amil, Phigby sprints into the windstorm, struggling against the gale until he manages to stumble into the clear next to the villagers. He scurries among the clustering people, motioning for them to get down, to lie flat on the ground.
Alonya and Amil glance upward at me and I wave for them to move back into the forest, away from the raging dirt and dust ring.