by GARY DARBY
Moonlight breaks through the trees and the moons’ radiance fills the meadow. Then, a bright shaft of moonlight, like a brilliant spear, illuminates the ground off to one side.
My eyes widen as I catch sight of a radiant spot of white that I’d not seen earlier. Leaning forward and squinting to get a better look, I breathe out, “No . . . It can’t be.”
Hurrying, I make my way over to the glowing whitish circle and bend down. “Sugar grass,” I murmur and then go to all fours. “Where there’s sugar grass,” I mutter, “there could well be dragon bane.”
Sliding my fingers over the smooth, white petals, I shove my face close to the ground, searching every bit of the patch to make sure there are no blood red flowers among the sugar grass.
Satisfied that there’s none to be found, I push myself off my knees, wincing in pain as I do. “Well,” I smile, “this will be a welcome treat for the dragons.”
Then, without warning, I’m bathed in moonlight and in my tunic, I feel a warmth that spreads against my chest.
Reaching inside, my hand seems drawn to Voxtyrmen. Pulling out the green gemstone, I stare. The emerald jewel is glowing, pulsing in my hand as if I’m supposed to do something with the gem, but I don’t know what.
I stand there for the longest time, unsure of what’s expected of me and then a gentle voice comes to my mind, sometimes the greatest strengths we have are unknown to us until we actually need them.
And sometimes, even in our little company there are hidden treasures that you’ve not discovered.
With that, the jewel’s glow fades and then it’s gone.
Tucking the gemstone back into my tunic, I shake my head and sigh. “Sometimes, I just wish someone would just come right out and tell me what to do, not let me guess.”
Soft words seem to speak to me, perhaps they already have, Hooper Menvoran.
39
Cara is missing.
There’s a soft grayness in the east that speaks of the coming dawn as I watch with hopeful but troubled eyes as a weary Amil, Helmar, and Rollo stride back into camp.
Even before they speak, I can see it in their eyes.
“We found her tracks,” Amil begins in an anxious tone. “They lead straight into the village.”
“No,” I groan.
“Aye, lad,” Amil replies, “it’s true.”
Pausing, he then says, “We waited, but she never appeared.”
His face is stricken, his voice thick and heavy. “I think it’s obvious what happened, she went into the village and they grabbed her and took her to the castle.”
I feel as if my heart has dropped to the ground, no longer beating.
“We also found this,” Helmar growls, thrusting a handful of Cara’s beautiful tresses in my face, “in the last stand of trees.”
“She cut her hair to try and disguise herself,” Phigby states, his voice tinged with sadness. “Her beautiful mane—”
“Yes,” Helmar snarls, shaking the locks in front of my face, “because of your stupid idea!”
“Helmar!” Phigby snaps. “That’s not fair, nor is it right.”
“No?” Helmar reacts in a harsh tone. “If he hadn’t—”
“He was only voicing an idea, Helmar,” Alonya growls, “the same as any of us. For her own reasons, Cara chose this course. Now is not the time to be laying blame. Now is the time for us to decide what we’re going to do about this.”
Drawing in a breath, she asserts, “It’s not about just the Uhlan now, but one of our own.”
I turn away from the others. Somehow, my feet move but the rest of me is numb, unfeeling. No, I feel all too much as if there were a hole in my heart that was pouring out all my emotions to the ground.
Walking away with feet so heavy that I’m sure I’m still pulling them out of swamp mud, I wander over to slump down next to Golden Wind.
Her eyes are gentle and sad but she doesn’t speak. What can she say? What words can ever bring comfort at such a time?
Cara is in the hands of our evil nemesis, captive behind fortress walls so thick that not even dragon fire can break through their strength and width.
Glancing over, I see everyone else is huddled together, talking low to each other. Discussing how to rescue Cara, no doubt.
They didn’t include me and it’s obvious why, afraid that I’d offer up another stupid idea that would lead to some disaster.
Helmar is holding tight to Cara’s shock of hair and his voice is the loudest, most demanding. He’s ready to charge into Hanfeld Castle right now, an avenging one-man rescue mission.
Sitting with my knees drawn up, I stare straight ahead but I’m not actually seeing, or feeling, for that matter.
After a bit, the tenderness inside turns into a stony hardness. Anger, not at my companions, not even at Vay or Aster but at myself.
After all, I was the one with the idea that Cara seized upon and then put into action. Now, because of me, she’s left the safety of our camp and ventured into that viper’s nest. And for what? Nothing, except being thrown into a cold, dank cell.
Or worse.
Like a rising blizzard, my anger turns into a cold fury. Raising my head, my eyes catch sight of Helmar. Gripping Cara’s hair, he holds it out as if it were some sort of flag rallying the troops.
Off to one side is Rollo. He has an ear cocked toward Helmar, listening, but his eyes are staring off into the distance.
I know just what he’s thinking.
Why? Why did I make that choice? Why did I say those words—do those things that have led to such horrible consequences?
What did Rollo say? That he was responsible, that it was he who had brought this misery upon his company and he alone should suffer the consequences, not they.
He’s right, I think. I’m the one responsible for what’s happened to Cara, and it should be I, not she who reaps what I have sown.
Letting out a breath, I mutter to Golden Wind, “I should never have brought that idea up. What was I thinking?”
Golden Wind murmurs, “You were thinking of a way to help the Uhlan. You didn’t know what Cara would do, Hooper.”
“But why would she do something so dangerous?” I moan.
“Because she too is a member of this company,” the golden answers, “and wanted to do her part. Remember, Marce saved not just all of us, but each of us and Cara felt a responsibility to help her.”
“But if Cara gets hurt,” I say with a catch in my throat, “or worse, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Let’s talk about that,” the golden replies, “if and when it’s necessary.”
“Helmar and Amil were right,” I declare, “to battle Vay and Aster what we need is a legion of dragon knights and an army of giant dragons to carry Alonya and her Amazos.”
Drawing in a breath, I let it out in one long sigh. “Not one Cara.”
My ears catch a faint screeping and chubbing off to the side. The sprogs are trundling along behind Scamper who has them off on another food quest. Watching them, a tiny thought worms its way into my head. At first, I resist but it comes back stronger, more tantalizing and urgent.
“No, that’s crazy,” I growl to myself and try to push the thought away. Still gazing at the sprogs, I shake my head. “Cara would never forgive me if I hurt those little ones.”
Drawing in a breath, I cast a sideways glance at Golden Wind who’s closed her eyes and laid her head down on the ground
“Still,” I whisper, “you did say that there are hidden treasures in this company, didn’t you?”
Not waiting for an answer and still watching the sprogs, I rise and acknowledge to myself, “Maybe it’s time to unlock some of those hidden treasures.”
At that, for an instant, Voxtyrmen flares warm against my chest. A signal? A confirmation? I’m not sure, but my mind is made up on what I’ve got to do to help Cara.
My eyes sweep over to where my comrades crowd together, their backs to me, still engaged in earnest discussion.
It’s now or never.
Hurrying over to Scamper and the sprogs, and without drawing any attention to myself, I lead them away from the camp. They follow willingly enough and soon we’re into the forest and pushing through the bushes that hide the sugar grass patch.
As soon as the sprogs catch sight of the white vegetation, they start to bleat and rush forward, but I wrap my hand around Regal’s muzzle and shush him and the other sprogs.
“Stay here,” I order, not letting them make a run for the patch. “Scamper, make sure they don’t get into the grass. Not until I say so.”
He whips around to sit in front of the sprogs, his face glaring at the little dragons.
Letting out a long breath, I withdraw Voxtyrmen and peer at it. Glowing a soft green, it’s warm, alive in my hand, and the tiny frond inside sways back and forth as if a gentle breeze lifts its edges.
“Please let this work,” I implore before glancing down at the sprogs who stare up at me with that silly pollywog expression of theirs.
“And please, please don’t hurt these little ones,” I finish.
Bending over, I put one hand in the sugar grass and holding the gemstone out over the patch, utter, Vald Hitta Sasi Ein! Power to this One!
A soft emerald glow flows from the gem, envelops me, then the sprogs and Scamper, and last, the sugar grass.
The radiance streams around us for a moment, and then, it seems to my eyes that the foliage sucks in the glow and for an instant, each separate petal glimmers in a brilliant emerald sheen.
The gleam increases until it’s so bright that I shield my eyes from its intensity and the little sprogs, startled, tumble backward over their own feet trying to get away.
Then, the light dims until there’s only a faint green shadow left and then it too, disappears, leaving the patch as it was before.
Voxtyrmen no longer glows or feels warm in my hand and I tuck it back inside my tunic. Gazing first at the grass and then over at the sprogs who bunch together as if scared, I feel my eyebrows furrow together.
“Well,” I frown, “whatever was supposed to happen, didn’t.”
I let out a long, disappointed sigh. Regal lets out a small, screep? I turn to him and shrug. “I don’t know what was supposed to happen either.”
Gesturing at the small cover of grass, I snort, “Go ahead, help yourselves. There’s not enough for the adult dragons anyway. You might as well have it.”
Like a little thundering herd, the sprogs push past Scamper and dive into the white patch, chomping away. Regal, of course, squats dead center and buries his head in the stuff, chewing and swallowing as fast as he possibly can.
Watching him, I have no doubt that he’ll have twice, no, three times his share. But that’s royalty for you.
Peering down at the sprogs as they feast on the grass, I kneel and say to Scamper, “Keep an eye on them, will you? Once they’re finished, take them back to camp. Got it?”
Aaarriite, he answers.
“I’ll be back,” I say, “I’ve got to do something first.”
Snugging Galondraig down, I hurry off, leaving the sprogs to enjoy their tasty treat with Scamper watching over the baby dragons.
Knowing that I have only a short grace period before the company becomes concerned at my absence, I rush along, pushing myself hard.
It doesn’t take long for my bad leg to ache and hurt, but I ignore the pain. Only once do I question my actions. However, I shove the thought aside, building up an image of Cara in my mind instead, hurt, scared, trapped in Aster’s dark, dank dungeon.
Or worse, tortured at the hands of Vay.
That spurs me to move even faster as I think that she must feel that we’ve forgotten about her, left her to die alone in that horrid prison. Furious at myself, I shake my head. No, Cara, I haven’t forgotten about you, nor would I ever forget.
Breaking into my stumbling imitation of a ground-eating lope, I hurry through the woodlands on as straight a course as I can manage.
It’s hard pushing up and over the hills, my breathing sounding as loud and raspy as the leaves that I crush under my feet but I don’t stop, driven on by the thought of what evil might be happening to Cara inside that awful, awful place.
By late midmorning, I stand at the last line of trees, staring at Hanfeld Castle. It’s enormous and for once I think that Amil hasn’t embellished his description even a little.
The castle’s far wall sits atop a cliff overlooking the Lorell River while the massive keep sits inside an enormous grotto that cuts into a large hill.
I can see the village of Hanfeld off to the left but there’s no movement anywhere in the small town. That’s odd, I think to myself. At this time of day there should be people moving about on their business.
Below me, a road winds from the neighboring hamlet up to the fortress. It’s wide open, as no shade trees are overhanging the carriage-wide way, nor does anything else block the tower watchmen’s view.
Swallowing, I stride out from the woodlands and follow the gentle incline down to the road. Stopping at the road’s edge, I close my eyes and think, this is for Cara.
Cara with the heart that’s as open and lovely as the sky above. Cara who loves to laugh, to smile. Cara who cares so much for others.
Cara who’s touch never fails to thrill me, whose laugh lifts my own heart above the clouds. Cara’s beautiful eyes that I could swim in forever.
This is for Cara, now and for evermore.
My step onto the road is firm and I turn to walk up the wide pathway to the castle. “This is for Cara,” I keep repeating.
It doesn’t take long before I see men-at-arms on the parapets point and gesture but I don’t stop. I keep my eyes and my head pointed straight ahead. For some reason, the closer I get to the fortress gate, the firmer my resolve becomes, as do my footsteps.
Of a sudden, archers appear on the castle walls, swinging their bows through the notched openings, their arrows pointed straight at me, but I keep marching.
Letting out a breath, I come to a halt. “Hooper, I think you’ve caught their attention and this is close enough.”
Sliding Galondraig out of its scabbard, I hold it aloft, its blade catching the sun’s rays in a brilliant sheen. With every bit of force that I can muster, I call out, “I am Hooper Menvoran, Gem Guardian. I demand that you release my friend Cara and the Uhlan that you hold captive.”
To my demands comes a roar of laughter from the men-at-arms and the archers. With abruptness, their mirth stops and like a ship’s bow breaks the waves, their ranks part.
A dark shade glides up to the walls and red eyes stare at me from under a shadowy hood.
Vay.
Standing next to her with a smug smirk is Aster. Hands on hips, one corner of his mouth turns up in a snide leer.
Demand? Hooper Menvoran, Vay hisses, her shrill voice carrying on the wind. Who are you to demand of me?
Her laugh is a cold cackle that fills the air as if frost’s north wind blew across the open land and I shiver in its icy feel.
Gem Guardian, she jeers, you have no power here. Those puny gemstones that you prize are worthless dross next to what I can wield.
“Really, Vay?” I challenge. “Then why do you keep trying to take them away from me? And, oh by the way, failing each time?”
I probably shouldn’t have added that last snippy remark for with a shriek of rage, Vay launches herself off the fortress and flies straight at me.
Her claw-hands are outstretched as if she would wrap them around my neck and squeeze the life from me.
I do the only thing I can think of and swing Galondraig up, its keen edge, bursting with green light pointed right at Vay.
She sweeps down until her shadowy form is barely a hand’s width from my blade point and stops. Her hands reach for me but for the moment, Galondraig’s radiance stops her.
Boy! She taunts, you know not what forces are at play here and your puny sword and gemstones are nothing compared to what I can bring down upon yo
ur head.
“Uh, huh,” I respond, licking arid lips and feeling my heart thud in my chest, “maybe so, but it appears that we are in a standoff.”
Really? she ridicules.
Raising an arm, she snaps it down. There’s a sudden twang of a hundred longbows and the sky is filled with black arrows.
Amil was right. They do blot out the sun.
As if a dark cloud passed in front of the sunlight, the arrows arch through the sky and then speed down.
Right at me.
I should run, get under cover but there’s absolutely no place to go. If I raise my sword, Vay will have me and there’s no time to bring out a gemstone.
The arrows rain down but at the last instant, Vay sweeps up both arms and instead of the arrows piercing my puny body, they land in a tight, perfect circle around Vay and myself.
Letting out a breath, I swallow, trying hard not to show my fear. “Impressive, but not good enough, Vay.”
I have no idea of where the words come from but I thrust Galondraig straight up and roar, “Release my friend and the Uhlan now, Vay, or pay the consequences!”
She throws her head back as if to screech out a laugh but stops, her crinkled, hoary mouth open wide.
From over the nearby hills comes a rumbling sound as if a rushing, mighty wind was sweeping through the trees. The air is full of a rolling thunder, but the sky is free of clouds. Still, the sound grows until it fills the sky, the hills, and the river valley.
I stand stock-still and mute at first, thinking that Vay has summoned some powerful, evil beast to do her bidding. But from her amazed expression, the way she stares at the growing, ominous rumbling tells me different.
This is not of Vay’s making. But, if not Vay, who?
Then I recognize the enormous, rushing noise.
It’s a thunder of wings.
Dragon wings.
40
As if a thunderhead boiled up over the countryside the Company of the Golden Dragon roars across the hills. Leading them is Golden Wind and an enormous violet drake.
My eyes go as wide as Amil’s paunch when I realize it’s Regal Wind, and riding him is Alonya.