by GARY DARBY
“Hooper!” Cara yelps and gently pushes Scamper to one side. Her eyes are actually genuinely concerned. “I’m so sorry, Hooper, I tried to reach you, but I just couldn’t.”
Somehow, I manage to wave a weak hand at her. “I know,” I answer. “If I could have held on just a little longer . . . ”
“For what it’s worth,” she says, “in a way it was good that you fell when you did.”
“Really? It was good that I fell?”
“No, silly,” she answers with the hint of a giggle. “It wasn’t good that you fell off Wind Song, but if you had held on much longer and then fallen, you would have hit the trees. I think that might have been far worse than landing in a shallow, marshy pond.”
I take a deep breath. “Let’s see, dying by drowning versus being impaled on a tree limb. Yes, I guess there is a slight difference there.”
Cara just shakes her head and with her help, I manage to sit up and look around. I see the golden and Wind Song, but not the others. “Helmar? Phigby?” I ask.
“I’m not sure,” she answers anxiously. “I lost sight of them while I was trying to help you stay on Wind Song.”
“The Wilders?”
She glances upward. “They may have followed Helmar and Phigby. I think they lost track of us.”
I glance at the small pond. A few dark green lily pads float near the shore. Some of them appear to be mangled and torn, courtesy of my back-flopper entrance, no doubt. “Thanks for pulling me out,” I say gratefully. “I don’t think I would have lasted much longer.”
“Don’t thank me, “Cara replies. “I didn’t get you out of the drink.”
She gestures toward the golden. “Thank her. I think you’ve got a guardian dragon, Hooper.”
The golden is sitting on her haunches, staring off into the distance, seemingly unconcerned as if nothing unpleasant had happened. “Just what I need,” I mutter, “a guardian dragon.”
“Actually, Hooper,” Cara answers, “it seems that lately that’s just what you need. For whatever reason, she appears to be watching over you, and you should be very grateful. Who wouldn’t want a guardian dragon? Especially, if it’s a golden.”
I turn away and mumble to myself, “Me, for one.”
Abruptly, both the golden and Wind Song come to all fours and stare toward the mountains on the horizon. Cara quickly glances up and peers at the two dragons. “They’re not acting uneasy as if they’re hearing Wilder dragons,” Cara murmurs, “but let’s not take a chance.”
She nods toward the woodlands behind us. “Let’s all get in those trees, just in case.”
“Why not sky out of here?” I question.
“Because,” she says, “if it is Wilders, Wind Song is too tired to try and outsky them with the two of us, and you’re in no shape to ride a dragon right now.”
I can’t argue with her reasoning as when I stand, the ground wants to slide away and my legs feel like they’re made of mush melons. Cara pushes me toward a nearby forest of tall pine trees. “You, in there,” she orders, “while I get the dragons.”
I hobble toward the thick woodland. It’s a good thing I’m not in a race with a snail. The slug would win handily. I’m still a good two rods’ lengths away from the greenery when Wind Song and the golden lumber past me, with Scamper right behind.
Cara comes up, grabs my arm and pulls. “Move, Hooper, we don’t have much time.”
I do my best to pick up the pace, but I’m still woozy and weak from almost drowning. As it is, Cara is all but carrying me the last little distance into the trees. We stumble into the tree line, and while Scamper and the dragons go deeper into the woods, Cara and I slide behind a thick trunk and peer toward the meadow we just left.
Faintly, I hear dragon wings. I listen intently and whisper to Cara, “They’re skying low and pretty slow.” I cock an ear toward the sound of beating wings, listen, and then say, “They’re getting closer, and they’re hardly moving as if they’re searching the ground below them.”
Cara grimaces. “It’s Wilders, looking for us. They must have seen us land, but they don’t know the exact spot.”
She jumps to her feet and reaches down to pull me to mine. “C’mon, Hooper, we need to get farther into the forest, where there’s more overhead. The tree branches are too thin here, they’ll spot us.”
I start to turn with her but stop. She takes several steps, turns, and hisses, “Hooper, move! They’ll be over us in no time!”
I raise a hand to quiet her, listen some more and then turn. Wind Song and the golden have stopped too, turned with their heads up, gazing at the treetops in an expectant posture. That only confirms what I’m hearing. “Wait, Cara, look at our dragons, see how they’re acting?”
She looks over her shoulder at our dragons. “It’s not Wilders,” I state with a relieved grin. “It’s Wind Rover and Glory. I recognize their wings and so do Wind Song and the golden.”
“Helmar!” Cara cries and darts past me.
I push around the tree to hobble after her, but she’s already to the open field. Moments later, I hear the rush of dragon wings overhead and at the same time, I hear Cara shout, “Helmar!”
The beating of wings slows, and through the thin line of trees that stand between the meadows and me watch a sapphire hover above the sawgrass for an instant before putting talons to the ground, followed by a second sapphire. Cara is pumping her legs as fast as she can go toward Wind Glory and Helmar.
I turn and hobble back to the golden and Wind Song. “Let’s go,” I mutter to the golden. “Cara has her Helmar back.”
“And Phigby, too,” the golden answers.
“Uh, huh,” I answer as I gaze toward the meadow. “And she’s certainly paying a lot of attention to Phigby, now isn’t she?”
Scamper chatters at me and I say with a wistful smile, “Yes, I know, why would I want Cara when I have you.”
I lead the golden and Wind Song toward the meadow, where Cara, Helmar, and Phigby are guiding their two dragons toward me. “Hooper,” Phigby calls out with a wave of his hand, “it’s good to see you, lad. We thought we’d lost the two of you.”
Helmar ignores me and goes over to the golden to give her a quick inspection. Once he’s finished, he gives the golden a gentle pat on the neck. “She appears unharmed,” he mutters in a relieved tone.
“Well,” Phigby smiles wide, “by some miracle we all appear none the worse.”
“But we could have been,” Helmar states. He slides his hand over the golden’s scales and says, “I don’t know how she knew to lead us to those giants, but if she hadn’t — ”
He doesn’t have to say more as we each share a quick glance, knowing how fortunate we are that not only is the golden safe, but we’re alive.
Phigby steps closer, his eyebrows furrowed as if he’s just noticed that I’m dripping wet. “Hooper,” he asks gruffly, pulling at my tunic, “have you been swimming?”
I let out a long sigh. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“You should have seen it, Phigby,” Cara gushes. “Hooper fell off Wind Song. Fortunately, we weren’t too high, and he landed in the pond with a huge splat.”
She shakes her head, her eyes wide. “Before I could get Wind Song turned to get to him, the golden came along and scooped him off the bottom, just like an eagle plucks a trout from a lake.
“She set him down, and it took a while for him to cough up all the water, but I think he’s all right now.”
“Is that right, lad?” Phigby asks, “Are you all right?”
I nod and say, “A little water-logged, but I’m good.”
“He’s lucky to be alive,” Cara goes on, “he sank clear to the bottom.”
I shrug and say, “So I swim about as good as a rock, what of it?”
“And the golden pulled you out . . . ” Phigby murmurs while giving me an odd look. “Very interesting, indeed.”
Helmar quickly steps in and says to Cara, “Interesting or not, we sighted a woodsman’s hut,
not far from here and almost due south.” He motions to the dragons. “The dragons are tired, and I don’t want to chance skying during daylight, so we’ll walk from here.”
He turns to Glory and commands, “Leg, girl.” His dragon thrusts out her leg and like the skilled rider, he is, Helmar quickly clambers to his saddle. Phigby turns to Wind Rover, and Cara nods to me. “Let’s go, Hooper.”
Before I’ve even gone a step, the golden is next to me and thrusts out her leg. Cara gives a little laugh and points. “Would you look at that, she’s imitating Glory.”
I just stand there, unable to move, staring at the golden’s leg. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Phigby turn, his face showing marked surprise. I raise my eyes to Helmar. The expression on my face and the golden’s extended leg says it all.
Helmar literally jumps off Glory and in three steps he towers over me. I can’t help but cringe. He stares at the golden and then turns to me, his face hard and sharp as if made from cut granite. “You — rode — Golden Wind!”
His words are so piercing, so cutting, that if they were a sword, I would be lying in several pieces on the ground, now.
Then comes the hiss of his blade from his scabbard, seemingly louder than Phigby’s smoke snake back at Fairy Falls. And like the goblin, I know I should run, but I’m frozen in place.
His drawn sword gleams in the sunlight, a deadly blade ready to cut cleanly through weak flesh. My flesh.
The golden may have saved me from death by drowning, but in the next instant, the sheen of Helmar’s blade will be dulled by my blood dripping off its knife-sharp edge, and I shall be lying dead at his feet.
Chapter 16
“Helmar! Hold!” Phigby roars.
“Helmar, what are you doing?” Cara’s voice is close to a scream. Scamper appears out of nowhere, putting himself between the big man and me, furiously chattering at Helmar with his little lips curled in a snarl.
Me? I stand mute, unable to raise a single word in my own defense. I cower before Helmar and his sword. The man seems to be a giant in his own right. He looms over me but it’s more than his height, there’s a power, a force about him that is riveting and holds me in place.
Have you ever been caught in a raging storm? You know that the tempest could easily kill you; still, you are awed by the sheer power of the thundering storm. That’s how I felt about Helmar just at that moment.
Cowed and afraid, yes, but awed by his towering strength and commanding presence.
Then, Phigby’s hand slaps hard against Helmar’s wrist, holding his sword arm in place.
Helmar growls at Phigby and Cara, “He broke Lord Lorell’s decree, he rode the golden. You know the penalty.”
“So?” Phigby bristles. “You said it yourself, Helmar, Lord Lorell is dead, and the House of Lorell is no more. Would you slay him over a dead man’s declaration? I remind you, sir, that the King’s Law says that such pronouncements are null at the death of the issuer, in this case, Lord Lorell.”
“But we don’t know — ” Helmar begins, his lips curled back and fierce eyes never leaving my face.
“You were pretty confident last night of his death,” Cara breaks in before she says with a catch in her voice, “and my father’s.”
Helmar swallows and glances from Cara to Phigby and back. I can see in his eyes what he’s thinking, his own words have trapped him. To kill me while Lord Lorell lived would have been expected, but now? Now, under the King’s Law, it would be murder.
Helmar is no murderer, of that I am sure. But, in his eyes, I have broken the law and his trust.
I finally find my voice. “Helmar,” I whisper, “I’m sorry, but it was dark, I was lost, and the golden seemed to know where she was going. Just like she did when she led us to the giants to escape the Wilders. My leg was hurting terribly, I was slowing us down, and I could hear the howls of Dreadwolves in the distance.”
I take a breath. “She offered,” I all but whimper, “like now,” pointing at the golden as if that made my decision and actions acceptable.
Helmar glares at me for a moment more, his face still stone hard before he gives a curt nod to Phigby, lowers his arm, and scabbards his sword. “Lord Lorell may or may not be dead,” he spits out, “but until we know for a certainty, no one, especially you, Hooper, is to ride the golden.”
He jabs a finger in my face. “Is that clear?”
I swallow and nod. My legs, none too strong before, now feel as if they’ll give out and I’ll sink into the ground, never to rise again.
Helmar spins away and stomps back to Glory. Cara slips next to me, and our eyes meet. The angelic, concerned face is gone, replaced with a hard, cold expression. She opens her mouth as if to speak but then brushes on by and heads for Wind Song, leaving me with Phigby.
He stands eyeing me for a moment before he turns to gaze at Cara’s rigid back and murmurs, “I suggest you ride with me, Hooper. It would appear that you are persona non grata, at the moment.”
“I’m what?” I mumble.
“Persona non grata,” Phigby finishes. “It means that you’ve just fallen into a barrel of rotten fish, and no one wants to be near your stink.”
“Oh, well,” I sigh. “That’s nothing new.”
He leads me over to Wind Rover, and we clamber aboard. Helmar and Cara are already pacing their dragons away, leaving Phigby and me behind. I whistle for Scamper, and he flashes up Rover’s leg and settles behind Rover’s carapace.
Phigby prods Rover and we slowly trundle off, the golden following behind. We plod along for some time in silence, with only the fluttering of morning birds to break the quiet. I’m deep in thought, thinking of Helmar standing there with his raised sword, his eyes flashing like lightning bolts, his face set and stiff.
Yes, he scared me so bad that I thought my heart would stick in my gullet. Yet, I have to admit, even though I was incredibly afraid of him there was something about the way he stood. There was a presence, an aura that seemed to surround him as if the morning sunlight had melted and left its sheen glowing on his body. The muscles in his neck had bulged and rippled and he had towered over me like a god, full of power and strength.
Murderous power and strength. Still, even as he was about to lop my head off I couldn’t help but feel his commanding authority.
I stare at Phigby, his unkempt hair, scraggly beard, and rumpled robe. Yes, he had stood firm when the three had appeared at Fairy Falls, and Helmar had given ground.
But after seeing Helmar in all his impressive ability, I have to wonder, is Phigby really the Gem Guardian?
Or, was it Helmar that Pengillstorr searched for at Draconstead? In a way, that makes more sense. If Pengillstorr was searching for Phigby, he would have lumbered onto The Common at Draconton, or stood in front of Phigby’s shop. And after this morning, with Helmar appearing as he did, commanding, larger than life, and appearing as powerful as a torrential tempest, I can’t help but wonder, is he the guardian, and not Phigby?
I shake my head to myself, deeply troubled and confused. How do I know which of them is the guardian? Or, is it still possible that the guardian is yet to show? My head is spinning, trying to decide who I should give the jewel to, or should I wait? After all, the guardian may yet appear at some point in our travels.
I let out a long sigh. I can’t decide on my own. First chance, I’ve got to speak with the golden, she has to help me. For the first time, I feel a weight on my shoulders. With all that’s happened, the power of Pengillstorr’s jewel may just be the thing to help us. I absolutely can’t give it to the wrong person.
Phigby says over his shoulder, “What was that deep sigh all about, Hooper? You sounded as if you’d lost your best friend. But, you haven’t, he’s right here.” He chuckles lightly and points to Scamper, who’s curled up in sleep. A corner of my mouth lifts up in a little smile. He’d been so ferocious back there, certainly braver than I, willing to take on Helmar and his longsword.
I abruptly realize that Phigby is waiting for a
n answer. “Uh, Phigby,” I slowly ask, “have you ever faced a question that you didn’t know the answer to or a problem that you didn’t know how to solve?”
“Since just a few moments, ago?” he snorts. “Never.”
I can tell he’s teasing so I go on. “Seriously, what do you do when you’re so perplexed that you can’t think straight, yet you know that you’ve just got to find the answer to your question? And it absolutely has to be the right answer.”
He’s silent for a moment before he mutters, “Sounds serious, Hooper. Just what is this taxing question that you face?”
“Umm,” I answer, “I’m sorry, but I’d rather keep it to myself for now.”
“I see,” he murmurs. He gives a little shrug and then says, “What little advice I can give you is that I’ve found it quite useful to ponder over the question for some time, formulate several possible answers and then decide which of those answers feels most right to me.”
He pauses before saying, “Then I do the most important thing you can do before making the final decision.”
I lean forward and ask. “What is that?”
“Sleep,” he answers. “A good night’s rest does the heart, mind, and soul good. Never make a critical decision, if you can help it, without sleeping on it first.”
“Sleep,” I mutter, a little disheartened by what seems to be an overly simple solution to a most vexing problem.
“Absolutely,” Phigby replies and then says, “Barring that, flip a coin and pray that it comes up right.”
“Oh, that’s a big help,” I retort. “I haven’t a farthing to my name.”
He glances over his shoulder and grins. “Don’t worry, if you come to that point, I’ll lend you a coin, with the stipulation you return it, of course.”
“Of course,” I mumble.
We ride on in silence for some time before I say, “Uh, thanks for standing up for me back there. I thought for sure that Helmar was going to slice me in half.”
“That man,” Phigby growls. “Like too many, he acts before thinking.”
“Well, I guess I deserved his anger,” I mutter.