If A Dragon Cries (The Legend of Hooper's Dragons Book 1)

by GARY DARBY

  “Coming,” I answer and hurry over to Cara, who’s got the sprogs in a little huddle.

  They seem cowed by the whole event and won’t move. “Let’s get them over to Wind Song,” Cara says. “They’re not hurt, just really scared.” She picks up two and I grab the other two.

  We deposit them next to Cara’s dragon when Cara suddenly sways as if she’s lost her balance. I grab her arm and hold tight. “Cara, what’s wrong?”

  “Whew,” she breathes out, “for a moment there, there were two of Wind Song and about eight sprogs.”

  She sways again, and this time, I not only tighten my grip on her arm, I dare to grab the hand that she’s holding out as if to steady herself.

  “Cara, are you sure you’re all right?”

  She takes a deep breath and says, “Yes, Hooper, I’ll be fine, it’s passed.”

  Cara glances down at our intertwined fingers, and murmurs, “You can let go of my hand now, Hooper, I’m going to need it to climb up.”

  “Oh, right,” I answer. “Sorry.” I quickly let her hand go and step back.

  She gives me a little smile. “Thanks, Hooper, I appreciate your thoughtfulness, I really do.”

  She climbs up, and we swiftly get the sprogs loaded. The four little dragons seem unhurt, but they scrunch down in the saddlebags and barely peek over the bag’s lip with big and wide eyes. For some reason, I’m glad to see that they came out of the fray unharmed.

  I hobble over to the golden. She’s lowered her head and is peering at me with an expression of gratitude? Relief? I’m not sure, so I mutter, “What are you staring at?”

  “Thank you, Hooper,” she says. “You saved us all, you know.”

  “What I know,” I mumble, “is that we need to get away from here before that demon comes back. Besides, it wasn’t me, it was Helmar. All I did was hold his arm up.”

  I take a deep breath. “My last act as caretaker. From now on, Helmar will have to fight Vay on his own. I’m done. No more arrows for me. They hurt too much.”

  The golden raises her head, peers at the trees and whispers, “I don’t think she’ll be coming back anytime soon.”

  “Well, anytime soon,” I grumble, “is way too soon for me.”

  I slip around her and as I do my eyes catch a dark green, perfect circle in the soil. It’s the exact spot where Helmar stood when he used the emerald.

  My eyes grow wide in astonishment.

  In the circle’s center, green grass is sprouting upward even as I watch. In moments, covering the entire dark oval is new, lush green grass. “Amazing,” I breathe to myself.

  I hear footsteps and turn at Helmar’s voice. “Hooper,” he says, “quit staring at the ground, we need to go.” He stares doubtfully at the golden for a moment before asking, “Are you sure you can sky on her? Maybe you should ride behind one of us.”

  I hesitate before saying, “If I were able to hold onto her with an arrow stuck in me, I should be able to hang on, even with one arm.”

  He shrugs and motions for Amil to help him. Between the two of them, and with the golden holding her head down low, I manage to seat myself. “You’re sure?” Helmar asks one last time.

  “I’m sure,” I answer.

  Helmar gives me a curt nod, and the two quickly trot away. It doesn’t take long before we’re out in the open. One by one, the sapphires bound into the air. Golden Wind asks, “Ready, Hooper?”

  I hold onto one of her horns firmly, settle myself a little lower and answer, “I’m ready.”

  She spreads her wings, catches the wind and springs upward. She makes a gentle turn to the left, beats her wings hard for a bit to catch up with others, before settling into a slow, smooth beat.

  I glance at the moons and say, “Helmar is leading us farther southward, I thought we’d head west, more toward the domain. After all, that’s where the book said for us to go.”

  “Yes,” Golden Wind answers, “but Amil knows there’s only a few places where even a dragon can cross the mighty Denalian Mountains. He’s taking us toward the closest.”

  “I see,” I reply. “And after that?”

  She slowly answers, “And after that, we’ll need to find some Golian giants or they find us.”

  “Oh,” is all I answer.

  Chapter 24

  We sky through the remainder of the night, always heading southward, keeping the King and Queen stars off our right shoulders, as they, like the moons are setting. Night is ending and it couldn’t come too soon for me. Vay seems to prefer night’s darkness and I want no more of her. That task now belongs to Helmar, the Gem Guardian.

  Dawn’s first early pink light has Helmar searching for a place for us to hole up for the day as he does not want our little band to be skying in the light. It would be much too easy for someone on the ground to spot a big, golden dragon sailing overhead in broad daylight than in the dead of night.

  The forest we sky over is exceptionally thick with birchen and spruce trees, and the few openings we find are way too small to land even one dragon. Helmar motions for us to sky low while he takes Wind Glory higher, trying to get a better view of the countryside and more importantly, a place for us to land.

  While we wing just above the treetops, Wind Glory sails above us with Helmar still searching. Even though he’s higher than we, I can see the worry lines in his face grow by the moment. The sun has just about fully risen when he abruptly has Wind Glory turn sharply to one side and gestures for us to follow.

  Moments later, we cross over a small glade that’s just large enough for one dragon to squeeze into and Helmar motions for me to set the golden down first.

  As soon as her talons grip the ground I have her sidle off to one side and into the trees to make room for Wind Song, who’s followed us down. Soon, we’ve managed to squeeze all four dragons into a space that’s barely big enough for just one.

  Once we have the dragons deep under the trees, we do a thorough search for dragon’s curse but finding none, we let them graze on whatever they want. They don’t feed all that long before they promptly curl up and close their eyes in sleep.

  Cara and Helmar get the sprogs out of the saddlebags, place the youngsters practically under the golden’s nose and within a few moments, the sprogs are asleep, too.

  Seeing that the dragons are settled, Helmar has us gather together and asks of Amil, “Any idea of where we are?”

  Amil nods and says, “I believe so. Those three white cliffs we passed over just a while ago? They’re what’s left of the old chalk mines that belong to House Stord. We’re on Stord land, and I’m pretty sure that this is the Grayfar Forest.”

  “The House of Stord,” Phigby muses but Amil is quick to say, “Don’t even think about it, Phigby — they weren’t exactly known as being trustworthy before, I doubt if circumstances have changed.”

  Phigby shrugs. “No harm in thinking about what-if’s, you know.”

  “Any villages nearby?” Helmar asks.

  Amil screws up his face as if he’s thinking deeply before he turns and points southward. “Maybe. Before the chalk pits played out there was a village — I think it was called Sabaville, less than a league or so from the bluffs, where the miners and their families lived.”

  “That far away from the mines?” Cara asked.

  Amil is quick to explain. “The hills past the chalk mines are full of Wood Trolls. The village, if I recall right, was set with the Stord river on three sides with a high stockade on the fourth side.”

  “Added protection from the trolls,” Phigby pronounces.

  “Exactly,” Amil affirms.

  “But if the mines are no longer worked,” Helmar asks, “do you know if the village is still there?”

  “That I can’t answer,” Amil replies. “The mines were the main livelihood for most of the villagers and after the chalk ran out, I don’t know if anyone stayed in the village.”

  He reaches down and picks up a handful of dirt. “The chalk was used by the farmers hereabouts to impr
ove the land, without it, the soil’s too poor to grow a good crop.”

  Amil lets the dirt dribble through his fingers as he stares at Helmar. “You’re thinking of going into the township,” he states.

  Helmar nods slowly. “Normally, I wouldn’t consider it, but maybe we can buy some food and more importantly — ”

  “We can get news of what’s occurring in the kingdom,” Phigby finishes for him. “Which may well aid our cause.”

  “Helmar,” Cara protests, “we’d be taking a huge risk. Don’t forgot that King’s Warrant hanging over our heads. We may be on the fringes of the kingdom, but there’s still a chance that the news of our circumstances have reached even here.”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” Helmar declares, “not for an instant. But it’s partially why we need news. For all we know, the king has rescinded the warrant. If so, we still might be able to get help from His Majesty.”

  We pass uneasy glances among ourselves, but no one has an answer to his idea before Amil lets out a long sigh and says, “If you’re determined to go then I suggest we make it just the two of us and not the whole company.

  “I’m not wanted nor named on the warrant, and if I identify myself as a Traveler and you as my companion, then we might be able to accomplish both of your goals without us ending up in the prisoner stocks, or worse.”

  He wags a finger practically under Helmar’s nose. “But you let me do the talking. Understood?”

  Helmar claps the big man on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. It's a great idea, and that’s the way we’ll play it.”

  He then says to Phigby, Cara, and me, “You three stay here, rest and take care of the dragons. Everyone remains in the woodlands under cover.”

  He smiles at Cara. “However, if you manage to bring down a rabbit, save some for us, we might come back hungry, you know.”

  “If I bag a rabbit,” Cara answers dryly, “I’ll let you gnaw on the hide.”

  Amil nudges Helmar with an elbow. “I don’t think she approves of your idea.”

  “Whatever gave you that impression?” Helmar replies under his breath. He and Amil take a moment to check their armaments, grab a water flask apiece, and then with a wave, march off into the forest.

  Cara stands watching them go, her arms folded, her eyes narrowed in obvious annoyance. “Helmar’s idea is sound,” Phigby mutters to her. “Besides,” he goes on, trying to reassure her. “They’ll be all right, they know what they’re doing.”

  “He’d better come back in one piece,” Cara huffs, “or I’ll kill him when he gets back.”

  Since I’ve had my share of sleep the last night or so, I volunteer to keep watch while Cara and Phigby get some much-needed rest. Cara and Phigby find a convenient, large spruce that’s conelike in shape, gather some leafy boughs and soft pine needles and stretch out under its spreading limbs. Like the dragons, it doesn’t take them long before they’re deep in slumber.

  I carry Cara’s bow, though I still have serious doubts as to my ability to use it, even if I face some nemesis that forces me to try and be a marksman. Amil’s mention of Wood Trolls makes me extra edgy, but trolls and dragons usually don’t stay in the same neighborhood.

  Usually.

  But I haven’t forgotten that Night Goblin that thought I might make for a tasty snack, and there were four dragons close by even then. I spend most of the morning making a circuit between the sleeping dragons and the slumbering Phigby and Cara.

  Scamper shows up every so often, does his own check of the camp to make sure I’m at the ready and doing my job and then disappears back in the forest, in search of food, no doubt.

  Around high sun, Cara wakes and retrieves her bow from me. “Any sign of rabbits or squirrels?” she asks.

  I shake my head in answer. “I wish,” I answer. “If there were, I’d have woken you up so that we might have some meat in the pot.”

  “Wait,” she dimples, “aren’t you the fellow who told me you always carried around a good rock just in case a rabbit or squirrel showed up?”

  I return her smile and shrug. “At the time, it was the best fib I could come up with.”

  She smiles again before turning serious as she surveys the forest. “I’m going to go a little farther out and try my luck. The scent of dragons might be keeping any rabbits close by holed up, but maybe those farther out will be grazing on the grass patches.”

  She glances around again. “Water?”

  I point off to one side past the sleeping dragons. “I’m not sure but I think there’s a stream at the bottom of that hill, but I didn’t go that far to see.”

  “In that case, while I hunt for some meat, you hunt for water. But neither one of us can go very far as Phigby is still asleep.”

  I nod, turn and head in the direction where I think the stream lies while Cara heads in the opposite direction. I get to the spot where I thought I’d find water only to find that I was wrong.

  The channel at the base of the small hill might have running water after a good rain, but right now it’s a dry course of rocks overgrown with high grass. I turn back toward our little makeshift campsite and have just reached the still sleeping dragons when I hear a distant peal of thunder.

  I stop for an instant as I see movement in the forest and then relax as Cara comes into view. She trots up but to my stomach’s disappointment, she’s come back empty-handed. “Did you hear the thunder?” she asks.

  “Yes, and I was wrong, there wasn’t a stream at the bottom of the hill.”

  “Well,” she mutters in answer, “if that’s a storm brewing up, it doesn’t matter. We won’t have to search for water, the water will come to us.”

  I turn my head at another thunder boom, which is rapidly followed by a second and a third that roll across us before trailing off into the distance, like a wagon crossing a wooden bridge. “Have Helmar and Amil returned?”

  A worried expression crosses Cara’s face. “No, but they should be back soon. Unless something’s gone wrong.”

  Another rumble crosses the sky. “By the sound of that, I think we’re in for a soaking.”

  She glances up at the sky. “As will Helmar and Amil, I’m afraid.”

  I shake my head in worry. I know Helmar and Amil meant well, going into the village to find food for us, still, Helmar’s carrying Pengillstorr’s gem now, and he has to be careful. Very careful.

  In the distance comes a crackling high in the air, followed by another growl of thunder. A sudden, strong breeze shakes the trees, sending them swaying.

  Another gust whips up a small whirlwind that sends a spray of gritty dirt into our faces and eyes before we can turn away in time.

  The sunlight dims and gloom settles over the glen. In the near distance, lightning sears the air, leaving behind a sizzling sound that seems to rip through the sky from horizon to horizon.

  The wind is beginning to swish the trees limbs in all directions. Through the breaks in the trees, I can see ominous dark clouds that appear like a row of blackened barrels turned on end, rolling and tumbling through the sky.

  Murky clouds suddenly swirl overhead, and lightning splits the sky. Thunder rolls across the sky as if a hundred dragons growled in the darkening gloom. Our dragons have sprung to their feet, their muzzles up and testing the wind.

  “This looks really bad,” Cara declares, her eyes up, peering intently at the darkening sky. “Without any sort of shelter, we’re going to be caught out in the open, too.”

  I hear heavy footsteps and turn to find Phigby striding toward us. Another flash of scarlet lightning streaks through the sky, followed by a second bolt. The storm is still some little ways off, but if this is any indication, it is going to be a ferocious tempest. And like Cara said, we have no suitable shelter to ride out the storm.

  Phigby stands facing the stiff wind, which flattens his robe against his body. His long, gray hair is whipped about his face as he lifts his nose up just as Scamper does when he’s sniffing the air.

&nb
sp; He comes to stand beside us, his head turned skyward. After a moment, he relaxes his body and mutters, “It is but a spring storm, the same that we normally get around this time. Nevertheless, we may well find ourselves drenched shortly.”

  He points to the thick spruces that he slept under. “That will give us some protection,” he offers. He eyes me and asks, “Your arm?”

  I lift it up and down with a twinge. “A little sore, but I’ll manage.”

  “Good,” he says curtly. “You and Cara round up the dragons and get them close to those trees. They’ll give us a little added break from the wind and rain.

  “Get the sprogs under the golden, she’s the biggest and will afford the most protection. It is not uncommon for storms like this to produce hail, and their little bodies would take a beating.”

  As the storm rumbles closer, Cara and I do as Phigby ordered, and it’s not long before we have the dragons in a rough semicircle close to the spruce thicket. I whistle for Scamper, and he immediately shoots out from the brush and scoots under the tree, empty-handed this time.

  The three of us have barely ducked under the protecting thick branches when the first raging winds hit. They bring a sudden chill as if they’d brought the north winds of winter back and were pushing spring away.

  More scarlet streaks break the gloom, searing the air. A bolt crashes down, splitting a nearby tree, smoke rising from the rent trunk. The lightning strike is so close and the thunder boom so ear-splitting that Scamper jumps into my arms with a loud wail.

  A few spatters of rain ripple across the glade, but I can smell more, and heavier, coming on the wind. I have no doubt that when it arrives, even the thickness of the limbs above will not keep out the deluge. It’s going to be a wet night for all of us, I’m afraid.

  The sapphires, who had been lying on their stomachs, even with the lightning flashing around them, abruptly jump to their feet, their muzzles pointed out toward the glade. Though they’re not growling, nevertheless, Cara brings her bow up to bear, and Phigby slides his sword out.

  The dragons suddenly part and silhouetted in the meadow’s gloom by lightning flashes, stand two figures. Scamper utters a low growl as I reach for my knife even though I know its puny blade will be no match for our intruders.