The Queen's Vow (The Legend of Hooper's Dragons Book 2)

by GARY DARBY

  Soon, I notice that the light is coming in at a slant meaning the sun is setting and night will soon be upon us. I hope that we don’t have to spend a night in these gloomy woods for they remind me too much of the forest around Rupus’s cave.

  We come across another clear, fast-moving shallow stream and turn up against the current. The thick bushes come right to the water’s edge but we push through them.

  Alonya’s litter makes deep ruts in the soft, sandy bank but the bushes spring back to cover our tracks after we pass by.

  After following several winding bends in the stream, we find ourselves facing a high, vine-covered cliff. Fotina brings us to a halt, and I think that this must be where we’re going to camp for the night.

  Instead, I feel the litter bounce a bit and swivel in my seat to see Alonya pushing herself off her green bough mat. Limping a bit, she comes to stand beside the golden as Fotina walks straight toward the cliff wall.

  And disappears.

  “Wha—” I stammer as my eyes widen and I blink several times thinking that I’m imagining things.

  Alonya chuckles and murmurs, “Just keeping watching the wall, Hooper.”

  Several moments go by before seemingly out of thin air, Fotina reappears. She waves at Alonya and the giant maiden waves back.

  “It’s clear,” she says in a loud voice, “we can go in.”

  “Go in?” I sputter. “Go in, where?”

  “There,” Alonya answers while pointing at the rock face. “Just follow the stream.”

  It’s then that I notice that the water seems to boil up from under the cliff. Master Boren moves Wind Glory forward and in an instant, he disappears.

  In rapid succession, the others follow until it’s just the two Golians and me.

  Fotina and Alonya take their swords and start cutting away at the vines holding the logs. “We won’t be needing the litter,” Fotina says.

  It doesn’t take them long before Golden Wind is stripped of her burden, the vines and logs thrown off to one side.

  I follow the two giants, and it’s then that I notice that there’s a large cleft in the rock. We slip around the shoulder and into a narrow, open vale that splits the cliff.

  Trees rim the valley and send their limbs out over the tapered basin except for the center, which is open to the sky. Birds flash in and around the trees.

  High, milky-white cliff walls rise to each side and are entirely smooth except at the very top where a few jutting tree roots break the sheer cliff side.

  The stream cuts down the valley’s middle, winding snakelike until it rushes up to the wall close to the cleft, where it forms a bubbling pool before it plunges under the rock and out the other side.

  Farther up, I can hear water spattering and my eyes catch sight of a high, thin waterfall that cascades over a ledge and into the small valley.

  Golden Wind doesn’t take more than a few steps into the hidden valley before Scamper is off in a flash and disappears into the lush shrubs and flowering bushes that spread out from the stream.

  From beside me, Cara murmurs, “This is so different from that gloomy forest we passed through. It’s so lovely, why, the flowers are a rainbow of colors.”

  “Not just there,” Amil says and points toward the end of the valley. “But we have our very own rainbow.”

  I glance where he’s pointing. Where the fall’s mist sparkles and floats upward, a striking rainbow has formed from one side of the waterfall up toward the upper boughs.

  Fotina comes up and says, “Leave your fire-breathers here by the pool so that they can drink if they want, but do not let them wander back out into the forest where they might be seen.

  “Remember, this is a land where there are no dragons.”

  She hesitates before saying, “And, here, it’s not just Wilders that we have to worry about spotting your beasts.”

  Phigby immediately asks, “There are Vargs in these woods?”

  “No,” Fotina answers. “They’ve not ventured this close, yet.”

  “Trolls?” I pipe up. “Or goblins?”

  “And ogres,” she answers.

  She gives me a wan smile. “Rest easy on that account as those foul scum have learned not to bother us here.”

  Before anyone can question her further, she holds up a hand and curtly says, “I’ve said enough, just don’t let your dragons be seen.”

  It’s enough of a command that we keep quiet though her statement leaves me, and by the baffled expressions on their faces, my companions more than a bit puzzled and wondering just what we have wandered into.

  We leave our dragons near the stream and under some thick overhanging tree branches and follow a limping Alonya up to an overhang that cuts into the cliff. Inside, we find giant-sized beds, chairs, a table, and a hearth cut into the stone.

  Off to one side at the entrance is a narrow stone box, half as tall as Alonya, and set halfway into the ground. The soil has been dug away leading up to the box, whose door is made of roped-together stout limbs.

  From upstream, following a course of rocks, water flows over the box on three sides, then the dripping liquid is caught at ground level by split and hollowed out logs. The water spills out onto a course of rocks that lead back to the creek.

  At the sound of Fotina’s footsteps, Phigby turns and gestures toward the stone structure. “Lady Fotina, what is—”

  “A simple cooling box,” she returns. “The soil and the flowing water cool the stone, which in turn cools the inside. It’s a way to slow down the rotting of food, especially meat.”

  “How clever,” Phigby says in open admiration, “a cooling box.”

  “How well does it work?” Cara asks, who, like me, has never seen such a contrivance.

  “Well enough,” Alonya calls from one of the beds, where she’s easing her injured leg onto what appears to be a mattress made of deer hides stuffed with feathers, “that we need to hunt only every fourth or fifth day.”

  “Amazing,” Cara returns.

  “We have little salt,” Fotina explains, “so this is how we save our meat, but obviously it doesn’t stay cured as long as salted meat does.”

  She turns and eyes the dragons for a moment before saying, “We don’t have enough meat on hand to satisfy both us and your dragons so I will go hunt.”

  She motions to the cooler. “Help yourself to what we have.”

  Cara and Helmar step forward with Helmar saying, “We both have bows, and if you would allow, we can hunt as well.”

  Fotina shakes her head. “No. I know these woods, you don’t. Rest and sup. There’s game aplenty hereabouts, so I’ll return soon enough with meat for your beasts.”

  She starts to turn but then says, “And I do thank you for watching over Alonya in her time of need.”

  With that, she bounds down to the stream, past the dragons, and slips outside the hidden vale. Alonya motions toward the cooling box. “Please, help yourself.”

  Just then, Scamper comes darting in and rushes up to the cooler’s door. Alonya laughs and says, “Hooper, you might want to hold the little one back; if you let him in, there might not be any left for the rest of us.”

  I scoop Scamper up and hold onto him while the others bring out roasted venison, a variety of nuts and berries, and oddly shaped apples that have a purple tint to them.

  After we have fed ourselves and Alonya, I wander alongside the stream in the direction of the waterfall. Scamper trails along behind me, sticking his nose into this and that.

  After a bit, the valley widens and in a deeply rounded-out part, I find several large, wood stick figures complete with shield and sword. Each seems to have been crudely carved out of a single tree trunk.

  But what catches my eye is not just the carvings but the huge gouges and chunks of wood that have been notched out of them as if someone had taken a stout ax to the wood.

  One seems to have a roughly fashioned crown set on its head, and the hacking it has taken has left huge gashes in torso and head. So much
so, that what once must have been spikes on the crown are now little more than splinters.

  Farther on are more of the figures, only much flatter, not thick in body, and each has holes in it as if one of Alonya’s arrows had passed completely through the wood.

  Still farther I find ropes that scale the cliffs, boulders piled on top of each other, and a figure with sword and shield set in a wooden drum.

  On a hunch, I go up to the giant carving and with a grunt, push. It creaks as the figure slowly moves in a circle.

  “A training ground.” I jump at Phigby’s voice.

  “Phigby,” I sputter, “don’t go around sneaking up on people like that.”

  “I am sorry, Hooper. I did not mean to startle you, but I was as curious as you.”

  I wave a hand at the wooden warrior. “A training ground,” I repeat. “Training for what?”

  “Not just for what,” Phigby observes as he slowly turns and takes in everything, “but for whom. I suspect that this is where our Amazos hosts spend part of their day, honing their warrior skills.”

  I survey the scene again and mutter, “Phigby, just who are Alonya and Fotina? Is this the way most Golians live, out in the woods like this?”

  “No, Hooper,” he answers. “From what little I know, except for their outlying garrisons and forts, it is my understanding that most live in towns and cities, such as their capital, Dronopolis.”

  “Then, what are Alonya and Fotina doing way out here in the middle of nowhere?”

  Phigby strokes his beard like he always does when he’s thinking deeply. Then, his eyes narrowing as he stares at the wooden figure with the shorn crown mutters, “That, Hooper is a very good question.

  “A very good question indeed.”

  Chapter 14

  A past thought seizes me and in rush of words I say, “Outlaws. Criminals. That’s what they must be Phigby, it’s the only answer, it’s why they’re all alone out here, they’re wanted criminals.

  “Hiding out just like the outlaws in the kingdom would hide out in the hills, and now they’ve caught us, and they’re going to—”

  “Oh, nonsense, Hooper!” Phigby exclaims, stopping me in midsentence.

  “Use that head of yours instead of your mouth for thinking! If they were outlaws, don’t you think they would have already waylaid us by now?”

  He turns and points toward the golden. “Would they have let us keep the golden, or let us see where their hideout was?”

  “Maybe,” I meekly say, “they’re just waiting for more of their renegade friends to show up.”

  “Hooper,” he glowers at me and shoves his face close to mine. “How many beds, how many chairs did you see in this ‘hideout’ of theirs.”

  I dig a toe into the dirt and make a few scratches. “Two.”

  “And was there enough food in their cooling box to feed this so-called renegade band of theirs if and when they show up?”

  More scratches in the dirt. “Probably not.”

  He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Did Alonya look and act like an outlaw when the Vargs attacked us?”

  I hang my head and mutter, “Uh, no.”

  He snorts and says, “Outlaws, indeed.”

  He straightens and gazes at the training ground while scratching at one cheek. “However, I admit,” he says as he makes a sweeping gesture at the giant carvings, “all this and why they choose to live their lives in isolation does invoke a number of questions.”

  “Invoke?” I stammer and point to the giant wood figure whose crown has been savagely chopped to ragged splinters. “More like ‘provoke’ I’d say.”

  Phigby raises one side of his mouth in a half smile. “A good point, Hooper.”

  He draws in a breath and his eyes narrow as he murmurs, “No, it may well be that our new friends are outcasts.”

  “Outcasts,” I nod. There’s that too. But from what?”

  He hesitates before shaking his head at me. “I’ve said enough,” and strides away.

  “Well,” I shrug at Scamper, who’s peering at me with an upturned nose. “Makes sense that one set of outcasts would find another. And seemingly neither of us with a friend in the world.”

  I pull at my lip for a moment and mutter to Scamper, “Pretty silly of me to think that Alonya and Fotina were outlaws, huh?”

  Scamper chitters at me for an instant with an indignant look on his face. “All right, all right,” I hastily respond, “I was wrong, I’m sorry.”

  Scamper gives me a hard stare to as if to ensure that my apology was sincere. It must have been because he hurries off into the bushes and grass heading for the stream, no doubt to see what he can find to fill his tummy.

  I slowly make my way back to the open cave. The light has turned dusky as if the sun is setting, but enclosed within the valley’s high stone walls, there’s no way to actually know.

  I’m almost to the grotto’s arched entryway when I hear the dragons give a low rumble behind me. I turn to see Fotina step out from the vale’s hidden entrance lugging a large stag over her shoulders.

  “Helmar, Amil,” Master Boren directs. “Go help Fotina with her load. Hooper—”

  “I know, I know,” I say with a sigh, “take care of the sprogs.”

  I follow Helmar and Amil, and in short order, the deer is field-dressed, butchered, and equal portions are given to the dragons.

  The sprogs get a knee joint and foreleg apiece, but this time, before Regal can steal one of the others’ share, Scamper goes nose to nose with him and backs him away from the other sprogs’ meals.

  Fotina, watching Scamper, laughs lightly to herself. “The Anarsi brooks no arguments with the little dragons, does he?”

  “No, my lady, he doesn’t,” I answer in a puzzled voice. With food around, especially venison, Scamper is acting very, well, un-Scamperish, to say the least.

  He would normally be in the middle of the feast, begging for a share, but for some reason, not this time. Maybe he stuffed himself with waterbugs down at the creek?

  With only one or two bites, the dragons down their small meal and go back to resting as we follow Fotina back to the cave.

  Phigby has removed Alonya’s bandages and is closely inspecting her wounds. Fotina lays aside her armaments and joins him at Alonya’s bedside.

  She nods approvingly at what she sees. “It would seem that your healing balm works extremely well. Her wounds are clean and I see little bleeding.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” he acknowledges, “but if you have something better, then by all means we should apply it to her leg.”

  “Nothing that works this well,” Fotina admits. “By chance do you have more?”

  Phigby thrusts his arm into his bag and whips out a white container. “I just happened to have a fresh jar ready to apply to her wounds; with your permission, of course.”

  Fotina gestures to Alonya’s leg and Phigby goes to work on her injuries. While he does, Fotina helps Alonya remove her leather jerkin.

  As Alonya pulls one arm out from the vest’s sleeves, the gold chain catches on the leather and pulls out the attached amulet.

  For just an instant, I see a part of the talisman, two golden swords on a shield of silver.

  Without a word, Alonya grabs the gleaming amulet and tucks it back under her undergarment next to her skin.

  Finished with the bandaging, Phigby announces, “Alonya, if you can manage to stay off your feet for a day or so, your wounds should heal nicely.”

  “That she will,” Fotina directs. To Phigby, she says, “And I do thank you.”

  “As do I,” Alonya says. She leans closer to him and murmurs, “And Phigby, if the truth be known, that potion you gave me? Never have I slept better.”

  Phigby smiles in answer and says, “Sometimes mistakes can have unintended, but beneficial results, though I admit, if I have to ever give you that particular formula again, it shall be in a much, much lesser amount.”

  His smile widens. “Unless, of course, you want a nice lon
g sleep.”

  He turns away and comes to sit with us next to a small fire that we’ve started in the hearth.

  “See?” Amil declares, motioning to Alonya. “If ever I want a good night’s rest, Phigby, just give me whatever it was you gave her.”

  “If I gave you the same amount of that potion,” Phigby notes, “that I gave Alonya, you would be sleeping past next winter.”

  He pulls at his beard and his face takes on an odd expression. “Hmmm, sleeping through winter, now that’s an idea.”

  At Fotina’s footsteps, we start to rise, but she motions for us to remain seated and sitting cross-legged, joins us. “She sleeps,” Fotina announces, “and while she does, I would hear more of your story.”

  She turns and points toward Golden Wind. “And especially about the noble one.”

  She draws in a breath and mutters, “For after some thought, I consider it no coincidence that you are here and that Alonya chanced upon you.”

  We exchange startled glances, all except Phigby, who seems to accept Fotina’s remarks as if he had already thought the same.

  Master Boren asks, “What would you like to know, my lady?”

  “How did you come by the noble one, and why have you come to the domain?”

  Master Boren nods and says, “At our first meeting, Alonya essentially wanted to know the same, and this is what we told her.” He rapidly recounts how we came to be as a company and our role in protecting the golden.

  When he comes to explaining why we are in Golian, he says, “Being cut off from our own king and with no other place to turn, we remembered the promise made by Queen Escher and made our way over the Wolven Floden. It was there that we met your Alonya and battled the Vargs.”

  “The Queen’s Vow,” Fotina murmurs. “You would invoke Escher’s promise.”

  “Yes,” Master Boren begrudgingly admits, “but according to Alonya, it would appear that our effort in doing so is in vain, for your current queen is not descended from Escher, and Alonya assumes that she would not honor Escher’s oath.”