by GARY DARBY
For an instant, the golden’s ominous words come to mind, and I wonder if I should somehow share her ill omen with the others.
Phigby interrupts my dark thoughts by saying, “Hooper, I’m very sorry about Scamper.”
“Me, too,” Cara murmurs to me with sad eyes.
“I don’t understand,” I whine. “Why would she take him? What possible use can she have for Scamper?”
Phigby scratches at his cheek, a rasping sound that seems to match the fire’s crackling. He peers upward at the first stars that pepper the night sky.
“I’m not entirely sure, Hooper,” he admits and goes back to kneading the ball of soft, brown pumpkin bread he holds with thumb and forefinger.
“I suspect that there is more at work here than any of us realize.”
He takes a small bite of his little loaf. “Let me ask you this. Did you notice how the Golians watched Scamper with you?”
“Yes, but I just thought they were curious.”
“Oh, they were curious, all right,” Phigby returns around a mouthful of bread, “but their curiosity bordered on amazement, too.
“You see, to them, every Anarsi, like Scamper, is an important figure in their religious beliefs. And to see one in such circumstances, well, maybe amazement is an understatement.”
I shake my head. “I don’t understand. Scamper is part of their religion?”
“Well, not just your Scamper,” Phigby explains, “it’s all the Scampers in the world.
“You see, simply put, the Golians believe that to become a god you must experience all facets of living things. You must be a tree, a blade of grass, a bird, a whale, a bear, and so on.”
“Even a dragon?” Cara asks.
“Yes,” Phigby answers, “even a dragon.”
He spreads his arms wide and gestures upward at the sky. “After a Golian dies, this budding god, as it were, must first be all creatures, great and small, those that sky through the air, or live on the ground or in the sea, or below both for that matter.
“Without such experience and knowledge, one simply cannot be a god. Their belief is that once they’ve experienced all that, there is one final reincarnation before they can be like the gods.”
He drops his arms and gestures toward the horizon. “Far north of here, near the coast towers a beautiful solitary mountain, the tallest in the world, some say.
“It’s set in the middle of a broad, rolling prairie. The Golians call it ‘Veilgar Fjall’ or the Mountain Where Gods Are Born, or sometimes just the Holy Mount.
“On the mountain’s flanks, beginning just below its snow-capped cone, grows one of the lushest forests known. Within those woodlands lives a creature found nowhere else on Erdron.
“It has short, stubby legs, and a round body covered with gray and cream-colored fur. Large, cupped ears, dark eyes set in a mask of gray or black, and a voracious appetite that lets it eat most anything.”
He leans forward and asks, “Sound familiar?”
I let out a breath and nod. “Yes, very familiar.”
Phigby straightens and goes on. “The Golians believe that the very last creature they become to complete the process is an Anarsi. And from that mountaintop, they ascend into the heavens to sit with the gods.”
He pauses and tugs at his beard. “Your Scamper is one of those Anarsi.”
I slowly ask, “So the queen and Princess Desma think that Scamper is a— a —god?”
Phigby shakes his head. “Oh, no, no. He is not deity now, but a god or goddess to be, carrying in him the spirit or soul of a Golian who has died and gone through this long, long process.
“As such he is very special, to the point of being sacred in their eyes. Now, whether you or I believe any of it is of no importance, what matters is that they believe it.
“In all honesty, I was wondering why Desma didn’t take Scamper away from you when we first met. I think the fact that she didn’t may have had something to do with the golden, but I’m not sure.”
“Well, golden dragon or not,” I return, “it didn’t stop Gru from grabbing him.”
Phigby let out a long sigh, and his eyes are actually sorrowful as if he could see and feel my pain. “No, no, it didn’t and for that, I am sorry, I truly am. I know how much your little friend means to you.”
“And now,” I all but snarl, “he’s locked up, alone, scared and I . . .” I choke on my voice, unable to go on.
Phigby doesn’t say anything, just takes another bite of bread, but I have the feeling that he has more to say, so I wait.
“Hooper,” he begins after swallowing his food, “now that you know that the only place in the world where the Anarsi are to be found is that mountain in the far north, doesn’t it make you wonder how Scamper and his mother made it all the way to Draconstead?”
He peers at me, the light from the flickering flames catching the intensity of his eyes. “And why they were there in the first place?”
I return his stare, trying to come up with an answer, my mouth working up and down like a fish just pulled from the water and thrown on the riverbank. “I—I don’t know why,” I stammer.
Phigby leans in close and declares, “Because Scamper’s mother was bringing him to you, Hooper.”
Chapter 26
“What!” Master Boren sputters. “Phineas Phigby, you’re spouting nonsense. How would such a creature know to do that and for what purpose?”
“I have to agree, Phigby,” Amil interjects. “No offense, but from what I can see, if Scamper is a typical Anarsi, then they’re not much more than a huge appetite covered in fur.”
Phigby picks out a small stick from the fire and studies its glowing tip for a moment before speaking in a low tone, “Scoff as you will, but let me ask you this—how did Scamper know to be on that knoll back in Draconstead after the Wilder attack at just the precise moment we flew overhead?
“How did Scamper know about the goblin at Fairy Falls and was ready at just the right instant to distract him long enough for the golden to latch onto his club?
“How did Scamper find Alonya in the middle of a vast forest? How is it that Alonya or Hooper, for that matter, seem to be able to understand Scamper?”
He settles back against a tree trunk and gazes at us with a questioning expression on his face. “I would also say that without Scamper in this company, Alonya might have lopped our heads off when we first met, believing that we were invading the domain.
“Instead, because of Scamper, if it were not for these last unfortunate events, we stood a good chance of gaining a much-needed ally.”
Helmar, who had been following the conversation from his bed of leaves, pushes himself up on one elbow to ask, “But that doesn’t appear to be the case now, does it?”
Phigby twirls the twig, making the fading sparks glow just for a moment before he tosses it into the fire and rumbles, “No, it doesn’t. Still, as I heard once, even among trials and tribulations, there are blessings, just as with the coming of blessings one may face trials and tribulations.”
“Scamper in the hands of the queen is a blessing?” Somehow I manage to keep my voice level, but I feel like yelling, and I don’t care who hears.
No, that’s wrong, I do care, because if the Amazos hear me insulting their queen, I will be the foolish boy that Cara thinks I am, and I will endanger us all.
Phigby takes a moment before answering. “I’m convinced that it was no accident that Scamper found Alonya.
“I’m also quite sure that your relationship with Scamper was very influential in Alonya’s decision not only to help us but to take us to Fotina. Who, from her words and manners, and from the way Gru greeted her, may once have been very prominent in Golian affairs.”
Amil grunts and says, “All that may be true, Phigby.”
He swings an arm around as if to take in the ring of archers. “Yet, we still ended up here, staring down the wrong end of a host of arrows.”
“Yes,” Phigby agrees as he scratches at his head. “
It does seem that things haven’t worked out as well as I hoped.”
“As you hoped,” I hotly retort. “Did you also hope that Alonya or Fotina was going to keep the queen from stealing Scamper from me?”
“Hooper,” Phigby patiently replies, “I sincerely believe that neither Fotina nor Alonya intended for that to happen.”
He turns his head and peers in the direction of Warrior Hall. “In fact, I don’t doubt that Fotina had something entirely else in mind for Alonya’s ultimate return to Dronopolis. That we stumbled across Desma came as much of a surprise to her, as it did to us.”
“And now, they both lie in the queen’s dungeon,” Cara murmurs.
“Yes,” Master Boren quietly says, “and with us having no chance to invoke the Queen’s Vow.”
I can see that he’s downcast as he mutters, “No haven for Golden Wind, no sanctuary for us.”
Cara’s frustration is evident from her hard tone. “And after we fought so hard to get here, hoping that this might be the one place where we would find refuge.”
“Aye,” Amil adds. “Instead, we’ve literally walked into a trap of our own making.”
Taking a piece of wood and breaking it in half, the sharp crack resounding even against the rush of the nearby waterfall, Amil gestures at the guards, “And there is the noose, ready to jerk tight and snap our necks at any moment.”
Cara turns to her father and Phigby. “What did the queen mean when she said that she was going to use us for a profitable purpose?”
I can see her shudder as if the queen’s words sent tremors through her body. “She sounded so vile, so sinister. There’s something about her that frightens me.”
Cara is not one to scare easily, but the queen, I think, has scared all of us to some degree and Cara is the first to admit her fright.
“If I were to guess,” Phigby offers grimly, “I would say that she may be making a pact with one or more of our devils. The question is how soon.”
“What?” Cara sputters. “You mean she would—”
“Go to the Wilders and offer us up?” Phigby replies in a whisper. “Yes, I have no doubt she would, especially if the Sung Dar have allied with the Wilders and they have an invasion fleet headed for Golian shores.”
“But the Golians and Wilders are bitter enemies,” I stammer. “Phigby, you said yourself that the Wilders almost destroyed Golian once before, and the Golians have never forgotten that or the treachery that Drachs played in the destruction.”
“You’re absolutely right, Hooper,” Phigby declares, “but that was a long, long time ago and the world is different now. There are new players on the chessboard, and the pieces may not be moving in the manner that I envisioned them.”
He shrugs. “Sometimes history repeats itself, sometimes it doesn’t.”
“So,” Master Boren murmurs next to Phigby, “you’re thinking that she may be trapped between a Sung Dar invasion on one side and the Wilders on the other.”
“Like a sweetnut caught between dragon jaws,” Helmar offers in an ironic tone, “and splintered into dozens of pieces.”
Puzzled, I question, “I don’t understand, the Golian army is made up of giants, one of them could handle ten or more of us or Wilders or Sung Dar, for that matter. Surely they can meet both threats?”
Phigby shakes his at head at my comments. “Yes, warrior for warrior there’s probably not a finer fighting force in the world. Even our Dragon Legionnaires would be hard-pressed in a battle against the Amazos army.”
He pauses, glances around and then whispers, “But when we were in their hidden sanctuary Fotina confirmed to me a rumor that I had once heard but dismissed for lack of proof.
“Golians are large, yes, but they do not have a large army. Do you remember that Fotina mentioned that there were fewer males born than females in Golian?
“What she didn’t mention was the fact that there are also few births in Golian. Their numbers have remained small for generations.”
“But,” Amil questions, “this city is huge. It stretches for leagues.”
“Indeed,” Phigby answers, “but what if every house only contains one or two Golians?”
Amil’s mouth opens as if would speak but before he can, Phigby says, “And what if a spy was able to see the city from afar with all its buildings? What would that spy report back to his master?”
“That the city held a great many inhabitants,” Helmar answers, “and therefore could support a very large army.”
“Exactly,” Phigby answers.
“You mean,” Cara asks, “that the Golians use Dronopolis itself as some form of ruse to fool others into thinking they not only are giant in size but are giant in numbers.”
“Clever,” Master Boren admits, “make it appear you have much more than what you actually have.”
Helmar grins and says, “What they need is for Phigby to make them a giant-sized Sun Dog Amulet.”
Phigby smiles before he holds out his hands out and says, “A strategy, I suspect undertaken after Malonda Kur’s invasion as their previous in being protected by the mountains and the sea did not serve them well.”
He gives a little shrug. “Now, if either is breached, then neither their giant stature nor their armaments will save them from a foe that would be like an army of ants bursting from an anthill to overpower one invading beetle.”
“So,” Amil says very slowly as if considering each word carefully, “they use a ploy and have built an almost impregnable line of fortresses in the mountains thinking—”
“That together,” Phigby interjects, “they will protect them from the Wilders coming through the front door, only now, other wolves are slinking behind them to attack through the back door.”
“The sea,” Master Boren states.
“Yes,” Phigby affirms. “The Sung Dar have always operated in the far reaches of the ocean from here and the Golians have never been threatened from the sea.”
“Until now,” Helmar says.
“Until now,” Phigby agrees, “and that, I think, is forcing Gru to consider making a pact with her devils.”
Everyone is quiet for several moments before Amil says, “Still, don’t you think that such a deal, if it became known, would undermine Golian society as a whole? Would it be worth the price?”
Phigby tugs at his beard, considering Amil’s questions. “I’m not sure that I am qualified to answer that question, my friend.
“You speak of a price to pay. As the Golian ruler, I suspect that Queen Gru must consider the price that her people would pay in a war if they were attacked by both Wilders and Sung Dar.
“Remember, the last time it was only the Wilders who mounted a full-scale assault on the domain. This city, some of their small outlying towns, and much of the surrounding countryside were all but destroyed.
“Many, many Golian lives were lost. It took them generations to recover from that single onslaught.”
He inhales deeply and lets it out in one long sigh. “Yes, the Golians could resist, and it would be an epic battle. Would they prevail?”
A dark scowl accompanies his shrug. “I’m not entirely sure, and I suspect neither is Queen Gru.”
He takes us all in with a sweeping glance with the firelight dancing in his eyes. “But what if you were the ruler and faced with such a dilemma and you saw a way that would prevent the maiming and killing of your people or the razing of your fields and the slaughter of your animals?
“What if you could stave off the burning and gutting of your edifices and homes? Or, not having to listen to the screams and wails of dying children simply by handing over six Drachs and eight dragons to your hated enemies?”
He pauses and then lets his eyes rove around the group. “Wouldn’t you?”
None of us has an answer to Phigby’s question. How could we? We’re not the sovereign of a whole nation, responsible for the welfare and safety of thousands and thousands of its citizens.
We carry no such burden on our shoulders.
“She may have already sent word,” Phigby immediately answers as if he’s already thought of this question and its answer.
“Once those runners delivered the message of our presence, Gru could have had her own courier on her way to the Wilders. As far as we know, the Wilders could have already sent back word on the time and place where she will hand us over.”
“To Prince Aster, no doubt,” Cara growls.
“No doubt,” Helmar echoes.
I have to admit, for a moment, the thought of us being in the hands of that foul slime chases away my sorrow over Scamper.
Maybe in a way, it’s good that the queen took Scamper when she did. As a revered Anarsi, he’ll be safe, fed, and assuredly returned to the Golians’ sacred mount whereas we face . . .
I glance over at Golden Wind. She’s is resting on all fours, but her head is up, and she’s staring toward the mountains.
I gaze in the same direction, but all I can see are the Amazo guards with their notched arrows, and just beyond them, candle glows in the neighboring houses. To me, the mountains are distant and dark.
Still, I can’t help but feel as if her sight extends even beyond the high peaks and she’s waiting for something to come down from the far-off mounts.
No one speaks for some time, each steeped in their own gloomy thoughts of our dire predicament. “Well, we’re safe for the moment,” Master Boren mumbles.
Surprisingly he turns to me and says, “And for what it’s worth, Hooper, from what Phigby has said, though I know you feel you’ve lost your friend, it sounds as if he’s not only safe but being taken care of too.”
I nod but hold my tongue as I don’t know quite how to answer.
“Aye,” Amil grunts, “Safe for now, but something tells me that this could be a fleeting moment. All the queen has to do is to get word to Prince Aster and our lot is sealed.”