by GARY DARBY
“Good try, Your Majesty,” Amil sneers good-naturedly, “but no special dispensations here, remember?”
The two grin at each other as I direct, “We’ll split the guard into two shifts, an early and a late shift.”
It doesn’t take us long to determine who will take the first shift and the second. I wind up on the later shift with Helmar, Pim, and Snag. It seems I’ve just drifted off in a restless sleep when Cara gently wakes me. “It’s a bit past midnight,” she softly murmurs.
“All quiet?”
“Except for your snoring.”
“Remember what I said, only great thinkers snore loudly.”
“In that case,” she smiles, “then you and Amil should be the greatest thinkers on Erdron.”
As she walks away, I buckle on my scabbard and make my way over to where the others wait. We pair up, with Pim and me at one end of the camp while Helmar and Snag take the other.
As we make our rounds, the only sound is the rustling of dragon scales when one shifts position, or the occasional snort from a sleeping Amil. Other than that, the camp and the forest are quiet.
“Seems darker than normal, doesn’t it?” Pim observes.
“No moons,” I reply, “and the cloud cover is blocking the starlight.”
Pim hefts her lance and looks around. “That could be it, but still, it feels darker.”
After a few moments, I concede that she’s right; it’s not just the lack of moon- or starlight, there is an air of darkness that seems to creep through the forest.
We walk along a bit farther, before Pim thrusts out a hand, stopping me. “Hooper, something’s wrong, I can feel it.”
Before I can answer, I jerk my head around at the sound of running footsteps. It’s Helmar and Snag.
Snag hurries up, stops, and takes in a deep whiff through his nose. “Blackguards!” he hisses. “I can smell them on the wind.”
“Where?!” I demand and jerk Galondraig out of its scabbard.
He points off in one direction. “There, but at some distance. We’re downwind of them.”
“Can you tell if they’re moving toward us?”
Snag lifts his head, sniffs several times. “I don’t believe so. Their putrid odor doesn’t grow stronger.”
“Maybe we should leave, sky farther away,” Pim suggests.
“A reasonable proposal,” Snag replies.
“And quickly,” Helmar adds.
Heavy footsteps announce the arrival of the rest of the company. “What’s wrong?” Alonya demands. “Regal’s got his head up, staring off in the distance.”
“The fetid smell of Blackguards on the wind,” Snag responds.
“Are they close?” Cara asks.
“No,” I answer, “and Snag doesn’t think they’re coming closer or that they know we’re here.”
“Still,” Pim urges, “we should go, not take the chance that they stumble across us.”
“Good idea,” Amil replies, “stumbling Blackguards make for harder targets to bring down.”
“It’s not that simple,” I assert. “Phigby ordered me to have the company due north of that town where Borm died so that he and Marce could easily find us this morning. This spot was hard enough to find in the daylight and it’s close to the right direction and distance.”
“I see your point,” Tavin acknowledges. “If we go too far or much off the line, Phigby and Marce might miss us.”
“I could go higher,” Alonya offers, “or wing back to this spot after we move.”
“Not a good idea,” Tavin replies, “if there are Blackguards, who knows what else is around and might see you.”
“Like Wilders,” Cara states.
“Or worse,” Snag growls and turns to me with a grim expression. “There’s something else on the wind, a dark evil much worse than the Blackguards.” He gestures upward. “And it rides the night air.”
There is utter silence in the company until Amil spits out, “Bazyl!”
My hand tightens on Galondraig’s grip. If Bazyl and the Blackguards are nearby it can only mean death and destruction. But for us, or some other poor souls?
“Well, Hooper?” Amil demands. “What’s the plan?”
I turn slowly, peering at the dragons. None are on their feet though all have their heads up and their snouts pointed off in one direction. “The dragons sense them too,” I say slowly, “but none are sounding the alarm.”
“That could change in an instant,” Alonya declares.
Breathing in deeply, I try to calm myself, think clearly. I stare in the golden’s direction, but she doesn’t return my look. Instead, her gaze, like the others’, is directed above the trees.
I lick dry lips, turn back to the company. “My vote is to stay put and wait for the dawn. No one sleeps, we all stand guard. Ring the camp but stay close to your dragon as we may have to sky out of here in a hurry.”
There’s no argument, just quick nods as everyone hurries away to take up their position. I grab Snag before he lopes away. “Don’t wait to tell me, if you need to sound the alarm, do so. You and the dragons are our first line of defense.”
“As you wish, Hooper Menvoran,” he replies and jogs away.
I hurry over to where the golden still holds her head up, her eyes alert and seemingly fixed on one point in the distance. “You sense him? Bazyl?” I whisper.
“Yes,” she whispers back. “He and his dragon wing slowly, as if they search for something.”
“Can you tell which way they’re headed?”
Her ears flick forward, she stretches her neck out a bit before she moves her head to the left. “South,” I spit out with a scowl. “Toward the town!”
“Yes,” the golden replies and swings her head so that we’re eye to eye. “And exactly where Phigby and Marce should be skying!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I snap my head up. “In this darkness, they could sky right into him!”
“Indeed,” she answers.
She peers at me, a questioning expression on her face. “Well? The answer is rather simple, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” I snarl, “stay here and hope that Bazyl doesn’t see them, or—”
“We go to them,” she interjects. “Warn them of the danger.”
“If we can find them,” I retort.
“I can find them,” Golden Wind states.
Without hesitation, I whirl away and yell as I run, “Everyone up on your dragons! Change of plans, we’re leaving!”
“What is it?!” Tavin calls. “Blackguards?”
“No,” I answer as the company gathers around me. “Bazyl is headed south, straight for the town.”
“Phigby! Marce!” Cara gasps.
“Exactly,” I reply.
“They could run smack into His Foulness,” Amil growls.
“Yes,” I respond.
“But to find them in this darkness,” Talia protests.
“I know,” I reply and turn to Pim. “We’re going to need your help. You might be able to sense Bold Wind and Wind Walker before they come into sight.”
“I’ll do my best,” she nods.
“Good, let’s go. Wind Sparkle and the golden will lead.”
It’s but short moments later that we’re aloft and headed south toward the town. I glance up and mutter, “No moon- or starlight, that’s good on the one hand and bad on the other.”
“Hooper, please don’t start your ‘on the other hand’,” the golden pleads.
“Hey, it helps me think.”
“Is that what you call it?” she snorts. “I call it arguing with yourself until the cows come home to roost.”
“You’re getting as bad as Amil,” I grunt. “It’s until the chickens come home to roost and no, I don’t argue with myself, I’m simply considering all the alternatives out loud.”
I peer ahead into the gloom. It seems that there’s nothing in front of us except blackness, not even the horizon to show where the sky ends and the ground starts. The only so
und is the soft thumping of dragon wings and the low whistling of the wind.
After a bit, I ask, “Anything?”
“Not yet,” the golden answers.
“Bazyl?”
Her ears flick forward, then to the side and back again. “The same as before.”
I lean over to peer at Pim, who has Sparkle tucked in close to the golden and a little below. I widen my open eyes a little and shrug my shoulders in an unspoken question. She answers by shaking her head firmly from side to side.
“Pim, too.”
Over my shoulder, I can see the company bunched up, keeping close to the golden and Sparkle. “A good thing, too,” I mutter to myself, “or one of us could get lost in this dark.”
We sky on through the night. “We must be getting close to the town,” I say and glance up. With thick clouds overhead blotting out all moon- and starlight, I lament, “It’s so dark I can’t tell how soon until dawn.”
“Not long,” the golden answers.
Suddenly, Sparkle spurts up close to the golden with Pim frantically waving her arms at me. She points directly ahead but before I can respond, the golden suddenly rears up. “What’s wrong?!”
“I’m not sure . . .” the golden replies in a small voice before it firms up and she states, “It’s Bold Wind and Wind Walker.”
At Pim’s yell, I whip my head around to peer at her. “Phigby! Marce! They’re in trouble!” she shouts.
I jerk around. “Golden Wind?”
“Bazyl!” she snaps and then spurts ahead. The wind blasts my face as I hunker down and push Scamper down behind the golden’s carapace. We rush forward and I force myself to look into the wind, trying to see ahead.
Moments later, the golden slams to a halt, hovers for a moment before she tears away in a different direction. “What’s happening?”
“I’m not sure,” she calls back. “Wind Walker and Bold Wind abruptly changed course and now wing swifter than before.”
“Bazyl?”
She doesn’t answer and when she does, it’s a shocking answer. “I think,” she slowly replies, “that our friends give chase.”
“What?! You mean they’re after Bazyl?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” I reply and peer ahead but it’s still too dark to really see anything. “Can you catch up?”
“Hold on,” is her answer.
I grab a horn and hunker down. The wind becomes a gale that rushes over Scamper and me, screaming in my ears. It’s not long before I feel the golden slowing her wingbeats and I sit up.
There is a faint light, the first rays of dawn that somewhat brighten the clouds and allow me to see a little way ahead. Out of the gloom, two dots appear, grow larger until I smile with relief. “Wind Walker and Bold Wind!”
“Yes,” the golden answers, “but look closer. What do you see?”
Puzzled, I lean forward, focus my eyes on the pair of dragons. At what I see, I jerk upright. “Where’s Phigby!?”
“A question,” Golden Wind answers, “that I think only Marce can answer.”
Wind Walker must have sensed us because he slows, bringing Bold Wind around with him to a hover. We wing up and the golden goes into a hover. I have to take only one look and see the anguish in Marce’s face to know something is dreadfully wrong.
“Where’s Phigby?!”
She bites down on her lip and I can hear a sob in her voice. “I don’t know how it happened. We were skying along when suddenly out of nowhere this huge, black dragon swoops down. Ripped Phigby right off his seat!”
After taking in a shuddering breath, she says, “We gave chase but he was too fast.”
She hangs her head. “We lost them.”
I swivel in my seat, my eyes frantically searching in every direction. Nothing. Nothing but darkness, a gloom that’s swallowed up Bazyl and more importantly, Phigby.
My jaws clench in anger and my hand wraps so tight around Galondraig’s hilt that my fingers start to ache but that doesn’t matter because we’ve lost Phigby, our leader, our guide in so many ways. To me, the endearing friend in a friendless place.
The thunder of familiar wings causes me to turn my head as the company arrives. I point down. “Over there, we need to land and talk.”
“Aren’t you going after him?” Marce demands.
“Tell me which direction to go, Marce,” I return, “and I’ll gladly give chase.”
She opens her mouth, closes it, and shakes her head. Like me, she has no idea which way to go. I motion for the company to land in a nearby small meadow. Everyone heads down except Bold Wind, who hovers in the air, doing a slow turn as if he could somehow spot Bazyl. Ever the loyal dragon, he doesn’t want to give up but this time the ebony sky works against us instead of with the company.
I sideslip Golden Wind over to him. “What happened?!” I hiss.
“The dark one,” Bold Wind growls. “Came out of the clouds so swiftly we didn’t even know he was there until Master Phigby yelled. By then, it was too late. I am sorry, Hooper Menvoran, I have failed the company.”
“Nonsense,” I answer. “You said it yourself, you didn’t know. You’re not to blame.”
I hang my head for a moment before Bold Wind says, “I know what you think, Hooper Menvoran, but no, Master Phigby still lives, of that I am sure.”
“Any idea of where Bazyl would take him?”
“To Vay, of course,” Bold Wind answers.
“Golden Wind?” I ask.
“Yes, to Vay.”
“If so, he may be alive now, but he won’t be for long once she gets her claws on him.”
I motion downward. “Let’s join the others.”
We drop swiftly and land just as quickly. I hurry over to where the others wait. Marce sits on a log with Cara and Pim alongside, while the rest of the company looks on. By their stunned and angry expressions it’s clear that Marce has told them what’s happened to Phigby. Marce looks up as I stride up. “I am so sorry, Hooper, I—”
“It’s no one’s fault,” I hurriedly respond.
“Except Bazyl’s,” Amil growls.
“Except Bazyl’s,” I agree, “and the question is where does he intend to take Phigby? My guess it’s to Vay.”
“No guess there,” Tavin states. “He’s a long-sought-after prize for her and his capture will put Bazyl back in her good graces.”
“How did he know those two were there?” Snag questions. “Was it chance or—”
“It was that lord we set free,” Helmar states, staring at me. “Somehow he got word to Bazyl.”
“Maybe,” Talia replies, “or perhaps he sent word when they captured Marce and Borm earlier.”
“Or, more likely,” Alonya growls, “it was Kur after we beat his Wilders back in the valley.”
“But why Bazyl alone?” Cara wonders. “It seems he always has a guard about him.”
“No doubt to impress his keeper,” Tavin replies. “To show that he’s still a force to reckon with and that Vay’s faith in him is not misplaced. Remember, he’s an extension of her. We’ve embarrassed him repeatedly—”
“And in so doing, embarrassed her,” Amil states.
“Yes,” Tavin acknowledges. “This is his way of tamping down the humiliation.”
Snag holds up a hand. “Does any of that really matter now? We waste precious time arguing points to which we most likely will never have the answers. Our focus should be on rescuing Phigby.”
“Agreed,” Tavin.
“We’re all thinking it,” Amil grunts, “but no one’s saying it. There’s only one place that demon of a demon is headed.” He leans over and in an aside whispers loudly to Snag. “No offense intended.”
“And none taken,” Snag replies. “Besides, I agree with you on both points. He’s headed north to Vay’s mountain.”
“Makes sense,” Tavin nods. “Keep all your prized captives in one place. The question is, how do we get in there without being seen?”
&n
bsp; He turns to Amil. “Traveler, you said the outer mountains were so high that the moons sailed between the peaks, not over them. That tells me our dragons cannot sky over them. Am I right?”
“Well, uh,” Amil stammers, “to be honest, while I know they’re high, I just sort of added that part about the moons.”
“So, our dragons could sky over them?” Pim asks.
“Bazyl’s dragon evidently can,” Cara responds. “How else would he deliver Phigby to her?”
“Perhaps,” Alonya muses, “but do we really want to sky over such high mountains? To my mind, we’d be too easily seen.”
“At night,” Snag states. “We’d have to do it during the dark hours.”
“I’m not so sure that’s even a good idea,” Alonya replies.
“You’re thinking of our journey through your Denalian mountains,” Cara nods, “where we were afraid we’d be seen if we were up high.”
“If I were Vay,” Alonya declares, “and I were trying to protect my portal, I’d be watching the lower passes very closely—”
“Where a small company of dragons,” Talia allows, “might try to slip through.”
“Exactly,” Alonya answers.
“So where does that leave us?” Tavin asks and turns to Amil. “Traveler, do you have any other knowledge of that infernal place that might resolve our dilemma?”
Amil doesn’t immediately answer. Instead, he begins scratching at his bald head and pacing about, his head down. I watch Amil for a moment before I clear my throat and say, “I may be thinking wrong here, but if the Blackguards and Fire Hounds came from Vay’s portal, how did they get across those mountains? They don’t seem to have wings.”
At my question, Amil snaps his fingers and spins around. “Not over,” he states, “under.”
“Under?!” Alonya spits out. “How—”
“I remember hearing a story from a fellow traveler,” Amil interjects, “on my first journey. He claimed to have been to what he called ‘the great northland’ of the eastern fiefdoms and specifically to the Mountains of Eternal Ice. I had forgotten all about it until just now, but he said that he saw a river that gushed out from under one peak.”
“From under a mountain?” Talia asks. “How is that even possible?”
“We had springs,” I answer, “back in Draconstead that came out of hillsides. A spring is just a very tiny river.”