Wings of Fire (The Legend of Hooper's Dragons Book 7)

by GARY DARBY

  “Phigby, I hope,” I answer.

  “Don’t forget the dwarves,” she reminds me.

  “I haven’t,” I sigh, “but I admit my mind is on Phigby’s plight.”

  “Understandable, it’s much easier to dwell on friends who are in distress than on complete strangers, but we must not forget that they are part of why we are here.”

  “I won’t, I promise.”

  “Good, now are you ready?”

  I lean over and look down. We’re hovering high over the enormous opening and I wrinkle my nose at the smell. “It looks like a giant mouth opening wide and about to swallow us,” I cough, “and with the worst breath ever.”

  “Really?” the golden sniffs. “I find the aroma familiar and rather pleasant.”

  “You would,” I cough again, “find it familiar.”

  I breathe through my mouth and glance down again. Between the swirling smoke and the thick murk inside the mountain, I can’t see much of anything beyond the edges of the almost perfectly oval hole. At the sound of familiar wingbeats nearby, I turn and point down. Cara and the others give me nods telling me they’re ready.

  “All right, Golden Wind, take us down and let’s hope this isn’t the worst idea I’ve ever had.” With that, the golden gathers herself, tucks her wings and we dive straight down.

  Moments later, the mountain envelops the whole company in utter darkness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Twinkle! Ember! Dazzle, we need light!” I shout.

  The little sprites, like three shooting stars, launch themselves off the golden’s back in a brilliant, radiant glow. Their light plays against the tunnel’s cracked and rough walls causing silhouettes to dance over the rock as if shadow imps surrounded us on all sides.

  The golden flares her wings, the wind causing her leathery skin to snap and flutter as she slows our descent. Glancing up, I can see and hear the other dragons pop their wings open. Moments later, the golden flaps her wings, letting us drop through the smoke and murk, though more slowly.

  “I can’t see a thing,” I whisper, “can you?”

  “No,” she answers, “but I hear something far below.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s a rumbling, gurgling noise that I’ve not heard before. But it’s growing louder.”

  “Terrific,” I cough, grimacing at the foul stench that fills the air. “Can you at least tell if it’s animal, plant, or something else entirely?”

  “Maybe, I doubt it, and possibly.”

  “Great, that certainly narrows it down.”

  “I’m sorry, Hooper, that’s the best I can do.”

  Down we go in the gloom, breathing in the noxious air that smells and tastes like a combination of rotten eggs, sour milk, and decomposing turnips. I watch the tunnel’s sides carefully, gauging their width lest we find ourselves wedged in and unable to go up or down. Fortunately, the columnlike shaft seems to stay the same the deeper we go, with even Regal having ample room for his outstretched wings.

  There comes a point when the golden says, “Hooper, look below.”

  I glance downward, blink several times, unable to see anything through the swirling haze but then the smoke seems to clear for a moment and I stiffen at what I see.

  A giant, red, unblinking, glowing orb stares up at us from far below.

  “An eye!” I gasp and jerk back. “I don’t think we want to tangle with that thing, whatever it is.”

  The golden chuckles. “What is it that you believe we are going to ‘tangle’ with, Hooper?”

  “Any creature with an eye that big is no laughing matter, Golden Wind.”

  “Indeed, and if it were a creature with an eye the size of all of Draconstead’s meadows put together, I certainly wouldn’t be laughing. Fortunately for us, we do not face any such beast.”

  “We don’t? That’s not an eye that I see?”

  “No, but we do face danger.”

  Scamper starts chittering at me and I shrug in answer. “Ask her. I don’t know what it is or why it’s dangerous.”

  In answer, the golden says, “Wait a few moments and you shall see.”

  We drop farther still and my “eye” that’s not an eye grows larger and larger. Then we break through the haze and I take a good look around. An enormous lake of molten rock bubbles and boils below us. It churns and swirls as cherry-red boulders, some as big as Regal, bob and roll in the scarlet river.

  It’s as though someone had thrust us inside a cooking hearth and drawing in a breath is like breathing in fire that burns and scalds the throat and lungs. Scamper mews in protest and I push him under the golden’s carapace hoping it will offer a bit of protection from the fierce heat.

  I squirm in my seat trying to find a way out of the giant cauldron but everywhere I look it’s the same, a lake of fire in every direction. “Which way to Phigby, Golden Wind?” I call over the angry rumbling of the churning maelstrom.

  “I’m not sure, Hooper, but I can tell you that, though faint, I hear the ringing of metal upon metal off to our left.”

  “Ringing of metal . . .” I repeat—then my head jerks up. “The dwarves!”

  “I believe so.”

  “But no Phigby?”

  “I’m sorry, Hooper, but no.”

  I run my tongue over dry lips. “If we go after the dwarves, most likely we’ll alert Vay’s minions that we’re here.”

  “Most likely,” she answers.

  “And most likely we’ll lose any chance of surprising those who guard Phigby.”

  “Most likely.”

  “Once they know we’re here, most likely they’ll double, even triple the guard on Phigby.”

  “Most likely.”

  I wipe at the sweat that covers my brow and runs into my eyes. “I think we’ve ‘most likelyed’ this enough, so let’s go. Maybe the dwarves will know where they’re holding Phigby.”

  In answer, the golden spurts forward as I wave for the company to follow. Cara has Wind Song shoot alongside until she’s even with Golden Wind. “Phigby?” she yells.

  I shake my head and point in the direction we’re headed. “The dwarves! Maybe they’ll know where Phigby is held.”

  Cara’s face is a glistening sheen from the sweat as she calls back, “Going after the dwarves first could—”

  “I know, I know,” I answer, “it will most likely alert Vay’s scum that’s holding Phigby that we’re down here. But if we can free the dwarves, maybe they can tell us where to find Phigby!”

  She gazes at me for a moment before she nods and gives me a little wave. With the hotness beating at us in heat waves, I mumble, “I just hope that wherever the dwarves are, it’s nice and cool.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that, Hooper. Dwarves are masters of using the hottest of fires to forge their metalworks.”

  “Wonderful,” I growl, feeling runnels of sweat course down my face and under my tunic, “why couldn’t they be ice sculptors instead?”

  We wing swiftly above the churning maelstrom and it’s not long before I see the giant cavern’s sides slope down to meet the fire lake. Then, rising just above the bubbling red ring that marks the boundary between molten and cold rock is a dark shadow. I lean forward to get a better look and then nod to myself. “Another tunnel! Are the dwarves there?”

  “No, Hooper, look far down to your left.”

  I swing my head, and in the distance I see a fountain of embers that spew upward before falling into the molten lake. “They’re there?”

  “Yes, and from what I can tell, they’re heavily guarded but not this tunnel.”

  I study the dark arch that marks the opening. “Golden Wind, that tunnel isn’t big enough for you and—”

  “No, but while you and the others rescue the dwarves, we dragons will search for Phigby.”

  “In this godsforsaken place?” I question. “How?”

  She’s slow to answer. “It will be very difficult in these swirling winds but perhaps Bold Wind can
catch Master Phigby’s scent.”

  “Do you think he can?”

  “If anyone can, it’s he.”

  “Then maybe we should let him try now.”

  “Hooper, we dragons can withstand this heat very easily. Can you say the same for you and our other comrades?”

  Now I’m the one who’s slow to answer. “No. I’m beginning to feel like someone is basting me over an open fire spit.”

  “And it will only grow worse, along with breathing in these noxious fumes. I did not suggest this earlier for fear that you would try and do a prolonged search that would most likely prove quite harmful to the company.”

  “But still—”

  “But still, Hooper, do you want for your companions to continue in this harshness which can only lead to death? Or would you have us dragons, used to such conditions, go on and search for our missing companion while you and the others do what you can, namely to rescue the dwarves?”

  I peer ahead. We’re almost to the tunnel. I sigh to myself. “You’re right, we couldn’t go on much farther and besides, we’re too close to turn aside now.”

  “A sound decision, Hooper.”

  We wing up to the small opening and I only have to take one look to know this is not going to be an easy task. “That’s not much of a landing spot for even one dragon.”

  “It will have to do, won’t’ it?”

  “I guess so,” I gulp.

  The golden wings downward just a bit and her rear talons scrabble for a hold on the jagged rocks. She thrusts her head and neck forward while ordering, “Now, Hooper! Now!”

  I whip my leg over her neck and in a sliding, bumbling sort of fall, hit the ground. I stumble and skid forward and before I can catch myself, plant my face into the rock. I only lie there for a moment before I roll over and get to my feet just as Scamper sails off, lands on all four feet and bounds away. “Show-off,” I growl.

  Before the golden can wing away, I call, “Ember, Dazzle, Twinkle, go get the pixies and meet me down here.”

  The sprites launch themselves off the golden’s back and head toward Regal. It’s not long before they flutter back with the pixies to join Scamper near the tunnel’s opening.

  The golden lifts away and arcs to the left, letting Wind Song take her place. The sapphire reaches out with her talons, grabs the rock and holds on. Naturally, Cara slides off her dragon in one smooth motion, lands on her feet and hurries over to where I wait.

  “Hooper,” she sighs, using the cuff of her tunic to wipe at the blood that trickles down my cheek, “we really have to work on your dismount technique. You’d think after all this time you’d know how to get off a dragon.”

  “Yeah, well,” I retort, “I’m still new at this dragon-riding business.”

  “Not that new!” she laughs and dabs at my cheek again.

  Everyone else manages to get off their dragon, Cara style, while Silky does an almost perfect imitation of Scamper. However, when it comes Alonya’s turn, she being last, it’s evident we have a problem. “Regal’s too big,” Cara states. “He can’t get close enough to get his talons on the rock.”

  “I can see,” I return and watch as Alonya has the big purple wing around again before turning back toward us. “What is she doing?” Amil mutters beside me.

  I watch Alonya for a moment before it dawns on me. “She’s going to jump!”

  “What?!” Amil sputters.

  “C’mon!” I shout. “Snag! Helmar! Amil! We need to help her!”

  We race forward just as Regal, skying low over the molten rocks, zooms upward just before he hits the rock facing. Alonya flings herself off his neck and arcs out and up for a moment before dropping almost straight down. Her feet hit the edge of the ledge where she teeters backward for a moment, her arms wind milling frantically as she tries to lean forward.

  One foot goes over the edge and Alonya is about to fall into the churning molten sea when Amil launches himself through the air and grabs Alonya’s outstretched arm just as she drops off the cliff. Both she and Amil start to slide over but Helmar and Snag grab her other arm while I land on Amil’s legs.

  We’re in a precarious position and all of us are in danger of going over into the cauldron before more hands grab onto Alonya and working together, we slowly drag her back from the precipice.

  Once entirely on solid rock, she rolls over, stares up at the rock ceiling far above and lets out a loud breath of relief. “I didn’t think it would be so hard,” she murmurs, “all I had to do was to fall straight down.”

  “Yes, well, you did fall straight down,” Amil rasps, “and almost into that scalding soup.”

  “So it would seem,” Alonya admits. “But I do thank my friends for their most timely assistance.”

  “My lady,” Amil growls, “next time, just stay on your dragon. We’ll tell you later how things went without you.”

  She turns her head and smiles at Amil. “Next time, I might take your advice.”

  After catching my breath, I straighten from bended knees. “If everyone is ready, let’s go.”

  “Go where?” Tavin questions.

  I point past him. “I believe the dwarves are that way and hopefully this tunnel will lead us to them.”

  “And the dragons?” Pim asks.

  “They search for Phigby,” I answer and before anyone can ask more questions, I snug Galondraig down and head for the tunnel opening where Scamper, Silky, the pixies, and the sprites wait patiently. “Scamp, Silky,” I say, “we need to find the dwarves. Think you can do it?”

  Phhh, Scamper spits out and shakes his head disdainfully as if what I was asking were child’s play. “Good,” I reply. “Let’s go. You sprites, give us some light.”

  Surprisingly enough, once inside the rock passageway, the air turns a bit cooler, much to my relief. The sprites glow just bright enough to prevent us from stumbling over loose rocks and Alonya from banging her head on the ceiling.

  Scamper and Silky bound ahead, staying at the edge of Twinkle’s light as the tunnel weaves through the mountain. In some places, the passage narrows to where only one of us can pass through at a time. One of these passages is so tight for Alonya that she can’t get through and she, Amil, and Helmar use their blades to hack away the rock and widen the way.

  We come to several side tunnels, but Scamp and Silky never hesitate in choosing which route to take.

  After a bit, Cara whispers at my ear, “I don’t know about you, but I’ve lost all sense of direction. We could be headed back to that molten lake for all I know.”

  “I feel the same,” I whisper back, “but Scamp and Silky seem to know where we’re going.”

  “You hope,” Amil grunts from behind. “They could be just leading us toward a juicy nest of maggots.”

  “Down here,” Alonya grunts, “you mean broiled maggots.”

  “Scamp hasn’t let us down before,” I answer. “And remember, it was the two of them that led us to Pim and Tavin after the Shadow Flames took them.”

  “All right,” Amil grunts, “I concede I could be wrong but wherever they’re leading us, I just hope it’s a lot cooler than what we left behind.”

  I have no idea how long we wander in the tunnel, but there comes a point where Scamper and Silky slow, both of their noses held high in the air. Slowly, they pad forward until we come to a branch in the tunnel. Scamp takes a few steps down one passage, sniffs the air and then returns to do the same in the other shaft.

  Suddenly, Silky whirls in a circle before he stops and his long, sleek tail jabs itself over his head, like a finger pointing in one direction.

  “That looks like a definite, ‘This way,’” Amil rumbles from behind.

  I start to take a step forward when I stop and hold out a hand, halting the others. “What is it?” Cara hisses alongside.

  I reach out a hand and press my palm against the rock wall. “Feel that?” I ask.

  My companions do the same with Tavin saying, “Yes, but what is it?”

  �
�I’m not sure,” I answer, “but I think that rumbling you feel in the rock is what’s guiding Scamp and Silky.”

  “And it’s much stronger down this passage,” Alonya states after pressing her palm against the rock in the other tunnel.

  I don’t answer her, but I do draw Galondraig. Behind me, the soft hissing of swords slipping out of scabbards tell me my comrades are doing the same with their blades.

  “All right, Scamp,” I whisper, “lead on, but take it slow and easy.”

  The little tub pads forward, but not as fast as before as we cautiously follow him and Silky. Cara and I walk abreast of each other with the others crowding close behind. Besides the rustle of our clothing, the only other sound I hear is the light scraping of Scamper’s and Silky’s paws on the rocky floor.

  We round a corner and I instantly thrust out a hand to stop Cara. She gives me a questioning look and I motion toward our two little guides. Both stand perfectly still, their noses held high, but it’s the hair standing straight up on their necks and back that tell me that whatever they smell, they definitely don’t like.

  I motion for the others to be extra quiet and whisper, “Twinkle, Ember, Dazzle, no light!”

  We’re thrown into darkness but only for a moment. As my eyes adjust, I can make out a faint light far ahead and practically on tiptoes I move forward with Cara and the others quietly pacing behind.

  The closer to the light we draw, the brighter it becomes. What’s more, I begin to pick up sounds—the ringing of metal on metal, and a sharp sizzling noise that I can’t identify. We softly tread closer and closer to the tunnel’s end and then I stiffen as I hear a sound that I’ve heard before and recognize—the guttural grunting of Blackguards and the deep growls of their Fire Hounds.

  The last little bit, we all but crawl to the tunnel’s edge and peek out. “Just as I thought, Blackguards!” I hiss low to Cara.

  To my other side, Amil nudges me and points. “And that’s not all, look over there. Our old playmate is back.”

  I follow his finger and immediately my jaw tightens and my whole body goes taut. “Bazyl!”