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

by GARY DARBY

  Bazyl roars in rage, whips his sword up to deliver the death blow when a brown blur darts out from behind a nearby boulder and soars through the air. Scamper lands squarely on Bazyl’s face, rakes the demon’s eyes with both front paws and for good measure, bites his nose.

  For a moment, the demon’s shriek of rage and fury seems to silence the lake’s deafening hisses and rumbles. The beast reaches up to grab Scamper, but my little friend is too quick and Bazyl ends up swiping at empty air.

  Scamper’s heroic act gives me the moment I need. Rolling away, I scramble to my feet, ready to face the demon in a fight to the death for one of us.

  “Bazyl!”

  The fiend whirls around at the shout to stare at Pim, who straddles Silky’s frozen body, tears of hurt and rage flowing down her cheeks, her gleaming lance held at the ready.

  Vay’s demon laughs and waves a dismissive hand at her. “Begone, little girl. Your lance is useless, and you cannot stand against me. Run away from the great Bazyl the Conjugator or I promise that you will end up like that puny beast at your feet.”

  “I don’t think so, Bazyl the Cowardly,” Pim growls and from the tip of her lance, a shaft of pure light flashes outward. The lightning-like bolt catches Bazyl at the shoulder. The creature screams in such agony that his shriek drowns out all other sounds. His scarlet eyes grow round in disbelief as he stares at the smoldering stump that once was his arm.

  I don’t waste the unexpected opportunity and Galondraig slashes through the air. Bazyl whips around at the last instant and his blade crashes against mine. The blow is enough that it staggers me back for a moment.

  Before either Pim or I can attack the beast again, he turns, sweeps his hand out and from the seething liquid erupts a giant Fire Bird. It stretches its wings out just as Bazyl leaps from the craggy edge.

  Vay’s cruel lieutenant lands on the fiery bird’s back and before either Pim or I can reach the edge, the Fire Bird wings swiftly away, carrying Bazyl to safety.

  I hang my head for a moment. “So close,” I groan.

  “Yes,” Pim answers, her face a mask of fury and hatred, “but we hurt that slimelec! Next time we finish the job and send him to Hades where he belongs.”

  “Next time,” I agree and put a hand on her shoulder. “Thanks for saving me back there.”

  She nods, wipes at the tears that streak her cheeks. “C’mon,” I whisper, “we need to get back in the fight. The company needs our help.”

  After a sniff and a trembling breath, she again nods and we turn back, ready to jump into the fray, only the fight is over. Blackguard and Fire Hound bodies are strewn about and those who managed to survive the battle must have fled, for none are in sight.

  Instead, from their perch, our archers make their way down, while the rest of the company gather near the dwarves. Pim doesn’t join our comrades but slowly walks over to where Silky’s body lies, her sluggish steps seemingly taking all her effort just to move the few paces.

  Scamper dashes from behind his hiding place and jumps into my arms. Awwrrritte? he asks. “Thanks to you, I am,” I answer. “You saved my life, Scamper, you know that, don’t you?”

  He butts my chest with his head, nuzzles me while saying Arrwwww, and then draws back to chitter at me while I scratch behind his ears. “Yes,” I answer, “you are the bravest of the company.”

  With sad eyes, I turn to where Pim slumps next to her dead little friend. “You and Silky,” I hoarsely whisper.

  At footsteps, I turn as Cara runs up and asks, “You two all right?”

  I place Scamp on the ground where he hurries over to be next to Silky. He sidles up to a kneeling Pim whose head is bent in sorrow, tears flowing. Scamper nuzzles her leg, mewing softly.

  On Pim’s other side, the pixies slide off their dragons, remove their pointy hats and wipe at their noses as they gaze mournfully at Silky, while the sprites swing their heads down low and huddle together.

  With a small hand gesture, I motion toward Pim and Scamper. “If it weren’t for them—”

  “I saw,” she replies, her eyes on the grieving Pim. “For a moment, it was a close thing. I tried to draw a bead on that monster, but my shots went wide. I’m not sure how I kept missing, but if Pim’s lance hadn’t come to life . . .”

  “I know,” I sigh, “but not soon enough, I’m afraid.”

  Cara’s eyes become sad, mournful. “If but for a few moments earlier.”

  “If but for a few moments earlier . . .” I sigh.

  Together, we walk over to where the company gathers next to Pim. “We killed dozens of Blackguards and their hounds and hurt Bazyl,” Amil rumbles, “but lost Silky. Somehow, I think Vay got the better end of the deal.”

  No one replies to Amil’s comment, no one speaks up, but their eyes tell the story. We’ve lost one of our own, a beloved comrade and companion. What more is there to say?

  As I join the sad group, Scamper crinkles up his nose and starts chittering at me. “What’s he saying?” Cara asks.

  I stare at Scamper for a moment, before I slowly reply, “He wants me to use the healing stone on Silky.”

  Pim’s head jerks up. “Can you? Will it bring Silky back?”

  I hesitate and then admit, “Honestly, I don’t know, Pim. Maybe,” I shrug.

  “No scarlet arrow of death this time,” Alonya points out. “It might work.”

  “It might,” I admit, “but there’s no doubt in my mind that if I do use the gemstones, Vay will know we’re down here.”

  “She’ll know soon enough,” Tavin declares.

  “Aye, lad,” Amil adds, “a good number of Blackguards escaped, blast their evil hides. As Tavin said, it won’t be long before she knows what happened.”

  Cara lays a gentle hand on my arm. “Please, Hooper? At least try.”

  “Yes, Hooper,” Alonya urges, “I for one am willing to pay the consequences, even if it means facing Vay in this evil place.”

  I glance around at the company. “Are you sure? I can’t guarantee the jewels will work on Silky, but I can promise that Vay will feel their power and know where to find us.”

  “Hooper,” Amil sighs, “ever since we started on this little jaunt, the only guarantee we’ve ever had was that Vay would search for us high and low.” He sweeps an arm around and rumbles, “Well, it seems we’ve found the low so, do it, lad.”

  I gaze at Pim, whose face is tortured with pain. “Please, Hooper,” she pleads.

  Nodding, I go to one knee, raise Galondraig high and place a hand on Silky’s frozen body. Vald Hitta Sasi Ein! Power to this One! I cry out.

  I keep my hand on Silky for several long moments, my heart thumping in my chest, my mind fixed on the thought of a living, breathing Silky—the way he was before. I wait, not moving, but nothing seems to happen.

  Then, I feel a warmth that grows and spreads from Galondraig, down my upraised arm through my body and to the hand that rests on Silky. The feeling grows, becomes hotter but not a searing hot, but the warmth and glow of love that warms heart and soul, of comradeship that binds complete strangers in a noble cause and of all-encompassing friendship that lets you laugh when your friends laugh and cry when they cry.

  My eyes grow wide as my hand starts to glow with a soft luminosity and from it spreads a radiance that covers the ice, a soft, yet potent light that penetrates into Silky’s body. The ice and Silky take on a brilliance so bright, so intense that I have to squint to see but I keep my hand pressed to the ice and thrust Galondraig even higher.

  The ice begins to break apart, the splitting sounding like sharp whip cracks in the air. Then, the rime starts to slough off and melt, forming a pool of water until the ice is completely gone, leaving Silky’s form exposed.

  The radiance seems to fill his still figure and I can feel a pulsing warmth that pushes my hand away. Then, to my astonishment, his body rises in the air. Streaks of light begin to swirl around him as if tiny fire imps spin a web of radiance. Faster and faster, they whip around his body unti
l Silky is encased in a cocoon of light.

  Then, the orb explodes outward and everyone, myself included ducks away from the intense light. When I turn back, Silky is on all fours, his little face in a grin as he leaps into Pim’s arms.

  Through tears of joy, Pim nuzzles and cuddles Silky, who squeaks and meows in delight. I sheathe Galondraig as Cara leans close, her voice husky and low, “Thank you, Hooper.”

  “Wasn’t me,” I answer just as low, watching the pixies dance a jig around Pim and Silky, “it was the power of the dragon jewels.”

  We all delight in Pim’s and Silky’s joyous reunion until Amil clears his throat loudly and with a hand motion that causes us to turn, says, “Err, folks, I hate to break this up but I think we need to do some explaining and some introducing.”

  The dwarves have drawn themselves up in a semicircle and stare, their eyes wide at what they just witnessed. Cara nudges me with an elbow. “I think this is where you get to do your ambassador-at-large thing.”

  With a little nod, and a tongue run over dry lips, I step forward but before I can speak, a dwarf, the largest, steps forward and in a deep, gruff voice, addresses us. “After what we just witnessed, you can only be Hooper Menvoran, Gem Guardian.”

  I guess my surprise must have shown for the dwarf’s lips rise in a brief smile. “Oh yes, we know about you, Hooper Menvoran. We also knew you would come for us.”

  “Uh,” I stammer, “you did?”

  Another dwarf steps forward to join the first, his voice a low rumble, “Yes, indeed. It was that knowledge that kept hope alive in our bosom and strength to our arms.”

  “And just how did you know we were coming?” I ask.

  “It was a miracle,” the dwarf answers. “An answer to our fervent prayers. We were bemoaning our accursed state, grieving over what might be happening to our kindred, and us with no means of escape when—”

  He stops to look and point upward. “The wind told us.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “Did he just say the wind told him?” Cara murmurs at my shoulder. “Are they able to listen to wind whisperings, too?”

  “I guess so,” I stammer and turn back to the dwarves. “Yes, I am Hooper Menvoran and we are the Company of the Golden Dragon.”

  “And I am Pegli,” the first dwarf announces as he takes a step forward. He looks past my companions, his bushy eyebrows furrowing and asks, “Your company I see, but where is the golden one and the rest of your dragons?”

  “Uh, she and the others,” I answer, “search for our missing companion, Professor Phineas Phigby. We believe he is being held captive somewhere down here.”

  “I see . . .” Pegli nods slowly, “then how do you propose to get us all out of here?”

  He turns and points to a dark archway on the far side of the large grotto. “That way leads to ten times the number of filth that guarded us and though you and your comrades showed great prowess in the battle, I doubt if even your abilities will be a match for when those scum come boiling through the archway. Which will be soon, I assure you.”

  He motions over to the tunnel we used. “And unfortunately, that way will be the same soon enough.”

  “What about that opening over there?” Amil asks. “Does it lead to a way out?”

  Pegli’s eyes turn hard as does his voice. “No. Come, I will show you what lies in there.”

  We march behind the dwarves into the passage and to our surprise, find it lighted by sputtering torches jammed into the walls. Our surprise is even more heightened when we see what lies inside a huge anteroom.

  Hundreds upon hundreds of swords, shields, helmets, and spears are piled together in one enormous armory. “You made all these?” Amil stammers.

  “Aye,” Pegli replies, “to our eternal sorrow we did, but not by choice.”

  “I don’t understand,” I reply.

  Pegli turns to a dwarf at his side. “Durfan, you are better with words than I, explain, but do so quickly.”

  Durfan nods and turns to us. “In our homeland, we are known as the Masters of the Tàirn ea Naich, or the Fiery Forge of Flame and Thunder. Only we know the secrets of the fires and metals we use to wield our craft.”

  “Such as your Meile armor,” I state.

  “Yes,” Durfan acknowledges, “among other things. When Vay came among us, we refused to do her bidding for we have no desire to be a part of her wickedness and evil schemes.”

  Durfan sighs deep and long. “However, her vile army was more than we could withstand though we fought as bravely as we could against her beasts. She took captive all those who survived including our women and children.”

  Cara steps forward. “Are the rest of your people here?”

  Durfan shakes his head. “We do not think so for the last we saw of them, Vay held them in the underground chambers that honeycomb Mount Timbor, our home.”

  Alonya calls out, “I see swords, shields, maces, spears here, but no Meile armor.”

  “And you’ll find none,” Pegli snarls, “for that witch or her scum!”

  The dwarves’ expressions turn sad, crestfallen. “There were ten of us,” Durfan explains, “ten Masters that they brought here to make armaments for them, in particular the Meile. But we told that demon that he had made a mistake bringing us here for without the Tàirn ea Naich forges we could not make any armor for him. It was impossible.”

  Durfan sighs deeply and a tear appears at the corner of one eye and rolls down into his beard. “He did not believe us and threatened to kill us one at a time if we didn’t start producing Meile armor for him.”

  He glances at Pegli, who nods and motions for him to continue. “We drew lots for who would be the first to go. Three days ago he began killing us, one at a time. Hirsch, Moggle, Danbi, all dead.”

  His lips quiver a bit and he points at the bubbling, scorching lake. “He threw them in there, made us watch.”

  “The filth,” Pegli growls and behind him the other dwarves make low, angry mutterings among themselves. “He and that witch of his will pay, that I swear!”

  “And you can’t make your Meile armor here?” Alonya asks.

  “Oh no,” Durfan shakes his head. “We most certainly can, but not for those beasts—never would we allow that to happen.”

  He crooks a finger at us and gestures with his head. “This way.”

  We follow him past several piles of shields that are heaped close to the rock wall. He and the other dwarves stop at where several boulders, some sitting atop the others are flush against the wall. Several of the dwarves pull the blocks away revealing a cleft in the rock. Durfan takes a torch and motions with a hand to us, “Follow me.”

  Most of us pass through the narrow crevice easily enough though both Snag and Alonya have to wiggle and squirm their way through. Once inside, we stop as Durfan holds his light high. The silence is broken by Amil nudging me and muttering, “Tell me I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing.”

  “Meile armor,” Alonya breathes out and then turns to the dwarves, “How did you—”

  “In secret,” Pegli grunts. “The Blackguards make for lazy jailers.”

  “They had us sleep next to our forges,” Durfan explains. “The beasts were so confident we couldn’t escape from this pit that they didn’t even chain us. We waited until the Blackguards left to find whatever unsavory holes they slept in to begin working.”

  “But didn’t the noise of your hammering wake them?” Tavin questions.

  “We placed our forges next to the lake,” Durfan replies. “We would wait until its rumblings were at their loudest before striking our hammers.”

  “One of us,” Pegli adds, “would listen to the lake’s hisses and growling and our hammer strokes. When our pounding was too loud he stopped us.”

  “Amazing,” Cara sighs.

  “And before the Blackguards returned,” Alonya nods appreciatively, “you moved your anvils and forges back to their original positions and hid your handiwork.”

  “Exactly,” Pegli
answers and then gestures to the meshlike armor. “These are for you.”

  He turns to Alonya and Snag. “We even have suits that will fit you two.” He bends down to pixie level. “And you as well.”

  “And,” Durfan adds, “swords of your choosing, helmets, and shields.”

  Alonya shakes her head and waves a hand. “I’ll not wear nor carry anything that has the stench of Bazyl on it.”

  “Ahh,” Durfan nods, “understandable. But these don’t, I assure you. Those in the outer chamber, yes, they have his vile mark, however, these are clean of his foulness.”

  With that, the pixies start dancing and hopping around. “Show us!” Pip yelps.

  “Yes!” Kyr calls up. “We now be even bigger warriors than before.”

  Sim struts around holding his bulging paunch. “Me be biggest of all. You two be skinny warriors.”

  “Skinny warriors just as good as big!” Kyr asserts.

  “Not so,” Sim counters. “You so skinny little wind knock you down. Roll you over and over and over.”

  “Will not!”

  “Will so!”

  The three start walloping each other and with a loud sigh, Alonya bends over and separates them. “Keep it up,” she growls, “and I’ll be the big wind that rolls you over and over.”

  The three squeak and scamper behind her legs as Pegli motions, “This way.” He leads us over to the Meile armor that’s draped over rocks. The armor shines and glitters in the light as if it sucks the radiance in and then spews it outward.

  Pegli selects a meshlike jerkin and holds it up against me. “This one is yours,” he smiles, “though we did not make a sword for you as you carry a most special one already.”

  I grasp the armor and my mouth drops. “Why, it’s lighter than Scamper!”

  “And ten times stronger,” Durfan boasts, “than conventional armor.”

  The dwarves go around the room, handing out waistcoat-long mail, along with shields and swords. “We are sorry that these are not full suits,” Durfan says, “but half a suit is better than none, wouldn’t you say?”