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

by GARY DARBY

  He has one left over and holds it up. “This is for your missing companion.”

  “I have to ask,” Cara calls out, “how did you know how many to make and our sizes?”

  “The same wind that spoke of your coming,” Durfan answers, “told us what we needed to know for each of you.”

  He motions to the pixies. “They were the hardest to make. Hammers meant for the thick hands of dwarves do not easily do such delicate work, but we managed.”

  “I don’t understand,” Tavin says as he slips the Meile over his head and lets it settle over his shoulders. “You said the wind told you, but all I’ve felt are the hot gusts and whirling vapors off that steaming lake.”

  “Oh,” Durfan replies, “it wasn’t the hot drafts you feel here. It was a cool, gentle wind that sprang up just after our capture while we waited for Vay’s demon to appear.”

  “That’s why,” Pegli adds, “hope burned bright in our bosom and gave strength to our arms as we fashioned these.”

  Alonya slides her hands over her armor, which gleams silver-bright in the light. “Amazing, so light and supple. It’s like a second skin and moves with your body.”

  She holds up the sword the dwarves handed her and runs a thumb lightly over the edge. When she draws it back there’s a pale line of blood. “Not even our best metalsmiths could hone an edge so fine that it would draw blood with the slightest touch.”

  Holding it up, as the light plays off the gleaming metal, she asks, “What are these markings along the blade and haft?”

  “Those are dwarven runes,” Durfan answers. “Blessings and prayers to the gods to forever protect the one who wields the blade.”

  “And a good thing too,” Amil grunts as he stands off to one side admiring his armor which fits snug over his large frame. “We can certainly use all the blessings and prayers we can get.”

  Durfan, listening to Amil, snaps his fingers and mutters, “We almost forgot.” With that, he hurries off and comes back a few moments later to hold out a gleaming double-bladed ax to Amil.

  Amil’s eyes go big and round as he takes the weapon from Durfan. “An ax made entirely of metal,” he sputters.

  “And there’s none like it in all Erdron, our sturdy new friend,” Durfan replied.

  Amil picks up his old ax and holds it out along with his new one. He slowly tilts them one way and then the other as he seems to weigh and consider both before he tucks his old blade, handle-first, in his belt.

  “I will keep old reliable too. She’s been with me for too many seasons just to toss her aside. Besides, I’d hate for her to fall into the wrong hands.”

  “A good idea,” Alonya acknowledges and slips her old sword under her wide strap.

  At her feet, the pixies strut around in their new armor, their hats tilted to the side with a cocky air. Their suits flicker and glow so much in the torchlight that Alonya chuckles while gesturing to the pixies, “They look like walking candlesticks.”

  Once the dwarves have us outfitted, I turn to Cara and whisper, “You look radiant, if I do say so myself.”

  Smiling, she runs a hand down her front to where the armor stops at her waist. She twists her arms so that the light catches the links and they flash and glint as if she were wearing tiny stars. “It is dazzling isn’t it?”

  After I smile back at her, I turn to Pegli. “These are indeed wondrous, but you have to know, Pegli, that we have no money to pay for them. We are a rather poor company.”

  “Poor!?” Amil snorts. “I don’t know what’s below destitute, but that’s us.”

  “We desire no payment for these,” Pegli replies, “only that you consider our one request.”

  “Which is?” Tavin asks.

  “That you help us,” Durfan answers, “free our people, our friends, our families, our loved ones from the loathsome monsters who hold them captive.”

  I glance around at the company, who give me solemn nods in answer. “Once we find and free our missing comrade,” I answer, “we will certainly consider your request.”

  “Good enough,” Pegli gruffly answers with a quick bow of the head. “For that, you have our gratitude.”

  With that, they hurry away only to come back a short time later decked out in their own Meile, with swords, axes, shields, and helmets to match. Pegli draws himself up and thumps his chest. “Now we are ready to fight alongside you and your company, Hooper Menvoran. May we join with you in the coming fight?”

  “Uh, it’s not my company,” I reply and turn to my comrades, “but unless there’s some objection, I don’t see why not.”

  Quick nods of the head cause me to turn back to the dwarves. “Glad to have you, all of you, and unless you have more surprises for us, I suggest it’s time to leave.”

  Pegli gestures with his ax. “Lead on, Hooper Menvoran, we will follow.”

  We hurry out of the secret anteroom and stop in the more extensive grotto to stare at the hoard of weapons. “We need to destroy these,” Alonya states, “before Vay’s followers can get their hands on them.”

  “But how?” Pim asks. “They’re so many and made of hard metal. We can’t just break them.”

  “Throw them into the fire from whence they came,” Amil grunts.

  “It would take us a day or more,” Tavin argues. “to do what you suggest. We don’t have the time.”

  Cara nudges me and gazes meaningfully at Galondraig. I think for a moment before shaking my head, “No. For now, as much as it pains me, we have no choice but to leave them here.”

  “But Hooper,” Amil protests, “we can’t let Vay’s cutthroats get their hands on these.”

  I turn to Pegli. “You made them—is there a fast and easy way to destroy them?”

  “By magic or by fire,” Pegli grunts. “It’s the only way.”

  “As I thought,” I reply and then direct, “we find Phigby and afterward, if possible, we’ll return and destroy them.”

  At that, I hurry out of the stone chamber with the others right behind. I find that the Meile armor is so light that it’s like wearing a thin jerkin over my tunic. We pile out of the anteroom and I half expect to find a throng of Blackguards waiting for us, snorting and braying, ready to unleash their Fire Hounds.

  Instead, I smile wide as I spot Golden Wind and Wind Song, who perch on the edge of the brimstone lake. We rush over to where the dragons wait and I glance past to see the remainder of the dragons slowly circling out over the lake. “We’ll have to double up,” I say.

  I quickly sort out who is to ride with whom, and as Scamper bounds up the golden’s leg, I turn to Pegli, who’s looking at Golden Wind with an expression of both awe and apprehension. “Just do what I do,” I reassure him, “and you’ll be fine.”

  Pegli shakes his head, his eyes still on Golden Wind. “I’ve ridden horses and oxen, but something tells me this will not be the same.”

  “Not unless those horses and oxen had wings and flew in the sky,” I reply and then add, “or in this case, deep underground.”

  The golden thrusts her leg out and I scramble up, followed by Pegli. He slides in behind me, settles himself on the golden’s neck saddle and grunts. “I must say that those horses and oxen were a bit easier on the underside.”

  “You get used to it,” I answer and then instruct, “tuck your ax in your belt and grab hold of me.” He does as I direct, and I ask, “Ready?”

  “What should I expect?” he asks.

  “A hot skyride,” I answer and then call out, “Sky, Golden Wind—easy does it, for Pegli’s sake.”

  The golden spreads her wings and steps off the ledge. For a moment, we drop like a golden nugget and Pegli’s hiss is loud in my ear before the golden levels off and we zoom across the lake before we pull up and hover to wait for the others.

  Bold Wind joins us and as I meet his stare he gives me a few barely noticeable nods. I smile a bit and answer with my own short nod. They’ve found Phigby. Alive, I think, but that he’s not riding Bold Wind tells me that he’s
being held in such a way that not even the dragons could free him.

  That thought turns my smile into a scowl as I glance below at the churning lake which mirrors my own insides. If such dragons as ours cannot free one person from captivity, what chance do we have of saving Phigby?

  Perhaps none.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  As the others catch up with us, I give Bold Wind a quick nod, signaling we’re ready. The big scarlet flaps his wings to keep himself in one place, seems to turn on his tail before he juts his head out further and breathes in so deeply and loudly that his hiss adds to the sizzling of the cauldron below us.

  Then, he snaps his wings out and darts forward. I wave to the others, “Follow Bold Wind, he’s onto Phigby’s scent!”

  Golden Wind heels over and puts on a burst of speed to catch up with Bold Wind. “Dragons can catch scents?” Pegli sputters behind me. “Like dogs and wolves?”

  “You have a lot to learn about dragons,” I answer.

  “Such as?” Pegli questions.

  “Well . . .” I slowly begin and smile to myself as I see Golden Wind’s ears snap back to listen to my reply. “They’re very serious people, you know, with absolutely no sense of humor. Tell a dragon a good joke and they’ll just stare at you.”

  “Tell a dragon a joke . . .” Pegli murmurs. “Why would you do such a thing? Surely, they cannot understand civilized speech. After all, they’re just beasts.”

  At that, Scamper wheels around and starts chittering wildly. “Uh,” I mutter to Pegli, “I wouldn’t use that term around our four-legged friends. They don’t like it. Blackguards, Fire Hounds, and the like, they’re beasts—not our dragons, or Scamper, or Silky.”

  “You speak as if you understand that one’s chatterings.”

  “Let’s just say that Scamper and I understand each other enough that I can usually figure out what he’s saying.”

  I can feel Pegli shake his head behind me. “In our homeland,” he asserts, “we use our animals to turn the waterwheels that help us mine the ore, pull our carts loaded down with rocks or ore from the quarries. We certainly do not spend precious time speaking with them. They are beasts of burden, nothing more.”

  At his sharp words, I sigh deeply. “You know Pegli, at one time, I suppose I thought much like you, but not anymore, at least not with dragons and with some other wonderful creatures I’ve met along the way.

  “Except for a few, namely those under Vay’s control, they are quite amazing and I think there’s more to them than any of us ever considered. Much, much more.”

  Before Pegli can answer, Bold Wind comes to an abrupt halt, as does Golden Wind. Both are peering downward, but all I see is the heaving, broiling lake of fire that stretches in all directions. We seem to be at its exact center.

  Pegli leans into my back and growls, “Look there, the lake—it circles as if some giant hand swirls it around.”

  I lean over Golden Wind’s neck to stare down and then I see it. A dark hole in the lake, not much wider than the golden’s wings from tip to tip, around which the molten rock curls and spins. Giant eddies sweep out of the hole to wash across the lake’s face before they spin back into the whirlpool.

  At a shout from Cara I jerk my head up and my eyebrows rise at what I see. The dragons are in a great ring around the vortex, all peering downward. To myself, I mutter, “Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

  With that, I gently nudge Golden Wind and we slowly move over to the exact center of the vortex with Bold Wind alongside. I gaze downward and wished I hadn’t.

  “By all the gods above and below,” Pegli cries out, “that simply cannot be!”

  I have to blink several times and wipe the sweat out of my eyes as I initially don’t believe what I see. My vision clears and my mouth sags at the sight below me.

  Far below, entirely encircled by the cherry-red whirlpool, is Phigby. He stands on a broad, glistening black disc, his head slumped over so that his wild mane of hair covers his face and seems to blend in with his beard. He’s bound by the coils of a giant two-headed snake, only this serpent is made of the same black stone and seems to rise out of the glistening rock.

  “You’re right, Pegli,” I croak, “this simply cannot be.”

  “That is your missing companion?” Pegli asks.

  “Yes,” I acknowledge.

  “Then your search has come to an end,” Pegli states, “and it is time for us to leave, for you stare at a dead man.”

  “No!” I bark. “Don’t say that! He’s not dead and we’re not leaving. This company never leaves one of its own behind.”

  “A noble thought, but one wasted, I’m afraid. Can you not see that there is no life in him? No one could survive such torture.”

  “If anyone can, it’s Professor Phineas Phigby,” I growl. “He’s more than—more than—”

  “More than what?” Pegli demands.

  “More than all of us put together!” I snap. “That’s what!”

  Pegli takes in a deep breath, his broad chest swelling against my back. “I can hear the loyalty you have to your friend in your voice and that I respect and admire. But Hooper Menvoran, even if he still lives, how do you propose getting down there? It is hotter than any of our forges. Were one of us to go down there, the heat would boil us alive. Your dragons may be able to take such fire and heat, but none of us wear dragon scales.”

  “What about this?” I ask, plucking at my Meile jerkin. “Would it stand up against the hotness?”

  “It was born of fire, so yes, it can protect you to a certain point, but what about your head, your legs? You wear no Meile there.”

  I pound a fist on my thigh. “There has to be a way to get to him! There has to be!”

  Then, a soft, gentle voice comes to my mind. What happens when the wind whips across a fire?

  “The flames shoot higher,” I murmur.

  “What did you say?” Pegli demands.

  “Nothing,” I sigh, “I was just talking to myself.”

  I pause to think, muttering to myself, “A wind across a fire will whip the flames higher, or . . .”

  My head jerks up. “Or, sometimes puts it out entirely. That’s it!”

  Over my shoulder to Pegli, I say, “Pegli, get ready, you’re going to take a little ride.”

  “Down into that inferno!?”

  “No. However, it will be a little unnerving at first, but you’ll be perfectly safe, I assure you.”

  Over to Bold Wind, I call, “Take Pegli to Regal Wind.”

  The big crimson wheels over, picks up a bit of speed and before Pegli can even yelp, snatches the dwarf off Golden Wind’s back. With Pegli securely grasped in Bold Wind’s rear talons, I hear Pegli yell, “No . . .” which grows fainter as Bold Wind flaps away.

  “Golden Wind, something tells me he’s not going to be very happy with me the next time we meet.”

  “Indeed not,” she answers.

  I turn at the sound of familiar sapphire wings. “You have a plan?” Cara calls.

  “Yes,” I call back, “but I need for you to take the company and search for a way out of here, preferably one that doesn’t involve mixing it up with Vay’s cronies.”

  “Easier said than done,” she answers.

  “I know, but extremely necessary,” I reply, and hold up Galondraig.

  Her eyebrows arch as she stares for a moment before she states, “You’re going to use the gemstones to rescue Phigby.”

  “It’s the only way, unless you have a better idea.”

  She glances down into the vortex and shakes her head. “I wish I did.” Her eyes hold me for a moment. “You be careful, Hoop, you still owe me another night skyride on Golden Wind.”

  “I know,” I smile, “and I intend to pay my debt.”

  We gaze at each other for a moment more before Cara gives me a little wave and spins Wind Song around to race away.

  I sigh a little before asking, “Ready, Golden Wind?”

  “Yes.”
/>   “Scamper?”

  Scamp chitters at me for a few moments before he turns, wiggles his furry rump at me and settles his paws on Golden Wind’s skull ridge. “Hey,” I answer, “I just came up with the idea and no, I’m not slow, just cautious.”

  I run my tongue over dry lips and raise Galondraig high. “Well, here goes.” I grasp Galondraig tighter and call out, Vald Hitta Sasi Ein! Power to this One!

  For a moment, nothing happens and then I feel a gentle, fresh wind at my back. The breeze grows, whirling about Golden Wind. “It’s getting stronger,” I say, still holding Galondraig high, “and moving in the opposite direction of the whirlpool.”

  “Yes,” Golden Wind calls back, her voice ringing over the growl of the whirlpool and the building gale, “and it will continue to build but we do not have the time to wait!”

  I suck in a breath. “Vay!”

  “Yes, and her fury only adds to her swiftness. We must go now, Hooper!”

  “Then go!”

  The golden tucks her wings and we plummet into the maelstrom. I keep Galondraig up high hoping the brisk, powerful winds will counter the scorching heat. Down we plunge, faster and faster, the blistering heat blasting my face and my hands.

  Scamper tries to be brave but mews piteously under the searing heat and I reach out, pluck him from his perch with one hand and stuff the little tub under the golden’s skull sheath where hopefully it will be a little cooler.

  “We’re falling awfully fast!” I cry out to Golden Wind, grimacing in the pounding heat.

  “We have but moments to do what must be done,” she answers, “or would you have me dawdle and lazily flap our way down only to find Vay waiting for us at the bottom?”

  “When you put it that way, can’t you go any faster!?”

  I take a quick glance around and my eyes widen. We’re in the middle of two vortexes that seem to be battling each other—Vay’s whirlpool of fire and brimstone and my roaring gusts that feel as if I had somehow captured winter’s bitter blasts of freezing gales.

  “Hold on, Hooper!” the golden calls. “The landing may be a bit of a jolt!”