by GARY DARBY
“And if another avalanche,” Amil notes, “were to occur in front of you on your way back down—”
“You could be in real trouble,” Helmar finishes.
“Yes,” Alonya affirms.
She then eyes all of us and holds out her hands. “Of course, you can still sky your dragons from here to the pass and wait for me.”
A small smile dimples her cheeks. “I’ll do my best to hurry along but while you’re waiting, see if you can’t bag a mountain sheep or two and save some for me. I have the feeling that I’ll be quite hungry when we next meet for supper.”
I glance up to where the dell seems to turn into a narrow vale. It’s obvious that it would be easier to sky the dragons through the valley than to climb, which for me would be even better as in the short walk to this point, my bad leg aches and hurts.
And with our thin clothing, the thought of having to endure the cold of snow and ice is not a pleasant thought.
As if he can read my mind, Helmar observes, “It is tempting to sky from here.”
He scans the Two-Forks trail while gesturing upward. “However, the valley walls are going to echo dragon wings for quite a ways.”
“Yes,” Phigby agrees, “and if there are any Wilder dragons in there, they’ll hear us long before we’re seen.”
“But,” Cara points out, “that should work for us too, wouldn’t it? To hear them before they hear us?”
“Unless,” Helmar muses, “they’ve found a place to perch and are just sitting and listening.”
I glance around and see the hesitant expressions. I have no idea what the others are thinking, but I know what I’m thinking.
We could find ourselves far up the trail, single file, and faced with a washout with no way to turn around and go back. What then?
Would the dragons have enough room to spread their wings and sky? They couldn’t walk backward all that way, could they?
Of course not, which leaves us with a difficult decision to make. I rub a hand against my grimy cheek and without arousing suspicion, turn to gaze at the golden with a questioning expression on my face.
She ignores me. She’s saying that this is a decision that we must make on our own.
And we must bear the consequences of that choice.
I can see on the other’s faces that no one wants to make a decision, even Phigby, which surprises me.
I had thought that he would assume the leadership role after Master Boren’s death, but now, just as in our temporary camp, he holds back as if this is not his choice to make. It could be that he’s still smarting somewhat from the rebuff he took from Master Boren, Helmar, and Cara after our rescue of them from Dunadain Keep.
Or perhaps it is something entirely different. All I know is that he seems hesitant to step forward and push us in one direction or the other.
Cara and I exchange glances. I can tell she’s as uncertain as I am. I shake my head to myself; we cannot just stand here gawking at each other, hoping that someone else will tell us what we should do.
Clearing my throat, I stress, “I would rather we stay together and not leave Alonya. I realize that she does quite well alone, but it’s in my mind that that rock dam was a trap meant for her.”
Alonya’s head snaps up at my comment. My eyes meet her questioning stare. “As I recall, Vay did say that there was going to be only one queen.”
Giving the golden a sideways glance, I finish by asserting, “Besides, we’re stronger together than apart.”
Cara comes to stand next to Alonya. “Hooper’s right. To some degree, we’ve all earned Vay’s animosity, so it’s far better if we stay together. Wind Song and I will be walking whichever trail we choose with Alonya.”
“Then,” Phigby muses, “it would seem the one question facing us, is which path to take?”
He grunts and gives me a sideways glance. “How like to life in general, the questions, choices, and decisions we must make every day of our lives, not knowing how one or the other will affect us on our journey.”
“Thank you, Professor Phigby,” Amil voices dryly, “for that spontaneous lecture, though I’m not sure how that helps us make the decision of which trail to take.”
He hefts his ax and points to the left toward the steeper of the two trails, Grim Heads. “I’m for taking that way even if it sounds colder than a witch’s sneeze at the top. It seems to pose the least danger and is faster.”
“As do I,” Helmar chimes in. “Though I fear for m’lady. We can ride the dragons and keep out of the snow but I’m afraid your legging and sandals will do little to protect you from the cold.”
Alonya gives Helmar a little nod acknowledging his concern. “Fortunately, from what I know, the upper pass is short so I shan’t be in the cold for long. What’s more, I do not intend to tarry in the snow and ice if it comes to that, either.
“And, sir, I have no intention of breaking the trail through the snow. Instead, I will let your dragons pound the snow under their feet until it is as hard as stone. Then I shall walk very fast, perhaps even run so that my feet don’t freeze. I will be through that chilly pass faster than Scamper downing a piece of roasted venison.”
Hearing his name, Scamper stops and sits upright, his little nose quivering. “I would suggest, m’lady,” Amil grouses, “that you not mention venison in that one’s presence. He’s likely to chew off the leather that binds your leggings tight.”
Everyone smiles and then we turn serious. “Alonya,” I ask, “back in the valley, for a moment there, did you see something?”
“You mean Queen Sight?” she replies.
I give her a little nod. She lets out a small puff of breath. “I’m not sure,” she replies, “and it wasn’t of Vay’s trap if that’s what you’re asking. No, this was something else but it was dim, dark . . .”
She shakes her head. “I cannot say what it was and it will not help to make our decision.”
Cara then speaks up. “I too believe we should take the high path. Less danger, faster. We just have to make sure that we get through the snow as swiftly as possible for all our sakes.”
“Yes,” Phigby adds, “I agree with Cara. I’m for the high pass as well.” He turns to me. “Hooper?”
I turn and glance up the one trail before I look at the other. One trail is steep, narrow, the other barely wider but more level.
For me, it’s obvious that the flatter would be far easier on my leg if we must walk. But though it calls to me as the one with less pain, instead, I motion toward the path that leads up to the snow and ice.
If that way holds less danger for the whole company, then that is the right choice. “Grim Heads,” I motion with a hand toward the narrow vale.
“Decision-making by committee,” Amil grumps. “A long, drawn out process if ever there was one.”
Hefting his ax, he holds it outright and points toward the narrow way. “The sooner we go up the trail, the sooner we make the crossing and better still, start walking downhill instead of up.”
He hitches at his waistband and pats his ample stomach. “Easier on the legs, you know.”
With the vote taken, Alonya turns and starts striding up the trail. Calling out, Amil asks, “By the way, why do they call it the the Grim Heads trail?”
“You’ll see why,” she calls back over her shoulder.
Amil turns to the group, his face dour, his mouth turned down at the corners. “Hmm,” he rumbles, “I’m not sure I like the sound of that. You don’t think that she held back that little tidbit of information until after we made our decision, do you?”
“Does it matter?” Helmar asks with a rueful smile.
“No, I guess not,” Amil answers, his scowl deepening. “But now it makes me wonder just what’s up this trail and what we’re getting into.”
As I settle onto Golden Wind’s neck saddle, I can’t help but think, me too . . .
Chapter Six
At times, the Grim Head’s trail is every bit as steep and narrow as Alonya promised with
only a tiny slice of sky overhead. What’s more, if a Wilder were to catch us unawares we wouldn’t even have a moment’s notice before its dragon fire would rake our company, killing us all in a single, flaming pass.
Alonya’s march is brisk and we Drachs ride our dragons single-file behind her. One defile is so tight and narrow that it looks like some giant imitation of Amil who’s taken his monstrous ax and split a sharp furrow in the rocky ground.
The dragons’ talons make a noisy clattering as they push aside rocks and small boulders as they trudge up the steep way. Their rattling noise can’t be helped as there is no path for them to take other than to sky and that we can’t chance, not yet anyway.
While those with bows keep an arrow close, the rest of us scan the heights on both sides, looking for the first tell-tale sign of a scarlet body against the azure sky.
Except for wispy clouds that rush across the blueness as if white, watery streams flow across the sky, the air remains clear, crisp and of most importance, without crimson wings splitting the blue.
It feels as though the higher we climb into the mountains, the greater the sense of how close we are to being able to reach out and touch the sky. It’s almost like skying on a dragon, except, instead of rushing past over your head, the sky stays in one place and it’s the dragon that’s moving, albeit slowly, under you.
As we tread ever higher, ever deeper into the Denalian Mountains, the sun disappears behind the peaks. All too soon, however, we’re draped in shadow as the sun slides behind the ice-topped mountaintops.
While the loss of sunlight brings a chill, the dark shadows are a good thing for the gloom will help hide us if, by chance, a Wilder red does come soaring up the valley way and spots us in the chasm.
We keep silent, especially me, because if I were to try to speak to Golden Wind, my voice would echo off the sharp canyon walls. Even with the rocks’ rattling, I’m afraid that the sound would carry and our secret would become known to the rest of the company.
My other fear is that our voices will join with the loud clattering and if anyone is listening up ahead, it will be quite evident that a company is moving up the trail and it would be easy to set an ambush.
At first, Scamper runs alongside the slow-moving caravan, thrusting his nose into nooks and crevices.
However, after finding nothing to eat for quite some time, he gives up and joins me on Golden Wind where he curls up, plops his tail across his button nose and goes to sleep.
Our camp that night is cold, fireless, and cheerless. As we’ve gone ever higher it’s turned colder and colder, giving us a taste of what’s to come.
We set the dragons as close together, nose to tail, as we can and with the sprogs and sprites in the middle we huddle between Golden Wind and Wind Song.
“About now,” Amil laments as he pulls his jerkin tight and clasps his arms across his chest, “I begin to wonder what I’m doing here instead of sitting in a comfortable rocking chair in front of a toasty fire, eating a plump pie full of—”
“Amil, please,” Phigby growls as he looks askance at his piece of teeth-breaking Golian trail ration.
“Phigby,” Cara entreats as she holds up her finger-size share of supper, “can’t you turn this into something more delectable and savory?”
She turns to Alonya. “No offense, Alonya.”
“None taken,” Alonya returns around a small mouthful of her brick-hard allotment. “I find warrior’s bread quite good and filling.”
“Compared to gnawing on rocks,” Amil frowns, “I would have to agree.”
Phigby frowns and leans a little toward Cara, holding up his ration. “I’m afraid, my dear, that to turn this into something more suitable to the palate I would need my mixing room and all of my potions. Even the contents of my bag are no match for this.”
With that, he asks Alonya, “Tell me, just how do you get it so . . . so . . . compact?”
The giantess chews, swallows, and then answers with a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Well, Elepho Oxen are not only useful for plowing and in towing our dragon catapults, they’re also good for mashing the—”
“Please,” Amil entreats, “I would prefer to leave the rest to my imagination as it surely cannot be any worse than what you’re about to describe.”
“I’m not so sure, Amil,” Cara returns. “It seems to me that your imaginings can get well . . . pretty imaginative.”
Helmar gestures toward the trail. “How much farther to the pass, m’lady?”
“When we hit the snowline,” Alonya replies, “it shouldn’t be more than a day’s journey until we’re through and on the other side.”
She hesitates, screwing her mouth to one side. “If the snow has melted low as it should by now.” With a little shrug, she adds, “If not . . .”
Phigby gestures at the sharp mountain sides that rise above us and which our eyes can just make out in the darkness. “I can see now why only a dragon army could ever invade Golian. You could never get an army on foot through such as this.”
Alonya nods at his comment. “And a great many mountain passes are very similar to this. That’s why we’ve always just fortified and garrisoned the lower passes and let our scouts travel these higher trails to give warning.”
“Though,” she takes a deep breath, “it would appear that all our plans were in vain.”
“Not so,” Phigby hastens to assure her. “It was treachery that breached your walls, Alonya, and not the failure of your plans or the lack of bravery of your people.”
“Well said, Phigby and thank you,” Alonya rejoins. “I shall remember that.”
“Now,” she rises to her feet, “I will take the first watch.”
“No,” Helmar states and stands. “You’ve been walking all day while we’ve been riding. Our legs are fresh whereas yours are not. We’ll split tonight’s watch among ourselves while you get what sleep that you can.”
Alonya flashes Helmar a grateful smile. “Thank you, Helmar. I shall accept your offer. I only hope that I dream of clear, shallow streams or bubbling springs and not roaring floods.”
“I’ll take the second watch,” I offer. In quick order, the night watch is set and we find what comfort we can on the defile’s jumbled and rocky floor.
Curling up with Scamper next to Golden Wind, I try and draw what warmth I can from her big body. I drift off into a fitful sleep that’s marked by visions of me fleeing before Vay who has a Medusa’s head of vipers whose fangs snap shut just in front of my face.
Springing awake, I find that the wind has risen and with it a low keening that at first, I can’t make out. Then, I hear what sounds for all the world to be ghostlike voices.
They last for just a few moments and then they’re gone. I lie awake for a while longer wondering if I really heard voices, or was it the wind, or just my imagination?
I sleep very little the rest of the night after my watch and I’m the first on my feet when the first orange and pink rays touch the higher peaks.
Bundling myself as tightly as I can in my tunic against the cold, I pull my hood tight at my neck. My breath is a faint wisp of fog while the dragons’ breath is like hot steam rising from a cauldron.
I look around for Scamper as sometime in the night he left me. Golden Wind raises her head and as I take a look, I snort, “Of course, where else?”
Curled up between her legs and under her chin are Scamper, the sprogs, and the sprite dragons. They’re all huddled together, legs and feet tucked in against the cold.
“I’ll have to remember that tomorrow night,” I chuckle to myself, “if we have to sleep cold.”
I turn at a light touch to find Cara next to me, her arms wrapped tight around her body. “Me too,” she shivers, “I’ll gladly join in if there’s enough room.”
“We’ll make room,” I smile.
On an impulse, I reach out and pull her close and begin to rub her back with vigorous strokes. After a bit, she sighs, “That felt so good, thank you.”
St
epping back, I smile wide. “You’re welcome.” It’s then that my eyes flick past Cara to see a hard-faced Helmar staring at the two of us.
If his eyes could shoot ice arrows, I’d have ice shards sticking out on both sides of me. “Uh, morning, Helmar,” I call with a wave.
He doesn’t answer but stalks off in the direction of Wind Glory. One by one, the others rouse from their cold beds, stomping their feet and rubbing their arms to get warmth and feeling back into them.
I’m surprised to see Alonya stand with a long, purple robe that ties at the shoulder of her light armor.
She must have seen my expression for she admits, “I awoke in the night with this covering me. I have no idea where it came from.”
Amil comes up and holds out a thick, brown tunic. “And I found this at my side.”
He grins wide as he slips it over his jerkin. “Just my size, too.”
Cara and I glance at each other and as one we both turn to face Phigby. Meeting our knowing looks, he shrugs as if he doesn’t know where it came from either.
He brushes himself off, grabs his bag and heads for Wind Song. Cara murmurs out of the side of her mouth, “I’m glad he did that for both of them, I was really worried that they would get too cold.
“Now,” she grimaces, “if he would only do something about that awful Golian bread.”
“That,” I add, “and thick, wool blankets for each of us.”
“No,” she returns, “at least two, maybe three after last night. One to lie on, and two to curl up snug-tight.”
She gets a faraway look. “Or, better yet, a down feather comforter just like I had back home.”
“A down comforter.” I let out a sigh. “Sounds nice.” I turn away and walk over to Golden Wind.
“Sure would beat a threadbare blanket,” I mutter under my breath, “but after last night, I would take even that.”