by GARY DARBY
Prodding Golden Wind so that she draws closer to Wind Song, I whisper to Cara and Phigby, “Something is moving nearby in the woods, I heard it.”
Phigby gestures for me to be quiet. “We know, we heard it, too.”
Twice more the rustling comes and then goes before I can bring my head around fast enough to see what the thing might be.
That it’s come so near to us on more than one occasion tells me that it neither fears us nor is its closeness an accident.
I can’t shake the feeling that we’re being stalked in the night and our lurker, or lurkers, are just waiting for the right time to strike.
The woods part somewhat to reveal a flowing stream that drains into a pool whose ebony surface is as dark as the forest itself. We dismount and let the thirsty dragons drink their fill.
Cara and I get the sprogs out of their saddlebag so that they too, can drink.
They and the sprites lap up the water, their forked tongues darting in and out in a flash.
Then, as if they’d had their fill, both the sprogs and sprites scurry under the golden’s legs and hunch down, their heads pulled into their necks as if they were trying to mimic a frightened turtle.
Alonya kneels to cup water to her mouth, and I join her to do the same. I let the cool water slide down my throat while I refill one of our water flasks.
Whispering, I ask, “Just after we entered the trees, did you hear it?”
“It?” she replies. “There is more than one, Hooper. They’ve shadowed us on both sides almost from the moment we passed into the woods.”
Her eyes turn hard as is her scowl. “As if they were waiting for us.”
“How many and what do we face?” Amil murmurs low next to her.
“I can’t answer either of those,” Alonya replies. “It’s as before, each time I turn to confront the thing, it’s like a shadow that melts into other shadows.”
“I’m going to get the sprites,” I declare. “We need light.”
Phigby’s hand shoots out like lightning to stop me. “A glowing light in a sea of darkness makes for a clear target, don’t you think? We will use the sprites, but at the right time when we know of a surety what we confront.”
The dragons jerk their heads up, raising their dripping muzzles from the water and whip around to growl low in the darkness.
Springing to our feet, we cluster together, swords and bows pointed outward.
The rustling comes again, this time from all sides. I whirl around to see a shadow move for just an instant before it joins with another and is gone. Another shade flits from one dark shady pool to another, and it too disappears.
“What do we do now?” I ask. “They’ve got us surrounded.”
“I suggest,” Phigby answers, “that we get behind the dragons and make ready their dragon fire. For that may be all that stands between us and whatever night fiends confront us.”
The dragons continue their deep, throaty growls as if to warn off our night stalkers. They turn their heads from side to side as if unsure from which direction we face the most threat.
“Can you see anything?” I ask Alonya, who stands next to me, her bow at the ready, but swinging it from side to side, waiting for a sure target before unloosing her first arrow.
“Shadows that aren’t shadows,” she whispers back, “shapes without form or substance. Shades that flit from one pool of darkness to another without being seen.”
“Well,” Cara replies in a voice that matches the dragons’ growls, “I think I see one shadow that has substance.”
With that, she lets fly and from a dark glob comes a shriek and a gurgling as if the thing were trying to breathe with an arrow stuck through its neck.
Without warning, from all around us come answering screeches and then a cracking sound, as if our nemesis had snapped a hundred whips all at once.
There is a whirring noise in the air above and with it, Phigby yells, “Get under the dragons!”
In sheer reflex, I grab Scamper and dive under the golden’s legs. From the darkness fly dozens of little balls with tiny thorns sticking out from their sides.
Some fall into the pool, most bounce off the dragon’s scales and fall to the ground. Several land so close that even in the gloom I can make out the sharp spines.
After a few moments, the rain of thorn balls stops. From where he lies under Wind Glory, Phigby calls out, “No one moves and whatever you do, don’t touch the thorns on those things. I suspect that they’re tipped with a deadly poison.”
I hear someone gasping for breath and then a weak voice gurgling, “Too late, Phigby.”
I whip my head around to see Cara leaning against Wind Song’s leg. With a moan, she drops her bow and slides to the ground to lie deathly still.
Chapter Eighteen
“Cara!” Helmar and I shout at the same time, and we both crawl toward her, oblivious to the poisonous balls that litter the ground.
“Hooper! Helmar!” Phigby bellows. “Stop, there’s a better way.”
We slide to a halt, peering at Phigby. He points at me. “Hooper, retrieve a sprite, you’ll need the light to get to Cara.”
I whirl around to find that the four sprites have hidden under the golden as well. I grab the closest yellow and order, “Twinkle, glow!”
In answer, Twinkle glows a pale yellow. As soon as she lights up, there’s a high-pitched screeching from the woods. Helmar and Alonya bring up their bows, ready to let go the instant they see movement.
Setting Twinkle on my shoulder, I lower myself to all fours so that I can see the ground better.
Phigby calls over, “Be careful, don’t touch one of those poison balls and use the golden as a shield.”
Nodding, I call, “Golden Wind, walk to Cara, slow.”
Grabbing Scamper, I put him on my back, ordering, “Stay up there until I tell you that you can come down.”
He digs his claws into me to hold on, but I ignore the pain.
Golden Wind moves forward, one ponderous step at a time and I scoot along with her, Galondraig held out in front of me.
Six times I must use its tip to fling a poison ball off to one side until we’re to Wind Song. I reach out for Cara and turn her over.
“Cara!?” I plead. Her eyes are open, but they’re sightless and what I see wrenches my heart as if someone had reached in to yank it from of my chest.
I glance back at Phigby, my face etched in pain. “Phigby,” I groan, “she’s got one of those poison things stuck to her neck.”
His head and shoulders slump at my news before he raises his head and calls back, “Lift up your sprite so that I can see the ground between us.”
Setting Scamper down, I order him to stay put and lift Twinkle up. Without a word from me, she glows brighter, casting her light over the way between Golden Wind and Wind Glory.
Phigby turns to Helmar and Alonya, says something before he whirls around to clutch his bag to his chest. He scoots up a bit, his eyes searching the ground in front of him.
My eyes widen in understanding. “Phigby, what are you doing?”
“Coming to you,” he answers. “Now be quiet and let me concentrate.”
He turns, again says something over his shoulder at which Helmar and Alonya launch several arrows into the darkness.
Screeches greet their shafts and Phigby darts out from under Wind Glory. He waves his hand in front of him as if he were clearing dust off a table and the poison balls on the ground scatter in front of him.
Before he can reach safety, another swarm of toxic orbs comes flying from the darkness. At the last moment, the golden and Wind Song snap their wings out, creating a canopy under which Phigby runs.
He dives under Golden Wind just as the balls hit the leathery dragon wings, sounding like heavy raindrops splattering on a rooftop. They bounce off and to one side as Phigby comes to a rolling halt under the golden.
Taking a deep breath, he mutters, “It’s been some time since I last rolled in the dirt and it wasn’t any
fun then, either.”
On all fours, like a dog, he scrambles over to Cara while ordering, “Leave Twinkle here, send the other sprites out so that Helmar and Alonya can spot their targets. It would appear our nemesis have only the poison balls for weaponry.”
I turn to the other sprites who had followed behind me. “Ember, Dazzle, Glow! Circle the dragons and light up the forest.”
The three little sprites swoop out from under Golden Wind, each one looking like a little sun whirling around the three dragons.
The whole meadow is illuminated and from the bushes and behind the trees there’s a frantic scurrying of claws, as the night things try to escape the light.
From what I can tell, most do, but some don’t, lying dead from Helmar’s and Alonya’s arrows.
My voice is hard, tight as I face Phigby. “I don’t think we’ll be bothered again.”
He ignores me as in his hands are a small pair of metal tongs, like the ones he used on the Worm Wraith. Careful, he grasps the spiked ball and pulls.
The thorns cling to Cara’s skin, stretching it outward as if the spines had barbs on the ends and won’t let go. With a sharp tug, Phigby rips the ball away, holds it up against Twinkle’s light for a moment, before in disgust, commands, “Flame!”
Little Twinkle bursts into a hot blaze and Phigby holds the ball next to the dragon’s heat until it bursts into flames. Moments later, it’s nothing more than gray ashes.
Tossing the tongs into his bag, he turns to Cara and puts his ear next to her nose. He stays that way for several heartbeats, and when he raises, he puts a hand to his mouth.
His face holds a grief-stricken, helpless expression.
“Is she . . . Is she . . .” I begin, my mind numb and frozen at the thought of what might be.
He reaches out a hand to my shoulder. “Nay lad, she is not dead, but close to dying. If I’m correct, the thorns carry the poison made from the baneberry. I can slow the poison down, but I do not possess the antidote to cure her.”
“Phigby! How is she?” I turn at Helmar’s shout to see him, Amil, and Alonya kneeling beside Wind Glory, grim and anxious expressions on their faces.
Phigby takes Twinkle, who’s cooled off and just glows, and holds her high enough that Alonya can take her great sword and sweep a clear path through the thorn balls.
With a rush, all three join us.
“I’m afraid it’s not good,” Phigby answers in a somber tone. “The poison within her is beyond my power. I can do no more than make her comfortable.”
“What poison?” Amil asks.
“Baneberry,” Phigby answers.
“Baneberry!” Amil spits out. “Are you telling me that we were attacked by carrion ghouls?”
Phigby points to one of the fatal orbs that lies just outside Twinkle’s glow. “Only they make those and only they use the baneberry to tip the thorns.”
“But,” Amil sputters in disbelief, “their home range is several hundred leagues north, in the Uttar Wasteland.”
“No more it would seem,” Helmar snarls, his grief-stricken eyes never leaving Cara. “And for the moment, they appear to have disappeared back to their night haunts.”
“Perhaps to get more of those poisonous orbs,” Alonya suggests.
“Phigby,” I mumble, my eyes never leaving Cara, “if you don’t have an antidote, who does?”
He shakes his head in answer and his answer is sobering, “No one that I know of, Hooper.”
“That’s not good enough!” I snap. “Cara’s dying. There has to be a cure.”
Phigby shakes his head again. “The last person I saw who had the poison within him lay like this for three days, slowly dying.”
“That’s why they’re called carrion ghouls,” Amil whispers. “They let their victims die for three days before they eat them.”
I’ve heard enough. “Cara is not going to die!” I shout. “And those things are not going to eat her!”
Spinning around to Phigby, I push my face close to his. “If those ghouls or whatever you call them make and handle those orbs, how then does the poison not affect them?”
Phigby’s mouth works as if he’s trying to answer my question, but all he can stammer in a weak voice is, “I—don't know.”
I shouldn’t have said what I say next, but I couldn’t—wouldn’t accept the fact that Cara was going to die.
“So, Professor Phineas Phigby, not everything is to be found in those precious books of yours, especially what we need to save Cara.”
“Hooper,” Amil retorts, “that’s not fair to Phigby. You know he would do everything in his power to save Cara if he could.”
“I don’t care if it’s fair or not,” I growl. I glare at Amil and then it comes to me how the ghouls handle their poison balls without it killing them.
“Of course!” I snap. “Those creatures must have an antidote to protect themselves.”
I turn toward the gloomy forest in a cold rage. “And I’m going to get it from them.”
Phigby holds up a quick hand as if to stop me. “Hold on Hooper,” he begins, “you don’t know where—”
“No, I don’t,” I retort. “But that’s not going to stop me. Rest assured, I’ll find them if I have to burn down this whole forest.”
I start to push away only to be halted by Helmar’s large hand on my chest. “I’m going with you,” he states.
“And me,” Amil adds, hefting his ax up by his side.
“As will I,” Alonya states and slaps her sword.
I shake my head at all of them. “No,” I answer and push Helmar’s hand away.
He’s about to protest but I grip my tunic where the dragon tear-jewels are tucked. “You’ll just get in the way for what I have to do,” I snarl. “Besides, I have all the help I need.
“These,” I say and then motion toward the golden, “and Golden Wind.”
“I want—” Helmar growls, before I snap, “Helmar, no! Remember what I said about what is really important? Your job is to stay here and protect the company. Mine is to find the cure for Cara.”
We lock eyes for several moments before he nods, “Just be sure that you do!”
Phigby lays a hand on my forearm, his eyes are questioning, concerned. “Hooper, what do you intend to do?”
“Whatever I must,” I retort.
Drawing in a breath, I snarl through clenched teeth, “If it means flying to the ghouls’ lairs in the wasteland to get the cure for Cara, that’s what I’ll do.”
Alonya is quick to say, “I don’t think you’ll need to go quite that far. No doubt, since these creatures have been in the woodlands for some time, they’ve built their own lair here. It will be just a matter of finding it.”
Phigby nods in agreement. “She’s right, lad. Look for the deepest, darkest spot in the forest. That’s where you’ll find the ghouls.”
I give a quick nod, slide Galondraig in my scabbard, and pick up Scamper. I push him into Alonya’s hands. “Sorry, Scamp,” I reply to his pained look. “But I don’t want you ending up with one of those poison balls in your hide.”
He starts to struggle, but Alonya assures me, “I’ll hold onto him, don’t worry—the sprogs too.”
I give her a quick nod of thanks before calling out over my shoulder, “Wind Shine, Dazzle, follow me. Ember, Twinkle, you stay here.”
Sliding out from under the golden, I scramble up to her neck saddle and order, “Sky, Golden Wind.”
The golden unfurls her wings, gathers herself and we leap upward. We crash through several branches sending them spraying skyward before we’re into open air and free of the forest.
I take a quick look in every direction, fearful that I’ll see dark wings against the stars, but the sky is clear of Wilder dragons.
Leaning over, I ask, “Golden Wind, do you know where the ghouls are? Can you find them?”
She circles while saying, “I believe Phigby was right in where and how to look for the ghouls.”
After a moment, she
asks, “Hooper, are you sure you want to do this, that this is the right choice? I sense in you a darkness that wasn’t there before. There may be another way, you know.”
“Yes,” I retort. “I’m very sure. I am not going to just sit there and let Cara die. Especially, if there’s a way to save her.”
“I’m not suggesting that we don’t act for Cara,” she returns, “but in your mind, are you truly convinced that this is the right thing to do?”
“It is,” I snap. “Now, be quiet and find those ghouls.”
She doesn’t answer but lets her soaring circles grow wider and wider until she comes to a hover. “There, just ahead. What do you see?”
Leaning forward, my eyes narrow as I peer into the gloom. “A deeper and darker place in the forest,” I whisper. “Just as Phigby said.”
In answer, she dips her wings, and we glide toward a secluded spot where the trees seem unusually thick and dark.
I glance behind to where the sprites are hunkered down, their talons gripping the golden’s scales and their wings fluttering in the wind.
For a moment, I regret not bringing the other two sprites, but I didn’t want Phigby and the others to be without light.
The golden slows and we glide above the oval-like stand of trees. Their trunks are set so close together that it almost looks like a fortress of trees.
“They’re in there?” I ask. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” is all she answers.
“That won’t be easy getting through. Those tree limbs are all tangled together, and thick.”
“No, it won’t, but I can get us through. However, before I do, I must ask you again, are you sure that this is the course you wish to take?”
“Stop asking me that! Yes, I’m entirely certain that this is what I want to do, now, how do we get in there?”
She hesitates and I can feel disappointment in her voice. Why I don’t know, but I don’t care. This is for Cara, what else matters?
“Well,” she replies, “you’ve always stated that I have a hard head. Perhaps it’s time to put it to good use. Perhaps the sprites should wait until we’re through the bramble.”