The Legend of Hooper's Dragons Box Set

by GARY DARBY

  “And it would appear in their cold hearts,” Cara answers. “If they had moved her long before this we wouldn’t be sitting here, my father and brother would be alive, this horrible night would never have happened, all those poor people — ”

  Her voice chokes and her usually soft face has turned to stone while her eyes are fixed and lifeless as they stare at the crackling, dancing flames.

  A sudden thought strikes me, and I lean over to ask, “Cara, you’re not wanting to take the golden to Wynsur Castle, does it have anything to do with the tall Wilder at the barn? You said that if that’s who you thought it was, this night was even more monstrous.”

  It takes her a moment but then she nods slowly in response. “Yes,” she replies, her eyes never leaving the fire, “and I meant every word.”

  “What tall Wilder?” Phigby is quick to ask.

  “While we watched the birthing barn from behind the woodpile,” Helmar explains, “this tall Wilder came out of the barn. He seemed to be giving the other Wilders orders.”

  “He was definitely the master,” I add.

  Helmar motions toward Cara. “She practically went head over the woodpile to get a better look at him. I had to pull her back before the Wilders sighted us.”

  He shakes his head and sighs at Cara. “I don’t understand what this one Wilder has to do with any of this, particularly your not wanting us to take the golden to Wynsur Castle.”

  Cara sits completely still, not moving, nor does she answer Helmar. Phigby looks first to Cara and then to Helmar before clearing his throat and muttering, “Helmar, the Cara Dracon I know is not one to hold back in word or deed unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

  He pauses and in a softer voice says, “I suggest that for now, we trust Cara’s judgment and do as she asks. No doubt, she has an excellent reason for feeling as she does and will tell us what it’s all about at the proper time.”

  Cara gives Phigby a grateful smile and says, “Thank you, Phigby, that’s exactly right.”

  Helmar stares at Cara for a bit more before shrugging and saying, “All right, for now, we’ll assume that we won’t make for Wynsur Castle.”

  “So where does that leave us?” I quickly ask and glance around. “Please tell me that it’s not just the four of us against the Wilder horde, and we aren’t all alone.”

  Phigby flicks his eyes toward Helmar as if waiting for him to speak but when he doesn’t, says, “For now, that may well be the case, Hooper.”

  He leans toward Helmar. “Unless we consider seeking help from the closest strong House which would be House Falston, a day’s skyride south as I recall.”

  Helmar shakes his head. “If I were the Wilders I’d be thinking the same thing, that we’d make for Wynsur or Falston and have a screen of reds between here and there.”

  He twiddles with a thin stick in his fingers and murmurs, “Even if we could get through, I’m not sure how much help the House of Falston would be.”

  He pauses as his face darkens in the campfire’s light. “What if the attack by the drogs here was not an isolated event but widespread, an— ”

  “Uprising!” Cara’s voice is sharp, incredulous.

  “It has been several generations,” Phigby muses while stroking his beard, “since the Peace of Oran’s Dell—”

  “The Peace of Oran’s Dell? What’s that?” I ask.

  Instantly, Phigby eyes narrow and I can feel the retort coming so I quickly say in my defense, “Most of your history books are on the top shelf, I haven’t gotten that high up yet.”

  To my relief, Cara explains, “Hooper, the Peace of Oran’s Dell is a peace pact that came about during the drogs last rebellion at a place called Oran’s Dell. The war with the drogs had been long and bloody so King Malory, Leo’s grandfather, made a peace offering to Grug, the drog leader.

  “In exchange for what was to be a lasting peace, the king agreed to let the drogs stay within the kingdom, specifically as dragon guards. Their payment was to come in the form of dragon flesh.”

  “From old dragons that die,” I return.

  “That’s right,” she replies. “In exchange—”

  “The drogs promised not to rebel,” Phigby takes up, “or to kill any Drachs and to be subject to the king and those for whom they worked.”

  “Like Lord Lorell,” I say.

  “Like Lord Lorell,” Phigby nods. He almost growls while saying, “Why the king entered into that agreement and let the drogs stay in the kingdom is beyond me.”

  “His legacy,” Helmar states. “Perhaps peace with the drogs wasn’t enough.”

  “Or perhaps,” Cara offers, “he thought that the drogs wouldn’t keep to the high hills and would continually raid into the herds and this was his way of preventing that.”

  She gives a little shrug. “It would keep them in plain sight and satisfy their craving at the same time.”

  Phigby nods thoughtfully. “Perhaps that is the way of it, still, when you make a pact with the devil, you have to know that the evil one has no honor and will break whatever promises were made when it no longer suits them to adhere to the agreement.”

  He takes in a breath. “Or, when someone offers them more.”

  “And you think that’s what happened now?” Helmar questions.

  “Assuredly,” Phigby replies. “It’s no secret that the drogs have chafed under their bonds and their loyalties to anyone but themselves have always been suspect.”

  He leans forward, his eyes gleaming as if they were glowing coals. “What if,” he whispers, “someone offered them more dragon meat than the occasional oldster that we cull from the herds?

  “What if they were proffered an unending feast of dragon flesh? What would they do for the one who made such a proposition?”

  Helmar lets out a long sigh. “Anything,” he states.

  I blanch as I recall the death of Pengillstorr. Would the promise of dragon flesh, and plenty of it be enough to cause the drogs to turn on their masters?

  Probably? Almost certainly.

  I’m the first to voice the obvious question. “But who? Who would have that much dragon flesh to offer?”

  Phigby pinches his lips together, his eyes saying that he’s deep in thought. “Of course, the Wilders come to mind immediately,” he says.

  “Yes,” Cara murmurs. “But what if it’s someone else, someone in league with the Wilders?”

  Both Helmar and Phigby look at her in sharp surprise. “You’re not implying a Great House is behind this?” Helmar says.

  Cara slowly answers, “I’m not accusing anyone, I’m simply saying that I have the feeling that what happened tonight is beyond just Wilders and drogs.”

  I look at Cara’s face. It’s solemn and steadfast. She believes in what she just said.

  If so, the horrific truth is that not only are we being hunted from the air by Wilder dragons and on the ground by murderous drogs, but we face an unknown enemy.

  One whose power is such that they can have the Wilders and drogs do their bidding.

  And we are but four against a malevolent force that apparently can command legions.

  Thoughts of Golden Wind

  Hooper is so young to be carrying a dragon gemstone as well as for the task that he faces.

  So very young, and not just in body.

  Of course, misplaced hatred always stunts the growth of mind and soul.

  On the other talon, the youth have a resiliency about them, a strength that when called upon can carry them great distances and endure great hardships. Some among them are the dreamers who have visions and ideas of what the future may hold for them and others.

  Wonderful visions to see what others do not.

  Is Hooper one who can see what others cannot? Feel what others do not? Voice what others will not?

  His decision may well depend on his ability to do just those things.

  We can only wait and see.

  But then again, the young have a tendency to be a bit on the selfish side,
to worry more about themselves than others. Hooper has just such moments.

  Then again, there are two others in our company that soften his heart, Scamper and Cara. Perhaps they can teach him how to grow his heart, too.

  He does not yet truly understand what is at stake, nor does he know whom it is that we face — and why.

  That which is to come may well change his mind and his heart. The question is, will he survive to do what only he can do? To make the decision that only he can make?

  We shall see.

  13

  The mood around the campfire couldn’t be gloomier. How can so few of us stand against the Wilder Horde and the drog packs? I don’t think we can. We’re doomed.

  And it’s not just that. Our world’s shattered, everything we knew is gone. Cara stares at the fire, but I can see that both her eyes and her thoughts are far away — perhaps to a happier place and time of family and belonging.

  The firelight starkly marks the tear streaks that snake down her dirty face. She fought bravely, ferociously tonight to save Golden Wind, and for the moment, we’ve rescued the golden.

  But Cara couldn’t save her own family.

  Of all the things I wish we had in common, this is not one of them. To both be orphans.

  I decide we need to change the conversation, get Cara’s mind off her loss, away from her grief, if but for an instant. “Master Phigby,” I ask low, “how did you escape the dragon fire in Draconton? I saw your shop go up in flames and thought you dead.”

  His face holds an odd expression as he replies, “Just after going to bed, I thought I heard noises and voices in my formulating room.”

  His words bring Cara back to the here and now; she gives me a quick, sideways glance and I return the look.

  “But, being old and slow,” Phigby rumbles, “by the time I got these cranky old bones out of bed and put my robe on, the first of the dragon fire hit the shops and homes farther down in Merchant’s Square.”

  He pauses and sadly says, “If I hadn’t risen just then, I might be still in bed, but as a smoldering corpse, as I’m afraid so many of our friends and neighbors are this night.”

  He tugs at his beard, staring at the flickering flames. “I grabbed my bag and decided not to chance the front door. I crawled out my second-story window, which for some reason I had left open. I scrambled down the tree, and my foot had just touched the ground when I heard the roar of dragon wings overhead.

  “I ran just as a stream of fire hit my neighbor’s shop. I ran as fast as I could, but it seemed as though the flames followed me just as quickly. It was all I could do to throw myself into the Mill Pond. The heat was so intense that if not for the water, I think it would have burned me alive.

  “I swam to the other side and using the trees to mask my movements made my way toward Dracon Haus.” He pauses and pats Cara’s hand gently. “The house was completely engulfed in flames by the time I arrived.”

  He hesitates before saying, “I knew that Boren and Daron were away, and I thought that if Cara had managed to flee the flames in time, that she and anyone else who survived would be on the River Road heading away from the inferno.”

  No one speaks; like mine, no doubt everyone’s mind has turned to the horrific destruction of Draconton. In a subdued tone, I ask, “Do you know if anyone else escaped?”

  He shakes his head in answer. “I’m not sure, Hooper, because I never made it to the road.” He nods toward Wind Rover. “I didn’t find Cara, but I did find her. She was in the open meadow behind the house. She let me lead her away from the village, out of the firelight and into the lower fields.”

  He gestures toward Cara and Helmar. “Not long after, these two found me.”

  “Actually,” Cara murmurs, “it was Rover that we saw first.”

  I ask of Cara and Helmar. “How did you escape? There were so many Wilders and only the two of you.”

  Cara motions to Helmar to begin. He rubs at his chin, the fingers making a raspy sound over his short, stubby beard. “The night and surprise made up for being outnumbered. The Wilders weren’t expecting anyone to fight back and were so intent on stealing the herd and Golden Wind that the last thing they expected was dragon fire and expert archers in their midst.”

  He draws in a breath before saying with a grim smile. “Those on the ground didn’t have their reds close by so they were easy pickings. They tried to fight back but trying to hit a sapphire in full flight is close to impossible, and none of their arrows came close.”

  He grimaces while pointing to his bandaged shoulder. “I got this after we flew down to Draconton.” He nods toward Cara. “She wouldn’t leave until she had seen with her own eyes what had happened to . . . ” his voice comes to a faint whisper as he stares at the fire.

  Cara takes up the story while turning to me. “I had another reason for wanting to sky to Draconton, and that was to lead the Wilders away from both you and Golden Wind. So, after I threw you the bow and saw that the golden had escaped, Helmar and I flew fast and low toward town.

  “By then, some of the Wilders had made it to their reds and pursued, though like Helmar said, our attack caused lots of chaos in their ranks. We made for Draconton and passed close to Dracon Haus and were about to turn back toward the forest, and make our way here when Wind Song started speaking.”

  “Speaking!” I yelp a little too loudly for Cara gives me an odd look before saying slowly, “Yes . . . You know that clacking, snorting sort of sound that the dragons make back and forth to each other.”

  “Oh,” I say and let out a breath. “That speaking.”

  Cara gives me another odd sideways glance before she goes on. “I realized that she’d recognized another dragon nearby and went to look. That’s how we found Phigby and Rover. We landed just long enough to get Phigby on her, and then just as we lifted off, a band of Wilders attacked.”

  She motions at Helmar. “Before we could outrun them, Helmar took an arrow.”

  She hangs her head for a moment, her long hair, made stringy by sweat and the long skying, makes an oval of her face. “If there were any survivors in Draconton,” she murmurs, “we didn’t see any.”

  “And Scamper? How did you find him?” I ask.

  Phigby points to Cara. “You can thank her for rescuing that beastie of yours.”

  I turn to Cara, and she says, “We swung wide of the lower meadows close to the Bread Loaf rocks.”

  “I know it,” I answer.

  “I merely glanced in its direction,” she goes on to say, “when I saw movement on top of the rocks. It was Scamper. The poor little thing had his front paws up scratching at the air as if he were pleading for us to stop for him.”

  She dimpled slightly. “I couldn’t help myself, he looked so sad and miserable, so I set Wind Song down.”

  “I didn’t want her to,” Helmar growled, “I thought we were taking an unnecessary risk, but she wouldn’t listen so while she went to rescue your friend, Phigby and I kept watch.”

  “I no sooner set Wind Song on the ground,” Cara went on, “than Scamper shoots up Wind Song’s leg and settles behind her carapace as if he belonged there. Then we skyed here.”

  “Thank you, Cara,” I mumble. “Thank you very, very much.”

  She pats my hand and says, “You’re very welcome, Hooper.”

  She turns to Helmar, and her voice hardens. “Helmar, from what you’ve said, I can only think that the attack at the Manor House was a trap, to catch father, Daron, you, and the others.”

  Helmar reaches over, grasps a water flask, and takes a long drink. “And I think so, too. That message to meet Prince Aster and Lord Lorell was the lure to get practically everyone charged with the golden’s protection in one place.”

  Helmar’s face is as hard as stone. “And I, for one, would like to know who sent that sky rider to bid us come to the Manor House.”

  In the silence that follows, Phigby mutters, “It would seem that the Wilders’ tentacles may well reach far into the Northern Kingdo
m.” He tugs at his beard while saying, “And the answer to your question Helmar, is not one that we shall find here.”

  Helmar nods in agreement. “You’re right, and perhaps it’s a matter we should discuss at first light. We’re all tired, we should rest.”

  Phigby slaps his knees and rises. “And to that, I heartily agree. There is still some night left, and I suggest that we use it in sleep. Dawn’s light will come soon enough and with it a fresh look at what lies ahead.”

  “I have the first watch,” Helmar states as if the matter is settled.

  “Your arm,” Cara protests.

  He pulls his sword out with his good arm and waves it around for a bit. “For now, this will be enough.”

  “I’ll take the second watch,” I quickly say.

  “And I will greet the rising sun,” Phigby rumbles.

  Cara opens her mouth as if to protest, but Phigby is quick to hold up a hand. “You need sleep to ease your mind.” His eyes grow gentle. “Take what time you can, Cara, you may not have the opportunity after tonight.”

  She nods and sniffs, as a tiny tear rolls out of the corner of her eye.

  Helmar slides his sword back into his scabbard before striding out of the firelight. Always vigilant, I think to myself, he’s not content to simply stay by the fire. Instead, he’ll see what lies beyond the warm, friendly glow of the flickering flames. Helmar’s nature is to be courageous, to be brave, and to protect the weak and vulnerable.

  The weak and vulnerable; like me.

  As he steps out into the dark, I think to myself, will I ever be as Helmar, able to face danger instead of wanting to flee instead? Will I ever be someone who can protect the helpless, or is brave and daring like him and Cara?

  Phigby tends to the fire as Cara settles down on the ground, using her arm as a pillow. Watching the two, my mind wanders back to the night’s events. This morning, I dared nipping an extra flat cake from the cooks without them seeing me and thought that it was such a brave deed.

  I silently laugh to myself. To think that such a thing was so daring, yet compared to what Cara and Helmar have done it is so trivial as to be laughable.