by GARY DARBY
“Neither have I,” Helmar says, giving me a funny, quizzical look before he points to the sleeping, slobbering brute. “What exactly did you do to him, Phigby? Not only have I never seen a dragon act that way, but I’ve never seen a Night Goblin go down like that, either.”
“Oh, that,” Phigby replies with a dismissive wave of the hand. “That was nothing. Goblins and their troll cousins are deathly afraid of serpents. They’ll run from even the smallest, harmless grass snakes. But faced with a glowing, serpentine creature almost as tall as he was, well, you can see the results for yourself. He’ll stay that way for quite a while.”
“That’s good to know,” I respond. “Next time I meet either I’ll be sure to have a snake in my pocket to throw at the thing.” I reach over and scratch Scamper behind one ear. “Thanks, my friend, you saved my life.”
I turn back to Phigby. “How did you know that goblins are so afraid of snakes?”
Phigby glowers and leans in close. “From books, Hooper, from reading books. There’s more to reading that just silly illustrations of clowns juggling circus balls, you know.”
Cara speaks up and says, “A better question is why was that goblin here in the first place? They normally don’t get near dragons.”
Helmar turns to peer at the neighboring forest. “She’s right, goblins and trolls know they’re no match for dragon fire and usually stay away from dragons.”
Phigby slowly turns to survey the surrounding dark forest. “A goblin chances an encounter with not one, but four dragons.” He turns to eye me. “And all for such a scrawny meal as Hooper.”
“What are you saying, Phigby?” Cara asks.
“Either,” Phigby says as he scratches at his cheek with one finger, “that was one famished goblin, or, Hooper had a delectable odor about him that the thing couldn’t resist.”
I glare at Phigby, but before I can respond, he again scans the wall of darkness that marks the tree line. “Or, there is a power at work here that caused that king-sized gnome to overcome its natural fear of dragons and attack Hooper.”
“Power?” Cara asks.
Helmar steps in and says, “We can discuss this power or whatever later. But thanks to Hooper and your light display, Phigby, we can’t stay here any longer. If the Wilders didn’t know where we were before, they probably do now.”
“Oh,” Phigby answers apologetically. “I am sorry, Helmar, I didn’t think about that. I was a bit rushed, you know.”
“Understandably,” Helmar is quick to answer, “but we’ve got to get out of here before we have more company, and it won’t be goblins either.”
“What about the dragons?” Cara asks. “They’ve not had much rest.”
“And neither have we,” Helmar answers gruffly. “I’m sorry, but we have no choice. We can neither stay here nor will it take long for the Wilders to get here if they saw Phigby’s fireworks.”
“As I said,” Phigby tartly answers, “I’m sorry about that. But you have another problem.” He motions toward the dragons. “One of the sapphires has to carry a double load, and she’ll be no match for a red if the Wilders find us.”
Helmar turns hard eyes on me, and I can see in his scowl that he has the thought of leaving me behind. In a way, I wouldn’t blame him — it was my fault for tarrying behind the others. If I had stayed with the group, the goblin might not have appeared, and Phigby wouldn’t have lighted up the whole forest.
Cara must have noticed Helmar’s glare for she quickly says, “Wind Song can carry the load, she’s strong.”
Helmar works his mouth, but before he can speak, I volunteer in a small voice, “Perhaps the golden and I should walk. That would lessen the load on at least one sapphire, and what about the sprogs? They can’t fly, but the golden can carry them.”
“More nonsense, Hooper,” Helmar states with an emphatic shake of his head. “Golden Wind being on the ground would make it that much easier on the Wilders to capture her.”
He lets out a deep sigh, a sign that he has to face the inevitable, but he doesn’t like it. Sort of like when you’re starving and all you have is a thin slice of moldy bread to eat. You’ll get it down, but you’ll gag on it all the way down your throat.
I know.
“We’ll have to take the chance,” he says, “that the sapphires can deal with the load and that the golden will sky with us. We can put the sprogs in saddlebags. It’ll be a tight fit, but they won’t fall out.”
“What if the golden doesn’t follow?” Cara asks, evidently concerned that after all we’ve been through to get the golden away from the Wilders she might refuse to trail us.
“I think she will,” Phigby says, giving me an appraising look as if he’s musing over his thoughts before he speaks. “After all, she came to Hooper’s defense. I think she may have an affinity for him.”
“No,” I sputter in protest. “She has no attraction to me, and I certainly have none for her.”
“That may be so for you, Hooper,” Phigby replies. “I’m not sure that applies to the golden.” He turns and gestures to Helmar, “Let us make haste while we still have time to make haste.”
We make for the sapphires, who are milling about, having no doubt risen when the golden took to the air. Even from here, I can hear the sprogs screeping. You’d think you were listening to a bunch of sheep bleating in fright.
I purposefully let the others get ahead of me. As I pass the golden, I slow, and my whisper is brusque, “I guess that answers whether you can sky or not. But you can stop saving me now. I have no desire to be in your debt.”
Without answering, the golden follows me back to the campfire where Helmar is tossing dirt on the fire to put it out. Cara is on Wind Song adjusting her saddlebags so that they’ll be able to carry the four sprogs while Phigby is doing something to his threadbare bag.
As soon as the sprogs see me, they waddle over and cluster about my ankles. I contort my mouth in consternation. I had hoped that after the golden had carried them that they would attach themselves to her, but that doesn’t seem to be the case or my luck.
Cara calls out to me. “Hand me the sprogs, one by one. We’ll put two sprogs in each pouch. That should balance them out. Scamper can ride up front with me, and you’ll sit behind.” I grab my bow and quiver in one hand, Regal in the other, and scurry over to Wind Song, with the other sprogs following close behind.
Dragon saddlebags are a little tricky. Each bag is connected to the other by a broad strap that fits over and under the dragon’s neck. Then a much thinner strap ties into each bag and then to a rivet at the base of the dragon’s throat.
But you don’t want to overload the bags or have them unbalanced, causing the thin tie-down strap to chafe against the dragon’s scales while skying. If that happens, the scales could cut clean through the slender strap, causing your bag to slip off to one side and dangle in the air. Worse, it could fly up and wrap around you, and if the contents are heavy, knock or pull you off your dragon.
None of which would be good if you’re skying high above the ground. Someday, I just know that someone’s going to invent a device that’ll allow a dragon rider who falls off a skying dragon to float gently down to the ground. Someday. But until then, if you fall while skying you usually end up being very dead.
Cara and I hurriedly get the sprogs settled in Wind Song’s saddlebags. They all object, but we ignore their bleating. “You’d think they wanted to stay behind,” I say to Cara as I push Regal down into the bag for the third time. Squirming sprogs do not make it easy to stuff them into the bag and then cinch it tight.
She gives me a wan smile. “They don’t understand that they should just enjoy the ride. It won’t be long before someone’s riding them.”
We get the sprogs settled in, tie both arrow quivers to the saddlebags and sling our bows over our shoulders. Cara will have to wear her wood shaft to her front, and I’ll have to wear mine to the rear. If we’re attacked, neither of us will be able to get to our bows quickly. Which reall
y won’t matter if we’re attacked by a pack of Wilders, anyway.
Finished, I look around for Scamper. He’s close by, digging into the hillside. I start to whistle for him, but just then Helmar and Phigby come striding up.
“Are you ready?” Helmar asks Cara.
“Except for Scamper, yes,” she answers. She leans down. “Are we headed west? The direction the fairies pointed?”
“The Wilders are raiding to our east,” Helmar replies, “and their lairs are to our north. If we assume that the Wilders will be expecting us to go south, then what’s left?”
Helmar and Phigby exchange a glance as if they’ve had a quick discussion on this subject already. Phigby speaks up. “We really have no choice but to go west. I believe that’s why the three pointed us in that direction. For now, it may be the only place where we can hide both ourselves and the golden.”
Cara leans a little farther and asks, “How far west?”
Helmar and Phigby again exchange a quick glance. “Far enough,” Helmar mutters. “Let’s go.” He dashes to Wind Glory while Phigby hurries over to Wind Rover.
Something in Cara’s tone prompts me ask, “Cara, why did you ask about how far west we were going?”
She turns her head slightly, and I see her run a tongue over her lips. “Let’s just say I’ve seen enough of Phigby’s maps to know there’s a certain point to the west where the maps have three sentences, and then there’s nothing beyond that. The maps just stop.”
“They just stop? What does that mean?”
She gives a little shrug. “That either no one has ever gone there, or maybe they have — and never returned to tell what lay beyond.”
“What do the maps say? The three sentences, I mean.”
She hesitates and then says, “The Golian Domain. Beware. There be giants in the land.”
“Oh,” I answer quietly and lean back. If there was something in Cara’s voice before, I know what’s in her tone now. Apprehension. And for a girl who’s just taken on a slew of Wilders, that’s saying something.
Cara settles onto Wind Song’s neck, and I whistle for Scamper. He comes bounding up, flashes up Wind Song’s leg and leaps into Cara’s lap as if he knew that was his spot. He puts his paws on Wind Song’s carapace and leans forward, pointing his nose into the wind.
Cara glances back at me. “I think Scamper is telling us it’s time we leave.”
Cara scoots forward just a bit and says, “All right, Hooper, settle in.”
I squeeze myself behind Cara and murmur, “Do I hold on like I did before?”
“Not if you think you’re going to fall off,” she answers, “otherwise, yes.”
I wrap my arms around her waist. I have no intention of falling off. But I have every intention of holding on tight.
Phigby hefts himself up onto Wind Rover and waves to Helmar that he’s ready. Cara nods that we’re ready, too. Wind Glory plods out into the clearing, and I hear Helmar’s firm voice, “Sky, Glory, sky.” The sapphire spreads her wings wide, beats them a few times, and then with a downward thrust of her wings leaps upward to catch the wind. Right behind is Phigby on Wind Rover.
“Here we go, Hooper,” Cara says, “and make sure you hang on, this isn’t going to be like our little flight from the stead to Draconton. Keep an eye on the golden, if she doesn’t follow us, we’re going to have to go back for her.”
She leans down, strokes Wind Song’s scaled neck, and says, “Sky, girl, sky.”
Wind Song spreads her wings, beats them once before crouching and then lunging upward. If I hadn’t known what was coming and holding on to Cara, I would have fallen off right then. Wind Song’s upward stab into the air is so powerful and quick that it almost throws me off.
In moments, we’re winging through the early morning darkness. We join Rover and Glory in circling the glen while all eyes are on the golden below. She trundles into the meadow, spreads her wings, beats them several times as if testing the wind, and then leaps into the air.
It doesn’t take her long to catch up with us, and she rides the night air just off Wind Song’s right wing. She’s having no trouble keeping pace with the other dragons. Cara says over her shoulder, above the rush of wind, “Dragons take to flying like fish take to swimming.”
“Still,” I answer, “that was a huge chance Helmar took, thinking that she’d stay with us once we took to the air.”
“He didn’t have much choice,” Cara replies. “We couldn’t stay here any longer and besides, he’s trying to honor Lord Lorell’s decree that no one shall ride the golden on the ground or in the air.”
I swallow, but this time I keep my mouth shut. If Helmar knew that I rode the golden, he’d definitely leave me behind. “Besides,” Cara says over her shoulder, “see how she’s staying close to Wind Song and you? I think Phigby was right. Golden Wind likes you, Hooper. Must have been all that sugar grass you’ve been feeding her.”
I have no answer for her, but I do touch the dragon jewel and wonder if there’s some bond between the dragon and the gemstone. I blanch as I suddenly realize that in all the excitement, I forgot to give the gem to Phigby, or rather, the Gem Guardian.
I look ahead to where he’s skying Rover behind Wind Glory. It’s not like I can ask Cara to have Wind Song catch up to Phigby, take the gem out and toss it to him, while saying, “Here! This belongs to you. I’m sorry I kept it so long, but this was the first chance I could deliver it.”
As if she was reading my mind, Cara squirms in her saddle and says, “Hooper, what’s that hard thing you’ve got in your pocket? It’s rubbing against my back.”
“Uh,” I stammer before I ease my hold on her waist and lean back so that my front no longer touches her back. “Sorry, is that better?”
“Yes,” she replies, “but what is that? It feels like a rock.”
“Uh, that’s pretty much what it is,” I mutter. At least to me, I think.
“You’re carrying a rock,” Cara states.
“Never know when you’ll need a good stone,” I answer. “Might want to knock a squirrel out of a tree and there’s no rock to be had.”
Cara just shakes her head at my answer, and I can tell that she’s thinking that it’s just more Hooper nonsense.
The wind rushes past my ears, and Wind Song’s leathery wings seem to whistle through the air with every stroke. Cara was right. This isn’t like our first flight. I put my mouth next to Cara’s ear. “We’re really moving!”
“Helmar is keeping us at a good pace and low,” she replies. “We could go faster, but he doesn’t want to wear the sapphires out, and he’s using the darkness of the forest to cover our movement. If we were higher, there’s a chance we’d be spotted against the moons.”
“Smart,” I reply.
“Yes,” Cara answers quickly, “that’s Helmar. A very clever man.”
I think to myself that she didn’t have to agree quite so fast or readily to my comment. But who am I kidding? It’s obvious how she feels, and there’s no doubt about the depth of Helmar’s feelings for her.
The forest is so steeped in darkness that there’s not much to see so I gaze upward. The stars are more numerous than grapes in Draconton’s vineyards and seem so close that I feel like I could reach up and pluck one from the night sky.
We fly low for some time before I notice a brightening at our backs. The night is passing, and it’s one I never, ever want to repeat. With just a little anxiety in my voice, I ask, “Do you know where we are?”
She shakes her head in reply. “I’m not sure, Hooper, it’s been too dark to see anything.”
Scamper, who had been napping, is now awake and chittering madly as if something is bothering him. Cara asks over her shoulder, “What’s he saying?”
“Like me,” I answer, “he wants to know where we are and where we’re going.”
She points at two strikingly bright stars that are so close together that they seem almost to touch and blend into one. “Helmar’s been using the King and Que
en Stars to guide us west.”
“West,” I answer, “to the edge of that map you talked about where there’s nothing beyond except giants.”
“Quit worrying, Hooper. Helmar and Phigby know what they’re doing.”
That may be so, but I don’t like the sound of not only not knowing where we are, but that we’re headed toward a land of giants. As puny as I am, I already feel like I walk in a land of giants. And to go to a place where someone like Helmar is considered small, what does that make me?
A teeny, tiny gnat among dragonflies.
“Cara, these giants, do you know anything about the Golian Domain?”
“Some,” she replies. Her matter-of-fact answer is too casual for me. There’s nothing matter of fact or casual about giants.
I wait, but she doesn’t answer. “Well? What do you know?”
She glances back at me. “That they are a race of warrior giants who are very willing to lop anyone’s head off who sets foot in their territory without permission.”
She pauses and then says, “Phigby has a history book that says that many seasons ago, the Wilders sent a large raiding party into the giants’ territory. Only a single Wilder dragon and rider made it back alive. And they were allowed to live only to deliver a message to the Wilder chieftain.”
“What was the message?” I ask.
“One word,” she answers. “Don’t.”
“Oh.” Hooper, I say to myself, never ask a question you’re not ready to hear the answer to, especially if it concerns getting your head lopped off.
We go on a bit farther, the sky becomes lighter and lighter, and then both Rover and Glory slow and wing next to us. With a wave of his hand, Phigby gestures at what lies ahead and shouts across, “Those are the first of the Dragon Scale Lakes. Beyond that distant line of high hills are the Colossan Mounts. We’re getting close to the Golian Domain’s eastern boundary.”
I admit, skying on a dragon is an incredible adventure and now that I’ve gotten over my fright, in a different place and time it might even be fun, especially sitting so close to Cara. However, it’s not that wonderful when the dragon is flying you straight toward a realm of giant soldiers.
