by GARY DARBY
That’s all I need to see. Using the shanty as a shield, I scramble low up the gentle slope, juggling Scamper, bow, and quiver. I slip behind the first large tree trunk I can find and peek out. The Wilders are almost to the tree line.
I put Scamper down and whisper, “Run!” He darts away, and I’m right behind him, trying to stay low and keep the tree trunk between the Wilders and me.
Scamper darts across the glade as if he’s scented a honey hive in the far trees. I finally manage to struggle into the first thick grove and just as I pass a large, knobby tree, a hand shoots out, grabs me by the front of my surcoat and hauls me behind the tree.
“Wilders,” I gulp to Helmar, “they’re headed toward the cabin.”
“I have eyes and ears, Hooper,” he mutters and peers around the tree trunk at the hut. “We left warm ashes in the hearth, a dead giveaway that someone’s been there.”
He scowls at me. “And fresh dragon dung in the meadow.” He says it in such a way as if to imply that I should have done my job and cleaned it up. “They’ll know we were here.”
He pauses and then says, “Did all of them make for the hut?”
“No, four to the cabin, and two took their reds to the stream to drink.”
He smiles grimly. “They split their forces, and they’re off their dragons. Just the opening we need.”
He pulls at me. “Let’s go, we need to find the others, and quickly.”
For me attempting to keep up with Helmar is like the sprogs trying to keep up with the golden when she’s on the run. It’s all I can do to keep his broad back in sight.
By the time I push through a last line of scraggly bushes, Helmar has already gathered the others together. Winded and out of breath, I stumble over to sink next to Scamper, who’s sitting next to the sprogs.
I only catch the last part of Helmar’s instructions, “ — when we see the smoke, that’s the signal for me and Cara to attack.”
The group splits apart, each evidently with a part to play in Helmar’s plan. “Helmar,” I croak, “what do you want me to do?”
He turns, disdain evident on his face. “Guard the golden and the sprogs, stay here, and keep out of sight,” he orders.
Helmar whirls away, and he, Cara, and Phigby climb aboard their dragons while Amil strides away in the cabin’s direction, leaving me behind without another backward glance.
“In other words,” I mutter to myself, “you’ll be of no use to us in the coming battle, so stay out of the way and let real warriors do the fighting.”
I hold up my bow. “Then why did I risk my life to go back for this?”
I reach over and scratch Scamper behind the ears before shrugging, “Oh, well, I guess he’s right,” and I set the long shaft aside. “I can’t even use this thing.”
The golden settles down next to me and swings her head around. “Not all warriors carry swords or bows, Hooper. There are other ways to be courageous that don’t require the use of armaments, you know.”
“Humph,” I reply. “Not in Helmar’s world.”
I take in a breath and mutter, “Or Cara’s, for that matter. To her, you’re not a real man unless you can sky a dragon, wield a sword, shoot a bow — ”
“Or read books?” the golden murmurs.
I raise my eyes at that. Suddenly, the golden is on her feet, lifting her head. “Smoke,” she states.
I whirl around to gape toward the deserted cabin. “Helmar said that when they saw the smoke they’d attack. I — ”
Abruptly, the golden snorts and takes several steps forward, her head and ears turned in a different direction. She raises her head as high as it will go, staring and listening so intently that it’s as if she’s frozen in place.
She spins around to me and orders, “Hooper, get the sprogs.”
“Wha — ”
“Get the sprogs, now!”
You don’t argue with a fire-breathing dragon, believe me, you just don’t. I scurry over and grab a sprog under each arm. The golden dips her head. “Under my carapace, and hurry.”
I hobble as fast as I can, deposit the first two and grab the other two. “What is it?” I gurgle as I shove Regal and Sparkle in with Strider and Glow.
“I’ll tell you in a moment,” she responds. “You and Scamper, climb aboard.” Scamper takes a running leap, bounds off her leg and lands smack in the middle of the sprogs. That sets them to screeching at him and squabbling but I ignore them as I hesitate.
Helmar’s warning was clear. No one, especially me was to ride the golden. If I did . . .
Seeing me standing there, not moving, the golden swings her head around and demands, “What are you waiting for, Hooper?”
I can feel the urgency in her voice but I still don’t move. All I can hear is the hiss of Helmar’s sword leaving its scabbard, see Helmar standing large and menacing with his blade ready to deliver my death blow.
“Hooper!” Golden Wind’s roar is so loud and powerful that it not only shatters my trance, it sends me stumbling backward a few steps. “Your friends are going to die unless we go help them. For the moment, isn’t that more important than Helmar’s threat?”
I shake my head. Cara in danger? She might die? I set my face and climb up on Golden Wind’s neck and settle in.
She immediately whirls and gallops off in the opposite direction of the cabin. We crash through tree limbs, breaking branches right and left. “Wait, why are we heading in this direction? I thought you said that Cara was in trouble.”
“She is,” the golden answers. “As are the others. Serious trouble.”
That makes me sit upright. “From what?”
“Wilders,” she answers. “There are a good two-dozen coming low and fast from a different direction. They’ll catch Cara and the others unawares.”
“A trap?” I sputter and bend low under a sweeper, a branch low enough that if I didn’t duck, it would brush me right off Golden Wind.
“I’m not sure,” she replies. “I do know that there are more than just the six Wilders back at the hut.”
“So why are we going the opposite way?”
“We’ll catch those oncoming Wilders by surprise,” she answers. She takes a few more steps and then comes to an abrupt halt. She pushes herself into a dark thicket and lies down. “Keep the sprogs quiet,” she orders. “They’re coming.”
I lean down and whisper to Scamper, “Wilders, everyone stay quiet.”
He wiggles his button nose at me, and I swear, he glares at the sprogs, just daring one of them to let out as much as a tiny screep.
Moments later, I can hear dragon wings beating furiously overhead. They’re flying so low that the force of their downward beats sets the treetops to swaying. They rush overhead and then they’re gone.
The golden waits for a few moments more and then bursts out of the thicket. Galloping at full speed, she sprints through a tree grove until she breaks into the clear.
“All right, Hooper,” she commands, “hold on tight, we’re going to sky.”
“We’re going to do what?” I yelp. “I thought we were staying on the ground. You have no saddle, and there’s nothing for me to hang onto, I’ll fall — ”
“Hooper, just squeeze your legs tight around my neck and hold on to my horns. You won’t fall off.”
“Oh, yeah,” I retort, “that’s what Cara said too, and look what happened. Or don’t you remember plucking me out of the pond goop?”
My hands stretch out partway and stop. Skying behind Cara is one thing, skying by myself with practically nothing to hang onto?
“Hooper,” the golden growls, “Cara and the others need us. We have to go swiftly, now!”
I take a deep breath. “Look,” I say to Golden Wind, “I’ve never done anything like this before and without a saddle or reins to hold onto, this could be a very short flight, and I could end up with a broken neck.
“So that ‘swift’ part you talked about — is there an unswift speed that we could start out with until I get the hang of this?”
“Hooper!” I can feel the exasperation in her tone. “Just squeeze my neck with your legs and hang onto my horns. Tight!”
“All right!” I snap and grab her horns. I no sooner latch onto her closest curved horns than she vaults into the air. Her leap pops my head back and for an instant, I’m a little dizzy, and I sway on her neck.
“Hooper, don’t you fall off on me,” she rumbles.
I blink hard and finally I can see clearly. And wish I hadn’t. The pack of Wilders, their crimson corsair tunics and pants flapping in the wind, are bearing down on Cara, Helmar, and Phigby. They have their backs to the Wilders and don’t see the danger swiftly approaching from behind.
Even at this distance, I can see Helmar and Cara releasing their arrows at the Wilders below them. I can’t see what Phigby is doing, but it doesn’t matter. There’s no way we can beat the Wilders there in time to warn Cara and the others.
Underneath me, I can feel the golden gather herself and then, as if she were a speeding shooting star in the dusky sky, bolting forward.
Faster and faster we speed. The wind is a roar in my ears, and I have to hunker down as low as I can to withstand the gale.
I thought Wind Song was fast. Compared to Golden Wind, she is a plodding plow horse, and the golden is a sleek thoroughbred. Golden Wind angles swiftly upward for several wingbeats before she levels off and spurts through the sky.
Before I know it, we’ve caught up with and passed the trailing Wilders, and the golden is still gaining on the leaders.
We flash above the main group, and just ahead, I can see who I assume to be the leader. He’s a big man, as large as Amil, and the scarlet he rides is enormous.
For an instant, I think that his red dragon looks familiar but then my eyes catch what he’s doing. His longbow is notched, and his arrow is trained squarely on Helmar.
But neither Helmar nor the others have spotted the danger. They’re too intent on their exchange with the Wilders on the ground. I lean forward and have to shout above the wind, “The lead Wilder, he’s got his arrow trained on Helmar, and Helmar doesn’t see him.”
The golden’s sudden downward swoop not only takes my breath away, she almost loses me again. Now, we’re in a headlong dive, and I quickly understand what she’s doing. She’s putting her hard scales between the Wilder’s arrow and Helmar’s thin skin.
From the corner of my eye, I see the Wilder pull his longbow as taut as he can, and then he unleashes his arrow. It’s flying straight and true toward the unsuspecting Helmar.
Time seems to slow, almost stop. No sound comes to my ears, it’s as if all sounds have disappeared and I hear only silence.
I can see the arrow’s feathering flutter as it passes through the air. Helmar is turned away from the lethal bolt and slowly draws back his bow, his eyes centered on some target below. His arrow speeds away, and I can see his bowstring vibrate from the power of his bowshot.
The Wilder’s arrow closes on Helmar. We’re diving straight between him and the lethal bolt, but if we don’t get there before it does, Helmar will never see the arrow that takes his life.
At the last instant, Golden Wind puts on an extra burst of speed, and she’s between Helmar and the scarlet arrow.
I don’t know if it was a sudden gust of wind or the beating of Golden Wind’s wings but at just that moment, instead of the arrow bouncing off her scales, the arrow tips upward in flight.
Have you ever tried to elude an arrow while sitting on a dragon in midair? It can’t be done. Trust me, I know.
I don’t remember screaming when the arrow pierced my body. What I do remember is an agonizing, shuddering pain that shoots tremors of torture rippling up and down my body before I bend over in pure torment.
Somehow I know that unlike the arrowhead that barely penetrated Helmar’s shoulder, this bolt has all but gone clean through my puny body.
I waver in the saddle, barely hanging on when from far away, I hear Cara scream, “Hooper!”
My last thoughts are that Helmar may not ever see the arrow that takes his life, but I’ve seen mine.
20
I don’t remember much after that, except for the searing, lashing pain — pure agony filling mind and body. I couldn’t think of anything else except to somehow ease my suffering or better yet, take the torment away.
I recall grabbing the arrow that stuck out of my shoulder so that it wouldn’t move. I could feel the arrowhead scraping across bone and every time it did, it was like old Malo stabbing me with his Proga lance.
Sharp, piercing torture and a feeling of the arrowhead digging deeper, slicing into tender flesh every time the golden’s wings beat.
I slump forward, trying to ease the pain, but then I felt myself start to slide off Golden Wind’s neck. Through the anguish, I heard, “Hooper, grab my horn — take my horn, Hooper!”
I lolled back, at the same time grabbing for a horn. I managed to wrap my fingers around a knobby curved spike and steadied myself. I knew there was a battle of sorts going on around me, but at that point, I didn’t care. All I wanted was to hang on and make it to the ground.
The golden was weaving, coursing through the sky, and somehow I held on while she twisted and turned. I could hear Scamper chittering at me, but I ignored him. The sprogs were screeping as if they were on the brink of death, not me, and I definitely ignored them.
Suddenly, even though my eyes were closed, I could feel, not see, a wave of bright light sweep across me. I didn’t know what it was. However, after that, the golden stopped her twists and turns, straightened, and flew level and fast, slicing through the air.
I don’t know how long I stayed that way, eyes shut against the pain, swaying from side to side in the saddle, moaning. I swallowed and asked, “Where are we going?”
“To the only place we can go, now,” the golden replied.
“What about the Wilders?” I groan.
“Scattered and far behind,” she answers. “For the moment, we don’t have to worry about them.”
Ever notice that sometimes when you’re really hurt you say the silliest things? I answered the golden by saying, “In that case, just find me a pond and drop me in, only this time make sure the water really is soft and gentle.”
She didn’t respond to my stupid comment, of course.
Then I hear a second set of dragon wings close by and Cara imploring, “Hooper, hang on, just hold on for a little while longer!”
What did she think I was doing, I wondered, dancing a jig on the golden’s skull plate?
I’m not sure how long we sky before the golden goes into a long glide and then I feel her talons thump against the ground. By then, I’m so groggy that I keep going in and out of consciousness and only catch snippets of the conversation around me.
“Easy with that shoulder, the arrow shaft is still in.”
“He’s got a death grip on her horn, I can barely prod his fingers off.”
“A good thing or he would’ve fallen off.”
“Even so, how he stayed on her is beyond me. Cara, slowly swing his leg over — right, now Amil, Helmar ease him down.”
“Easy . . . easy. Good. Let’s get him under those trees. Cara, grab my bag and then get a fire going. Helmar, you get the dragons under cover — Amil, water and lots of it.”
I try not to moan as they lower me down from the golden and place me gently under the limbs of a wide-spreading tree. Even so, every so often I can’t help but let a whimper pass through my lips. Well, even Helmar let out a groan from his arrow wound, so I’m entitled to a few moans.
After a bit, I find I’m lying on what feels like leafy boughs and decide I’ve earned a good, long rest and go back to sleep. I don’t know how long I nap before Phigby rouses me with a cup to my lips. “Here lad, get this all down, you’re going to need it because that arrowhead went deep.”
I don’t argue with him over his sour-tasting concoction because if Phigby says I’m going to need all of his potion, then I have a feeling
that what’s coming next is going to be bad, really bad, and far worse than a foul taste in my mouth.
It is bad, and that’s all I’m going to say about it other than at some point I totally black out because when I wake up I can see that the moons are just rising which means that several hours have gone by since we landed.
I guess I must have moaned or something when I stirred because Phigby is instantly by my side. “Easy lad,” he orders, “I don’t want you moving around just yet. We’ve got to give that wound of yours time to heal.”
I put my hand on the thick bandage. “You got the arrowhead out?”
“Yes,” he replies, “and before you ask, no, there wasn’t any poison. Fortunately though it went in pretty deep, if you’re going to take an arrow, you picked the right spot. It didn’t do a lot of damage.”
“Thanks, Phigby, for taking care of me. I really appreciate it.”
“You’re very welcome, Hooper. I’m just glad it wasn’t any worse and for what it’s worth, your comrades are still talking about how you managed to stay on Golden Wind with that arrow in you. That was a very impressive feat.”
I raise my head up to see that there’s a little fire going, and the others are sleeping close to the flames. “Is everyone else all right?”
“Thanks to you and Golden Wind,” he answers, “we are. If you two hadn’t busted up that ambush, well, I’m pretty certain that not all of us would be sleeping around our campfire.”
I glance at the moons. “For some reason I thought it would be later, but the moons are just rising.”
Phigby chortles. “My potion knocked your senses a little off kilter, lad. The moons are setting, not rising. Dawn’s not that far off but for you, your job is to do exactly nothing but sleep and hopefully we’ll get some food in you first thing tomorrow. Understood?”
“Understood,” I answer and close my eyes. It doesn’t take much for me to drop off to sleep.
My slumber is strange and unpleasant, not from the pain from my wound but it’s as if I’m in my body, yet I’m not. I float in dark places and feel as though foul, unseen hands are reaching out to pull me into a never-ending darkness of lost souls.
