by GARY DARBY
The four little dragons are staying right with us though I have the feeling that they could indeed fly faster and evade the bat creature if they chose.
If it weren’t for their light, I just know that I would stumble over some unseen object and tumble to the ground face-first, there to scramble in terror as the beast brought its knife-sharp claws ever closer to carve me into little pieces.
With a screech that fills the cavern, the flying monstrosity gathers itself and dives straight at me. Only by a miracle am I able to hurl myself behind an outcropping of rock at the last moment.
The four little sprites scatter from the monster and Scamper shoots off to find his own hiding place from the the winged beast.
The bat’s talons slash and claw at the protruding stone that’s protecting me from the thing’s wrath. I’m showered with bits of rock that sounds like a hailstorm broke loose inside the cave. With a flurry of beating wings, the batlike creature backs away, no doubt readying itself to come at me again.
I pick myself up and stagger away, desperately trying to find a place to hide, a crevice, or a hole in the rock where the monster can’t get to me.
The little dragons are nowhere to be seen, having fled the beast’s attack and without my light source, I’m left to grope and stumble around in the dark.
Hitting a rock with my foot, I trip, and go sprawling to the ground. I start to stand, but out of the dark, Scamper comes flying and knocks me down.
A gust of wind over my face tells me that if Scamper hadn’t bowled me over just then, the bat’s talons would have caught me and I’d be dangling in its grip, with its claws slowly, but surely, piercing my weak flesh.
Scamper dashes off, and I roll to the side, only to come up hard against a boulder. I suddenly realize that although I can’t see a thing in the pitch-black, that’s not true of my evil nemesis. How else could it have found and attacked me right then?
My heart is pounding so loud in my chest, that I’m convinced that even if the bat couldn’t see me, it could surely hear my thudding heartbeat. I try to slow my heart, my breathing, but it’s no use, I’m too terrified. I reach out, and my hand slides across what feels like the rough face of a boulder.
To my ears comes a whisper. Hooper Menvoran . . . Hooper Menvoran . . .
It’s Vay.
Like a cat plays with a mouse just before it sinks its lethal fangs into the poor little thing, she’s taunting me.
I’m her poor little thing.
She’s mocking me just before her monster comes diving out of the blackness to plunge its talons into my frail body.
A cold wind brushes up against my cheek, and I jerk away in terror and revulsion.
Hooper . . .
She knows exactly where I am, and that means so does her wicked manifestation.
My back is to the boulder, and I slide across its craggy stone face, trying to find anything to ward off the monster’s final, deadly attack.
The rustling of giant wings comes closer and closer. I put up my hands in desperation. Then, right in front of me, the cave lights up as if one of Phigby’s giant fireworks exploded in midair.
The brilliant illumination dazzles my eyes, but in the light, I see the huge bat. It seems to stagger in midflight, its claws outstretched toward me.
Then, it begins to move backward, as if repulsed by the brightness. Its own eyes are almost closed shut to block the radiance.
I see a second streak of yellow light that shoots across the cave and actually punches through one of the bat’s wings, and then a second flash of yellow that splits the monster’s other wing.
The thing writhes in midair as if trying to get away from its tormenter and in the light I see two huge holes in the fiend’s leathery skin that covers its wings.
The flying behemoth tries to turn away, but it’s too slow. From one side, an orange streak slices across the cave, punching through one webbed wing before it splits the second.
Now the gigantic monstrosity has slits in both sides and the harder it flaps to stay aloft, the wider the gashes become as if someone is ripping a piece of cloth.
The little sprites again flash through the air, like shooting stars, tearing and ripping more holes in the monster’s webbed hide.
It thrashes in the air, trying to evade the tiny, darting dragons, but it’s too ponderous, too slow, whereas the sprites are speeding almost faster than the eye can follow as they slash through the thing’s wings again and again.
The fiend tries one last time to lift itself in the air, but it’s a futile effort, its wings are too torn and shredded. It begins to spiral down to the ground. Just before it hits, there’s an ear-splitting shriek of anger, rage, and dismay from Vay. Then, with a thunderous din that echoes throughout the cave, the bat monster crashes to the cavern floor.
The beast lies there, its head torn at an angle, a red, forked tongue dangling to one side. Then, by the sprite’s glowing light I watch wide-eyed as the thing starts to ooze and slough off in small, black drops.
My jaw drops and I suck in a breath as the creature’s body dissolves into hundreds of tiny bats, which wing away as speedily as they can, seeking shelter in the cave’s dim upper recesses.
The last of the little bats flash to the cavern’s top, back into the blackness. Moments later, the four little dragons hover just in front of me as I let out a long breath, my eyes wide in amazement.
“I don’t know how you did that, but thanks. Thanks very much. I owe you my life, and I won’t forget what you did for Scamper and me.”
As if he heard his name, Scamper comes bounding out from behind a set of jagged boulders and paws at my legs. He’s almost mauling me and from his wide eyes and frantic efforts, it’s clear that he's excited and anxious about something.
Gwaaay!
“Yes,” I agree wholeheartedly, “let’s get away from here before Vay pulls off another nasty.”
He darts away, and I try to move as fast as I can, but I guess I’m not moving fast enough because Scamper comes shooting back at me, paws at my leg, and then sprints off again.
“Never seen him act like that before,” I mumble with a furrowed brow. “I guess Vay’s got him really spooked.”
Grunting, I say, “What am I saying, she’s got me really spooked.”
I hobble at my best speed with the sprite dragons providing enough light that I can hurriedly make my way through the boulder-littered cavern. We haven’t gone far when I hear unfamiliar noises farther along in the passageway. I halt to listen, but Scamper won’t let me stop and insists that we keep moving.
Hurrying, I’ve only taken a few steps when I realize what I’m hearing; the fury of battle. Just ahead comes the sound of bowstrings twanging followed by the soft hiss of arrows slicing through the air. Voices shout, along with the howls and sharp yelps of wolves.
The passageway narrows to where it’s just over my head and little more than my body width wide, but I’m in a stiff upward climb.
The noises are louder and closer, but the incline is getting steeper and steeper. I have to hunch over and pull at protruding rocks to pull myself up. Peering ahead, I can see pale light that marks a rocky notch that leads outside.
I turn to the sprites. “I think you need to turn yourselves off now.”
I’m not sure how, but they seem to understand me and go dark but hover just off the ground. Scamper bounds ahead and waits for me at the opening’s edge.
I crawl the last little way and poke my head out the craggy slit. The giant bat was terrifying, but what I see now causes me to groan and grip the edge so tight that my fingernails scrape against the rock.
The monstrous Varg wolves have found my companions.
Cara and the others are fighting for their lives against the Vargs’ snapping jaws and vicious fangs.
The wolves are in a blood-crazed frenzy as they dart and dash along a line of tall rocks clumped together as if someone rolled or carried them there to form a barrier.
The wolves claw and scratc
h, snapping at each other even as they try to reach the cornered company.
Phigby and the others use the large, craggy boulders as a bulwark against the charging wolves while the sapphire dragons pace anxiously behind them with Master Boren doing his best to control them. However, their growls rise in pitch as more and more of the giant wolves join in the attack.
In the moon’s wan light, I can see Cara and Helmar, almost shoulder to shoulder, arrows flying from their bows. Amil’s ax flashes as he lifts and swings at a snarling fiendish wolf head. There’s a yelp, and a Varg goes down with Amil’s blade buried deep in its skull.
Phigby has a long sword and stands in a slit between two of the taller boulders, slashing and stabbing at the frenzied wolves while Alonya’s huge bow is extracting a deadly toll every time she lets an arrow go, but there’s too many fiendish wolves. The pack seems even larger than it was before.
I have no doubt that this is Vay’s work and it’s only a matter of time before the Vargs find a way to get over the rock wall and corner my companions against the cliff. “Why don’t they unleash the dragons?” I mutter to myself. “Use their dragon fire on those beasts.”
“Because,” a voice whispers from the dark below the ledge, “like me, they’ve heard the wings of Wilder dragons close by.”
Mouth open, I lean over the edge and peer downward. A shadow moves slightly, and I whisper, “Golden Wind?”
“Yes, Hooper, it’s me,” she acknowledges.
“Wilders,” I murmur, “do you think they saw us?”
“It doesn’t appear so. None has turned this way, but they’re close enough that they’ll certainly see dragon fire.”
“Or one of Phigby’s light tricks.”
“That too,” she answers.
“We’ve got to do something. There’s too many Vargs, they can’t hold them off much longer.”
“What would you have me do, Hooper Menvoran?”
“Don’t call me that!”
The golden is silent at my outburst. “Sorry,” I mumble, “that’s what she called me; for some reason, it makes me feel unclean.”
“She? You mean Vay? She was here?”
“In the cave,” I answer with a shudder. “But thanks to the sprites and Scamper, we managed to escape.”
“I’m sorry, Hooper, are you all right?”
I take a breath. “Yes,” I mutter and point at the battle. “But not if we don’t help. Do you have any ideas?”
“None that you haven’t mentioned.”
I glance down, the rock facing is steep, and to get to the golden won’t be an easy climb. “If I can get down to you,” I whisper, “can you get us inside the barricade with the rest of the company?”
The golden hesitates as if she’s sizing up the situation before questioning, “I think so, but are you sure that’s what you want to do?”
“Yes. I don’t have anything to fight with, but I can’t just sit here and do nothing. Better to die with my companions than to watch Vargs kill them one by one.”
“But Hooper, you do have something to fight with.”
I feel a faint pulse from the gemstone and take it out. Instead of the cold stone of before, now it has a soft luminance and warmth. “I thought it was dead, but you’re right, I do have something to fight with!”
Slipping over the ledge, I dig my fingers into the granite rock as I search for both hand and footholds. It seems like it takes me forever to climb down.
I reach a point where the cliff slants inward and it’s all I can do to dangle helplessly with just my fingers clutching my last handhold. I can feel myself losing my grip when I hear the scraping of dragon scales against stone and then, “Hooper, I’m just below you, let go.”
“I can’t see you,” I gurgle. “How much of a drop is it?”
“Not far. Trust me.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” I warble, “you’re not the one that’s hanging by your fingertips.”
I take a deep breath, let it out, and—drop.
There’s not much difference between landing on your back on hard rocks or dragon scales; neither give way, and both knock the wind out of you.
“Hooper?” the golden asks. “Are you all right?”
It takes me a moment to catch my breath and answer. “Nothing feels broken, so, yes,” I wheeze.
All but crawling, I slip along her back until I can slide myself into her neck saddle. Glancing up, I give a tiny whistle. A moment later, a dark body comes sailing over the ledge and lands with a soft thump on the golden’s scaled backside.
Scamper comes pattering up to settle himself in his usual position. “Show-off,” I mutter.
Looking up, I don’t see the sprite dragons anywhere. They must have left and gone back to wherever sprite dragons go. I’m a little sad to see them go; they saved my life, and Scamper’s too, and all I could do was to offer my thanks.
The saddlebags are empty. “Where are the sprogs?”
“With Scamper’s help, they’re safely hidden,” the golden answers, “we’ll retrieve them after we’ve rescued our friends.”
I nod and ask in a low voice, “We’re ready up here, what do we do next?”
“I suggest that you hold on very tight, and get down low. And leave the rest to me.”
“Are we going to sky?”
“No. I have a better idea that will help our friends.”
I push myself deep into her neck saddle and scrunch down as best as I can behind her carapace. “Hold on tight,” I order Scamper and then call out, “Ready—I think.”
Golden Wind seems to settle back on her hind legs, and I can feel her neck muscles tighten underneath me. For an instant, I think we are going to sky after all, but what she does next not only surprises me, it catches the Vargs totally off-guard.
Once, in early spring, I saw some village men playing a game on the Common, the square grassy area that lies between the Dragon Master’s home and the town proper.
They called the game, “lawn bowling.”
One man would hurl a smooth, rounded wooden ball over the short grass at nine stubby pins carved from birchen tree wood and set upright three to a row.
The game’s object was to knock down as many pins as you could with your throw. It seemed that the harder you threw, the more violent the contact between the ball and the carved wooden pins and the more of them that went flying over the lawn in every direction.
Imagine the golden as the ball and the Vargs as the pins.
Lowering her horned, hard head, she rushes around the trees that hid us and headlong into the unsuspecting giant wolves. She charges down the line of Vargs sending wolf bodies flying every which way as she head-butts them, or her churning talons would stomp one of them into the ground.
Only a few in her direct path manage to dart away in time and not to receive the bowling ball treatment.
Reaching the end of the stone bulwark, Golden Wind makes a wide circle and then launches herself over the rocks, where we land with a loud thud just beyond.
Scamper, of course, thought it was great fun and kept up a constant chittering the whole time. A few times, I could have sworn that he was directing the golden as to which Varg to smash with her head and send spinning in a four-legged cartwheel.
Me, I just tried to hang on and not get hit by a flying Varg as it sailed over her from her head butt.
I can’t help myself. “That was great!”
My grin is every bit as wide as hers as she answers, “Thank you. I rather thought it was too. Unfortunately, our surprise will only work one time. The Vargs will be on to us if we try it again.”
From atop Golden Wind, I survey the battle. Cara and Helmar are carefully aiming their bows before unleashing an arrow. I can see that both have but a few arrows left in their quivers.
Once they’re gone, the two will only have short swords with which to defend themselves, and their blades against Varg fangs is akin to a mosquito jabbing Lady Alonya.
Amil’s ax is savaging th
e Vargs, but the big man is bleeding from several deep gashes in his heavily muscled arms where a Varg must have gotten to him before he was able to slay the beast. His breathing is labored and his roundhouse blows are slowing with each Varg charge at him.
Alonya’s bow still sings, and each arrow that she lets fly at the wolves is met with a shrill yelp that turns into a Varg death rattle but she too runs low on arrow shafts.
Phigby is still standing firm between the two tall boulders and his constant slashing and stabbing at wolf heads is keeping some of the howling beasts at bay.
But it’s not enough.
“We’re losing,” I say to Golden Wind. “We’re too few, and the Vargs are too many. If the wolves break through the barricade, we’ll have no choice but to unleash dragon fire.”
My face and voice harden as I realize what that means. “The Wilders will see. They’ll find us.”
The golden’s words seem to whisper gently in my mind . . . Hooper Menvoran, Gem Guardian.
The softness of the words is unlike the harshness and vileness that I felt when Vay spoke them. They don’t cause my skin to prickle in disgust or my spirit to feel dirty, tainted in some fashion.
Clutching at the dragon gem in my pocket, I can’t help but feel anxious. The magical emerald didn’t work before; was I sure that it would work now?
I lift my eyes up. The moons’ ashen light catches the treetops as if there’s a silvery haze settling over the forest. For an instant, a narrow shaft of moonlight breaks through the thick leafy foliage and shines on the thick-branched trees directly across from me.
Slipping the jewel out, the crystal is warm, alive in my hand. It has power—power that I’m meant to use.
I lift my eyes to the battle scene again. There’s a pile of Varg bodies in front of the boulders, but Cara and Helmar have run out of arrows as has Alonya.
Like Phigby, Cara and Helmar have found small spaces between the rocks and with their swords slash and stab as furiously as they can at the slobbering blood-crazed brutes.
