by GARY DARBY
“We may have hurt the Wilders,” Alonya growls, “but we did not destroy them. And they, in turn, must know how badly they’ve hurt us. My guess is that those fire beasts that you saw coming through South Pass are preparing the way for another attack. If so, there is one place we can withstand their assault and that’s in our mountain citadels.”
“With all due respect, Your Majesty,” Helmar returns, “I couldn’t disagree more. The Wilders will know that’s where you and your warriors retreat to and no doubt will try to cut you off before you reach the safety of your bastions.
“Those Wilders coming through the pass do so to confirm what they suspect. Once the Wilder chieftains know of a surety that your people are making for those redoubts, the sky will once more be full of Wilder dragons.”
Shaking his head so hard that his hair bounces a bit, Helmar’s voice rises. “Our company must do what the Wilders least expect and that would be to hide in the high hills and mountains to the north of Draconstead and await the birth of Golden Wind’s sprog. The Wilders would never think to look for us there.”
“I have to agree with my sister,” Desma growls. “It would be foolish on your part to leave the domain.”
“And I would add,” General Katus rumbles, “that once past our protection, you would only be cut to pieces and the noble one lost.”
“That’s why we have to go to Wynsur!” Amil snaps. “We can use the sea route—”
“What! Are you crazy?” Helmar all but snarls. “And sky right into more Sung Dar?”
“Better than—” Amil shouts and before we know it, the two are in a shoving match, each clenching the other’s jerkin in a tight fist, their two faces hard masks of anger.
They kick up small bits of dirt, their boots making a raspy, gritty noise as they slide in the dirt from the pushing and shoving.
They tussle but for an instant before Phigby steps between the two and pushes them apart. In a growl, he snaps, “This is not getting us anywhere. I suggest that we all take a step back and calm down.”
Holding them at arm’s length, his voice turns hard, stern. “Cooler heads think better than ones so hot that I could fry an egg on top, don’t you agree?”
Amil and Helmar glare at each for a moment before both nod and find close, but separate flat boulders to sit upon. Comrades in arms, bloodied together in battle they may be, but right now they are adamant and fervent in their opposing beliefs of where our next footsteps should lead us.
Queen Alonya gestures toward the horizon where morning’s light grows. “Dawn nears, and we are no closer to deciding the question than we were last eve. But settle it we must, and soon, for we do not want to be here when the Wilders return.”
“Yes,” Phigby answers and eyes Golden Wind, who, with the two sapphire dragons, lies off to one side amongst some smaller boulders. The dragons rest with their heads on forelegs and eyes closed as if in sleep.
Unlike us, they don’t seem to have a worry in the world whereas we have spent the last part of the night in vigorous discussion of what our next course should be.
Phigby waves a hand at the three dragons. “The question seems simple enough. How and where do we hide the golden in a land that seems broad enough to do so, but as we know is filled with those who seek her at every turn.”
“Aye, simple enough,” Amil rumbles. “All we have to do is hide a dragon that is the color of a shiny gold coin, twice as large as the biggest Elepho Oxen, and has wings that glitter and sparkle like new snow on a sunny day.”
Glancing over at the golden, he mutters, “Not to mention a tail that looks like a thick, shiny golden ribbon as it slides across the dark ground.”
He shrugs with a wan smile. “Oh yes, simple enough. We just find the biggest, deepest, darkest cave in the land and stuff her in. Why make it any harder than that?”
I’m not sure I agree that our dilemma is all that simple. If Golden Wind were anything but a golden dragon, then yes, we could hide her most anywhere, including a deep, dark cave.
But she is the golden dragon and as Phigby said, it seems that everyone is looking for her. None more than our vile nemesis, Vay, who seems drawn not only to Golden Wind but to the magical dragon tear-jewels that I carry.
Erdron may be wide and there are still vast bare quarters, but somehow, I feel that even if we went to the middle of the emptiest, most desolate place on our world, Vay would manage to find us—including Erdron’s deepest, blackest cave.
Wherever that may be.
And that is the crux of our problem. How do you hide from an evil fairy who thirsts and hungers for just one dragon and seems willing to do anything to find her?
I glance around at the council that Queen Alonya has called to consider our dilemma; besides myself, there’s Cara, who still mourns her father and brother. Helmar and Amil still bear a few wounds from our recent battles but forged strong bonds as fellow warriors—still, they are at odds over our next course of action. Phigby stands with a hand stroking his long beard as he always does when he’s deep in thought, and as yet has failed to offer a solution.
Towering over us are Queen Alonya, Princess Desma, and General Katus. Like the rest of us, they too bear evident signs of the fierce clash against the Wilders. Blood-stained jerkins, Phigby’s bandaging that cover angry, red wounds from both Wilder arrows and dragon breath.
Most of all, there is the grimness in the eyes, coupled with a sadness from the loss of companions and loved ones. However, their jaws’ tight set and the hardness in their voices tell me that though the city was lost, their courage and the willingness to defy Vay remains strong.
The giants have argued that we should stay with them, use their strongholds and their brave Amazos warriors to keep Golden Wind safe. We Drachs have not said as much but I have the feeling that none of us are comfortable with remaining here.
Not because we are uneasy about being among the giants, no, our unease lies in the fact that the Wilders all but destroyed Golian on our account—can we allow them to come back and ravage it a second time because of us?
My heart and mind say no.
However, my heart and mind don’t tell me where we should go, either, so like Phigby, I’ve remained silent in the argument.
“Am I asking a silly question?” Phigby wonders, plucking at his beard. “Is it even possible to hide Golden Wind now?”
“It is not a silly question, Master Phigby,” Alonya replies. “In fact, I think it’s the most important issue in all of Erdron, for I’ve come to believe that the noble one holds the fate and destiny of our world.”
Phigby turns to her, surprise evident on his face. “I beg Your Majesty’s pardon but that is a most stunning statement coming from a Golian queen.”
“Perhaps so, Phigby,” she acknowledges, “and yes, I admit that my ancestors held little regard for the outside world, but from what I know now, that cannot and shall not be my view.”
In sadness, she waves a hand at the burning remains of Dronopolis in the far distance, her voice catching in her throat. “Especially after this.”
She turns back to Phigby. “You said it yourself Phigby, Dronopolis may well portend the future of Erdron if Vay is not stopped. To my mind, this is but the first of what Vay intends for all of us if we do not find a way to halt her evil.”
Her face turns hard and grim. “And stop her we must before she goes on killing more of my people and yours, as well as anybody else who takes a stand against her vileness.”
Phigby glances at the wafting smoke in the distance, as do I. The smoke turns gray as it rises higher until it forms a blanket of leaden cloud over Dronopolis.
Leaden and gray, to match our spirits.
Phigby returns his gaze to the group. “Yes,” he nods in answer. “And I am firm in my belief that this is what Vay intends to do, above all to those who resist her. Her hate and fury know no boundaries since we continue to deny her possession of Golden Wind. As well as,” he glances in my direction, “other things of worth.”
Biting down on the inside of my lip, my heart beats a little faster at Phigby’s words. His meaning is clear. Vay not only wants Golden Wind but she wants me, the Gem Guardian and the mystical gemstones that I wield as the guardian.
The last stragglers from Dronopolis have fled up the Appan Way. What’s left behind is the council, our three dragons, the four sprogs, Scamper, and fifty Amazos warriors, the personal guard for Queen Alonya and Desma, her sister.
Once the council is done, the Golians shall join with the remaining warriors to make their stand against the next onslaught by the savage Wilders and their crimson war dragons.
But first, we must devise a plan to keep Golden Wind out of the Wilders’ hands and of most importance, out of Vay’s evil clutches.
I turn at the sound of heavy footsteps and find an Amazos trudging over the knoll’s crest with a sack over one shoulder. She is quick to kneel to Alonya before standing and holding the cloth bag out.
“Rations, my queen. Retrieved from the city. We’ve sent the bulk of what we found up the Way to the first stronghold, but we set these aside for Her Majesty and her companions.”
“Thank you,” Alonya replies as General Katus reaches out to take the sack. The Amazos salutes Alonya with her sword, spins and lopes back down the hill to join her comrades.
They are the last warriors coming out of Dronopolis in what was one final sweep of the ruined city to rescue any that might have been left behind and to salvage what they could from the rubble.
They didn’t find many left alive from the Wilders’ ruthless attack.
We gather in a circle while Katus hands out the Golian trail rations. I take mine, retreat to a nearby boulder and with my back against the rough surface slide down to the ground.
Cara slips down next to me and as she does, I can’t help but see Helmar’s eyes follow her. Before, Cara sitting next to me or speaking with me would have meant nothing to Helmar. Now, his hard stare tells a very different story. He doesn’t like what he sees.
Why? My heart tells me that Cara and I feel a closeness that wasn’t there before. A friendship linked to my trying to save her brother as well as the fact that we are now both orphans.
Plus, she and I can now converse with Golden Wind though we are the only ones who can within the company, a secret that we share.
I’m praying that her feelings toward me are perhaps more than that but for now, I’ll take whatever time I can spend with her, if it’s but a moment here and a moment there.
And even if Helmar doesn’t like it a bit.
Cara’s tunic makes a raspy sound against the craggy rock as she sits next to me. I hold up the block-like biscuit. “First meal. Eat slowly; it might be second and third meal for all we know.”
“I know,” she sighs, holding her own ration in one hand. “I’m just glad we were able to feed the dragons, one of these wouldn’t take them very far.”
I nod in reply. When Osa, the First Moon, and her sisters, Nadia, Eskar and Vay had set early last night, Cara, Helmar and I had skyed the two sapphires and the golden to the city’s edge.
It was risky but the dragons had to eat, none more than Golden Wind for she’s eating for two these days.
We had found the charred remains of several Elepho Oxen caught by Wilder dragon fire. Their carcasses filled the dragons’ stomachs nice and full.
I glance around but don’t see Scamper or the four sprogs anywhere. Cara leans a little closer. “Don’t worry, I saw him a few moments ago, he’s off with the sprogs, teaching them how to fend for themselves, I think.”
Holding up the brick-hard bread, I stare at its dark-brown uneven texture. “Well, since Scamper and his personal dragon herd haven’t come running for a piece of this, I suspect that they’re eating better than we are.”
We both grow quiet, and I notice that she’s not eating, or, rather, like me, she’s not trying to gnaw off a bite. Instead, her eyes turn to the three rock cairns that crown the next small hill over.
The gravesites of her father, Master Boren, her brother Daron, and Wind Rover, Master Boren’s courageous sapphire dragon.
I don’t just feel Cara’s pain, I know her pain.
Though it’s been more than ten seasons since I lost my family, there are times when I still mourn, still feel the mist form in my eyes from what I lost and can never have again.
Nudging her shoulder with my own, I jut my chin toward her trail ration. “You need to eat, or you won’t go far yourself.”
Her eyes glisten, and her lower lip trembles a little as she shakes her head. “I just can’t believe they’re gone.”
As she motions over to where the golden and the remaining two blue dragons rest, her voice is dull, lifeless. “I keep thinking that there should be three sapphires instead of two and that father should be walking around, checking on them, making sure they’re all right.”
Her eyes turn to stare at the nearby knoll and the rock cairns. “Instead of—”
I put my hand over hers and give it a gentle squeeze. “I know,” I whisper. “I know.”
She turns to me, her eyes full of tears. “Does it get any easier, Hooper? Does the pain ever go away?”
Now that my bitterness and hate from my own loss are easing somewhat, in honesty, I believe I can offer her some measure of comfort. “In time, I believe that most of it does, though I admit, it’s still hard.”
Careful in choosing my words, I say, “Golden Wind told me last night that forgiveness is like a flock of sparrows that take wing and as they take flight and soar away, the hurt and pain go with them.
“And someday, the hurtful memories will go from being sharp and painful, to being gentle reminders without the heartache.”
“Do you believe that?”
I’m slow to answer. “I have to; otherwise, my life would be nothing but pain-filled days with just a few moments of peace and that—that is just too awful to think about.”
She gives me a tiny smile in reply. “I hope so, Hooper. I can’t ever forget them, of course, but I don’t want to hurt this way forever, either.”
“You won’t, I promise and so does Golden Wind.”
To take her mind off the ache, I gesture toward the council who are now scattered here and there, eating, but each, it seems, deep in their own thoughts. “We haven’t made much progress on our quandary.”
Cara shakes her head. “I know. We seem to be so disjointed, unable to find common ground.”
She glances to one side. “Even Phigby,” she muses, “who usually has an opinion on everything, just listens instead of adding to the conversation, which is very odd for him.”
“What about you?” I ask. “You haven’t said anything.”
She nibbles a little on her bread, swallows, and turns to me. “Neither have you.”
I chew on a tiny piece of the rock-hard biscuit before I answer with a small sigh. “I'm not sure if it’s because I’m so tired, or what, but when I try to think our problem through I feel as if I’m trying to grab hold of a slimy frog in the creek and the thing just keeps slipping away from me.”
Cara stares at her oversized cake as if she’s thinking before she looks past my shoulder. “I don’t know anything about catching slimy frogs as it sounds pretty icky. But I do know there’s someone that hasn’t been asked about any of this, and we really should. After all, this is about her.”
Cara pauses and her words are so soft that I have to lean in close to hear. “Sometimes, I have this feeling that she sees things in a whole different manner than we do and right now, that may just be what we need.”
I don’t have to turn and look in the direction that she’s gazing to know that she’s talking about Golden Wind. “You’re right,” I whisper. “We need to hear her out and yes, she does see things in a different way. We tend to view things in the moment, in the here and now, whereas she seems to see things that are not just now, but are yet to come.”
Swinging my head in the golden’s direction, I assert, “If there
were ever a time that we need to be able to see in the future, it’s now, because if we stay where we are in the present, it will only be a repeat of what happened yesterday.”
I sigh. “Or worse.”
2
In unspoken agreement, we both rise, stuff our rations inside our tunics, and head for Golden Wind. She may not appreciate our waking her, but this is too important to worry about sleep. Her life and ours may depend on what she can tell us.
To reach the golden, we must pass by Amil and Helmar, whose grumblings sound like the rumble of a distant waterfall. I can’t tell if they’re still angry at each other but both have put their weapons aside and heads together, which is a good sign.
Not that they would ever come to actual blows, sword against ax. Still, with one inadvertent swing of their lethal weapons, some innocent, unlucky, hapless, incautious person standing nearby might be on the receiving end of said inadvertent blow.
Like me.
As we draw near, Helmar glances up and in an instant, his mouth turns down in a disapproving frown that stretches his mouth while his eyes narrow and turn hard as he stares at the two of us.
I give him and Amil a little nod and think that, in the past, Cara and I walking together was not a big thing to Helmar, but now his eyes tell me something else. He’s troubled at the sight, and it’s obvious why. I’m the Gem Guardian, and he’s not. More so, Cara has been keeping my company the last little while and not his.
And to Helmar that combination is not only unacceptable, it’s like a slap in the face. A hard smack and he doesn’t like the feeling.
As we near, he’s making small circles in some pea-sized gravel with an arrow tip while listening to Amil. Now he stabs the arrow in the center ring with such violence that the feathers and bolt quiver when he releases the shaft.
I can’t help but wonder what he was picturing when he thrust the arrow point in anger into the ground. Was it me?
Without taking his eyes off the two of us as we walk by, he growls out of the corner of his mouth to Amil, “I still say that we should return to Draconstead. There is no reason for the Wilders to look for us there, it’s a perfect hiding place.”
