by GARY DARBY
Pausing, she then directs, “You take the dragons to where the trail begins. Keep your flight as low and as swift as possible. The less dragon wings are heard around here, the better. The valley is easy enough to spot. After I climb this, I’ll meet you on the other side.”
Phigby shakes his head at her. “Alonya, I do not think this is wise. These rocks do not look all that stable to me. If they give way, you’ll be caught in the avalanche.”
“Besides,” Amil grins, “whoever heard of a queen climbing rocks.”
“I would have you know, Traveler,” Alonya replies with a straight face, “that I was climbing trees when but a babe in swaddling clothes and no sooner had I learned to walk than I was climbing mountains.”
She gives him a wry smile. “To the very top where I would catch two eagles twice my size. One I would ride back down to Fotina and the other would carry the dozen mountain sheep that I caught barehanded for our supper.”
Amil bows to Alonya. “I beg pardon, my lady. It is apparent that your mountain-climbing skills match your storytelling skills.”
Phigby chortles at both of them. “And I thought that only Amil told tall tales.”
His expression becomes serious and he again shakes his head at Alonya. “I still insist that this is a bad idea, but if your mind is set—”
“It is,” she is swift to reply.
Without waiting for an answer, she paces to the dark, craggy boulders’ base. She pushes her bow and quiver tight across her back, swings her scabbard around so that it won’t clang on the rocks and begins to pull herself up the facing.
After watching her for a few moments, Phigby orders, “To your dragons.”
While the others stride to their dragons, I hobble back to Golden Wind. “We’re going to sky over this,” I whisper, “and meet Alonya on the other side.”
The golden doesn’t answer as I clamber up to her neck saddle. “I’m ready, sky Golden Wind.”
She doesn’t move as the others take flight. I glance to my left and right, but her wings remain tucked.
“Uh, I’m ready to go. Didn’t you hear me? I said we’re going to sky over this rock dam and meet Alonya at the trailhead.”
Golden Wind still doesn’t move. I look down at Scamper, and he looks up at me and flicks his head several times as if to say, I don’t know what’s wrong, ask her.
“I will,” I reply.
Leaning over, I ask, “Golden Wind, is something the matter? The others are already in the air, and we’re just sitting here.”
“Alonya should not be climbing that,” she states.
“I know. Phigby tried to talk her out of it, but her mind was made up.”
Scratching my head, I go on, “I don’t think royalty are used to anyone challenging their decisions.”
Glancing up, I can see that Alonya, in a steady climb, is almost a third up the slanted and uneven barrier. “Look,” I point out, “she’s moving up that wall as if she’s part spider crossing a web. At this rate, she’ll beat us to the meeting point.”
Just then, there is a rumbling, growling sound, deep underneath us. It grows louder and louder, as if there was a herd of dragons beneath the ground and stampeding toward the surface. I squirm in the saddle trying to see where the sound is coming from.
The ground begins to shake and roll beneath the golden’s feet, and she sways from side to side attempting to keep her balance. She digs her talons into the dirt, but the sandy soil’s shaking is so violent that it almost knocks her off her feet.
The four sprites wing away in wild flight. Scamper starts yowling while the sprogs’ screep is loud and frantic. At the same time the golden calls, “Hang on, Hooper!”
She gathers herself and then launches us straight up into the air. Her furious wingbeats sends us shooting upward. As we rise, I whip my head around to try and spot Alonya.
The giantess is spread-eagled, her fingers dug into the cracks between the boulders, trying to hang on while the stones shake and rattle. Huge rocks are beginning to tumble and fall all around her.
“Oh no, no, no!” I shout. “The wall is collapsing on Alonya!”
Just then, whether she jumped or lost her grip, I don’t know, but Alonya falls. She slams into the ground, rolls several times and then springs to her feet.
And not a moment too soon.
The rock dam begins to give way.
Alonya takes one look and spins away in a wild dash down the valley. A moment later, a massive wall of water bursts outward, flinging enormous boulders in every direction as if they were mere pebbles.
Alonya’s legs and arms pump, pushing her down the gorge, but not even her huge strides can outdistance the enormous, roiling flood that bears down on her.
The giant maiden is in a race for her life and losing.
5
Filling the gorge, the deep, pounding rumble is as if the mountains were toppling over in a thunderous avalanche. Only it’s not a landslide of rocks, but a dark, angry boiling flood laced with boulders that bounce and bound in the roaring tide that rushes toward Alonya.
But she has no chance to outrun the churning waters or to find a way to climb above the torrent. The Golian queen is fighting for her life but death nears her with each passing moment and there’s nothing I can do to help her.
Of a sudden, Golden Wind dips her wings, and we dive toward the giant maiden. I hunker down as we gain speed. The wind whips at my face and tunic but I ignore the snapping and popping of cloth as my eyes center on Alonya and her desperate sprint.
For a moment, my hand clutches the dragon-jewels in my tunic pocket, but in the same instant I know that, this time, they’re useless. There’s no greenery for the emerald to work on, nor am I sure of how the sapphire’s magical qualities could work here.
We race against the roaring deluge until we’re ahead of it, and Alonya is just to our front. Then, the golden flattens her wings and I can feel her stretch out her back talons toward Alonya.
My eyes widen in sudden understanding. Golden Wind is going to try and lift the giant maiden above the flood tide.
“She’s too heavy!” I yelp. “You’ll never get her off the ground.”
The golden doesn’t answer. Instead, she pushes her talons out further and then as if she were an eagle snatching a fish out of a lake, her back claws reach out and clamp around Alonya’s big shoulders and arms.
For an instant, Alonya’s feet rise off the ground, but only for a moment, before we both drop down.
The golden beats her wings, faster, harder, trying to raise the Golian giant up and away from the oncoming wall of water. But, it’s no use, she can’t lift Alonya.
“Let me go!” Alonya yells as she kicks and twists her body. “Or you’ll drown, too!”
Golden Wind dips her head and begins flying forward as if she would pull Alonya away from the roaring flood.
Alonya’s legs churn and her sandals spit up sand and pebbles with each giant stride as she tries to match the golden’s speed.
I glance back over my shoulder at the raging torrent. My eyes grow as wide as a Golian melon and my heart almost stops.
The wall of water is swirling upward, reshaping itself into a massive water serpent with a dozen grotesque snakeheads. Mouthfuls of wicked fangs snap as they lunge and curl toward us.
And then, riding the wall of water is a dark, ghostlike apparition.
Vay.
From inside her ebony shroud, her cold, hard face appears with eyes the color of glowing red coals. She raises her gnarled hands over her head and plunges them down.
Each giant snakehead responds by doubling its effort to sink its fangs into us.
Scamper turns and bares his teeth at Vay and lets out a throaty growl. Vay answers Scamper’s challenge with a sinister laugh that chills me as if someone had placed a handful of ice against my heart.
Again, and again she raises her arms, stabbing them downward as if she had a knife in each hand and was plunging them into some unseen enemy.
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nbsp; Over and over, the wicked fangs thrust themselves at us, missing only by a hand’s width each time. The flood’s roar turns into the hiss of giant snakes that fills the valley from mountainside to mountainside.
The enchanted water serpents grow closer, and I can feel the golden slowing, tiring from her effort to carry the giant maiden. No matter how hard the golden tries, it’s beyond her ability to lift Alonya.
Nor will she let go.
With eyes wide in desperation, I peer up at Vay, who rides the wave’s crest and leers down at us. She raises her arms high, and each horrid head of her bewitched serpent rears back for one final lethal lunge.
This time, they will not miss.
Beneath me, I can feel the golden’s muscles tense, as if she were going to try one last time to lift Alonya with every bit of strength that she has left. The golden thrusts her wings down—and we begin to lift and move away from the water demon.
Faster we rise and I hear a wail that turns into a screech of rage behind me. Astonished, I turn and stare at the fury on Vay’s face.
She lashes out, and her mythical serpent spews outward in a geyser of water, in one last desperate attempt to destroy us, but it’s too late.
We’re out of its reach and the demon ruptures into a giant shower of harmless, dirty, muddy beads that fountain up and outward before splashing to the ground.
I lean over and glance down. Alonya is peering up at me with a broad, amazed smile.
The sprite dragons are pulling on her arms, their little wings beating as fast as a hummingbird’s. Together with Golden Wind, their efforts are just enough that they can carry Alonya away from Vay’s menace.
The golden turns and as she does, I can see the flood subsiding, and Vay is gone. The golden’s breathing turns hard and raspy and I can feel her laboring beneath me. Even with the sprites’ help, she’s just managing to keep Alonya aloft.
I lean over and call out, “You can’t keep this up; you’ve got to set her down.”
In answer, the golden dips her wings and begins gliding toward a spot of dry ground off to one side against the hill. There, she cups and beats her wings fast and hard to lower Alonya to the ground.
The sprites release their grip on the giant and flitter away. When Alonya is less than a sword’s length off the ground, the golden lets her go. Alonya lands on her feet, staggers for a moment before she recovers and stands.
The golden sails off to one side and lands with a hard thump as if she’s exhausted. I all but fall off her in my haste to get down.
Alonya I know is fine, it’s the golden I’m worried about. I scramble around to face her and find that her breathing is labored and hard. Anxious, I ask, “Are you all right?”
She nods, and her answer is but a whisper. “I will be.”
Her whole body heaves as she struggles to take in several deeper breaths. I hear dragon wings overhead, but I don’t look up as I know it’s the sapphires.
Being the fastest, Wind Song is on the ground first. Cara hurries to my side. “What happened?” she asks.
In a rush of words, I recount our encounter with Vay and her mystical water serpent. I put a hand on Golden Wind’s muzzle. “If she and the sprites hadn’t lifted us out of there, it would have been a watery coffin for all of us.”
I hear fluttering noises and turn to see the sprites land on several nearby boulders. I give them a broad smile. “Thank you. You’re turning out to be quite handy to have around.”
Cara turns a concerned face to the golden. “Golden Wind, are you going to be all right? What about your sprog?”
The golden’s breathing has slowed but she still takes in deep breaths. “I’ll be fine, and so will my sprog. Just give me a few moments to catch my breath.”
She draws her lips back over her sharp fangs in a tiny smile. “As you would say, Hooper, that was quite a load.”
Alonya, Helmar, Phigby, and Amil join us. The Golian queen lays her large hand on my shoulder. “I again owe you my life, Hooper.”
“Not me,” I’m quick to deny. “It was Golden Wind and the four sprites. They did it all.”
Alonya bows her head to the golden and the little dragons. “Then I thank all of you. Alonya, Queen of Golian, shall not forget.”
She gives us a broad smile. “As well as Alonya, friend, and member of this company.”
From the edge of the flat space, Amil surveys the rock dam’s washed-away remains. “It would seem,” he growls, “that someone may know of our intent to take a southward path.”
“So it would seem,” Phigby answers in a sober tone. “Still, it is my thought that turning away from our course would only play into her hands.”
“I agree,” Helmar replies. “But I would suggest that from here on, we treat everything with suspicion, even the most innocent of appearances may hold a nasty surprise.”
He pauses to warn, “And that includes anyone that we might encounter on our way.”
I hear the sternness in Helmar’s tone and can’t help but agree with him. I would trust any of my comrades with my life. But outside of our little band?
From the highest king to the lowest peasant, in honesty, there are no others that I can say I would trust.
With a curt nod to Helmar, Alonya swings her bow off her shoulder and paces away to survey the valley which is slow to drain from the flood’s wrath.
“If,” she begins, “I stay to this side, which seems shallower, I should be able to wade through that and meet you at the trailhead.”
“The sapphires,” Phigby orders, “will stay here and watch until you round the bend. Hooper, when the golden can sky, take her to the trailhead. It’s easy to spot, there are two large boulders on each side of an open space.”
With that, Alonya sloshes through the water, which rises past mid-thigh and has turned sluggish as the last of the dammed-up water pours through the dam break.
After a bit, Golden Wind nudges me with her muzzle telling me she’s ready. A few moments later, we pass over Alonya who’s trudging through the lowering water with a firm step.
She gives us a little wave and I wave back. Golden Wind rounds the bend and I spot the two boulders. “That flat space,” I point and say to the golden, “land next to the two boulders.”
Golden Wind cups her wings and we settle to the ground. Except for the soft wind that rattles the yellow tree leaves and shakes the scrawny lime-colored bushes on the hillside, there is little sound.
Scamper bounds off Golden Wind and begins sticking his nose in and around the clusters of bushes, as usual, trying to find a mouthful of food.
As Golden Wind settles on all fours, I stroke her neck. “That was amazing what you did back there. Are you sure that you and your sprog are all right?”
“Yes, Hooper,” she returns, “I assure you, we’re fine. If we weren’t, I’d tell you.”
A sudden dark thought crosses my mind. “How did Vay know? Can she see everything we do, hear everything? Even our thoughts, maybe?”
Golden Wind chuckles. “Ease your mind, Hooper. No, she cannot and will never have the ability to see or know everything. But it appears that soon after the battle ceased and the Wilders withdrew, she knew what had happened at Dronopolis. When you think about it, there were really only two possibilities open to us. We either stayed or we left.”
“So . . .” I muse, “she assumed that we would leave Golian?”
“Yes,” Golden Wind answers and swings her head to peer at me. “She knows, Hooper that, like her own quest, there is still much to do and that which we must accomplish would never happen if we were to hide within Golian’s strongholds.”
She pauses, then goes on to say, “She also knows—”
“That,” I finish for her, “there are only so many ways to get through the mountains and back into the lowlands.”
“Go on,” the golden encourages.
“And by knowing that,” I ponder aloud, “it would be like setting snares on the most-used game trails, she’s set traps on the mo
st likely paths that we might take.”
“Yes,” Golden Wind answers. “Vay is like a skilled huntress and will use what is at hand to capture the prize, and it will not always be by magic. By using the natural resources of Erdron, the wind, sky, rock, water and so on, she doesn’t drain her power.”
She sighs long before answering. “Hooper, Vay is not all powerful or all seeing. For now, her powers are limited and she can use only so much at a time. If she expends a great deal in one place, then she cannot accomplish what she wishes in another spot. Magic is powerful but it has its limits. Whereas courage, persistence, loyalty, and faithfulness—they know no such bounds.”
Just then, I hear Alonya’s heavy, plodding footsteps and turn. She’s coming up the slight incline with the sapphires just winging around the bend.
Alonya’s smudged pleated skirt has long since lost its white coloring and now shows a dark stain from her waist downward from the dirty water. But other than that, she shows no outward signs of her close encounter with death.
Soon after, the sapphires land and while the others survey the valley’s mouth where the Two-Fork trail begins, Cara comes up and her voice is soft. “Golden Wind, can you go on? What about your sprog?”
“We’re both well,” the golden whispers, “and yes, I’ve regained my strength.”
She chuckles. “And from the way my sprog is moving about, I’d say she’s trying to sky in my insides.”
Cara and I glance up as the trail begins a steep ascent. I put my head close to the golden and ask, “Are you sure you can make this climb?”
“I’m sure, Hooper,” she answers. “I was just a little winded. As you would say, I was carrying quite a load there for a while. But I’m much better now.”
“Well,” I answer, “maybe so. But just to be on the safe side, I’m going to walk for a bit.”
“That’s not necessary, Hooper,” she answers.
She lowers her head until our eyes are level. “Besides, you’re a ‘load’ that I’ll always be able to carry.”
