by GARY DARBY
“An apt description,” Amil snorts, as several heads turn, giving me the knowing eye.
Turning back to Alonya, Cara states, “You make it sound as if they know we’re here.”
“They didn’t set their ambush for mountain goats, Cara,” Alonya replies.
“Can we fight our way through?” Helmar asks.
Alonya shakes her head. “Unless you are prepared to use your dragon fire, I’m afraid there are too few of us and too many of them.”
Cara turns and questions in a hopeful tone, “Phigby?”
He shakes his head at her, holding his bag close to his chest. “What I could work against those vermin would light up the sky, and I’m afraid that, tall though they may be, the mountains may not shield all the effects.”
“Meaning,” Amil rumbles, “that any Wilder eyes that just happen to be looking this way would know that something is amiss and after we dispatched our waiting friends we would be facing a cohort of scarlet wings.”
“I’m afraid so,” Phigby agrees.
“So,” Cara laments, “we either fight our way through and light up the sky with dragon fire and Phigby’s light tricks, or . . . what?”
“There may be another way,” Alonya claims. “You could fly your dragons down the valley, high enough that even if that slime muck has arrows they cannot reach you.”
She turns and points to the far side bluffs. “In the meantime, I’ll scale those cliffs and once on top, use them to mask my movement as I make my way down the vale.”
Phigby snorts loud. “Alonya, with the deepest respect for your abilities, did you get a really good look at that rock facing before darkness closed in? In some places, they’re all but crystal sheer with nary a break for foot- or handholds.
“Maybe the sure-footed hooves of a mountain goat could traverse those bluffs, but I hardly think you qualify as a mountain goat or a fly for that matter.”
I see Alonya’s face start to cloud up in anger, and I put a hand on her forearm. “I think it would be well if you remembered Fotina’s lesson on pride, don’t you?”
Nodding toward the looming cliffs, I give her a crooked smile. “In this case, pride would definitely come before the fall.”
She peers at me for a moment with pinched lips before her face softens. “Methinks I should never have told you that story.”
I smile wider. “Methinks I’m glad you did for it’s a lesson that we all should heed from time to time.”
She turns to Phigby. “All right, Professor Phineas Phigby, I shall accept your powers of observation and admit that I’m no Golian fly or mountain goat, for that matter.”
Phigby bows his head a bit. “Thank you, m’lady, you have relieved an old man’s heart.”
“Well,” Amil grumbles, “my heart’s not so relieved. What do we do? Wait them out?”
“No, Traveler,” Alonya replies, “we do not. Either we go to them, or they will come to us and before dawn is my guess.”
Sometimes, I have no idea where the words come from. I’m halfway through my speech before I realize it’s even me speaking. “Alonya, you said we would turn eastward at some point. How much farther is that?”
“Not far,” she answers, “a league or so. In fact, the ugly ones wait for us just before the easterly valley that we seek.”
“So,” I ponder, “we need to get them to move from where they are, in fact, we need for them to go farther down the valley so that we can slip by unseen and turn east.”
“What do you propose, Hooper?” Amil quips. “That one of us take a dragon, sky to the valley’s end and dance a jig while singing, ‘red rover, red rover, let the trolls and ogres come over’?”
He grunts, “They’d be tripping over each other in their haste to plant a spear into whoever’s doing that jig.”
“Well,” I answer, “I can’t dance so I doubt if I’ll be doing a jig, but your rhyme certainly sounds like it’d turn their attention long enough for all of you to sneak by.”
Cara gasps. “Hooper, you can’t be serious.”
As calm as I can, and without betraying the thumping of my heart, or the fear in my voice, I answer, “Yes Cara, I’m serious—or, in this case, deadly serious.”
15
Before anyone can respond, I argue, “Think about it, the trolls came after us once before, and you said it Phigby, it had to be at Vay’s hand. Do you believe that this is any different?”
I peer at Phigby, and he answers by shaking his head, ever so slightly.
Sweeping a hand toward Golden Wind, I ask, “So, what would really catch the trolls’ and ogres’ interest and have them abandon their ambush?”
Helmar breathes out, “A golden dragon skying over their heads, of course.”
“No, Hooper,” Cara returns in a curt tone.
I don’t even have to look at her, I can sense the scowl on her face as she declares, “Not one dragon—three. Helmar and I will sky with you, and while those wartheads are chasing us, the company’s remainder can make their escape through the easterly valley. You can’t take on a horde of trolls and ogres by yourself.”
She shrugs while saying, “We three will lead the uglies on a merry chase and when we have them far enough down the valley, we’ll turn, sky back and catch up with everyone else.”
“No Cara,” I rejoin. “That’s not a good plan.”
“And why not?” Her voice rises, and I can feel the defiance in her tone.
“Because,” I answer, “if I’m wrong, and only a few of the trolls and ogres chase me, then you’ll need the sapphires to hold the rest of those uglies off while the company makes their escape.”
Cara opens her mouth but before she can speak, Phigby’s hand is on her shoulder, stopping her. “He’s right, Cara. We can’t assume that the whole band will pursue the golden. Besides, they may have a leader who will see right through Hooper’s ploy.”
Cara turns back to me, eyes me for a moment and then stomps her foot. “But Hooper—”
“Cara,” I reply, “Golden Wind is faster than any sapphire, you know that. We’ll stay just ahead of them, never letting them get close enough to do any harm. Why, I’ll even stand on the golden’s head and do a little jig, taunting them, just for Amil’s sake.”
Amil chuckles while Cara glares at me but I don’t drop my eyes to her. Instead, I assert, “We won’t get caught.”
Helmar observes, “Timing will be everything, we can’t make a run for the valley too soon, or they’ll see us. Nor do we want to wait too long as some may give up the chase and return to their waiting.”
He has a good point, so I turn to Alonya, who’s had all of one day of commanding troops in battle, but still, that’s one more day than the rest of us. “The moons,” she replies to my questioning expression.
“They’ll be our sign as to when to make our break. Hooper, you wait here, the rest of us will head down the valley and hide. When Osa clears the ridge, and is in full glow, that’s when you’ll fly down the valley.”
“They can’t help but see the golden in the moonlight,” Phigby notes. “She’ll be as bright as Osa. They certainly won’t have a hard time following your flight.”
“We’ll wait until we’re sure you’re well down the valley,” Alonya goes on, “and then make our run for it.”
Pressing her lips tight, she adds, “We’ll know soon enough if your plan worked and their eyes are on you and not us.”
“And if it doesn’t work . . .” Amil’s voice trails off, not saying what we’re all thinking—an all-out battle with the trolls, ogres, and very possibly, Wilders too.
“You’d better get going, then,” I suggest, “moonrise is not far off.”
Turning, I call, “Dazzle, Ember, Shine, Twinkle.”
The four sprites come fluttering up to hover in front of me, and I point over to Cara’s dragon. “You’re to ride Wind Song for now.”
Four pair of little dragon eyes stare at me for a moment, as if deciding to do what I ask before, spinning in the air,
they speed off and settle on the sapphire’s back.
Watching them, Amil observes, “I guess one dragon’s back is as good as another.”
“I’ll keep the sprogs,” I state. “It would be just your luck if you had them and they wake up and start making noises.”
“Give us away in no time,” Amil returns. He claps me on the shoulder. “Never mind about that jig, just keep your head low.”
“And your eyes open,” Alonya cautions.
Helmar makes for his dragon while Alonya and Amil slip away in the darkness. “Don’t try and be a hero, Hooper,” Phigby warns, “just do what’s necessary and then get out of there as swiftly as the golden can take you.”
“Me? A hero?” I sputter. “Remember who you’re talking to, Phigby.”
Gruff, he answers, “I know exactly whom I’m talking to,” and heads for Wind Song, leaving me with Cara.
“I don’t like this one bit, Hooper,” she grouses at me. “You and the golden shouldn’t be taking on those trolls and ogres by yourselves.”
“What? You think I like this even a little?” I retort. “Besides, we won’t be alone, we’ll have Scamper and the sprogs.”
She crinkles her nose. “A lot of good they’ll do in a fight, Hooper.”
“Maybe not,” I admit, “but we don’t have much choice, so get on your dragon and get going or you’ll be left behind.”
“Wind Song knows better, she won’t leave without me.”
Her lips take on a pout. “You’re stubborn, you know.”
“Takes one to know one.”
“Aarrghh,” she growls at me, sounding remarkably like Scamper before she stomps her foot and walks over to Golden Wind.
“Take care of him,” she whispers, “I think being the Gem Guardian has gone to his head, and he’s becoming foolhardy.”
“I will, Cara,” the golden whispers back.
With that, Cara turns on her heel and darts over to Wind Song. Moments later, the darkness swallows my companions as they slip down the trail, and I’m left alone.
I walk over and place my hand on the golden’s neck. At my touch, she questions, “Are you sure you want to do this, Hooper?”
“Oh, absolutely,” I quip. “I’ve just been waiting for the chance to be chased by a bloodthirsty mob of trolls and ogres. After almost getting skull-bashed by just one ogre and almost eaten by just one troll I want to see what’s it like to take on a whole gang of the brutes.”
“You sound a bit anxious.”
“Anxious? Not at all. I’m only somewhere between being totally terrified and a tad terrified.”
“You could use the gems, you know.”
“Only as a last resort, and you know why.”
“Yes,” she answers, “I know why.”
We wait, not speaking, with the only sound disturbing the stillness being Scamper’s furious digging at the base of a nearby boulder.
“If you find a leg of roasted mutton under that rock,” I mutter to him, “you’d better share. I’m tired of a sore jaw from eating Golian bricks.”
Just then the space around us grows a bit lighter, and I turn to peer at the mountain ridge behind us. “Osa’s rising.” I call out, softly. “Scamper, if you’re intending to bury that boulder, you better hurry up, it’s almost time to go.”
In answer, he doubles his efforts, spraying pebbles and dirt behind him. Osa is close to full orb when I call out, “That’s it, Scamp, we’re leaving.”
Flashing out from behind the pile of boulders, Scamper shoots up the golden’s leg. As he darts past me, I give him a crooked little smile. “No mutton, huh? Too bad.”
Settling myself in the golden’s neck saddle, I check the leather straps on the sprogs’ saddlebags to make sure they’re secure and tight.
I glance over my shoulder, Osa has but a tiny sliver to go before full moon. “She seems unusually bright tonight,” I murmur to Golden Wind, “or is it just my imagination?”
The golden turns her head to stare upward, and Osa’s silvery moonlight causes a luminance to surround us as if we were caught in a wispy silver cloud.
Golden Wind smiles as she gazes heavenward. “Oh, I’d say the moons will be just, what did you call it, a ‘tad’ brighter.”
“Wonderful,” I groan. “Just what we need, to be more easily seen.”
“That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? To be seen by the trolls and ogres.”
“Sure,” I grumble, “but I wasn’t exactly asking for broad daylight you know.”
I glance over my shoulder, again. “Full moon,” I sigh. “Time to go. Sky, Golden Wind.”
She unfurls her wings, crouches, and then bounds into the air. Moments later, we’re gliding down the valley, the golden only having to beat her wings a few times to gain speed and height.
We sail along and every so often, I peer over the golden’s side, trying to spot the company, but to no avail. “Alonya must really have them hidden well,” I admit, “I can’t even see the sapphires.”
“We passed over them,” the golden calls back, “they’re behind us now.”
I let out a breath. “Which means the trolls and ogres are just ahead.”
Pulling Scamper away from the golden’s skull sheath, I shove him under her carapace. “Stay there,” I order. “I don’t want you to find out the hard way that you can’t fly after all.”
He gets the message and digs in his paws. Just then, Golden Wind calls out, “It’s time, Hooper, the first line of trolls is coming up.”
With that, she slows and goes into a long glide, her wings rustling in the air.
I look down and swallow. “We’re awfully close to the ground, don’t you think?”
“Remember,” she answers, “we want them to believe that we’re landing so that they’ll come after us.”
“Right. Landing. Trolls and ogres chasing the skying gold nugget and her crazy rider. How’d I forget?”
We whoosh past boulders and rocky outcroppings, still gliding on the still air. I glance over the side and frown. “I don’t see them. Are you sure they’re down there?”
She answers very slowly. “Oh yes, they’re down there, but for some reason, they haven’t moved.”
“Uh, oh. That’s not good. We need to turn around and warn the others before they walk into that trap.”
Golden Wind doesn’t answer, she seems to be peering ahead at something. “What are you—” I start before she rears up in midair.
From below, out of the darkness, comes a whirling, spinning rope with what looks like three metal balls twirling on the end. They glint dully in the moonlight, and it takes me a moment to fully realize what’s speeding right at us.
Dragon catcher!
“Look out!” I shout, but it’s too late.
The swirling balls and rope wrap themselves tight around one of Golden Wind’s front talons. The line goes taut, and the golden comes to a dead halt in the sky as if she smacked head-on into a cliff wall.
I hear loud gibbering and bellowing from below and then a metallic clanking with Golden Wind being jerked downward, sharp and hard.
She beats her wings, fighting the snare but the dragon catcher machine is more than a match for her, and it’s reeling her in like a fish caught on a hook and twine.
“Can’t . . . pull . . . loose . . .” she huffs, straining to get each word out.
Jeering laughter and bellowing howls cause me to lean over and look down. Dozens of jeering, leering trolls and ogres are dancing around, jabbing their spears and maces up at the golden.
Their slobbering, guttural din grows louder as more and more of the brutes join in the celebration, hopping from one foot to another in a crazed frenzy at the sight of the golden.
“Well, Amil,” I growl, peering down at the dancing brutes, “looks like you got your jig, only it’s not me doing it.”
Relentless and slow, the dragon catcher is pulling Golden Wind down toward the howling mob. She can’t break free from the thick rope, and we’re running ou
t of time.
There’s only one thing I can think of doing.
“Golden Wind,” I shout, “pull to one side with everything you’ve got! Don’t let it pull you straight down!”
She tips to one side and flaps her great wings, stretching the cord at a slant to the ground.
Leaning over, I look down. The line is just below, whipping back and forth in the titanic tug o’ war between Golden Wind and the trolls who are wrenching her closer and closer to the crazed, howling mob.
Drawing Galondraig, I look down one more time at the raging troll pack. “Next time, Hooper, keep your mouth shut.”
I throw myself over the side.
“Throw” myself doesn’t exactly describe what I did; it was more like I flopped over the side. Nevertheless, I’m falling straight down, right over the line. I hold Galondraig up and with every bit of strength I have, slash down.
My sword slices through the air and cleanly cuts the rope. It snaps like a whip and flays back and forth like a snake with its head cut off as it plummets toward the ground.
I’m right behind it, my arms and legs flopping around as if I’m trying to swim in the air.
I get one glance at the golden and know for a certainty that unlike my plummet from Aster’s giant dragon, Golden Wind won’t be able to save me this time.
When the rope split, her straining against it sent her soaring upward, and now she’s too far away to pluck me out of the air before I hit the ground.
I’m doomed, but at least Golden Wind is free.
I hear the rushing of dragon wings, but they don’t belong to Golden Wind and my terror is replaced by despair.
Wilders! They’ve found us and now they’re going to capture Golden Wind.
It won’t matter that I’ll be dead when they do, what matters is that all our hopes and dreams will die, too.
Then, just for an instant, a blue blur crosses just below me and then I’m sliding and bouncing along sapphire scales.
The jolt of hitting the sapphire’s tail spikes knocks the wind out of me, and when I look up, the stars are dancing in the sky.
“Everyone’s doing a jig,” I mumble as my head lolls back.
