The Legend of Hooper's Dragons Box Set

by GARY DARBY

  Amil grunts. “And afterward, I could never face my fellow Travelers. Abandon my comrades? Turn deserter? Nay, professor, I would rather break my pledge to myself than have others associate my name with the word coward.”

  “Good,” Phigby approves. “Besides, I would miss your snoring at night, it drowns out the other night sounds that tend to keep me awake.”

  While we let the dragons get a last drink and discuss the next part of our trek, Scamper, of course, is happy to try his paw at fishing. He doesn’t catch any fish, but he does manage to snag several mudbugs.

  He darts past the sprogs, who give chase, but he shoots up to the golden’s head while all they can do is squat on their haunches and watch.

  Much to the sprogs’ chagrin, he finishes the bugs off in front of them, crunching through the hard shell to get at the meat before he licks the last few fleshy crumbs off his paws. With that, I watch with a little smile as he makes himself comfortable for a little nap.

  I turn back to the discussion which has Helmar asking, “Do we chance hunting in the forest? What’s left of Phigby’s beans will carry us another day, but the dragons need more than just grass and leaves to eat.”

  “At dusk, perhaps,” Alonya answers. “In the meantime, while we march, you and Cara have an arrow notched in case I spot game for the taking.”

  With that, we load up the sprogs and begin our march alongside the river. Alonya is forced to slow our pace for the bushes and trees are clumped tightly together and she has a harder time finding open spaces.

  We haven’t gone far when I lean over and ask, “Golden Wind, do you think that Phigby is right? About being spied upon, I mean. Are we being watched even now?”

  When she replies, her answer is comforting and disheartening at the same time. “There will be many,” she begins, “who will join with Vay because they are of like mind and spirit. She will use those who come to her in various aspects, one of which is to spy, not only on us but on rulers and realms, both those that are near and far.”

  After a pause, she continues, “As her power grows, she will use her ability to enslave beasts of the land, fowls of the air, and fishes of the sea to do her bidding as well.”

  She must have sensed my uneasiness at her words, for she goes on to say, “Fortunately, there will be those, who, like us, oppose her wicked ways and schemes. Some will readily come forth to do battle with the evil one, whereas others will bide their time and wait for their moment to enter the fray.

  “Do not be disheartened, Hooper, for we are not entirely alone though we must not let our guard down for a single moment.”

  She glances upward and asks, “Above us, what do you see?”

  I peer skyward and see a small, gray-white dot, high in the air. I watch its slow wheels in the sky for a few moments.

  “It looks like either a hawk or a falcon,” I reply. “But it’s much too high for me to make out its markings. But it’s definitely not a buzzard or a Wilder.”

  She chuckles. “No, it is neither of those. It is indeed a hawk, an Akos Hawk. But from this distance, can you tell if it is our friend or foe?”

  I peer upward at the hawk. “I would think that to the field mice and rabbits it hunts, it’s definitely a foe, but to us, I have no idea.”

  “Exactly,” the golden answers, “and neither does Vay. She is not all-powerful, Hooper, she has limitations. She does not see or hear everything. Just as you cannot tell about our high-flying companion, neither can she.”

  She pauses and then adds, “Among other things.”

  “But,” I counter, “I thought that her power was growing. You know, the three bright moons growing dimmer while Vay’s moon becomes brighter.”

  She stays silent for some time before she answers, “Yes, her power is growing.”

  Then, in a quiet, but firm voice, she pronounces, “But so is ours, Hooper—so is ours.”

  The day wears on until the shadows start to lengthen, the trees’ tips stretching out on the ground like large arrowheads.

  Evening is upon us when Helmar demands that we stop so that he, at least, can hunt in the nearby woods for fresh game for the hungry dragons.

  We pass through a small glen where several trees have blown over onto other upright trees, forming a makeshift lean-to that’s wide enough for us to use as a sleep shelter.

  It’s soon decided that Amil and Helmar will form one hunting party while Cara and Alonya will form a second.

  That they don’t include me with the hunters is not surprising. I move through the forest about as quietly as a woodcutter chopping down a standing tree.

  After the four march off, Phigby helps me get the sprogs down to the ground. As we do, I huff, “Phigby, is it just me or are these sprogs getting heavier?”

  He grunts as he lowers Regal. “It’s not you, Hooper, they’ve indeed grown.”

  Setting Regal down, he eyes the purple in an odd way. “In fact, this fellow is really getting stout. Much faster than the others.”

  “Probably because he eats more than his fair share,” I reply. “He’s as bad as Scamper. In fact, if he weren’t a dragon, I suspect he’d go straight to being an Anarsi based just on his appetite.”

  “Maybe so,” Phigby chortles.

  Reaching down, he runs a hand over the sprog’s leathery wings. “Their wings are firming up. I dare say, it won’t be long before Helmar is going to need to start their training, or they might decide to fly off on their own.”

  Regal is nipping at Wind Glow and the red is having nothing of it and is scratching back. I have to separate the two squabbling sprogs and as I do, I sputter, “Well, if they fly off, it’s because they want to get away from His Highness here who seems to want to lord it over them.”

  “He does appear to be the dominant one,” Phigby observes. “Which is a bit odd as it’s usually crimson dragons who are more aggressive.”

  I watch as the four sprogs go waddling off behind Scamper in search of whatever they can find to eat. Watching them, I scratch my head in puzzlement. “You know, Phigby, now that you mention it, Regal has gotten a lot bigger. He’s actually a bit larger than the red, now.”

  Phigby tugs at his beard, his eyes narrowed as if he’s deep in thought about something or other. “Most unusual to see a purple grow larger than a scarlet, but I do believe you’re right.”

  While Phigby watches over the sprogs, I lead the other dragons back down to the nearby river to drink, and to fill the water flasks.

  As I go, Phigby calls out, “Don’t stay by the river too long, Hooper, and if you can, find a way to keep the dragons hidden, especially the golden.”

  I wave to him that I understand and a short time later, I’m easing out of the tree thickets, peering up and down the river, trying to spot anything that might be spying on us.

  Everything seems normal, so I let the dragons pass so that they can drink. In moments, they’re slurping with gusto and gulping long, deep drafts of water.

  I look around one more time and seeing nothing, bend down with the water flasks and begin filling each one. The sprites are next to me at the water’s edge and I smile as I watch them drink.

  Unlike the two sapphires and the golden, who plunge their muzzles into the river and take in a barrelful of water at a time, the sprites are quite dainty, their tongues flashing in and out, quiet as they lap at the water.

  Turning my eyes away from the little dragons, I gaze at the turquoise-tinted water. This stretch of the river is calm and peaceful. Only an occasional swirl roils the surface and the resulting eddy causes the water to change shades from turquoise to a light green, and then to a blue hue and then back.

  As I watch the water, I notice that no two eddies are alike and none ever appears in the same place. I wonder why that is and then I make a game of it, trying to predict where on the surface the next swirl will appear.

  I never guess right, of course, but for the moment, the little guessing game takes my mind off last night’s events and other unpleasant things
of recent occurrence.

  The dragons have long since had their fill of drinking and munch on some watercress when, with a start, I realize that I’ve let them stay out in the open way too long.

  I jump to my feet and as I do, I hear a fluttering noise in the air. Jerking my head up, I see a black crawven bird hovering above us.

  Black, cold eyes fix themselves on the dragons, particularly the golden. My heart thumps in my chest as I realize that the bird is not just curious. Somehow, I know that this is one of Vay’s creatures, come to seek us out and report back to her.

  Spinning around, I start pushing at the dragons, “Go!” I shout. “Get away from the water!”

  To the golden, I point and gasp, “One of Vay’s spies.”

  The dragons whirl away from the riverbank and crash through the underbrush. I hobble behind them, pushing myself as hard as I can to keep up, but it’s no use.

  They outdistance me as they lumber back to camp. Only the sprites stay with me, fluttering alongside, darting in and out of the protruding tree branches.

  I stumble into camp to find Phigby soothing the dragons with calming words and gestures. He whirls to me and demands, “What’s wrong?”

  Gulping down a breath, I point and gasp, “By the river . . . A crawven. It . . . It was watching us. I’m sure it’s one of Vay’s.”

  He pushes his face close to mine. “Are you sure?”

  My nods are emphatic as I take in another deep breath. “It was just hovering there, watching us. I didn’t see it in time and its eyes never left the golden.”

  Phigby straightens and runs a hand over his face. “They’ve found us,” he states. “And without us even making it as far as the Lorell.”

  He paces with his hands behind his back staring at the ground. “When the others get back, we’ll have to discuss finding another way southward, for it will be apparent to Vay that we’re following the Wolven Floden.”

  I shake my head, my voice full of despair. “It’s my fault, I got distracted, I—”

  Just then, a dark, feathery body falls from the sky and lands between Phigby and me with a muffled thump. I jerk back in surprise and then my eyes grow wide in amazement.

  Lying dead on the ground is the crawven, its neck broken, its eyes sightless and cold.

  Phigby walks over and peers at the dead bird before we both glance skyward through a narrow gap in the overhanging limbs. Gray-white wings beat overhead while pale blue eyes stare at us just for a moment before the Akos Hawk darts away.

  Phigby glances at me with raised eyebrows and a sober look. He tugs at the end of his beard for a moment. “It appears that we won’t be needing that conversation, after all.”

  He eyes the sky while musing, “I think we may have a little rain tonight. I better see if I can’t reinforce our makeshift lean-to to keep the water out.”

  Turning away, he picks up a small fallen tree trunk and drags it over to place over our shelter.

  Glancing once more at the dead bird, I gaze skyward at where the hawk disappeared and sidle next to the golden. “Friend,” I whisper.

  She gives me a little nod. “Yes, and, as I said, we are not alone. And we were lucky this time.”

  Raising her head, her eyes sweep across the forest. “Next time we may not be so fortunate and a moment of daydreaming may turn into a lifetime of nightmares.”

  While the dragons sleep, Phigby and I work on our small lean-to. The evening draws near when I hear soft footfalls and glance over to see Amil and Helmar push through some stringy bushes and enter the small glen.

  Amil holds up a brace of skinny rabbits and grins. As they stride over, Phigby inspects their trophies with a disdainful eye. “Two rabbits are barely enough for the sprogs and the sprites, they wouldn’t even do as a snack for one adult dragon.”

  Before either Helmar or Amil can answer, we hear heavier steps approaching and see Cara and Alonya trudging into camp from the opposite direction.

  Over Alonya’s shoulders is a large deer buck. The two walk up and Alonya chucks the deer to the ground.

  She points at the two rabbits that Amil holds and says to Cara out of the corner of her mouth, “See? I told you they wouldn’t return to camp empty-handed, though I admit, they’ve returned with twice what I was expecting and much larger pieces of meat, too.”

  Amil and Helmar exchange dark looks while Cara is doing her best not to giggle. Amil’s reply is sour as is his face, “We brought back what we could find.”

  Pointing to the deer, he claims, “You probably lucked into finding the only stag in this whole forest.”

  “Well, then,” Alonya retorts, “let’s hope that you didn’t find the only two skinny rabbits in these woods.”

  Cara can’t help herself and giggles aloud.

  Helmar clouds up and jabs his bow at the blackbird on the ground. “Well, at least, we did better than Hooper, all he brought back was a dead bird.”

  Cara, seeing the bird’s remains for the first time, looks askance at me. “Hooper, did you kill that poor thing?”

  Eyeing Phigby, I stutter, “No, a hawk did, and for some reason, just dropped it here.”

  “How strange,” Cara replies.

  “Nothing strange about your longbow shot,” Alonya states. In admiration, she says, “Cara hit the buck, on a dead run, at over fifty paces.”

  Cara blushes at Alonya’s compliment. “If I hadn’t taken the deer, you would have.”

  “Perhaps,” Alonya replies and gives Cara a slap on the back that almost sends her tumbling to the ground. “When we finish with our task,” she says to Cara, “you must come back with me to Golian. I’ll make you the Captain of Archery and have you train all of my Golian warrior novices in the way of the bow.”

  Cara again blushes and gazes at the ground, no doubt pleased by Alonya’s praises.

  Phigby clears his throat and motions toward the deer carcass. “A truly gracious offer m’lady. But right now, I see that our dragons are casting hungry eyes on what we have, so I suggest that we feed them before they forget their manners and trample us in a rush for food.”

  Amil motions down at where Scamper is pawing at the rabbits. “The only one stampeding is this stomach with four legs.”

  As he lifts the carcasses a bit higher, sending Scamper into a frantic, hopping dance to get to them, he asks, “Shall we chance a fire and have roasted rabbit and venison?”

  “No fire!” I yelp.

  Everyone turns surprised faces to me and then I go on in a more subdued tone, “I, uh, I don’t think a fire would be a good idea. The dragons will be happy with raw meat.”

  Phigby glances sideways at me while uttering, “I think what Hooper is trying to say is that the breeze will carry the smell of a wood fire and roasting meat a long way.”

  Cara steps next to me and suggests, “Hooper, maybe with the gem you could make a shelter of some sort that would block the firelight and we use the sprites?”

  “No,” I answer with several hard shakes of my head at her.

  Peering sideways at the golden who sits staring at us, I go on in a rush of words, “No, I couldn’t do that.”

  I draw in a breath and turn away. I don’t give an answer to their surprised and puzzled faces, but to myself, I think, it will be some time before I use the gems.

  Not until I can trust myself again—if ever.

  22

  My and Phigby’s good-hearted efforts to keep us dry during the night are a dismal failure.

  The storm sweeps in with a relentless deluge of raindrops that feel as big as dragon scales and winds that pound at us like a hundred dragons are beating their wings right overhead. From the wind’s fury, the lean-to falls apart in the first few minutes and we end up trying to use the dragons as a sort of living shelter over our heads.

  That doesn’t work either as the water gushes through the camp as if we were sitting in the Wolven Floden. The rain is so hard and cold that I wonder if Vay isn’t behind the tempest and trying to make us as miserable a
s possible.

  If so, it worked.

  The next morning breaks bright and cool, with not a speck of cloud in the sky, but we are a waterlogged and bedraggled group that pulls ourselves together to start the new day.

  “So,” Phigby questions as he tries to wring out some water from his soggy robe and turns to Amil, “how far to Lacenstad from here, did you say?”

  “If we kept at our same pace as yesterday,” the big man answers, “we should see smoke from the village by late afternoon or so.”

  “Then,” Phigby replies, “I suggest that we ride until the sun reaches its zenith, before we slow and have Amil and Helmar scout ahead.”

  He gives a little head bow to Alonya. “At this point in our journey, I believe it would be best that if we are to run into villagers, that their first sight of our party isn’t a Golian Amazos.”

  Alonya returns the head bow and smiles. “I agree, Master Phigby.”

  She gazes down at her muddy, sodden clothing while wringing out her braids with both hands. “After all, we Amazos are a magnificent sight to behold after a good drenching and I wouldn’t want to take anyone’s breath away.”

  Phigby and Amil chortle with Amil saying as he wipes mud off his ax, “We’ll need to steer well clear not only of that village but any others that we need to pass.”

  He sweeps a hand at our band. “We don’t exactly look like treasure seekers and I’m afraid that’s a story that the villages will meet with considerable skepticism.”

  “Not only that,” Helmar points out, “there’s only one golden dragon and by now, I suspect that even the most isolated of villages have heard of her. If anyone sees us, it won’t take long to spread the word of our whereabouts.”

  After quick nods of agreement, we push off through the mud and still dripping trees and bushes. By midday, under the sun, we begin to dry out some, which makes the going easier.

  Still, riding a dragon with wet pants is not particularly comfortable as the scales cause the fabric to rub and chafe in parts best left undescribed.