by GARY DARBY
“Because they can’t,” Phigby asserts. “The gods won’t let them. At least, not yet.”
“I’m sure I don’t understand,” I reply. “What do you mean, Phigby?”
Phigby turns to me. “It’s very simple, Hooper. The Parthenon wish to see what we will do first. ‘We’ meaning our world and its inhabitants. If we do nothing, if we don’t fight back, then they will for a certainty allow Vay to unleash her full power and continue to hold the three sisters in check.”
“And if we continue to oppose Vay?” Amil questions. “Even if there’s only a few of us?”
“Then there will come a time,” Phigby whispers, “when they will grant the sisters’ wish to fully confront Vay but only after all we can do to stand against her. After all, it is our world, our lives.”
Phigby’s voice is husky and melancholy as if that future day will not turn out well for any of us.
He pauses, straightens, and lifts his head. “Until then, the three will gather their power and when able, intervene on our behalf. Otherwise, they have to be content allowing us to take the fight to Vay.”
“And in the meantime,” Amil grouses, “while the three sisters are biding their time, Dronopolis gets destroyed, villages burn, the Wilders, drogs, and Sung Dar are rampaging and chasing us from one end of Erdron to another.”
He skews his mouth to one side. “Though we haven’t actually made it to the other end of Erdron, yet, it just feels that way, sometimes.”
Phigby scratches his shaggy hair and half-laughs. “Yes, I suppose some days it does seem that way.”
“But, Phigby,” I protest, “I don’t understand why the gods want to see what we do, first. To me, it doesn’t make sense.”
“But it does, Hooper,” Phigby declares, “but it does. You see, they’re not waiting for you or me, or Cara, or any of this company to act. We’ve made our decision. They’re waiting for the rest of Erdron. As I said, this is our world—if we don’t take care of it and all who live upon it, who will?”
There is a long moment of silence before Cara asks, “Do we have a chance, Phigby? It seems at times, without the three fairies, ours is a lost cause.”
“No, dear Cara,” Phigby answers, “confronting evil is never a lost cause; it only becomes lost when you or I, or good people everywhere give up and give in. Then, and only then, does wickedness prevail.”
He slaps his knees and stands to stretch. “So, I will share one last thought with you and then I’m going to observe one of my most treasured traditions—take an afternoon nap.”
His smile fades and he grows somber and still. “This is a time for us to have confidence in our little company and in what we do. I know it is hard to believe and trust in things you cannot see but if we remain faithful to ourselves and each other then our tiny bulwark against Vay will continue to be strong.
“And if every person on Erdron will do the same, then together we will build a mighty fortress of good and light that Vay’s darkness will never penetrate.”
With that, he reaches down, clutches his bag and sets it against a nearby tree trunk as a pillow. In a moment, he’s snoring.
“I wish I could go to sleep so quickly,” Cara sighs.
“Well, I’m going to try,” Amil grunts, rolls over with the handle of his big ax in his hands and closes his eyes.
Cara turns to me and whispers, “You should get some sleep, too, Hooper.”
I nod and hook a thumb toward where the dragons are sleeping. “I will, but over there. Wake me when the sun is eight fingers off the horizon and I’ll take your place as guard and you can sleep.”
The day passes and as the sun begins to slip behind the valley hills, Amil and Helmar form one hunting team and Cara and Alonya the other and set out to see what they can bag for a meal for us and the dragons.
While Phigby stays with the other dragons, I lead the larger dragons, one at a time, to the spring to let them drink and then the sprogs and sprites.
Scamper darts out from under some rose-tinted bushes to lap up some water before he’s off nosing around, not even stopping long enough to give us a passing glance or greeting. Of course, when you’re always on the hunt for something to eat, you don’t really have time to stop and pass the time of day.
Back at camp, I ease up next to Golden Wind and put a hand on her neck, running it back and forth. “I sure hope that they come back with some meat. My stomach is becoming all too familiar with my backbone again.”
“They’ll do their very best, Hooper,” she assures me, “besides, they’re excellent hunters. They’ve proven that in the past.”
“That’s true,” I answer as I stroke her neck scales. “I just wish that this time they come back with two deer and not just one.”
“Why not three or four, or ten?” Golden Wind asks.
“I guess,” I chuckle, “that I’m used to wishing small.”
“Or perhaps,” the golden returns, “you’re not greedy.”
“Umm,” I answer, “when it comes to food, I wouldn’t go that far.”
Leaving her to nap, I circle the camp, keeping a wary eye out and making small talk with Phigby. I mention to him how, before we left the river, I had noticed that its channel was widening.
“It’s now almost as broad as the Lorell River near Draconton,” I finish, “and its current is slowing as well.”
“Yes,” he nods in return, “and it will grow wider still until it reaches InverFloden, where the Wolven merges into the River Lorell and together form one of the largest rivers in the world in its course to the sea.”
“InverFloden,” I state. “I seem to recall reading that it’s one of the oldest river ports on the Lorell.”
“And one of the biggest,” Phigby rejoins. “It’s a stopping point for many boats that ply up and down the river. A water highway that brings merchandise far into the Northern Kingdom and in return we ship goods out as well. It—”
He never finishes his sentence for just then, our four hunters burst out of a nearby thicket on a dead run. “Trouble,” Amil gasps, breathing hard.
“Drogs,” Helmar pants, “beating the bushes and headed this way. And not a small company as back at Lacenstad.”
“Looking for us, no doubt,” Phigby declares.
“No doubt,” Alonya replies. “We need to leave, now.”
“Where to?” I ask.
“Back toward the river,” Amil answers, pointing, “if we have to run before them, that is the clearest way.”
Never have the sprogs been stuffed faster into their saddlebags or Scamper come running, without being called, than now. We do everything swiftly and quietly and we’re off toward the river, seeking an escape route from the oncoming drogs.
The thickening brush and tree stands are the first sign that we’re nearing the river when the dragons jerk their heads up and Alonya brings us to an abrupt halt.
It only takes me a moment before I hear it.
Dragon wings.
“Wilders?” I whisper to Golden Wind.
She nods in answer. “Upriver, circling.”
“Where’s there one, there’s bound to be more,” I grumble.
I slide off the golden and hobble forward to gather with the others. “One Wilder,” I whisper, “upriver and circling.”
“How’d they find us?” Helmar demands. “We killed all the drogs and Sung Dar back at the village.”
“It may be,” Phigby answers, “that the river wasn’t kind to us and coughed up a Sung Dar body or two downriver. A body scorched by dragon fire is easy enough to tell.”
“How they found us may not matter as much as what we do now,” Alonya declares. “It’s obvious that they’re driving us.”
“Yes,” Phigby affirms, “either we turn and face the drogs or go against the Wilders upriver.”
“One Wilder,” Amil muses. “What if we could bring down that one scout and cross the river? They may only be on this side, you know.”
“I’ll do it,” Helmar states.
“No,” Cara objects.
She lays a hand on Helmar’s forearm. “We’ll both go on Wind Song. She’s faster and Amil and Phigby will ride Wind Glory.”
Leaning a little closer, she declares, “But I get first shot because I’m better than you. But if I miss, you’d better be ready with your arrow because that Wilder rider won't present an easy target the second time.”
She pauses and her eyes narrow. “On second thought, maybe I better take that shot instead.”
Helmar snorts. “I’ll take—”
Alonya stops Helmar. “We need to stop arguing who’s better—the drogs aren’t wasting any time but we are and we’ll pay for it if we don’t act.”
I start to object to Cara’s going but I see the determined look on Cara’s face and know that I would lose the argument.
Phigby puts a hand out to them both. “Just be careful or we’ll never get the chance to prove who’s better with a longbow.”
Cara’s face looks grim. “Get down to the water’s edge and wait. Either you’ll see the Wilder fall or we’ll find you and give you the all clear.”
“We sky across,” I state the obvious, “but what about you, Alonya?”
Alonya shrugs. “There can be only one answer, I’ll have to swim across before the moons rise. No one will see me in the darkness.”
“Are you sure?” Phigby insists. “That’s not a small stream down there that you can wade across with just a few steps. The Wolven is now deep and beset with treacherous currents. Even for you, it will not be an easy swim.”
“Aye,” Amil chimes in with a grimace, “When I canoed it, both ways, I had to plot my course carefully or I would have been pulled under numerous times.”
Alonya gives a little shrug in answer. “I admit that I haven’t done much swimming, but I’ve stroked enough to know that I should be able make it across.”
She smiles at a thought. “But after this, when I get back to Dronopolis and it’s rebuilt, I will do all my swimming in the marble bath’s clear and heated waters rather than this colored swill.”
Phigby glances around and seeing that no one has a sufficient counter argument to Alonya’s plan, rumbles, “Then, if that’s the way of it, let’s get ready.”
He turns to Cara and Helmar. “Be careful, you two, not to mention swift and quiet.”
“We will,” Cara answers and with Helmar whirls away. Before she turns Wind Song into the forest, Cara gives me a quick glance and little smile and I raise a hand chest-high in goodbye.
Then Wind Song pushes into the woodland’s darkness to find a suitable place to spread her wings.
“Let’s move closer to the river,” Phigby orders, “and wait.”
We lead the dragons between the brush thickets and tree stands. The Wilder hasn’t moved from his position over the river and beats a slow circle first up one side and then down the other.
“They’ve probably stationed sentinels up and down the river,” Amil whispers, “which begs the question—where is the main body of Wilders?”
“Rest assured,” Phigby growls, “close enough to respond if one of their scouts sounds the alarm.”
He listens for a moment before saying, “I hear only the one. Let’s hope that they haven’t overlapped so closely that another scout up or down the river will spot Cara and Helmar.”
I grimace at the thought. “If the Wilders have spaced themselves close together, then one or more will see Cara and Helmar when they attack the scout.”
“There’s nothing we can do about it, at this point,” Phigby answers back, “so let’s be ready when they give us the sign.”
Amil turns to Alonya. “Your armor and armaments will weigh you down too much, especially as you’re going to find yourself in turbulent waters. I suggest that you shed them and we’ll carry them across with us on the dragons.”
Alonya nods in reply. “To that, I can agree.”
While Amil helps Alonya with her armor, Phigby and I make our way down to the river’s edge to watch for Cara and Helmar.
Studying the river, I gesture upstream and whisper, “Those two points that jut out, if Alonya starts and finishes there, it will shorten her swim.”
Phigby claps me on the shoulder. “Good eyes, lad, that’s where we’ll head.”
Motioning to Alonya and Amil to follow, we lead the dragons farther upstream to where a small headland projects out into the river, narrowing the channel a bit.
Phigby motions at the dark, swirling water and whispers to Alonya, “If you can swim straight across from here, it will lessen your time in the water.”
Peering from the near bank to the far, Alonya nods in agreement. “The fewer the strokes, the better. A mountain-fed river is not much warmer than ice.”
Hurrying to beat the moons’ rising, and the light that they would cast upon the water, Alonya sheds her body armor and hands us her sword, scabbard, quiver, and bow.
While Alonya is preparing for her swim, Phigby and I crouch in some thick willows and watch the sky upriver.
I jerk my head up when I see several stars blink out. “There!” I point. “Crimson wings.” The Wilder dragon wings beat slowly as it floats overhead.
Phigby nods, following the red as it turns away from us. Against the ebony sky, its scarlet-clad rider is all but impossible to see.
The Wilder dragon wings a bit farther upriver when Phigby goes rigid and points. “Wind Song!”
I see the blue streak at the same time he does. Wind Song flashes low over the water, her talons skimming above the swirls, behind and below the Wilder.
“Always said that girl was smart,” Phigby breathes out, “Cara’s using the crimson’s body to shield her and Wind Song from the Wilder’s view.”
Just then, Wind Song spurts straight up with an incredible burst of speed, winging straight at the red’s sinewy tail.
Either the Wilder rider was asleep or he never heard Wind Song for moments later comes the faint twang of Cara’s longbow and then a black dot cartwheels to the river below.
“Now!” Phigby barks and we dash back to Amil and Alonya.
“Time to get wet, Alonya,” Phigby directs. “Cara and Helmar have done their job.”
Alonya rushes to the bank, takes a few quick steps into the water, turns, and with a noticeable shudder in her voice says, “By the time I reach the other side, I will be chilled to the bone. So don’t shoot any arrows at any blue Golians that you see wading from the water and have those four sprites ready to turn up the heat.”
With that, she wades a little farther out, dives in, and begins to stroke toward the far bank. “Let’s go,” Phigby orders, “divvy up her things among the dragons, and let us be aloft.”
Moments later, we’re skying across the river, gliding the dragons close to the water’s surface in the hope that no other Wilder rider has seen his partner plummet to the river.
While I slow Golden Wind down, keeping a watchful eye on Alonya, Cara has Wind Song join with Glory and they spread out, forming a protective screen to each side and scanning the sky for Wilders.
Alonya’s strokes are powerful as she churns through the water. Even against the strong river currents, she’s able to maintain a straight enough course that she should be able to reach the far bank’s jutting headland soon enough.
Wind Song and Wind Glory pull ahead and I’ve just finished circling Alonya at mid-river when Scamper starts chittering, his face turned downriver while his whole body quivers.
I put a hand on his head and ask, “What is it, Scamp?”
He whirls to bounce and point his whole body at something that moves in the water. My eyes go wide at what he’s chittering over.
Plumes of spray break the surface, and all headed in Alonya’s direction. I lean over, to stare at the fountains of spurting water. Then, in the starlight, I make out what’s causing the water to churn and I jerk straight up.
Dark, sleek, snakelike bodies, each with orange and white alternating stripes down each side, crest the
water before diving back under. A score of fangs line their open mouths and they sprint through the water as if they were a pack of wolves about to bring down a hapless deer caught in the open.
“Phigby!” I shout and point at the creatures. “In the water!”
He takes one look and shouts, “Tyger Eels! Tyger Eels! Get Alonya out of the water, now!”
25
“Get her out! She’ll never reach the shore in time, they’ll tear her apart!”
I have no idea what a Tyger Eel is, but the name alone brings a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach. Without any urging from me, Golden Wind dives toward Alonya.
Glancing over my shoulder, I can see the two sapphires darting toward us, the air snapping with each wing’s furious downstroke.
Cara and Helmar have arrows notched in bowstrings, but I’m not sure what good a few arrows are going to be against scores of the flesh-eating eels.
Golden Wind and I swoop low over Alonya and frantic, I shout to her, “Tyger Eels!” while pointing downstream.
Alonya jerks her head up, spots the creatures and swings around to put on a burst of speed. However, even her powerful strokes will not be enough to outrace the onrushing water creatures.
In moments, I watch horror-stricken as the snaky things are upon her, but instead of attacking her head on, they begin to encircle her, moving faster and faster.
The black darts soon have the water thrashed into a foaming, churning bowl with Alonya in the center.
“Golden Wind! Can you use your dragon fire on those things?”
“No, Hooper. I’m afraid I would catch Alonya, too.”
In desperation, I glance over my shoulder. Use the sprites? But how?
Several eels leap out the water, sailing over Alonya and snapping at her head as they do so. Seeing that causes me to discard the idea of using the sprites.
The water’s weight and the current are too much even for a Golian giant and Alonya is spinning, helpless, fighting to keep her head above the water and the things off her. Taking in great gulps of air, she tries to stay on the surface, but the spinning eddy is pulling her down. She struggles to the surface to suck in another breath.
