by GARY DARBY
“I’ve never seen or even heard of this before,” Phigby marvels. “So many saplings in one place. It’s amazing.”
Turning in a small circle, Cara whispers, “Almost as if they were put here for us to find.”
“If so,” Alonya replies, “it is a most welcome gift.” She runs a hand over a slight tree. “You know what this means, Cara?”
Cara sucks in a breath. “Of course, much-needed arrows!”
“Arrows?” I question.
“Oh yes, Hooper,” Alonya affirms. “Ones that will not break and sharp enough to pierce even dragon scales.”
Seeing the look on my face, she pats me on the shoulder. “Sorry, I did not mean it the way it sounded. What I meant was strong enough to pierce Wilder dragon scales.”
“But,” Cara asks as her face clouds up, “how do we cut them? Ordinary blades won’t be able to hone or shape their shafts so that they fly straight and true.”
“No,” Phigby’s voice sounds from behind me, “but the edge of a dragon sword should.”
We all turn at Phigby’s words and I heft Galondraig to stare at its emerald sheen. “Try it,” Cara urges, “please.”
I step to the nearest sapling and grasping the wood with one hand, I swing Galondraig, striking at the tree’s base.
As if I had slashed through a mound of butter, Galondraig slices clean through the sapling, leaving a neat, straight cut. Holding the little tree out, I mutter, “It appears that it does.”
Seeing the look on my face, Cara steps forward and asks in a concerned tone, “What’s the matter, Hooper?”
Shaking my head, I say, “I don’t know. Just a feeling that came over me as I cut through the wood, that the sapling hadn’t even the chance of reaching for the sun.”
Laying a hand on my arm, she nods. “I understand, Hooper, but we do so need more arrows.”
Phigby steps next to me and asks, “Hooper, do you know the other name for dragon heartwood trees?”
“No,” I reply, “I don’t think so.”
“Ever return,” he answers. “You see, from what you’ve left in the ground, another tree will sprout soon enough. Heartwood trees are few in numbers but they seem to live forever.”
“So, we haven’t killed it?”
“No, Hooper,” Phigby smiles in a reassuring manner. “We’ve slowed it a bit from reaching for the sun as you said, but in time, it and the others will bask in the sun’s glow.”
Alonya turns to Phigby and me and asks, “While Cara and I take up the hunt again, do you think you two could do the harvesting?”
“Of course,” Phigby answers and with a wave, Alonya and Cara trot off into the forest.
Satisfied with Phigby’s answer, I use Galondraig to cut the remaining saplings with Phigby doing the toting back to camp.
After Phigby has left with the last load, I take a moment as I scabbard Galondraig to look over the little stumps we’ve left behind. “I so hope,” I whisper, “that you do get to reach for the sun.”
Just before dusk, the hunters return with a feast for us all, three deer. Two taken by Cara and Alonya, one by Amil and Helmar.
“Congratulations, boys,” Alonya grins, pointing at Amil’s and Helmar’s buck, “you finally did it. Or, by the looks of it, was this poor mangy deer already dead when you stumbled across the poor thing?”
“That is about the scrawniest and oldest deer I’ve ever seen,” Phigby declares, scratching at his head as he puts a toe to the animal. “I would have to agree with Alonya. Did you actually have to shoot an arrow into it, or, just knock it over with a rock?”
“It’s meat, isn’t it?” Amil growls, “Or would you rather gnaw on one of its antlers, Master Phigby?”
“Might as well,” Alonya snickers, “probably more meat on them than the rest of that poor thing put together.”
Cara is trying hard not to laugh, but she can’t help it and lets loose a loud giggle that’s met by a dark glare from Helmar. “C’mon,” he snarls to Amil, “let’s get these butchered.”
Scamper comes bounding up and starts chittering at me. “Yes, yes, I know,” I answer, “and as soon as Amil and Helmar finish, you can pick your piece out.”
After sniffing the largest buck’s head, Scamper darts down the deer’s length and then circles the whole carcass, chittering at me.
“No,” I laugh, “you may not have the whole deer. Your fair share and that’s all.”
Scamper plunks down on his rump, his little eyes glaring at me and begins tapping his teeth together, still chittering. “I did not promise that,” I return. “I said your choice of cut, not the whole thing.”
“Like I said,” Amil growls, listening to the exchange between Scamper and me, “he’s nothing more than a stomach with four legs attached.”
As the evening darkens, I set Twinkle in the group’s center, her light just bright enough that using Galondraig’s keen edge, we hone the saplings into a bow for Rollo and arrows to fill the quivers of our archers.
We’ve had our fill of venison, the dragons have eaten, Scamper in particular, having a quarter of venison haunch all to himself, and we once again take up our discussion of what to do about the Uhlan.
We go around and around over the same points, getting nowhere, until Phigby throws up his hands in exasperation and questions, “Amil, are you absolutely sure that one of us can’t sneak into that castle? Find out if the Uhlan live or not?”
“One of us?” Amil snorts. “Hardly. The only way we’re going to find out is to attack and end up in the dungeons, too. Then we’ll know for a certainty if they live or not.”
Cara leans close to Amil, her face drawn in anxiety. “Amil, can’t you think of another way for us to get in there?”
“Oh, sure, lass,” Amil returns, “I can think of another way. We could sky our dragons and set down in the courtyard yelling out for the Uhlan to show themselves. You know, come out, come out, wherever you are.”
“That’s not funny, Amil,” Cara retorts.
“Wasn’t trying to be funny,” Amil replies. “What I’m trying to tell you is that there is no other way, short of using the dragons to attack the fortress.”
He sweeps his arm at the dragons and grunts, “All four of them.”
“You forgot the sprites,” Alonya dryly notes.
Amil bows to Alonya. “My mistake, m’lady. All eight or do you want me to add in the four sprogs as well?”
“Four dragons and four sprites,” Helmar states. “What we need is a legion of dragons and the dragon knights to go with them.”
“Why wish for only one legion?” Amil returns. “I’m wishing for twice that over, not to mention an army of giant dragons that Alonya’s Amazos could ride into battle.”
In apparent exasperation, Phigby slaps at his knees, rises to his feet, his robe swishing around him and begins pacing.
In Twinkle’s light, I can’t help but notice that his mantle appears a soft crimson color tonight instead of the dark green it had been during our last march. “Someday,” I say to myself, “I’ve got to learn how he does that.”
“Does what?” Cara asks.
“Nothing,” I reply, “just talking to myself.”
“You do a lot of that, you know.”
“I know. Sorry, old habit of when I lived by myself in the birthing barn. Dragons aren’t exactly known for conversation, you know.”
Cara leans toward me with an amused expression. “No, they’re not,” she answers and I can tell she’s having a hard time not laughing out loud.
Well, so am I after I realize what a silly remark I’ve made.
Phigby continues marching up and down, his head down, eyes gazing at the ground.
A crazy thought comes to my mind and at first I shake it off but it comes again, stronger. “Hmm, that’s a thought.”
“Hooper!” Cara snaps. “You’re doing it again. Talking to yourself, or were you answering yourself from before?”
“What?” I reply. “Oh, sorry, just thinking.
”
Phigby’s head jerks up and he steps toward me. “You may have mutterings to yourself,” he says, joining in the conversation, “but do you have some notion of getting into that fortress? If you do, then out with it, lad. Any inkling of how to get inside that bastion, wild as it may seem, is welcome at this point.”
The others turn to stare at me with expectant faces. Swallowing, I gesture at our circle around Twinkle. “Amil said that none of us could sneak into the castle, right? But Phigby, you once stated that there were spies in the kingdom.”
Raising my shoulders and holding out my hands, I ask, “What if we were able to hire a spy?”
No one speaks for several moments before it seems that everyone is talking at once.
“A spy!” Helmar barks. “A silly notion. How would we even find one?”
“How would we even pay for one?” Alonya demands.
“Even if we could pay for one,” Amil throws out, “how could we even trust one?”
“Indeed,” Phigby acknowledges, “he or she would no sooner find out who their employer was and turn us in for the bounty.”
“Or alert Vay,” Alonya returns, “and collect even more.”
“I wouldn’t have a clue,” Helmar chimes in, “of where to start. It’s not like you can drop into the nearest public house and ask around if they’ve seen a spy hereabouts of late and for hire."
“Oh,” Amil muses, “I could find some of my fellow Travelers, they’d probably be able to point out one or two for us.”
“No,” Phigby states, “we don’t have the time. We—”
“I’ll do it!” Cara shouts over the others.
“What?” Phigby sputters. “What did you say, my dear?”
“I said,” Cara replies, “that I’ll do it. I’ll go into Hanfeld village and make some discreet inquiries. Surely—”
“Cara, no!” I snap. “It’s too dangerous and I certainly wasn’t talking about you as a spy.”
“I won’t let you,” Helmar states. “Hooper’s right, it’s too dangerous and—”
“Helmar Stoudtman,” Cara’s voice is like a winter’s breeze, icy and cold, “don’t tell me what to do, understood? In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a free woman of majority age.”
She stabs a finger at him. “I make my own decisions!”
Helmar holds up his hands as if to ward Cara off as she sits there, her rigid finger pointed straight at him.
I’m thinking Helmar is lucky that it’s just her finger that Cara points toward him and not an arrow. After all, this is the girl that picked off two mountain goats at two hundred paces uphill and puts arrows into ogre heads, right between the eyes.
“Cara, I didn’t mean it that way,” Helmar sputters.
“Uh, huh,” Cara returns her icy tone, “I know exactly what you said and what you meant, too.”
“Cara, please,” Phigby urges in a steady, soothing voice, “Helmar, in his fumble-worded but well-intended manner was only concerned about your well-being.”
He leans toward her and with a gentle touch pushes her outstretched hand down. “Let’s all calm down and talk this through, shall we?”
Straightening, he declares, “We shouldn’t dismiss Hooper’s idea or Cara’s willingness to go into the village outright.”
Pausing, he purses his lips together and muses, “First, trying to employ a spy is not that easy. Even if we could afford one, and they are very expensive, there’s no guarantee of trustworthiness.
“It would be too easy for one to play both sides and reap a generous reward but in the end, I’m afraid that what Vay could offer would lead to our capture.”
Drawing in a breath, he gestures toward Cara. “As for your generous offer Cara, though well-intentioned, I must say that it presents some serious challenges for your safety and ours as well.
“For instance, that King’s Warrant is still outstanding which means that most certainly the villagers in Hanfeld will not only know about it, but they have our descriptions as well, which means—”
“Which means, Cara,” Amil takes up in a gentle manner, “that your beautiful auburn hair is going to be a dead giveaway of just who you are.
“There are few women in the Northern Kingdom who have a flaming crown such as yours, can ride a dragon, shoot a bow, wield a sword, or tell Helmar Stoudtman that he is a fool and to take his foot out of his mouth.”
“Indeed,” Phigby agrees. Sweeping a hand at all of us, he asserts, “In fact, thanks to Aster, each of us is most likely well-known throughout the realm by now and anywhere we show our faces, we’re going to be recognized.”
Reaching out, he pats Cara’s hand. “So you see, my dear, your selfless act is admirable but I have to agree with Hooper and Helmar, it’s simply too risky for your sake.”
I glance over at Cara, who, after Amil pointed out that her tresses mark her as easily recognizable, starts twirling her hair with her fingers and staring at the long strands. She doesn’t raise her face to meet my eyes or even to acknowledge Phigby’s remarks but just sits there, running her fingers through her locks.
Without looking up, Cara nods, “All right, if you think that’s best.”
We grow silent as Helmar and Alonya work on the last few arrows, while the rest of us gaze at Twinkle’s glow, alone with our thoughts, it seems.
For me, try as I might, I have no other ideas to offer and sit staring at my hands feeling as if we should be able to do something, but what?
After a bit, Rollo straightens and snarls, “So that’s it? You’re saying that you’re giving up?”
No one answers as right then, we have no answer.
Phigby stirs from where he’s sitting and turns to the Uhlan leader. “That’s not what we’re saying, Rollo. We just haven’t found a solution yet, that’s all. The Company of the Golden Dragon doesn’t give up that easily, you know.”
“That’s true, Phigby,” Amil affirms, “but we can’t sit here forever, either. Not this close to Hanfeld. Each day increases our chances of someone stumbling across our camp.”
He sweeps an arm outward at the surrounding forest. “It could be anyone. A deer hunter, or a berry picker, or a woodcutter could spot us and scurry back to the castle. Next thing you’d know, we wake up surrounded by Aster’s army.”
“Yes,” Phigby sighs, “I am very much aware of that, Amil, but at this point I suggest that we should all get some sleep. Weary minds birth weary thoughts. Maybe the dawn will shed new light on our problem.”
“I’ll take first watch,” I offer.
“And I the second,” Phigby states.
“I would like to greet the dawn,” Cara quickly volunteers, “and Phigby’s new light.”
With that, everyone retires to their sleeping spots and I begin my rounds. Soon, the sounds of deep, heavy breathing fill our little camp, along with the rustling of dragon scales.
As I pass by the golden, I find Scamper, the sprogs, and the sprites curled up between Golden Wind’s legs and under her chin, sound asleep.
It’s not long before a soft moonlight haze fills the camp and I glance up at the sky. My frown is immediate. The dark rings around Osa, Nadia, and Eskar have grown, dimming their light somewhat while Vay’s ring is noticeably larger and brighter around her darkness.
Rubbing at my forehead, I mutter to myself, “It just keeps getting harder for us while she keeps growing stronger.”
“Troubled, Hooper?” Golden Wind asks.
Pointing up, I whisper, “The moons. If that’s a sign as to how we’re doing, then it’s obvious we’re losing.”
“Yes,” she acknowledges, “I can see how you would think that if those were all we had to gauge our situation.”
My lips turn down in a scowl. “Sorry, but from everything I see around me, I’d say those moons were pretty accurate.”
“Hmm,” she replies, “is that so?”
“Yes,” I answer. “Or, at least I think that’s right.”
“Hooper,” she responds, “not all w
ars are won by one battle, nor are all battles won every time. But the greatest loss that anyone can endure is when we stop believing that the battle or the war can be won.”
She swings her muzzle close and eyes me. “Have you stopped believing?”
I think about it for a moment before I answer, “No, I don't think so. It just seems that we are so small and Vay appears so—”
“Great and powerful?” the golden asks.
“Yes,” I sigh.
“Hooper, even the least among us can do great things. You of all people should know that. It is neither the length of one’s arm, nor how tall one stands that defines the strength of one’s heart or soul, you know.”
“Seems like I’ve heard something similar before,” I reply.
“Yes, Hooper, and you will keep on hearing it until you truly understand what it means.”
Pausing, she glances up at the moons. “Hooper, our company may seem small in comparison to Vay’s forces but sometimes the greatest strengths we have are unknown to us until we actually need them.”
She lowers her head to me. “And sometimes, even in our little company there are hidden treasures that you’ve not discovered. Treasures that can do great things when called upon.”
Eyeing her, I ask, “And you’re not going to tell me what they are, are you?”
Smiling, she lowers head and closes her eyes as if to fall asleep.
“I’m going for a walk,” I declare. “Try to clear my head and think about these hidden treasures of yours.”
“Not mine,” she replies without opening her eyes, “ours, Hooper Menvoran.”
I walk away, my ears and eyes alert to the night sounds. The rustling wings from an owl overhead seeking a meal, the swishing of tree leaves as a soft breeze pushes them this way and that.
Again, I glance upward, not at the moons, but at the King and Queen stars. They’re close together, and with each passing night, they’ll grow nearer until they’ll be one, or as some call it, “The Joining” occurs which marks the passing of another year.
“Some year,” I mumble to myself.
For some reason, my steps take me in the direction of where the saplings stood. I push through a small line of bushes and stop to stare into the darkness of a small glade.
